A Soldier's Prayer

She nodded. “What can I do?”

He narrowed his gaze. “Not much you can do. These things happen.”

Again, the teasing smirk. “I meant dinner. How can I help?”

He blew out his breath, glad for a reason to click off the trip down his pain-filled memory lane. “You can help by making patties while I get the grill going.”

“Deal.” Monica looked into the living room. “Ethan and Owen, do you want to help?”

Ethan groaned, but Owen slipped off the couch and tiptoed toward Monica.

Cash exited the cabin onto the deck. The sun hung low in the sky, but it wouldn’t set for another couple hours. He turned on the gas valve, then lit the grill and shut the lid.

Leaning against the railing of the deck, Cash wondered why Monica would come up here by herself. He’d have to ask her later, if she stayed beyond dinner. Part of him hoped she would. The other part worried that being around Monica for very long was asking for trouble.

* * *

“Thank you, Owen.” Monica’s heart melted when the boy smiled, then walked the plate of hamburgers outside for Cash to place on the hot grill.

He might not speak, but the little boy was a charmer, with rich red hair and thick eyelashes that framed dark gray eyes. Eyes a lot like his uncle’s.

Through the sliding glass door to the deck out back, Monica watched Cash cup his nephew’s cheek as he took the plate from him. Despite his rough-and-tumble ways, Cash was a gentle guy. Even though he’d been Matthew’s friend, he’d always taken time to talk with her. He’d made her feel awkward, sure, especially the year she grew to be taller than him by a couple inches or so, but he never made her feel unwanted. Never the annoying tagalong that she’d often been.

The last time she’d seen Cash Miller was two and a half years ago, at her brother Matthew’s wedding. There hadn’t been any dancing and Cash had pretty much ignored her after a brief greeting. He’d hung out with her brothers and then left before she’d had a chance to really talk to him. She wouldn’t mind spending a little time with him now, just to make sure he was okay, and hear what he’d been up to.

“How do you know Uncle Cash?” Ethan climbed onto the stool on the other side of the island.

“Your uncle is friends with my brother. I’ve known him since I was a little older than you.”

Ethan gave her a haughty glare from golden-colored eyes. He, too, had a mop of red hair, although lighter than his little brother’s. “I’m eight.”

“I was ten when I first met your uncle Cash.” Monica grabbed the bag of spring mix she’d purchased, along with some veggies.

She would never forget the day Matthew had brought Cash home with him from school for the first time. Cash had taken one long look at her and called her a stork. She’d been furious at that moniker because it had been far too accurate. She had been a skinny kid with even skinnier legs, crooked teeth and a big nose. She still had the big nose.

“There’s frozen french fries in the freezer.” Cash entered the kitchen, opened the fridge and grabbed a can of pop, snapping open the tab top with a fizzy click.

“Yeah, so?” Monica tipped her head.

“So, I thought you could make them.” Cash winked at Ethan.

The boy looked at her, then back at Cash with a grin.

“Why can’t you make them?” Monica wasn’t giving in that easily. Especially in front of an eight-year-old watching them with too-wise eyes.

“I’m manning the grill.”

“You’re in here now, with plenty of time to take care of the fries while I set the table.”

“The boys and I eat in the living room.” Cash completely evaded her comment.

“Yeah,” Ethan added, with challenge in his voice.

Monica glanced at Owen, now lying on the couch watching a cartoon on TV, then back at Cash. “What would their mother say?”

Cash rolled his eyes.

Monica had her answer. She wasn’t the boss of any of them, so she merely took plates and set them on the island, while Cash grabbed the bag of frozen fries.

Ha! She’d won that round.

The space between the stove and island was limited. Her breath caught when she turned to fetch the silverware and collided with Cash leaning to throw the empty fries bag in the trash can under the sink.

Cash straightened and gestured for her to go first. “After you.”

Despite her hot cheeks and Ethan’s giggle, she managed a sarcastic-sounding retort, “Why don’t you get out of the kitchen?”

He winked at her. “Exactly what I was hoping you’d say.”

Monica tried to ignore him. She tried even harder to ignore the pesky increase in her heart rate, but that was a lost cause and had been ever since she was twelve.

She opened the fridge to gather condiments, then whipped around to set the bottles on the island. Cash was in her space once again. She dodged left, but he lurched the same way. Bobbing the opposite direction, they did an awkward dance that ended with her dropping the ketchup bottle.

Cash bent to retrieve it at the same time she did and they bumped heads.

“Oww!”

He laughed and gently touched her forehead with his fingers, rubbing where they’d hit. “I’m so sorry.”

She looked into his dark gray eyes filled with mirth and the truth slipped out. “You’re dangerous, Cash Miller. That’s what you are.”

His gaze darkened as it swept her face.

And there it was—that sting of awareness she knew well. Monica could barely breathe as she recalled the one kiss they’d ever shared. It had been her eighteenth birthday party and her parents had hosted a huge cookout. She’d walked Cash to his car because he’d had to head back to base. There, he’d given her the most beautiful crystal stork. To thank him for such a lovely gift, she had hugged him, and that embrace had soon turned into the most wonder-filled kiss she’d ever received.

Did he remember it, too?

She shut down that train of thought quickly. She couldn’t go there. Not now, not ever. She had a nasty medical battle ahead. One that had already chased away one guy she thought she could rely on. There was no way she’d let another man, especially this man, mess her up when she was plenty worried about her future as it was. If she even had a future long enough to enjoy.

Tamping down the panic that crept upon her ever since she received the bad news of her biopsy, Monica set the bottles on the island. Ketchup, mustard, squeezable mayonnaise, ranch and Thousand Island salad dressing all toppled over.

Ethan reached out to help her right them.

That’s when Monica saw the smoke. Glad for the diversion, she hid behind her trusty sarcasm. “Uh, Cash? You better check those burgers.”

He dashed for the deck and opened the barbecue lid. Flames shot up as he flipped the burgers over.

Monica looked at Ethan. “I hope you like yours well done.”

Ethan shrugged.

Monica got busy grabbing cups and the gallon of milk. Anything to keep her focus away from Cash. No way could she stay here the whole weekend. She’d never functioned well around him and it looked as if that still held true.

She’d stay tonight and tomorrow morning tops, then she’d be on her way. Maybe she’d head for a motel in Marquette. It was a pretty college town on the shore of Lake Superior. But Monica didn’t need pretty. She needed to think things through, do more research and jot down a million more questions. She needed to find some kind of inner strength to deal with what lay ahead. Other than her family’s support, she faced this disease alone. Could she beat it? Monica wasn’t sure.

All she knew was cancer waged a war inside her and she was scared. Really scared.

Chapter Two

Monica felt a soft touch and looked down into the pleading eyes of Owen. “What is it?”

He pulled on her hand.

“He wants to show you something,” Ethan offered.

No kidding. Monica bit her tongue and played along, following the little boy.

Owen led her to the TV, which had gone blank even though the satellite box dials glowed blue, showing it was still active. The TV was old and the picture sometimes grayed out, needing to be reset. It usually came back on after someone turned the whole thing off for bit, but maybe this time it had burned out for good.

“You know what, how about we turn off the TV for now? I imagine you didn’t come here with your uncle Cash to watch TV.” Monica looked down at the boy. Why were they here? She’d never known Cash to hang around little kids before.

“The burgers are done and not too burned.” Cash entered with the plate.

“The TV’s out, so we might as well eat at the table,” Monica said. “Owen, would you like to help me?”

The boy nodded.

“He sure likes you.” Cash leaned close and whispered teasingly, “He probably thinks you really are a princess. Storks can look regal, you know.”

Monica laughed when she considered her just-over-six-foot frame. “There’s more giant than princess about me.”

“A more beautiful giant there never was, right, Owen?” Cash grinned when his nephew agreed with wide eyes.

Monica soaked in the compliment, but shook her head at Cash’s nonsense. He’d have the poor boy wondering if she really were a giant. If she remembered correctly, giants were to be feared in storybooks. In a few months, she’d look pretty scary from chemo.

With a sigh, she handed Owen a glass of milk, with directions to place it on the table. She did the same with Ethan, who complied, but that’s as far as his help went. He slid into a chair at the table as if he expected to be waited on.

Monica ignored that idea and helped Owen fix his plate as Cash pulled the cookie sheet of french fries from the oven. They were burned a little on the ends, but to her they looked perfect.

Cash started to make a plate for Ethan, but Monica stalled him. “Ethan, if you’d like dinner you’re going to have to come get it.”

Cash stared at her as if she’d called the kid a bad name.

“Really, there’s no need to wait on them. We fixed the food. They can come get it.” Monica was the sixth of ten kids. Growing up with three younger brothers and one younger sister, she’d learned early on to follow her mother’s example. Helen Zelinsky did not believe in babying anyone.

Ethan looked at Cash for support.

Thankfully, he backed her up. “You heard her.”

Ethan glared at Monica, but stayed put, arms folded.

“Now you’ve done it,” Cash muttered under his breath.

So much for Cash’s alliance, but Monica wasn’t about to give in. “Does their mom wait on them?”

Cash nodded. “Hand and foot.”

“No wonder she needed a break,” Monica muttered as she dished salad onto her plate, then offered a spoonful to Owen.

Once both their plates were filled, she handed Owen his and followed his slow steps to the table. The tyke didn’t drop a single fry, so praise was definitely in order. “Good job.”

He beamed at her.

Monica waited for Cash to sit down. Ethan’s scowl deepened. “Can we say grace?”

Cash bowed his head. “You do it.”

Owen folded his hands.

Ethan looked at the ceiling.

Monica bowed her head and recited the dinnertime prayer she’d known her whole life. “Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty, through Christ our Lord. Amen.”

“Amen.” Cash made a show of digging into his food noisily. “This is really good, Ethan. You better get yours.”

“I’m not hungry.” He slumped a little lower.

“That’s a shame.” Monica bit into her hamburger.

After a few minutes, Ethan sighed and finally dragged himself to the island, where his plate holding a hamburger waited to be filled with fries and salad. He grabbed a handful of salad and plopped it on his plate, then squirted ranch dressing all over it before grabbing a handful of fries.

When he slipped back into his chair, Monica gave him a beaming smile. “Thank you.”

Ethan didn’t say anything, but she thought a whisper of a smile tugged at his mouth.

She caught Cash’s gaze from across the table and he tipped his head to her. Another round won.

This certainly wasn’t the weekend she’d envisioned, but a cold motel room didn’t sound any better and she really didn’t want to head back home. Not yet, anyway.

After dinner, they all pitched in to clear the table. Even Ethan helped put stuff away without complaint, while she filled the sink with hot soapy water and Cash banged on the TV until it finally turned on again.

The boys rushed to throw themselves on the couch, pushing each other, giggling.

Cash brought her an empty glass left on one of the end tables. “You’re really good with the boys. You’ll make a good mom one day.”

“Thanks.” Monica’s voice nearly betrayed her, so she focused on her newly manicured nails, painted deep orange, while she got control of her emotions.

She might not ever have kids of her own, if the chemo fried her insides. Then again, she might never marry if she went under the knife to be butchered. What man would find her body acceptable after that?

“I’m glad you’re here.” Cash patted her back. It was a friendly sort of gesture, but awkward.

Monica wanted to know if he meant it. “Are you really?”

His gaze narrowed. “You showing up like you did was an answer to a prayer.”

“Yeah?” She wanted to tell him to keep praying, because she needed it, but the words stuck in her throat.

“Yeah.” Cash nodded.

She didn’t want him to know what she faced, because if she started to unload, she might cry. Monica never cried if she could help it, and Cash would definitely freak out if she did. She smiled at the thought of knocking Cash’s tough-guy exterior askew. It might be worth it just to see what happened, but she didn’t want his worry or his pity.

Monica had to accept that this cancer was her burden to bear. Alone.

* * *

Cash stared at the stack of dishes next to the sink and then glanced at the boys on the couch. “Ethan, Owen, we’re not done yet.”

“Do we have to?” Ethan dropped his head back and groaned.

Owen skipped forward, eager to help.

The little guy rarely disobeyed, and Cash wondered if that was why he seemed to have lost his ability to speak. Was silence his way of showing defiance, or an attempt to regain some kind of control over his young life?

“If you want to roast marshmallows, we have to clean up our lunch and dinner dishes.” He glanced at Monica and smiled.

She smiled back as she stepped toward the sink. “If we all pitch in, it will go faster.”

“Exactly.” Cash took one look at her perfectly painted fingernails and nudged her out of the way. “I’ll wash. You three can dry and put away.”

Monica saluted him. “Aye, aye, sir.”

“That’s ‘First Sergeant, sir.’” He squirted more soap into the already hot and soapy dishpan and swished his hand to make more bubbles.

“Wow, you’re marching right up the ranks, huh?”

Cash shrugged. He’d been at this rank for a while now, leading his team.

“When do you go back?” Monica handed out clean dish towels to the boys for drying.

“I’ve got another full week of leave. I have to report on Labor Day.”

Her eyes clouded over. “Not long then.”

“I took a month, considering the circumstances.” Cash dumped the silverware into the tub with a clatter.

“How many years has it been for you?”

“Since I enlisted?” He grabbed the cups next, scrubbing each one and placing it in the second sink.

Monica nodded.

“Fifteen years.” He had five more to go before he could even think about retiring, not that he would.

He didn’t know what he’d do if he ever retired. He was a soldier, a Raider of the Marine Corps Forces Special Ops. A lifer. It’s who he was. He rinsed the dishes in the full sink, handing over the cups to each boy and Monica for drying.

“I’ll put them away, okay?” She redried the cup Owen had given her, then stashed it in the upper cupboard.

He watched her fluid movements as he waited for Ethan and Owen to catch up on drying the dishes. Monica hadn’t always moved with such grace. When he’d first laid eyes on her, she’d been awkward, with a good-sized nose and a habit of knocking things over. She grew in both height and composure as the years went by. She’d filled out some, her facial features softening. Monica now stood nearly three inches taller than him, still long and lean, but there was nothing awkward about her.

“What?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Quit looking at me like that.”

He laughed. “Like what?”

“I don’t know, like I’ve got mustard on my chin or something.”

He grinned. “Maybe I’d like mustard on your face.”

She rolled her eyes. “Maybe you’re crazy.”

Maybe he was. He’d always kept a safe distance from Monica. She could never be called simply pretty. She’d grown up to be gorgeous and even more off-limits. Her brother would skin his hide if Cash ever hurt her. Living the way he did, in harm’s way, he’d do exactly that. There were no guarantees that he wouldn’t lose a limb or worse. No way did he ever want to saddle a woman with the kind of worry that came with his job. He liked the rush of adrenaline too much to ever quit, and he cared for his company far too much to get out.

Once the dishes were done and put away, Cash opened the slider to the back deck. “We’ve got to gather up some kindling to start the fire and green sticks to roast marshmallows.”

“There are long metal forks around here somewhere,” Monica offered.

Cash shook his head. “Sticks are way better.”

“Yeah,” Ethan agreed, again with a note of challenge in his voice. “Way better.”

Monica threw up her hands in surrender. “Okay, sticks it is. Boys, if you have sweatshirts in your room, you’d best grab one. It’s a little chilly outside.”

Cash wasn’t so sure about that, since the sun still felt warm to him, but it wasn’t a bad idea. “You heard the lady. Grab your gear and I’ll meet you outside.”

The boys darted into their room.

“I’ll bring out the stuff for s’mores, but I’m getting a jacket, too.” Monica darted up the loft steps.

Cash grabbed matches and stepped outside. The crisp smell of fall was definitely in the air even though it was just the end of August. He gathered some dry branches and looked up as the back door slid open and Ethan and Owen came running toward him.

Monica was right behind them, carrying a tray loaded with everything needed to make s’mores and then some. He didn’t remember ever putting peanut butter in the mix, but hey, why not? The late evening sunlight set her long blond hair aglow.

“You’re doing it again.” She elbowed him in the gut before setting the tray on a bench.

“What?” But he knew. He couldn’t seem to stop drinking in every detail of her.

“We’re going to need more kindling than that to start a fire.” Monica headed into the woods, just beyond where the grass stopped.

The boys followed her.

Cash looked at the puny sticks he’d collected and chuckled. There were several cords for the fireplace stacked under the overhang at the side of the house, but Monica wanted to hunt for firewood. He dumped what he had in the firepit and joined them in search of better fuel.

* * *

Monica headed back to the firepit with her arms loaded with downed branches. She loved gathering wood for a campfire. Cash’s nephews seemed to get into it, as well. Both Ethan’s and Owen’s arms were full. “Good job, guys.”

“Can I light the fire?” Ethan asked.

Monica scrunched her nose. Not her call. “We’ll have to ask your uncle Cash.”

Uncle Cash.

She’d had no idea that Cassius William Miller would be so good with kids. He’d make a good family man, although as far as she knew, he’d never been close to getting married. He was thirty-four, but to her knowledge, Cash had never had a serious girlfriend. How come? He’d once joked that he was married to the marines, but evidently he’d been serious.

She dropped her wood just beyond the sandy circle surrounding the firepit that had been made from large rocks. “Boys, you can dump your wood here with mine. We have to stack it a certain way in the pit before we can light it.”

“Yeah, we know. Our dad showed us plenty of times,” Ethan said.

Monica bit her lip. She wanted to respond the right way, and ignoring that comment didn’t seem like a good idea, so she probed a bit. “Did you have a lot of campfires with your dad?”

Ethan nodded with pride. “Yup. Even in the wintertime.”

Monica glanced at Owen and her heart broke. His eyes appeared hopeful as he looked around. Did he understand that his father wasn’t ever coming back?

Cash returned from the woods with his strong arms full of fallen branches.

Her attention drawn to the way his muscles bunched and flexed as he broke up the pieces, Monica mumbled, “Well, your dad would be very proud that we’re doing this tonight. Carrying on his tradition.”

“What’s that?” Ethan asked.

Looking away, Monica asked, “What’s what?”

“A tra-di-shun?”

“It’s something so special that you repeat it yearly, or even more, and think of someone or something special while you do. For example, at Christmas, my family always cuts down a fresh pine tree together. It’s our tradition.”

Ethan looked thoughtful. “Mom’s allergic to pine trees so we can’t do that.”

Way to go. Monica looked to Cash for help. “Is there anything you can add about traditions?”

“Hmm, let me think a minute.” He stroked his beard.

Monica made a big show of waiting for his answer by gesturing for him to get on with it.

It made the boys giggle.

Cash cast an aggravated look her way, which made the boys laugh even more, then he crouched down in front of them. “When your dad and I were your ages, we used to see who could spot the first star of the night.”

“And then what?” Ethan asked, with hope shining in his eyes.

Cash looked at Monica. “The winner made a wish, but if he told what it was, it wouldn’t come true. Come on, let’s get this woodpile built up big so we can burn it.”

“Yeah!” Ethan cheered.

Monica shook her head. Once a thrill seeker, always a thrill seeker. Cash did everything in a big way. Like now, turning a simple campfire into a huge bonfire. Growing up, he’d been the one who had often lured her brother Matthew into trouble or injury or both. Cash had always exhibited a need for speed, whether racing bicycles, motorbikes, snowmobiles or even cars. He still drove a muscle car. The black Dodge Challenger parked in front of the cabin might not be new, but it was no doubt fast. All the more reason to steer clear of Cash Miller. She had enough to worry about without the added concern that he’d one day break his neck.

She got busy stacking the gathered pieces of wood, leaning the smaller sticks against each other to form a tepee. She glanced at Owen watching her and stretched out her hand. “Want to help me?”

The boy nodded and inched closer.

“Let’s lean those larger sticks over the smaller ones in the same shape, see?” Monica handed him a broken branch. “You try.”

Owen handed it back to her.

Monica shrugged and anchored it against a larger one, then looked around. Cash and Ethan were hunting for green sticks for roasting the marshmallows.

Owen handed her another branch.

She smiled and searched those big gray eyes of his. Had he truly lost his ability to speak, or was he simply refusing to talk? When she was little, her older sister Cat used to hold her breath to get what she wanted. It rarely worked. Their mom refused to be manipulated. Owen looked much too sweet for such tactics, but then kids worked from a simpler approach than adults.

“Here we go. Four perfect sticks.” Cash started stripping twigs and leaves off one.