“Reed Campbell, you are still on my poop list!” Miss Delia crowed.
Hannah went brows up at this assertion.
Reed didn’t bat an eye. “Now, Miss Delia, I can’t help Cecily wanted to have the wedding in Greenwich.”
Miss Betty’s face fell. “I guess we can’t expect her to want to have the wedding here with her family all up north.” This was pronounced in a tone that suggested that “up north” was as bad as being from a third world country.
If there was one thing the Casserole Patrol loved more than gossiping about love lives, it was watching those lives being joined in holy matrimony…and dissecting the weddings and receptions later for who might’ve hooked up with whom and who had a bun in the oven.
Reed, ever the diplomat, put an arm around Miss Betty’s shoulders. “I’ll see if I can set up a time for you to see the wedding pictures.”
Miss Maudie Bell, the third member of their trio, nodded in approval. “You do that.”
“Is there anything I can get y’all before the rest of the knitting club arrives? The coffee’s already ready in the kitchen.”
“If you could dig up a plate for these cookies we got from the bakery, that would be great, sugar.” Miss Delia patted him on the cheek and offered the box from Sweet Magnolias.
“Oh, are those the new sugar and spice cookies?” Hannah asked.
“They are,” Miss Delia confirmed.
“I can vouch that they are awesome. Carolanne used me as taste tester the other night.”
“Your sister certainly is a whiz in the kitchen,” Miss Betty declared, shuffling over to the window. “What is all this?”
“I’m simultaneously spreading some Christmas cheer and the word that I am actually an interior decorator. I’m offering up my services for shops and homes for the cost of supplies.” Hopefully the small hand-lettered notes with her name and contact number at the bottom of the assorted window displays would net some more requests.
“What a good idea. For home stuff, are you working with what people already have?”
“I certainly can. Part of the fun of decorating is making something new and interesting out of what’s already on hand.”
“I need to look into that,” Miss Maudie Bell muttered.
“What, you can’t get Chester to help put up the tree?” Miss Betty asked.
There’d been a bit of friction in the ranks since Maudie Bell had invited Chester Harkin to move in a few months before. Throwing a man into the mix had messed with the Three Musketeers vibe the ladies had going on.
“Well sure, he’d put it up, but he’s a man, after all. Pretty is not his forte. And as the family is coming to us this year, I’d like to make a fine showing.”
Hannah smiled. “I’d be happy to help you with that, if you’d like.”
“I just might do that.”
“When’s Chester gonna make an honest woman out of you?” Miss Delia asked.
“Land sakes, it took me years to housetrain my first husband. Why would I want to go complicating things by marrying Chester?” Miss Maudie Bell unwrapped her scarf and began wandering back toward the cluster of sofas where the knitting club was due to have their meeting. “Besides, he hasn’t asked, and it’s kind of fun scandalizing the kids.”
Hannah held in a snicker as Miss Delia wandered off. She realized the third Musketeer had lingered. “Miss Betty, was there something I could help you with?”
“Could I hire out your services as a gift to someone else? I’ve got a friend who could really use a dose of Christmas cheer.”
“I’d be delighted to help. What did you have in mind?”
“Take off your shirt.”
“I’m not some five-dollar date you picked up off base.”
Ryan pinned Percy with a flat stare. “First off, I have never had to pay for my dates. Second, you said yourself you haven’t had a physical since Aunt Janie passed. Unless you want me to toss your bony ass over my shoulder and carry you in to the doctor fireman-style, you’ll take off your shirt and let me examine you.”
Percy crossed his arms and glared. “I’m perfectly healthy.”
“Then you’ve got nothing to hide. An exam will get Mom off your back and mine.” He’d spent the last two days trying to do a proper check-up on the old man and Percy had stymied him at every turn.
“You scared of your little ol’ mama?”
“Damned straight. She’s a helluva lot scarier than my CO.” Ryan could take yelling. He could take verbal abuse and dressing down. What he couldn’t take was his mother’s profound disappointment if anything happened to Percy on his watch.
His uncle made a rude noise. “And you call yourself Delta Force.”
Irritated, Ryan straightened. “Aunt Janie didn’t put up with this shit from you.”
“Janie looked a helluva lot better in lingerie than you. And anyway, she’s not here anymore to make me.” His chin lifted in defiance, but Ryan caught the faint tremble in his tone and felt like an asshole.
Her death had cut Percy off at the knees, and the man hadn’t recovered. There was no statute of limitations on grief. Ryan understood that well enough, even if the ones he’d lost had been friends instead of lovers. There’d been so many, and the burden of that stuck with him. He couldn’t imagine the pain of losing his other half. Not that he had another half. But fine. He’d stop pushing. For now.
He zipped his medical bag closed again and tried to figure out how to steer the conversation away from this emotional quicksand.
Percy, apparently, had other ideas. “You’d do better to spend your leave finding your own self a woman.”
Unbidden, an image of Elf Girl popped into Ryan’s head, with those big blue eyes and that smile that wouldn’t quit. She was his absolute antithesis—all sweetness and light. And he had no business even thinking about the likes of her.
“I don’t need a woman.”
“Son, we all need a woman. ’Specially in the military. It gets damned cold in the desert. And the heart gets frozen besides. Has to, to do what you do.”
That was the damned truth. There was no other way to survive the kinds of missions Special Forces ran. War wasn’t for the weak or emotional.
“There’s no room for attachments in war.”
“On the battlefield, no. But every man needs to be reminded of his humanity. A woman’ll do that.”
Several members of Ryan’s team had wives and girlfriends. They kept pictures of them, tucked into their helmets or inside flak jackets. Most of those photos were frayed around the edges from all the handling. Some even had the faces all but worn away from stroking, seeking that grounding, that comfort, in the dark, desperate times. Their women were beacons of hope. The thing they were fighting to get home to.
He’d never had that. Never wanted it. Oh, he had plans for finding a woman someday. After he got out of the Army, once he’d used his GI Bill to go on to medical school. But that was for the future, when he wasn’t spending his days up to his armpits in battle trauma. When he had bandwidth to think about something other than the mission or the brothers in arms he hadn’t been able to save. As medic, he faced down more death than most, and it was hard not to take a piece of every case with him.