The Major Gets it Right Read online

  “I went to the University of Colorado.”

  “For a degree in what?”

  “Social work. I stayed there for my master’s, with a special interest in military social work and counseling.”

  “You wanted to do something with the military but as a civilian?”

  “You know my father hit the ceiling the few times I ever even mentioned joining the military—that cured me of that notion. So, yes, as a civilian. At first I was thinking more about doing something for the families of people in the military,” she qualified. “And when I looked into different areas of social work and read that an understanding of the culture of the military was a big plus in that branch—”

  “You knew you were tailor-made,” he said, finishing for her.

  “I definitely had experience,” she said. “When I graduated, I did counseling on a military base for nearly a year.”

  “With just families or with vets?”

  “Both. But I got more of an understanding of what good I could do with vets, so when I had the chance, I went from that to being embedded with a unit at Camp Lejeune in North Carolina.”

  “Embedded,” he parroted, as if he had his own meaning for the word and didn’t know how it applied to her work. “That means you did what?”

  “I was civilian personnel doing nonmedical counseling only with vets there—quick fixes mainly to help build skills, keep marines who hit a relatively minor glitch functioning in the job rather than needing extended psych leave or medical discharge or retirement.”

  He nodded, but Clairy could tell he’d never hit one of those glitches, and she had the sense that he hadn’t even been aware the service was available.

  “How did you get from that to the Jenkins Foundation?” he asked.

  “I...had occasion to meet General Jenkins’s wife at Camp Lejeune—”

  “Ahh...” Quinn mused. “The youngest Jenkins son was there. Scuttlebutt had it that he wasn’t thrilled to be a marine like Dad and had a lot of issues. Were you in on that?”

  Confidentiality didn’t allow Clairy to speak about that, so she said only, “I just met Mrs. Jenkins there. The Jenkins Foundation wasn’t really a go-to then and she was trying to get word out that help was available through them. After getting to know her, the foundation offered me the position as their liaison with military and nonmilitary agencies—”

  “Did who you are have anything to do with the offer? Because Mac thought they recruited you—and you took the job—just to get his goat.”

  “I know. He saw it as me turning traitor, for some reason.” And his anger had led to one of the rare times she’d heard from him. “But it didn’t have anything to do with him. It came out of Mrs. Jenkins liking me.” And appreciating the help she’d given to her son.

  “Did you do counseling for the foundation or just the liaison thing?”

  “They were so poorly funded at the start that I wore a lot of hats—the same way I will now to get this started. I did counseling and the liaison thing, fundraising, everything and anything they needed. Olivia Jenkins and I worked side by side.”

  “That’s where you learned about shadow boxes?”

  “Eventually. When General Jenkins retired, his wife wanted to retire with him, and she made me head of the foundation in her place. That’s also when General Jenkins wanted his library established. That’s where I learned everything you’d ever want to know about shadow boxes.”

  Quinn laughed—it was a deep laugh that made some kind of strange ripple go through her, as if she liked that he’d appreciated her joke.

  She didn’t have time to analyze it before he said, “I think that counts as a meteoric rise through the ranks.”

  “And did my father think that was just to get his goat, too—me not only working for his nemesis, but also doing well with them?”

  “What he didn’t like was anything or anyone that did well for General Jenkins. And you did a lot of that. Before you went to work for them, word around was just that it was some vanity project to occupy Mrs. Jenkins. Then it started to gain some ground, which was apparently due to whatever you were doing, and there were kudos for the foundation and for General Jenkins as a result. And when that got topped off by the Jenkins Library? That put Mac over the top and it did get his goat, whether that was anyone’s intention or not,” Quinn said.

  “It wasn’t mine and I don’t think it was anyone else’s, either. Mrs. Jenkins genuinely wanted the foundation to do good work—she just didn’t really know what she was doing. And she and I hit it off—the whole thing was in spite of who I was related to, not because of it.” At least, that was what Clairy had believed and hoped was the case.

  “Good work speaks for itself,” Quinn said, as if he didn’t doubt it or that she had done good work.

  And she realized that somehow—along with liking that he’d gotten her humor—she also liked that acknowledgment.

  But that didn’t mean that she liked him. Or talking to him. It didn’t mean that she was enjoying this—as if it was dinner with some sizzlingly hot guy who had accomplishments of his own, but who was interested in her and what she’d done in the past, who seemed impressed by it, respectful of it. What she was finding pleasure in was letting this guy who had always dismissed her know that she was no slouch.

  Although she was also aware of the fact that his interest was unwavering and that it made his blue eyes seem even more blue when they were so intent on her.

  They’d been talking for long enough to have finished eating, for the square to have nearly cleared out and for the food truck to have closed down. All without Clairy having been aware of anything but Quinn.

  But now that she’d noticed, she began to gather the remnants of her meal to signal putting an end to the evening.

  For a moment, Quinn just kept looking at her, a quizzical expression on his ruggedly handsome face.

  Clairy didn’t want to read too much into it, but she had the sense that his eyes were opening to her as more than the mere obstacle she’d been in his quest to know her father.

  Not that it mattered.

  Then he cleaned up after himself, too, and once they’d deposited their trash in the nearest receptacle, they headed back in the direction they’d come.

  As they passed by the old library, Clairy was searching for something to say to fill the silence that had fallen between them once more. “If you’d have driven around ahead of me, you’d be at your truck now.”

  “I’d have still made sure you got home,” he said in a way that she would also have liked had this been a date.

  He nodded toward the library and said, “Tomorrow when the cleaning crew finishes, do you have help moving those old tables and bookshelves in there?”

  She didn’t. “The floor is smooth and flat. I think I can slide them.”

  “The tables, maybe. But those bookshelves? They look pretty heavy. Can I come and help?”

  With that abundance of muscle power she’d seen at work earlier loading Harry’s truck?

  That seemed like an offer too good to refuse.

  Plus, she reasoned that the quicker that work got done, the quicker they would have a better picture of the space allotment for the memorial, and the quicker he could spend the rest of his time here with his family instead of with her.

  “You would go away with the measurements you’ll need,” she said to make it seem as if it was to his advantage, too.

  “So just give me a time.”

  “Cleaning will take most of the day. I wasn’t planning to go in until three thirty or four, when they’re done.”

  In other words, into the evening, much like tonight.

  “That’s fine. I don’t have any pressing engagements,” he joked.

  And for some reason, that particular turn of phrase made her wonder about his personal status—if he might be involved with so
meone, if he might be engaged...

  Which brought to light for her that she really didn’t know much about him.

  Not that that mattered, either, she told herself sternly.

  Furniture moving—that’s what you’re talking about, she reminded herself.

  “Okay, then, if you’re willing, I won’t turn down help,” she agreed in a businesslike voice. “I’ll text you when I know the cleaning is close to ending, and—”

  “I’ll meet you at your house, and we can walk over again,” he said, as if he might have liked or enjoyed doing that tonight.

  They’d reached his truck, which was parked in front of her house. Clairy stopped so he didn’t go any farther with her.

  “Okay, up to you,” she said, agreeing to the walk, too, as if she didn’t have any preference at all.

  Again, in an effort to keep him from going all the way to her door, she said, “Good night,” and headed up the walkway to her porch.

  As she did, she was thinking about the hours that had just gone by, and she realized that if she had to be honest, her time with him tonight had been surprisingly not awful.

  And that she didn’t really mind that they wouldn’t just be meeting at the library tomorrow.

  That she didn’t really mind that they’d have another walk together.

  Chapter Three

  “Engaged? Wow... Congratulations!” Clairy said to her childhood friend Marabeth Hawn.

  Marabeth had made a second offer to help Clairy unpack on Monday, and when Clairy opened the front door late that morning, Marabeth had given Clairy a spontaneous hug and, rather than saying hello, said, “We’re engaged!”

  Now that Marabeth was in the house with the door closed behind them, flaxen-haired, freckled, girl-next-door-pretty Marabeth added, “That’s why I flaked out on helping you unpack on Saturday—Brad proposed Friday night and we wanted to go to Billings to tell our parents. They’re all so excited!”

  “Well, sure,” Clairy said, trying to hide her own lack of wholehearted enthusiasm for the joining of her best friend and Brad Nelan.

  “Remember that you said you’d be my maid of honor,” Marabeth said. “Or is it matron of honor once you’ve been married, even if you’re divorced?”

  “I like maid of honor—I’m not sure my marriage counted for much of anything, so it doesn’t get to make me a matron,” Clairy said with some humor. “And, yes, I remember that I said I’d be your maid of honor, even if it was when we were twelve.”

  She stopped herself short of saying she just hoped Marabeth was making the right choice in husbands.

  Clairy and Marabeth had been best friends since preschool, and that hadn’t changed even when—after two years of college together in Colorado—Marabeth had decided college wasn’t for her and gone home to run her parents’ Laundromat so they could move to Billings.

  Even though they hadn’t lived in the same city since they were both twenty, they were still closer than a lot of sisters.

  Having decided she could use Marabeth’s help moving into the master bedroom, Clairy led the way upstairs. Once she’d explained how she wanted the closet organized, the two began to transfer clothes from wardrobe boxes into the walk-in.

  “Have you set a date?” Clairy asked, still attempting to conceal her doubts.

  “As soon as we can,” Marabeth answered. “We’re going to get a list of earliest-available dates for the church, reception venues, the catering, all that stuff. I’m so glad you’re here now so we won’t have to work around when you could get away from Denver as one of those earliest-available dates. And you can help me do everything!”

  Clairy bypassed the wardrobe box full of floor-length formal designer dresses she would likely never wear again, thinking that she would just leave the gowns hanging in the box and put the box in the basement. Then she opened a second cardboard wardrobe with her work clothes in it.

  As she handed her friend an armload of those, she said, “Helping with everything is the maid of honor’s job.”

  She’d intended to sound enthusiastic, but it hadn’t quite made it and had alerted Marabeth. “We’ve been dating over a year, Clairy. Every time I see you being leery of me being with Brad, I tell you the same thing—he’s not the way he was when we were kids.”

  When they were kids, Brad Nelan had been Quinn Camden’s best friend. Brad had been with Quinn—and Quinn’s brother Tanner—when Clairy had begged Quinn to stay away from her father. After Quinn’s refusal, when he’d mocked, “Tough luck,” Brad had joined Quinn in sneering at her, and together the two of them had ridiculed her mercilessly, humiliating her in a cafeteria full of kids. It had added to her resentment and anger at Quinn and strongly colored her opinion of Brad, too.

  Even though Clairy didn’t say anything to her friend’s chastisement and only raised her eyebrows innocently, Marabeth went on, “I know that Brad was just as awful as Quinn Camden was when we were in school. I didn’t like either one of them any more than you did. They were both full of themselves. But Brad grew out of it. You’ll see when you get to know him again.”

  More of that getting-to-know-someone stuff.

  “I know you,” Clairy countered, “and you’re still the same person you always were. You know me, and I am, aren’t I?”

  “Yes, but that doesn’t mean that people can’t be different when they grow up.”

  Recalling something else about that confrontation years ago, when Marabeth had been with Clairy for moral support, Clairy said, “They weren’t very nice to you, either, when you told them to stop being so mean to me.”

  “I know—Brad called me a little bitch. We’ve talked about that. I guess when he did that, Tanner got on him for going too far—”

  Unlike the derisive Brad, Tanner—one of Quinn’s triplet brothers—had stayed silent through Quinn’s response to her entreaty.

  “Brad said he knew he’d gone too far,” Marabeth defended her fiancé. “He apologized. He said his mouth got away from him, and if he had it to do again, he wouldn’t have ever called me that. And you know we’ve had a few big fights—yours is the shoulder I cry on—and he doesn’t fight like that anymore. He’s a grown man who knows how to control his temper and his mouth. He’s kinder. He’s sensitive. I’m telling you, he’s not that kid anymore.”

  For her friend’s sake, Clairy hoped that was true and merely nodded.

  “Go ahead, reserve judgment. You’ll see,” Marabeth insisted, her connection to Clairy giving her insight into Clairy’s thoughts even with Clairy’s attempts to conceal them.

  When they were finished with the clothes that needed to be hung, they opened the boxes with shoes in them and went to work on the closet floor.

  “I saw Quinn when I went in to check on the Laundromat before I came over,” Marabeth said. “He was outside of the bakery with his older brother, Micah. I told you Micah and Lexie Parker both moved back to town, that he’s opened a brewery and she’s taking over the bakery.”

  “You did,” Clairy confirmed.

  “Anyway... Quinn... Whew! Life has been good to him in the looks department!” Marabeth said, marveling. “I’m not sure I would have known who he was if he’d been alone. No receding hairline, and what a body that guy came into!”

  If there was one thing Clairy didn’t need, it was to have Quinn’s looks brought to mind. Regardless of how hard she’d tried since setting eyes on him on Saturday, she just couldn’t shake the ever-present mental image of him.

  As if Quinn’s looks weren’t getting to her, Clairy said, “You can’t judge a book by its cover.”

  “Maybe you can’t judge it, but you can sure enjoy the picture before you start turning the pages,” Marabeth muttered.

  “I think I’d rather just keep remembering what’s written on those pages.”

  “Unless it’s changed—unless he’s changed, the way Brad has,” Mara
beth said stubbornly.

  Quinn had seemed slightly different last night, Clairy thought. But she knew telling her friend that would only encourage Marabeth. And Clairy really didn’t believe that any genuine change had taken place in Quinn, nor would it have carried any weight with her.

  He might be astonishingly hot, and he might have somehow evolved—although she wasn’t sold on that possibility—but even if he’d grown up into the perfect man, the way Marabeth seemed to believe his friend had, it wouldn’t change anything for Clairy.

  To her, he was still the same kind of man her father had been, the same kind of man Jared had proved to be—someone who put everything and everyone second to himself and his career. And while the military might be an admirable career—more admirable than Jared’s as a wheeler-dealer real-estate mogul—for Clairy it was a reason equal to Quinn’s past bad actions to keep him at arm’s length.

  Certain that she was not at risk of succumbing to anything about Quinn—despite the fact that for two nights already she’d fallen asleep with thoughts and visions of him in her head—she decided to at least indulge Marabeth’s belief in her new fiancé.

  “The only thing that matters to me is if Brad has changed, so I’m trusting that you’re right about him,” she told her friend.

  Then she put every effort into the right arrangement of her shoes so that maybe she could think about something—anything—other than Quinn Camden and how he looked.

  * * *

  Marabeth left at three thirty, and minutes later Clairy got word that the cleaning crew at the library was finished.

  She could have texted that information to Quinn and gone on to work in the library dressed as she was—old tennis shoes, yoga pants and a nondescript T-shirt, her hair in a ponytail.

  But that wasn’t what she did.

  Instead, she decided to shower and change clothes first.