Jack’s lips brushed gently against her cheek before capturing her lips in a silky-sweet kiss. “Dream of me, Caitlin.”
She rested a hand on his chest as she eased out of his embrace and pushed away from him, feeling the chill after so much warmth. “I already do.” She squeezed his hand and added, “Miss me, OK?”
Jamie’s entire body wagged as he leaned on the top edge of the passenger door and barked. Caitlin smiled. “Keep an eye on him for me, boy.”
She watched them leave and, in a moment of painful insight, knew that the ache she felt now was not even one-tenth of the ache a military wife would feel watching her man as he prepared to deploy.
Had Jack had someone all those years ago whom he hated to leave behind? Had he broken anyone’s heart here in town? She didn’t understand her need to find out but knew she’d be asking Meg. Her sister would know.
Letting herself in, she shut off the light on the stove. Halfway to her room, she remembered they’d be getting an early start and walked to the bathroom instead. The hot water soothed tired muscles and a few aches that had her smiling, remembering how she’d earned them. Squeaky clean, wearing her favorite sleep shirt, she slipped beneath the covers. Lying in bed, she stared at her ceiling, glad that she never painted over the fluffy clouds and rainbows her mother had painted there years before. It made her feel closer to her mom. Meg liked to go to the cemetery to talk to their mom, and Grace, hmmm…she had no idea what Grace did to remember their mom.
Shifting to her side, she wondered what Jack and Jamie were doing right then. Probably snuggling up in bed together. Maybe next time, we can make love in his bed.
She closed her eyes as thoughts of Jack and his tender kisses filled her heart, giving her something lovely to think about as she drifted off to sleep.
***
“Cait!” a deep voice called out, rousing her from a deep sleep. “Coffee’s ready!”
Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she wished for just five minutes more. “If I ask him, he’ll start the water treatment.”
Then again, a few more precious minutes to dream about Jack might be worth having ice-cold water flicked in her face until she woke up, but that was guaranteed to make her dad grumpy. He was doing her a huge favor helping out at Johnson’s barn, so she dragged herself out of bed. She finger combed her hair, rebraided it, and got dressed.
Her dad was at the stove frying bacon. He looked over his shoulder as she walked into the kitchen. “Hungry?”
“Always.”
Knowing his routine, Cait opened the fridge and got out four eggs, rye bread, and butter. “Scrambled OK?”
He nodded. “Let me drain the pan. No sense having to wash two of them.”
“Amen to that.” She cracked the eggs and whipped them with a fork. “Can you do the toast?”
Her dad nodded. “Got it.”
They worked well together, with an economy of movement that bespoke years of doing so. Plates full, coffee poured, they sat down to eat. Joe took a sip of his coffee and said, “Heard on the weather we’ve got a storm heading our way this afternoon. We need to get that addition framed out and shingled. I’d rather we didn’t have to toss another tarp onto the sheathing up on the roof. It’d be better if it had tar paper and shingles.”
Cait finished her toast and gulped the last of her coffee as he added, “Expecting thirty mile an hour winds with this storm.”
“Then we’d better hit the road, Pop.” Halfway there, she asked, “Are you really worried that we won’t beat the weather?”
Her father parked in Johnson’s driveway and got out. “Less talking, more working, string bean.”
“Jeez, Pop!” He hadn’t called her that in years, but as he’d intended, it felt like a hug so she wouldn’t worry about the coming storm.
They’d pulled out their toolboxes and walked over to the tarped pile of wood by the time Mr. Johnson walked down from the house. “We’ve got weather coming, Joe.”
“Not a problem, Scott. You’ve got my best girl working on it and me as her helper.”
With a nod in her direction, Mr. Johnson said, “I’ll keep an ear out for a change in the report and let you know if I hear anything.”
“Appreciate it,” Joe responded. He asked Cait, “Do you have your measurements?”
“I do, but I’d like to double-check and jot the numbers down.”
Her father grinned. “Measure twice, cut once—that’s my girl.”
By the time they broke for lunch, they had framed out the two new stalls and were ready for the sheathing.
“Hey, Joe!”