that held her down. They’d simply stood immobile and watched as her life slipped away. The EMTs said inaction associated with fear in that kind of situation was common, but rather than offering comfort to Betsy, it drove home the idea people weren’t to be trusted.
All except Jack. He’d rescued her. That memory replayed itself more often than his kiss.
This constant cycle of thoughts had been set to “spin” since she found out Jack was coming home. Now he was here, and today they’d welcome him home in the same gym where they’d said goodbye.
She rolled over and over, trying to get comfortable, but sleep was elusive. Betsy gave up trying. Her bakeshop, Sweet Thing, would open soon. While she loved her shop, it was still the consolation prize because it was in Glory. She had a small staff, but Betsy still had to finish the cookies she was taking to the ceremony. She wanted to do those herself. They were Nutella cheesecake, Jack’s favorite.
She slipped into the dress she’d made just for today. White with a bright red cherry print sewn in her favorite pattern. It accentuated her assets while kindly camouflaging her flaws. Betsy draped a crisp apron over the creation and headed downstairs to the shop.
The scent of glazed donuts and maple coffee greeted her when she walked through the door. Betsy inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, as if she could keep more of the scent with her. There was a kind of Zen for her in the bakeshop. Simply walking through the door was a tonic for Betsy that eased her hurts and soothed her mind.
A blond head poked out from the walk-in cooler. India George was a newly minted addition to the Glory P.D. and her brother’s partner. India was supermodel gorgeous, with high cheekbones, long legs and wide blue eyes. But she’d never been one for dresses and frills; she was rough-and-tumble all the way. She’d been back only for a few months, but it was as if she’d never left. This morning she’d agreed to be Betsy’s minion and help run the shop while Betsy handled the orders for the ceremony. In return, Betsy promised no cop/donut jokes for at least a week.
“Didn’t sleep, did you?” India asked as she pulled out a tray of donuts ready for frosting and set them on a prep table.
Betsy grabbed some icing bags and handed one to India. “Sleep is overrated.”
“Have you seen him yet?” India didn’t look at her as she accepted the bag and began icing a donut.
India wasn’t only her brother’s partner, she was also his best friend and had been since the first time she made him actually eat dirt on the playground after taking her ball. India was the big sister she’d never had.
“No,” Betsy admitted. “I almost went to see him the day he came home, but I thought he’d need some time.”
“That was smart. Adjusting to civilian life is hard, even without his challenges. His parents’ deaths...” She shrugged and kept icing.
What India hadn’t mentioned, but left hanging in the air like a contagion, was the stark reality of Jack’s injuries.
“I remember when I got the call last year,” Betsy said quietly. “After his parents died when he was first deployed, I was his emergency contact. The nurse asked me if there was anything I wanted her to tell him. She thought he was going to die.”
India had a donut halfway up to her mouth but put it down. “I didn’t know that. What did you say?”
“He promised to come back to me, India.” Betsy nodded silently as that last and most hated memory churned to the surface. She’d been avoiding that one, pushing it out of her head every time it struggled forward. She’d rather drown a thousand times than ever take that call again or remember how it felt. She found her voice and lifted her chin. “I told her to remind him of his promise.”
“Oh Bets.” India covered Betsy’s hand with her own. “That was a long time ago. Maybe even another person. He—”
“It’s not like I spent the last five years waiting for him.” Betsy turned back to her work.
“Isn’t it?” India asked in a careful tone.
“No, that would be stupid.” Or maybe just pathetic. She hadn’t waited for him, but Jack McConnell had the set the bar by which she measured a man pretty high.
“When was the last time you went out with someone?” India had latched on to the idea that Betsy had waited all these years for Jack. Like a rabid dog, she wasn’t going to let it go any time soon.
“Scott Meyer.”
“Not who, when?”
Betsy cringed at the answer. “Last year.”
“And before that?”
“There was that guy in Paris.” She thought about Marcel and how he’d broken her heart right after she’d broken her own dreams. She sighed. Marcel didn’t matter. What would she have done with him anyway? Stayed in France? Married him? And never been good enough, smart enough, pretty enough or talented enough? She’d always be the wide-eyed girl from America who liked to play in the kitchen. Why had she ever put up with that from him?
“Right about when Jack stopped writing and calling?” India eyed her. “You still have his dog tags, don’t you?”
The tags were in her nightstand. “I still have my yearbook, too. That’s not especially significant.” Now, Jack, he was the one she would’ve married. If she were with him, Glory wouldn’t be such a bad place to end up. In fact, when she was a little girl, she didn’t dream of France. She dreamed of him and Glory.
“A yearbook is nowhere near the same thing as a soldier’s dog tags.”
Betsy could admit India was right about that, but Betsy didn’t think there was anything wrong with keeping his tags. He’d been a big part of her life. The breath in her lungs was there only because he’d given it to her. Keeping his tags didn’t seem above and beyond reasonable.
“Look, I know Jack isn’t the same guy who left. He couldn’t be. But that guy made me feel like a live wire and see stars where I knew there weren’t any because my eyes were closed. If someone makes me feel that again, then I’ll go out with him. I won’t settle for less.”
“Honey, if Scott Meyer didn’t make you see stars, you’re a lost cause,” India teased.
Betsy could admit Scott was a catch. He was a fireman. It was some unwritten law that all firemen had to be sexy. He was smart and funny, country-boy sweet with a pair of shoulders like Atlas. Betsy had kissed him on their third date. It had been nice, but it had reminded her of chocolate. Godiva to be exact. She liked Godiva and enjoyed it, an excellent product, but it didn’t do things to her senses the way André’s Confiserie Suisse did. Having had André’s, she was spoiled for anything else.
“Didn’t you go out with him a few times after you got back? I don’t see any follow-up dates that you had, either. You must be a lost cause, too,” Betsy deflected.
A haunted look flashed across India’s features, only to fade into a brittle smile. “I am at that, Bets.” She nodded.
“India,” Betsy began haltingly.
“I’d rather deal with your mess than mine.” India’s expression softened. “I know you and Caleb love me. If I need you, I’ll ask, okay?”
There was so much Betsy wanted to say. India was just returning to civilian life after deployment as a military police officer. While she’d come home physically whole, something catastrophic had happened to her that was more than just the reality of war.
“Okay,” she agreed softly. “But you better hurry up in the dating department. Otherwise you’re stuck with my brother.” They’d made an oath at fifteen that if neither of them was married by thirty, they’d bite the bullet and marry each other. Betsy’s mom had been thrilled and suggested they start dating as a practice run.
“More like he’d be stuck with me.” India managed a real laugh.