here with Grandfather.
Alec remembered his mother and grandfather had both grieved the loss of his dad, to the point that Alec was neglected and left to his own devices. But Aunt Hattie had taken charge and hired a housekeeper to cook and clean and help look after Alec. Because during some of those early days, his mother had refused to get out of bed.
He didn’t like these memories, so he brought his mind back to the here and now.
The bay window off to the left gave him a perfect view of the big lake that fed into the Millbrook River. The river flowed south all the way into Escambia Bay and the Gulf of Mexico. Lots of fishermen and tourists came through here: some on their way home from having fun on the bay and some heading out to explore the balmy waters that poured out into the ocean.
But here, on the big oval lake that sat in the center of town, life moved at a slower current. The old umbrella-shaped live oaks and thick-trunked, waxy-leafed magnolia trees that circled the water made a nice shade for the blossoming hot pink azaleas and the thick clusters of gardenia bushes and hydrangeas that colored the manicured grass. White benches sat underneath the trees and along the trails that wound around the water. Ducks and geese quacked and cackled down near the lush orange and white daylilies growing near the shoreline. Occasionally out by the long pier, a fat mullet or a sleek catfish would jump up and make a lone splash in the dark water.
Alec got up and went to stand at the window—something he did on a regular basis every day since he’d come home. His loyal border collie, Angus, jumped up from his spot on the burgundy-colored Aubusson area rug and came to nuzzle Alec’s hand. He patted the shaggy dog’s head and nodded. “Okay, okay. I know it’s time for our walk. Give me a few more minutes.”
They had to wait until the sun began to set. His scar didn’t stand out as much in the shadows of dusk.
Watching the ducks crossing the lake, Alec remembered paddleboats and picnics, racing boats and water-skiing all weekend long and so many other things that now seemed like sunny dreams. He’d had a good life. A life without a father, of course, but his grandfather had tried to make up for that.
He turned from the big lace-curtained window to stare up at the family portrait over the marble-encased mantel. His grandfather, Alexander Garrison Caldwell, stood dressed in a dark suit behind a high-back chair where Alec and his mother, Vivian, sat. Grandfather Alexander had insisted on having the portrait done only a year or so after Alec’s father had been killed. Vivian pouted and fumed but she’d finally given in. Alec was around five and he was laughing up at his smiling mother. His mother’s smile seemed frantic and forced while his grandfather’s expression was full of indulgence and pride.
“We are a prideful lot,” he said out loud.
“Talking to yourself again?”
Alec turned to find his Aunt Hattie standing at the pocket doors, her green eyes bright even if she did have cataracts.
“You caught me.” He rushed to help her with the coffee tray. “Are we taking a break?”
“You’re taking a break,” she replied, ever the fussy hen. “I baked a pound cake and I have fresh strawberries from the Millbrook Market.”
Alec did a mock glance at his watch. “I do believe I could use a break, even if it is near quitting time.” He winked at Angus. “Sorry, fellow, our walk will have to wait.”
“You’ll need a walk. This might spoil your dinner.”
“You’re spoiling my dinner,” he retorted but he sat down with her and took the chunk of buttery cake she offered him. “These strawberries look pretty tasty.”
“Good crop this year, according to Delton Fisher,” Aunt Hattie said, looking younger than her seventy years. Delton Fisher owned a large produce farm and he also managed a big farmer’s market on the edge of town. He and Aunt Hattie, both widowed for years, were considered “good friends” around town. She shot Alec an inquiring smile. “Now tell me all about your day.”
Alec grinned and refrained from teasing her about Delton. His aunt had lived here all her life. She’d married a local banker and lived down the street in a big two-story Georgian house until her husband had died six years ago. After that, she’d sold the house and traveled some before she’d returned to a smaller house across town.
When her sister Vivian had died last year, Alec had asked her if she’d like to move in with him, reasoning to himself that this house was too large and rambling for one person and that she was lonely and isolated on the other side of town. She agreed on the stipulation that he’d allow her to cook and clean the house.
“Cook, yes, and only when you’re in the mood,” he’d told her. “But I have a maid who comes twice a week to clean the house.”
And so they’d settled in nicely together. His aunt didn’t have a problem staying active. He rarely saw her most days. But on ones such as this, she’d take a few minutes to come into his office and check on him. He kept her apprised of Caldwell business and she kept him informed on the local gossip.
Now she sat back with her tea and smiled over at him. “You are a paradox, you know.”
He took a big bite of strawberry-soaked cake and then gave her a questioning look. “Oh, and how is that?”
“Watching you now, I’d never know you were a hardened marine. You might be more comfortable in desert fatigues than you are here, but you were born to the manor, so to speak.”
Alec had to wonder if he was truly suited for this duty. Sometimes he thought about what he’d like to do with his life, but for now he was focused on Caldwell Canines. “So are you saying I’m going soft on you, Aunt Hattie?”
She laughed at that question and reached across the side table to pat his bicep through his button-up shirt. “Are you?”
He waved a hand toward the stack of documents on the desk. “I’m fighting a different kind of battle these days.”
“But the foundation is solid, right?”
He nodded to alleviate the worry on her beautifully wrinkled face. “Solid, yes. But I want to do more.”
“You’re still determined to build your training school? For the service dogs?”
“Yes, ma’am. It takes a lot of money to provide a service dog to an injured vet and most can’t afford that cost. I want to be able to help any wounded warrior who can’t afford to buy a service animal. And I’ve had several good contributions to match the foundation funding.”
Aunt Hattie leaned back and crossed her hands in her lap. “Then what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” He put down his plate of cake and sipped at the coffee. He couldn’t explain something he didn’t quite understand himself. But this restlessness had to stem from one thing. “I...I met someone—”
Aunt Hattie clapped her hands together. “Oh, how lovely.”
He held up a hand at that feminine glee. “We’re just friends, as per an agreement.”
Aunt Hattie frowned and touched on her soft gray curls. “An agreement? That’s not very romantic.”
“I met someone,” he began again. “She owns a bakery—”
“Marla’s Marvelous Desserts?” Aunt Hattie’s glee went into overdrive. “Marla is one of the nicest girls I’ve ever known. Her parents are a joy, too. And that cute little daughter of hers—”
“You know her?”
“Of course. I know everyone in Millbrook.”
That was the truth.
His aunt leaned forward in her chair and clasped her hands together. “How did you meet?”
He told her about the wedding and the dinner at church. “Her desserts are...addictive.”
“And