Her father would be a different story. Since he still considered her his baby girl—and undoubtedly a virgin—she’d been grateful he and Ben hadn’t met during the training exercise.
Spinning her office chair all the way around, she began to smile at Ben—and stared instead.
His pulled-back hair was drenched. Grass stains and mud streaked his clothes and face; his ripped T-shirt showed a long, bloody scrape on the tanned skin beneath.
He’d been hurt.
She started to rise, and then slowly sat again. It wasn’t a bad scrape. She just didn’t like seeing him in pain or bloody—which seemed funny since she’d dealt out worse injuries to her slaves. “Considering the way you look, I hope you got something worth the work.”
His smile was that of a wolf that had downed a plump deer. “Got one that should be perfect for my storm series.” His stunning new series was centered on lightning storms.
Anne’s mother glanced out the window. “Having been used to the nice, quiet drizzling rains in Washington State, these Florida storms were quite a shock. I swear, sometimes they sound as if Zeus is battling it out in heaven.”
“Zeus?” Ben scratched at a streak of mud on his face. “The War of Zeus. You might have found a title for my series, Elaine.”
“Well. My goodness.” Anne’s mother almost glowed. “I’m truly honored. Now you’d better take a shower and get out of those wet clothes.” She patted his arm and bent to stroke Bronx, who’d obviously been toweled off before coming inside. “Such a sweet dog. I’m glad you’ve got a pet here, Anne.”
Ben tilted his head toward Anne. “Considering how much you love animals, I’m surprised you don’t have one of your own.”
“I’m never here.” Any pet of hers would be lonely when she was working.
Ben gave her a quizzical look. “That doesn’t stop people from owning cats or do—”
“She was around ten when she kept a stray kitten for a couple of weeks,” her mother interrupted. “Unfortunately, we left on an overseas posting, so she had to give it away. The same happened to an abandoned puppy she’d brought home. She never tried to keep another animal.”
Anne’s throat constricted. Sammy had been a tiny dog with big, haunted eyes. And so thin. Starving. He’d needed her, and she hadn’t been allowed to save him. “Please, Daddy. Other people take their pets.” He’d refused—perhaps correctly considering the station.
She’d hidden in her room and hadn’t spoken to her father for a month after that, had hated him with all of her ten-year-old heart.
“Losing a pet is difficult.” Ben’s voice stayed level, as if he knew she’d react poorly to open sympathy. “Since your dad was career military, you must have had quite a few moves.”
“Oh, we did,” her mother said softly. “Oddly enough, I loved relocating; I could teach music anywhere. Sociable Travis thrived. Harrison—well, not much bothers Harrison.” Her eyes sad, her mother set a hand on Anne’s arm. “But Anne didn’t take well to being shifted, and her unhappiness grew worse with each move.”
“Yeah?”
Anne felt Ben’s gaze, but she looked away. She hadn’t forgotten the frustration and anger. The desolation. How she’d screamed and wept and clung to Nessie, her best friend in kindergarten. Her father had finally torn them apart and put Anne in the car. She’d cried herself sick.
And she’d experienced the same devastating sense of loss two years later.
She’d learned. Friends, pets, even favorite belongings were all…transient. Don’t get attached.
By the third move, she’d stopped crying. Had stopped making best friends. Her mother had tried to help, but Anne had known that no one really understood. Within her loving family, she’d grown closer to her brothers…and felt very alone.
“I didn’t realize it then, but I think girls have a more difficult time being displaced,” her mother said. “Our friendships are…deeper. Not so easily formed.”
Being the new kid over and over. Watching a popular classmate hand out birthday party invitations to almost the entire class. The girl had wrinkled her nose at Anne, as if she smelled something foul.
“And even on a base, girls can be cruel to a stranger,” her mother finished. She set her hand on Anne’s shoulder.
Being knocked to her knees, her favorite dress torn. Girls could be mean—with no cause other than spotting a small, shy newcomer.
One more reason she’d learned to fight.
“It wasn’t that bad.” Anne squeezed her mother’s hand reassuringly. Mom wouldn’t willingly hurt anyone; no one was more caring. But even with love, understanding didn’t automatically follow.