Clover put on the parking break and looked out the passenger window to the park across the street. It wasn’t a particularly nice park. Patches of yellow dotted the grass, and the playground equipment was in desperate need of a paint job. The faded navy blue and mustard yellow showed signs of rust.

What this park did have going for it was trees. Real trees that provided shade for someone in need of a nap or shelter and a place to spend the night. The thought process wasn’t a new one: if you didn’t have a friend to watch your back, put your back up against a tree.

Reaching into the back seat, she retrieved four essentials bags and bottles of water. The crinkling noise reminded her of when she’d given one of the bags to Dustin, and she smiled thinking about him. Maddie said he’d called the night before but had declined to leave a message. She and Clover debated for forty minutes about calling him back. In the end, they decided that since he hadn’t left a message, that meant he wasn’t expecting her to return the call, which was a bigger disappointment than Clover cared to think about. To get her mind off of Dustin, she’d decided to spend the morning handing out essentials bags.

She took a deep breath before tucking her keys in her front pants pocket and heading across the street. A man sat under a large oak. He had on olive-green pants and a black shirt. Not exactly hot-weather-friendly clothing. She held out a water bottle. “Would you like a drink?”

He eyed her.

Clover had purposely worn her oldest pair of jean shorts and a misshapen green tee with a pair of flip-flops. Her clothing was clean, but she was far from pressed and dressed.

“Don’t got no money.” He turned away.

“It’s on the house.” She took a few more steps, bringing herself within arm’s length and holding out the water. “I’m Clover. I used to sleep under this tree—when my mom brought me through town. We didn’t stay long, though. It was a stopover on our way to California.”

He still wouldn’t look at her.

“She liked the beach in the summer, but it always took a few days to find someone willing to drive us across the desert.” She paused, waiting for him to say something. When he didn’t, she sat cross-legged, being sure not to get to close and frighten him.

“This is my tree now,” he grumbled.

Clover nodded. “I can see that. I’m not going to take your tree. Promise.” She crossed her heart. She set the water bottle halfway between the two of them and placed the plastic bag next to it.

“I need my tree.” He swiped the bottle off the ground and twisted off the cap.

Clover’s soul smiled widely. “You planning to stick around?”

He downed half the bottle. “Maybe.”

“Good.” She smiled. “If you want a good meal, I cook for The Pantry, and you’re always welcome. The information is on the card.” She pointed toward the bag.

“I’ll think about it.” He lifted the bottle to his lips and drained it.

Clover glanced away and then back, catching the bottom of a navy tattoo. “Were you in the service?” There were dozens of programs to help vets. If she could just get him to agree, she’d be able to have him in an apartment in no time.

He squished the empty water bottle and put the lid back on. “Eight years.”

She leaned forward and patted his arm. His skin was smooth, making her think he was younger than his emotional burden made him appear. “Thank you for your service to our country.”

A sense of pride filled his eyes, and he nodded solemnly, his eyes holding steady on the deformed water bottle. “Coming home was hard, but they don’t want me anymore. I figured I’d be away from life for a while.”

Clover dropped her gaze to the bags in her lap. “I wonder if that’s what my mom needed too. She had me at fourteen, didn’t have a family that I know of, and life was hard.”

He lifted his gaze, and she met him straight on, noting the bright blue color of his eyes, the keen intelligence there, and the memories that haunted him. “She did good by you.”

“Do you have any kids?” she asked tentatively.

“No—thank the good Lord. I don’t want to mess up anyone else’s life.”

Clover chewed the inside of her cheek. “I had a friend tell me that if I could imagine myself being something, then I had the power to be that thing. If you can imagine yourself being a father, then you can be one—and a good one.”

“That’s something to think about.” He tipped his chin up, staring through the leaves.

Clover patted his hand, gathered up the remaining water and bags, and stood. “I don’t know when I can come by again, but I’ll watch for you at The Pantry.”

He didn’t answer, just kept staring up at the sunlight coming through the leaves. Clover didn’t mind. The lines on his face were peaceful—sometimes that was all she could give, but it was enough for the moment.

Her phone chirped, and she juggled the bags and bottles of water to get it out of her pocket.

How’s your day? asked Dustin.

She managed to type out a quick “good” before dropping what was in her arms. She wanted to sit down with him and tell him all about the man under the tree—how he looked hopeful and was even friendly by the time she left. She could explain how much she wanted him to come to The Pantry so she could talk to him about some of the programs available for vets. At the least, he could have regular meals. At the most, he could have a place to stay and counseling. Then, maybe one day, he could be the dad he wanted to be. She tucked her phone back into her pocket. There was too much to put into a text, and she was here to help people.

She took the walkway around the tree to a picnic table. Two boys sat at the table, rolling a ball back and forth to one another. She walked right up to them and placed the waters on the table. The smell of sweat and improper bathroom hygiene hit her nose like a battering ram.

“You guys thirsty?” She smiled, though her stomach rolled at the stench. Kids were much easier to talk to than adults. They may be shy, but they usually came out of their shell if food was involved. She wished she’d brought a couple cupcakes or Zingers with her, but these two needed the soap and toothpaste more than a sugar high. There was a shelter with showers not far from here.

“Get away!” A woman with long gray hair and wild gray eyes charged at Clover, her arms waving. “Mine. Mine. Mine!” she screamed. Clover recognized the woman’s mental instability and backed away from the children. As she did, she dropped two of the bags and waters on the ground. They watched with dull eyes and little interest, but she had to try.

“They are yours. I was only inviting them to a meal.”

The woman clawed her hands down her face and screeched like an injured eagle. She didn’t have any fingernails to speak of, so her face was undamaged. Clover backed off a few more steps.

“Leeeeeave!”

“I’m going.” Clover kept her hands out in front of her as she backed up.

The woman scooped down, grabbing a rock and throwing it at Clover. Okay, time to run. Clover picked up speed, glancing over her shoulder to make sure she didn’t run into anything. When she was out of sight behind a pine tree, the screaming stopped as quickly as if she’d flipped a switch.

Clover sighed. At least the children had the bags and water. She bowed her head to offer a prayer on behalf of the children and their guardian. She couldn’t exactly say the woman was their mother, because she appeared much too old to have children that young, but then, living on the streets could age a person.

“Clover!” Someone grabbed her arm, startling her out of her prayer.

Clover jumped. Damarius jumped too. Her brain registered the little brown-eyed boy, and she bent down to scoop him into a hug. He pushed against her and kicked his feet, but she was too happy to see him healthy to let it bother her.

“You’re bigger.” She laughed as she set him down. He scowled at her.

Serena scrambled out from under the branches of the pine tree. She had needles stuck to her pants and in her hair. Clover knew better than to ask questions. Serena’s sense of safety was in knowing that no one knew where they were hiding. “I’m sorry—he ran out before I could stop him.”

“It’s no trouble. He’s one of my favorites.” Clover mused Damarius’s hair, noting the grainy feeling. This time, he smiled up at her. “You look good, Serena. And Damarius is obviously growing.”

Damarius crouched down, collecting rocks. Serena watched him for a moment before saying, “I feel like a failure.” She tugged at her dirty shirt. “Chad called. He wants to meet me somewhere neutral—just to talk.”

Clover wanted to scream at her to throw her phone away and run from the abusive man. “You’re not a failure. You’re courageous in protecting yourself and your child.”

“Hiding feels more like the cowardly thing.”

Clover shook her head so hard her bun tugged at her hair. “Be strong.” She remembered well the problem being dirty caused with her self-esteem and the way she’d felt at the ball game when she saw herself on the big screen. She glanced around at the few businesses within sight. She pressed the essentials bag into Serena’s arms. “Here. You could take Damarius to the gas station over there and wash your hair in the sink. They have a family bathroom, so you can lock the door and have a few minutes of privacy.”

She hugged the bag to her chest. “They’ll chase us out.”

“Walk in there with your head held high and they won’t even think about it.”

“They won’t?”

“If they knock, tell them your son has a stomachache and you’ll make sure the place is clean before you go.”

She shuffled her feet. “Maybe.”

Clover wanted to march her right across the street and into the gas station. She wanted to secure a place for Serena and her son and make life all better. “Can I …”

“No.” Serena’s response was as fast as it was persuasive.

Clover forcefully swallowed her argument. Offering help was one thing; forcing it upon someone showed a lack of respect. Respect was the least she could give Serena—but it was what Serena wanted the most.

Clover hugged her. “Okay. I’ll see you next time you come into The Pantry.”

“Thank you.” Her voice was full of deep gratitude.

Clover tightened her embrace before letting go. Her phone chirped again, and she said goodbye to Serena and Damarius before taking it out.

What’s your schedule today?

She skipped three steps, happy to see he was thinking about her. I’m going to The Pantry now, and then hotel. Working late.

Me too.

She giggled. Play hard.

Always.

She unlocked her car and dropped behind the steering wheel, staring at her screen while she waited with the door hanging open for the heat wave to dissipate. St. George was awfully hot in the summer. So hot it melted the thoughts right out of her head. Why couldn’t she think of anything fun and flirty to say to him? She ran her hands around the steering wheel, testing the temperature. “Think. Think. Think.” The wheel was fine, so she started up the car, shut the door, and pulled into traffic.

“I saw the game last night,” she muttered, trying to get the old wheels turning. That wouldn’t do—they’d lost—by a lot.

“Better luck next time …”

Blech!

“It looked like the other team throws really hard.”

Brainless.

“Your uniform was spotless. What detergent do you use?”

Dimwit.

“Okay, I give up.” She flicked her hand at her phone as if dismissing it. “Apparently I am text defective.” She stopped at a light and dropped her head to the wheel. This is so not good. Dustin was out of town for half the year—how was she ever going to date a man she couldn’t text/talk to for half the year? He might as well know how inept she was so he could make an informed decision.

Her heart crimped at the thought of watching him run into the dugout without looking her way. With a sigh, she pulled over and picked up her phone. Good luck in the game tonight. I’ll be cheering for you. There! She hit send and gulped.

Thanks! Heading out for BP. Bye.

Bye.

That was the worst flirting job ever. Thankfully I have four more days of this before he comes home. Even her sarcasm couldn’t wrap up a protective layer around her heart. Strange, sarcasm had never failed her before. She might just have to admit that Dustin was more important to her than she wanted to acknowledge. Four more days of denial. She could work with that.