Homecoming Hero

by Renee Ryan

  He could not, would not—no, no, no—teach any class inside a church. It was hard enough to be here today. He could not walk into this building on a regular basis.

  He wasn’t that much of a hypocrite.

  “You’re the pastor, J.T. Shouldn’t you teach the class?”

  J.T. dismissed the suggestion with a flick of his wrist. “An active-duty soldier would be better.” His lips curved at a shrewd angle. “And it might be just what you need, too.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Although, Wolf wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

  “It would be a chance for you to give back. And who knows, serving others might help you with your guilt.”

  Wolf’s shoulders stiffened. “Who said anything about guilt?”

  J.T. simply blinked at him, his gaze saying, It’s right there, soldier. In your eyes.

  Wolf looked away from all that wisdom and understanding. He didn’t want an ally. Or a friend. His friends were dead.

  And Wolf’s guilt was something he had to bear alone, every day, over and over. No amount of churchgoing or talking or serving others would erase his failure on that Iraqi roadside.

  But maybe—just maybe—teaching a survival class to a room full of out-of-touch idealists could serve the one goal Wolf might actually be able to achieve.

  If he did his job correctly, with just the right spin, he could prove to Hailey how unprepared she was for a trip to the Sandpit.

  “All right, J.T. I’ll teach your class on basic survival skills, but only if Hailey signs up.”

  “She will. I guarantee it.” J.T.’s grin turned smug. “All I have to do is use my influence on her.”

  Yeah, that’s what Wolf was afraid of.

  Hailey glanced over her shoulder, craning her neck in the direction of the door Wolf had disappeared through. He’d been gone a long time. J.T., too.

  What were they doing? What were they discussing?

  Her?

  And wasn’t that the most self-centered thought she’d had all day?

  Shaking her head, she concentrated once more on the pictures in front of her. The image of a young boy caught her attention. According to Patty Mulligan, he’d been blown up by an IED. And had lost both his legs.

  Hailey squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to see her own brother similarly wounded. Or worse, broken and dying on a lonely desert road.

  Oh, Clay.

  She didn’t hear Wolf return until he slipped into the seat next to her and whispered, “What did I miss?”

  Her eyes flew open, but she couldn’t allow herself to look at the man who had been with her dying brother. What must he have seen? How bad had it been?

  Did she really want to know?

  “You missed more pictures, a few stories,” she mumbled, not quite looking at him, but not quite ignoring him, either. “Ah.”

  She started to shift her gaze back to the screen, but something in Wolf’s tone had her turning her full attention back to him.

  Her heart skipped a beat. And then another.

  Wolf looked…he looked…happy? No, not happy. Pleased. Captain Wolfson was pleased with himself.

  Uh-oh.

  He smiled, then. A big, carefree grin that made him appear more than a little dangerous. She quickly looked away from all that charm, highly disappointed at the effort it took her to do so.

  At last the Mulligans’ presentation came to an end.

  Again, Wolf leaned over and spoke in her ear. “Well, that was certainly interesting.”

  Again she didn’t like his tone. Nor was she overly fond of the way her body instinctively leaned toward his.

  She snapped her shoulders back and sat up straighter. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “What?” One of his eyebrows traveled slowly toward his hairline. “I can’t remark on the speech?”

  Funny how his answer put her further on edge. “You know you didn’t mean that as a compliment.”

  He shrugged, neither denying nor confirming her accusation.

  Enigma. That’s what the man was turning out to be. Brooding one minute. Tortured over some distant memory another. Smiling the next. He was full of secret pain and silent regrets. Oh, and charm. Can’t forget the charm.

  Hailey didn’t like the way her heart yearned to peel away the hard layers to get to the real man, the one she glimpsed when he smiled, the person who needed her compassion and understanding.

  What was wrong with her? Shouldn’t her mind be solely on her upcoming mission work for the Lord? Especially here. Now.

  J.T. rescued her by choosing that moment to address the room.

  Hailey leaned forward, determined to pay avid attention to whatever her friend had to say.

  Wolf started to speak again. She shushed him.

  “Did you just shush me?”

  “Yes,” she hissed.

  He chuckled softly.

  J.T. thanked the Mulligans for their presentation, and then added, “Our guests will be available for the next hour to answer any of your informal questions. But before we break away, I want to let you know about a class I’m thinking about offering.”

  J.T. made eye contact with Wolf.

  Wolf nodded in response.

  “What was that about?” Hailey asked.

  Wolf shushed her.

  Well. Nervy. The man had some kind of nerve.

  “It’s been brought to my attention,” J.T. continued, “that the church might want to offer a six-week training course in basic survival skills to anyone going on a mission trip.”

  An excited buzz rose in the room.

  “Show of hands. Any interest in something like that?”

  Dozens of arms shot into the air.

  “Excellent. Look for an e-mail in the coming days,” J.T. said before dismissing the group for a short break until the next missionaries took the stage.

  Something felt off about what had just happened. Hailey blinked at Wolf. He smirked back.

  “Wait a minute.” She looked hard at Wolf, turned her gaze to J.T. then swiveled back to Wolf again. “Are you teaching the new classes?” Her heart clunked against her ribs at the thought.

  “Maybe.” He grinned. “Okay, yes.”

  “Because…”

  “It’s a good idea?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Why do I think your involvement in this is anything but simple and straightforward?”

  “Because you have a suspicious mind?”

  “Not before I met you,” she muttered.

  Chuckling again, he rose and offered her his hand.

  She paused, but then realized she was being rude. She accepted his assistance with her trademark graciousness.

  When their palms pressed tightly together, a quick spark of…of…something skidded up her spine. Flustered, she pulled her hand free. “Let’s, uh, let’s go…go meet the Mulligans.”

  Had she just stuttered? Really?

  “Sorry, Hail.” He looked down at his watch, swayed as he did so. “Your two hours were up ten minutes ago. I’m gone.” He turned on his heel, making a beeline for the exit.

  She followed him into the hallway. “You’re walking away? Just like that? What about our agreement? Isn’t it my turn to listen to you?”

  “I’d love to stay.” He tunneled an unsteady hand through his hair. “But it’s been a long journey home. At the moment I don’t have much talk left in me.”

  Of course. Wolf had only just arrived in Savannah. Today. “You must be exhausted.”

  “You have no idea.”

  She should insist he leave and get some sleep, right now, but she couldn’t let him go with so much unsettled between them. “Let’s have dinner together Friday night.”

  “Are you asking me out?” He looked surprised, but not altogether unhappy at the prospect. “No.” Was she? “Okay, yes. I want to talk about—” she lowered her eyes “—Clay.” Which was true, just not the complete truth.

  There was something else going on between her and this bold warrior
, something that had nothing to do with her brother. Something that was distinctly theirs. But she didn’t know how to voice any of that.

  It was probably best not to try.

  “Please, Wolf, I want to know more about my brother’s life in Iraq.” She sighed. “You’re my only connection to him now. You…” Her words trailed off.

  He touched her cheek softly. “All right, Hailey. Friday night works for me. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  She instantly remembered the motorcycle he’d roared in on. “No.” She took a calming breath. “I mean. I, uh, I’ll cook.”

  Which could end up being far worse. She was a notoriously bad cook. B-A-D. Bad.

  Wolf didn’t need to know that, though. She had three days to pick up a few basic culinary skills.

  If she failed? Well, there was always takeout.

  Chapter Four

  Wolf was back in Iraq, on the road outside Baghdad. Clay had taken the driver’s seat, as usual, even though Wolf had argued the point until he’d lost his voice.

  The bump up ahead hadn’t moved since the last time they’d taken this route. But it had grown larger, monstrous. The IED underneath the debris was impossible to miss. Yet Clay nosed the truck straight for the bomb.

  “Look out!” Wolf shouted, his voice hollow in his ears.

  Moving in slow motion, Clay turned to look at him. His features were distorted, his movements uneven. “Don’t worry, Wolf-man, everything’s under control.”

  But it wasn’t.

  The Humvee dipped, then lurched forward.

  Wolf reached out to grip the dashboard. He came up empty.

  His breathing quickened into hard, angry puffs. The acrid smell of death surrounded him. He swiped at his forehead.

  Bang!

  Bang, bang, bang.

  Enemy fire. Coming at them fast.

  Wolf ducked. The Humvee started its roll.

  He grabbed for Clay, but he missed and hit the ground hard. The impact knocked the breath out of him.

  He dragged in choking gulps of air.

  Another round of gunfire exploded through the air.

  Wolf reached for Clay again. This time he caught him. Clay shrugged him off. “Not me. Hailey.” His face turned a dingy gray below the blood-smeared cheeks. “Promise me, Wolf-man, promise you’ll save my sister.”

  “I will,” Wolf vowed. “No matter what.”

  The rapid-fire shots came again. Faster. Louder. Bang, bang, bang.

  Wolf looked frantically around him. His vision refused to focus. “Medic,” he shouted. “We need a medic.”

  “Wolf.”

  The oddly familiar voice came at him from a distance, like an unwanted echo inside his head.

  Bang. Bang.

  “Wolf.”

  He peered into the darkness that had fallen over the desert. The landscape blurred in front of him.

  “Wolf, come on, man.” The voice came at him again. “I know you’re in there. I heard you call out.”

  Wolf pushed to his hands and knees.

  The ground turned slick under his sweating palms. Slowly the room came into focus. His mind cleared, inch by brutal inch. Right. Right. He was home. Back in the States. In one of the apartments on post. And he’d had The Dream again.

  Bang, bang, bang.

  Wolf flinched, resisting the urge to take cover.

  “Wolf!”

  He rolled his shoulders forward, recognizing the low-pitched baritone at last. What was J. T. Wagner doing here?

  Shaking off the lingering despair that always came with The Dream, Wolf shoved to a standing position. He moved too quickly and lost his balance. He grabbed for the desk, miscalculated, knocked over a glass, which proceeded to shatter into a thousand little pieces.

  “You all right in there?” J.T. called.

  “Yeah, yeah, hold on. Just hold on.” Wolf ached everywhere, but forced his feet to move. “I’m coming.”

  He made two tight fists with his hands, breathed in slowly. Exhaled. Repeated the process until he was back in control.

  Barefoot, he maneuvered carefully around the broken glass and headed toward the door.

  With each step anger warred with confusion. What did Hailey’s pastor want with him? And why hadn’t the man used the modern convenience known as a cell phone? If J.T. could find out where Wolf lived, he could have gotten his phone number just as easily.

  Wolf kicked aside the duffel bag he had yet to unpack and yanked open the door. “What?”

  Unfazed by the rude greeting, J.T. skimmed his gaze over Wolf’s rumpled form. “You look terrible.”

  No kidding. The weight of The Dream was still on his chest, like a living, breathing monster determined to drag him back to that day on the Iraqi roadside. Back to… Back to…

  He pressed the tips of his fingers against the bridge of his nose. “What time is it?”

  “1730.”

  Five-thirty? In the afternoon? “And the…uh, day?”

  “Thursday.”

  Not good. So. Not. Good. He trooped to the lone window in the room and tossed back the curtains. The afternoon light assaulted him, the pain a physical reminder that he was alive. Alive, while Clay and the others were dead.

  Wolf’s eyes slowly adjusted, enough to see that the sun was making its descent toward the horizon.

  Grimacing, he gripped the curtain tightly inside his fist, then let go. Darkness returned to the room, blinding him as effectively as the light had. “Guess I was more wiped than I thought.”

  Making an odd sound in his throat, J.T. flicked on the overhead light. “How long did you sleep?”

  Wolf wiped the back of his hand across his eyes. “Twenty, maybe twenty-one hours.”

  “Ah.”

  Confused by this visit, Wolf turned to face J.T. The guy had moved a few steps deeper into the apartment. Apartment being a loose term for the seven-hundred-square-foot dump. The room was made up of cinder blocks, linoleum, a metal desk and a twin bed. But as dismal as the tiny space was, it was twice the size of the room he’d had in Iraq.

  J.T.’s gaze drifted around the perimeter. “I take it you haven’t had time to find a permanent place to live.”

  “Not yet.” Wolf hoped J.T. was through with the questions. It was none of his business why Wolf had chosen to bunk in a barren apartment reserved for enlisted men and women.

  “If you need help finding a place to live,” J.T. offered, “I have a lot of contacts in the area.”

  “I’m good.”

  “Okay.” J.T. leaned calmly against the wall next to the door. A delusion. There was nothing casual about the guy.

  “Why are you here?” Wolf asked.

  J.T. didn’t move away from the wall. He just kept…leaning. The guy did a lot of leaning. Strange that Wolf hadn’t noticed that before.

  “I thought we could talk about the survival classes you’re going to teach at the church.”

  Yeah, right. Like that couldn’t have been done over the phone. “Nothing more?”

  J.T. didn’t move, not an inch, but Wolf could see the man morphing into a pastor right before his eyes. Here it came…

  “That’s up to you.”

  Wolf sighed. Looked like FCC’s young pastor had a new project. “I don’t have anything I need to discuss.”

  “Whatever you say, but I’ve been where you are, Wolf, and I think—” J.T. stopped himself midsentence and started over. “Well, anyway, I spoke with the senior pastor about your class this morning. He gave me the go-ahead.”

  Wolf waited for the rest. J.T. hadn’t made the twenty-mile trek to Fort Stewart to tell him something he could have relayed in a text message.

  Pretending only a mild interest in his surroundings, J.T. inched his way around a camouflage backpack, the unpacked duffel bag and various piles of gear.

  For the first time, Wolf noticed the slight catch in the guy’s steps.

  How had he missed that?

  “If the classes go well we might consider turning them into
an ongoing series.”

  “That’s nice,” Wolf said, his voice tight. J.T. was clearly working his way around the conversation the same way he’d picked his way through the apartment.

  “It would be a great ministry opportunity for a soldier.”

  And there it was. The guy’s real agenda.

  Wolf shook his head, his uncompromising glare relaying the message No, no. Not me. Not me. He already had a “ministry opportunity.” And her name was Hailey O’Brien.

  That was the one good thing about The Dream. Whenever it came, he always woke up more determined to carry out his promise.

  “No pressure, Wolf,” J.T. clarified as he perched on a corner of the metal desk. “For now, let’s focus on your first class. I’d like to set it up for next Wednesday.”

  That soon? “Any specifics you want me to cover?”

  “I’ll let you decide.”

  Oh, J.T. was good, tossing the responsibility back at Wolf, making him engage in the task from the get-go. No pressure? Yeah, right.

  An awkward silence fell between them. Wolf refused to be the first one to speak.

  A mistake. J.T. steered the conversation in a personal direction. “What’s your story, Wolf?”

  No way were they going there. “I was wondering the same thing about you.” Wolf shoved his hands into his pockets. “Why’d you leave the military?”

  J.T. shrugged, oh so casually, but Wolf noted the closed-off look that filled his expression. Denial. Yep, he recognized that one immediately.

  “I was called into ministry.”

  Wolf didn’t buy it. “A soldier doesn’t decide to leave the Army one day and become a minister the next,” he challenged, suddenly very interested in what the good pastor had to say next.

  “You’re right. My decision didn’t come overnight.” He readjusted his position. The new placement of his leg looked almost unnatural. “Long story short, I’m a better pastor than I was a soldier.”

  Which raised a lot of unanswered questions. Like the fact that J.T. was sitting here. With Wolf. At Fort Stewart.

  “How’d you get on post?”

  The guy broke eye contact. “I drove.”

  “You know that’s not what I meant.”

  J.T. sighed. “I was given a medical discharge two years ago.” With slow, purposeful movements, he lifted the left leg of his cargo pants. The ratty hem traveled past a shiny, metal ankle and stopped midway up a plastic calf.