A Soldier Finds His Way

by Irene Onorato

Edward stopped at the first red light in town. Across the intersection, scallops of lacy curtains framed the picture window of a florist shop. A red, old-timey ladies’ bicycle took center stage in the display. Vining flowers spilled from a basket on the handlebars onto the front tire, and wove through the spokes. A sign hung over the window. Petal Pushers.

  A few minutes later he stepped out of the shop and breathed the fresh, sweet scent of the bouquet of Stargazer lilies wrapped in crinkly, ribbon-tied paper. Nice, but not as nice as sticking his nose into Audra’s hair. That was intoxicating. He got in the car and drove on.

  How good it would be to see Audra again. Another fifteen minutes or so and he’d be pulling into her apartment complex. A heavy foot pushed the rental car over the speed limit. The sight of an oncoming police cruiser slowed him down.

  Crow’s Nest Apartments. He zoomed past the sign. A quick U-turn brought him back.

  Hank’s last-minute description of the place was spot on. Tidy rows of townhouses faced him on his left and right. A large white house stood at the end of the parking area. A wooden staircase led to an apartment atop the garage on the left side of the house. He pulled in next to Audra’s car and killed the engine.

  Flowers in one hand, he reached for the door handle with the other.

  Ring-ring, zzz-zzz.

  Jaws tight, he dug in his shirt pocket for the ringing, vibrating phone. “Somebody has some really bad timing.”

  Incoming call, Audra. The words lit the screen like a neon sign. His thumb sprang away from the button that would’ve sent the call to voicemail. The phone slid from his hand, hit his knee, and bounced to floor on the passenger side.

  Ring-ring, zzz-zzz. It flopped around the carpet like bacon sizzling in a cast iron pan.

  He jerked sideways, his right hand outstretched.

  Ring-ring, zzz-zzz.

  Figures it would fall out of reach. He released his seatbelt and snatched the phone from the floor. “Hello.”

  “Edward?”

  Who could blame her for being surprised that he answered? Had they ever spoken on the phone? No, she always left messages, and he listened. This was different. And better. Something he could get used to. “Yes, it’s me.”

  He pressed the phone to his ear. The two short, quick breaths she took could only mean the sound of his voice excited her. Excellent. Warmth spread across his skin like a hot tropical breeze.

  “Are you still overseas, or are you home?”

  Home. That beautiful word again. “I’m home.”

  “Did you get my messages? The ones telling you about my father and—”

  “And that you’re not getting married. I got them.”

  Silence from her end bothered him. He shouldn’t have come off so brusque.

  “Edward, I’m sorry about what happened. I—”

  “Don’t apologize. None of this was your fault. Your dad bears ninety percent of the guilt, but I own the other ten. If I’d talked to you like I should’ve, things would have been a lot better for both of us.”

  He looked over the steering wheel toward her apartment. “I’m sorry I hurt you, Audra.” Waiter, one more slice of humble pie, please. “Forgive me?”

  “You know I do.”

  Sniffles. Oh no. Time for a change of direction. “Remember the day we stood outside Dunkin’ Donuts drinking coffee together?” Did he sound cheerful enough to steer her thoughts?

  “Yes. It was the start of a beautiful day.”

  Great, an audible smile if he ever heard one. “You said we should consume the day in small bites and enjoy every crumb and morsel of it.”

  “I remember.” She gave a girly laugh. “I guess it was a silly thing to say.”

  “Silly? There was nothing silly about it. You said it would be day we’d want to live over, and you were right. I thought about it a lot. I’d lie awake in the dark, still nights when sleep wouldn’t come, and I’d think about you. About us.”

  “Me too.” Velvety soft words. So, he wasn’t the only one staring at the ceiling at night with thoughts he couldn’t control? Good to know.

  Showtime. Phone in one hand, flowers in the other, he stood at the base of the wooden staircase. Whoever built it knew what they were doing. Good and sturdy. Probably wouldn’t creak at all. Slow and easy, he started upward. “Audra, I’ve got an idea.”

  “Oh? What is it?”

  “How ’bout we start over and leave out the part where your dad tells me to hit the road?”

  She laughed. “Do you want me to wait until the next blizzard and drive off the Devil’s Tail again?”

  “No, I don’t think we need to go that far back.” Just a few more steps, and he’d reach the landing outside her door. “I was thinking of another starting point.”

  “You don’t want to yank me up into another hovering helicopter, do you?” She laughed a little harder.

  He loved hearing her laugh. “Come on. You know you enjoyed it.”

  One more step.

  Stereo gaiety. Her bouncy laughter with its girly charm burst through the walls and also danced over the airwaves into his phone. Light, airy, sweet. Much nicer than the raunchy guffaws of his hardened teammates who sweated gasoline, bled motor oil, and used gun-cleaning fluid as cologne. Well, maybe they weren’t quite that bad. But this was better. Way better.

  He smoothed his shirt and ran a hand over his hair. “Audra?”

  “What?”

  “Why don’t we start where I show up at your door with a bouquet of Stargazers?” He hung up and slipped the phone back into his shirt pocket.

  “Hello? Edward? I think I lost you.” Her crystal clear words came through the door.

  Shoulders squared, he stepped forward and knuckled the door.

  She squealed. Was she laughing? Crying? Or both? Hard to tell. One thing for sure. She was amped up. Locks clicked. The knob jiggled and turned. The door jerked inward a few inches. Bang. Chain lock. Blond hair swung into view, but vanished when the door closed again.

  “Come on, door. Cooperate.” How frustrated she sounded. He could’ve kicked the door in faster than she was opening it.

  Zero minutes to the objective. Go in hard, go in fast. Secure the package.

  The door swung inward with a whoosh of sucking air.

  Go, go, go. His boot hit the still-opening door and landed over the threshold.

  She flew toward him and slammed her body against his.

  He wrapped his arms around her waist, lifted her off her feet, took a few steps and kissed her hard, with passion, no holding back.

  She hung on tightly and kissed with fervor, moaning, stroking his hair, and cupping his head in her hands. Her enthusiasm spurred him on. Awesome. The kitten could be a tigress when she wanted to.

  Eyes closed, breathing hard, he buried his nose in her hair. Exotic, sensual, one hundred percent female. Could he ever get enough of it?

  Warm breath swirled around his ear. He could stand there all day, holding her, and enjoying the catlike kneading her hand was doing on the nape of his neck.

  Knees bending slightly, he lowered her feet to the floor. She looked up at him with eyes shimmering like the sky on a clear spring day. He brushed his thumb over her lips. Warm, soft, and still red from kissing. How perfectly shaped, and kissable. It didn’t get any better than this.

  With so many things to tell her, he didn’t know where to start. This newness of life, this chance to start afresh. Where did it all begin?

  He took her hand and kissed it. “You could have died on New Year’s Day, but God put me there to save your life. You told me that. I didn’t get it then, but I get it now. I get it here.” He poked his chest with his index finger. “Every breath you take and every beat of your heart is precious to me. I’ll never stop thanking Him for that.”

  Tears rolled down Audra’s cheeks and dripped off her chin onto her soft pink pullover.

  “I love you, Audra. I never knew I could love anyone with
such intensity.” His heart pounded. Could she possibly love him with the same depth, the same willingness to commit her life to him the way he was ready to commit to her?

  Say it, Audra. Say you love me.

  She licked her lips and whisked away a stray tear. Her chin quivered. “I love you, Edward. I’ll love you till the day I die.”

  He pulled her into his embrace.

  Package secured. Mission Accomplished.

  Read on for a sneak peek at Irene’s next A Veteran’s Heart book

  MORE THAN A SOLDIER

  Former Special Forces soldier Hank Fleming survived an explosion that took the lives of four men during a tour in Afghanistan. Nightmares resurrect the dreadful sights, smells, and sounds of dying men. Despite profound injuries and post-traumatic stress, Hank hopes he can one day be free of inner turmoil, and maybe find a girl who will want to share a life with him.

  When Cindy Giordano breaks up with an unfaithful fiancé, she vows to never get involved with another man. She sets out on a quest to find Edward, a biological brother she’s never met, and her journey brings her face-to-face with Edward’s rugged, outdoorsy foster brother, Hank Fleming. Hank captures her attention, but she’s resolved not to fall for him.

  Hank is instantly smitten with Edward’s tall and beautiful, albeit slightly clumsy sister, but does he have what it takes to win her heart and help her past the pain of betrayal? Moreover, can he resolve the haunting issues in his own life and find lasting peace?

  Click here to get your copy.

  Chapter 1

  Hank Fleming peeled off his cold, wet T-shirt and tossed it aside in the dark. The nightmare clung to his psyche even as he stood at his hotel room window staring into the night illuminated by only a stingy sliver of moon. Whitecaps danced like ghostly apparitions across the pitch-black ocean surface, adding to his uneasiness.

  Was this reality, here, now, with his toes deep in the plush carpeting of a resort hotel in Miami Beach with the air conditioner humming? Or was the real Hank Fleming still lying on the ground in Afghanistan, a soldier bleeding from multiple wounds with his left eye dangling off his cheek bone by a few threads of nerves?

  If only he could erase the images. The sounds. The RPG blast. The roaring fire consuming what was left of the truck he’d been driving with four men inside. But most of all their horrible deaths.

  Hank willed his breaths to an even cadence and reined in his galloping heart. The rat-a-tat of M4 rifles, acrid smell of burning rubber, and the unit medic’s face started to dissolve as if being sucked, particle-by-particle and feature-by-feature, back into another realm.

  Hank brought his fingers to the eyepatch that covered his left eye socket and pressed the fabric into the hidden void. Reality, harsh and merciless, stung him to the core. He’d lost an eye, hearing in one ear, and bore fading scars where the explosion had hurled shrapnel into his flesh. But, he’d survived while four of his fellow soldiers perished.

  Hank lifted his gaze to the crescent moon. “Why, God? Why?”

  * * * *

  Punishing rays of sun forced Hank to move from one narrow strip of shade to the next as he examined the explosive charges attached to the framework of the abandoned Sailfish South Hotel. Precision positioning was crucial if the building was to implode on itself rather than damage one or more of the neighboring resorts.

  Clipboard in hand, Hank added another item to his long list of discrepancies. There was no way the hotel was coming down in two days. No way at all. Bingham Whitehall wasn’t going to be happy with his report. More than likely, he’d regret hiring Hank for the consultation. But happy or not, the fact remained that more preps were needed for the job to be done in a safe and efficient manner.

  Hank leaned against an I-beam, guzzled a half-liter bottle of water, and mopped his head with an already-soaked bandana from his pocket. Beyond the fence surrounding the demolition site, vacationers lazed in the shade of palms, walked the sandy beach, or splashed in the crystal waters in the shallows. Except for the rusty bones of the Sailfish, the shoreline made a picture-perfect representation of paradise.

  A bikini-clad beauty strode by on the beach strand’s promenade. Tall, slender, and tanned to perfection, she moved with the grace of a well-lubricated perpetual motion machine. Smooth. Fluid. Everything in sync.

  A man with washboard abs walking from the opposite direction spread his arms wide, and the flaxen-haired goddess sprinted into his embrace. Their marathon kiss garnered the attention of several passersby.

  Hank turned his back to the lovers with a sigh. Maybe if he wore his prosthetic eye, shaved more often, and got a haircut he’d have a better chance of a tall delicious babe jumping into his open arms. The idea deserved serious consideration. He’d start his mini-makeover as soon as the job was finished and he got back to New York. Right now, he had work to do. He slipped his glasses back on and returned for one last look at the lower part of what had once been an elevator shaft.

  “How’s it looking, ol’ chap? Think she’s ready for us to take her down?” Mr. Whitehall approached from the direction of the worksite’s temporary office building, his British lilt coloring his words with hopeful expectation. Rubber boots slip-slapped against bird-thin calves until he came to a stop at the threshold of Hank's sliver of shade. Sunlight penetrated the weave of Whitehall’s pith helmet and painted a crisscross pattern across his nose and cheeks. His teeth appeared as nuggets of white-hot coals as his lips parted and stretched into a smile.

  Sweat drizzled down Hank’s temple and marched into his beard like an army of ants. He scratched his chin against his shoulder. “I know you’re the site manager, but it’s not safe to be out here without a hard hat, safety glasses and sturdy work boots.”

  “Right you are. Sorry about that. I suppose this does set a bad example for the rest of the crew. Shall we go into the office where it’s nice and cool to discuss your findings?”

  “Sounds good to me.” Hank fell into a slow walk beside the boss. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like an hour or two to go over my data before giving you an official report. I’d also like to run it through a couple of computer simulations for verification.”

  “I wouldn’t mind at all. In fact, I appreciate your thoroughness.”

  The initial chill of cool air inside the building tingled the skin on the back of Hank’s neck and brought immediate relief from the sweltering heat. At the open door to the first office, he paused and nodded a hello to the Bracket brothers who stood hunched over a plywood table looking at a set of blueprints. Three of their associates sat near the window sipping soft drinks. The London-based team acknowledged him with a flick of their eyes and nothing more. Their less-than-enthusiastic response came as no surprise. They’d made it clear Hank’s “so-called” expertise wasn’t needed or welcome.

  “Bunch of no-accounts,” Hank mumbled. “Who cares what they think.”

  “What’s that you say, my good man? I’m afraid my hearing is getting a bit squidgy these days,” Whitehall said from behind Hank.

  “Just talking to myself, that’s all.” He entered the next room and nudged the door closed with his foot.

  * * * *

  Cindy Giordano hurried across the parking lot, threw open the door to Wallis and Jameson Architectural Designs, and stepped inside. A glance at the wall clock brought a sigh of relief. Even with traffic nearly gridlocked, she’d managed to arrive at work a few minutes early.

  The receptionist didn’t return her smile.

  “Good morning, Chloe. I thought I’d be late for sure. A tractor trailer was overturned on Parkview and...”

  The usually cheerful and perky Chloe sat chewing her bottom lip, and worry lines creased the area between her brows. Her fingers strangled a number two pencil with a nervous twisting motion as she rose to her feet.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “Ricky said to send you to his office as soon as you got here.”

  Next to Chloe’s desk, a
corridor passed through cubicle city, to the far wall where the passageway split into a T. The table that held the coffee urn, stacks of Styrofoam cups, and fixings stood strangely silent. A man peeked over a white partition in her direction, but turtled his head back into concealment when his eyes met hers.

  “What’s going on? Why is it so quiet back there?”

  Chloe’s pencil snapped in half with a pop. She flinched. “You’d better go see Ricky.”

  “Okay, I’ll do that now.”

  Rick Jameson’s door stood slightly ajar. Cindy gave a light rap with her knuckle and pushed it open more. “You wanted to see me?”

  “Yes, please come in, close the door, and have a seat.” He motioned to a leather armchair.

  Cindy sat with hands folded atop her purse. “What’s up, Ricky? Why the hangdog look, and why’s everyone so quiet this morning? It’s like a tomb out there in the cubes.”

  The boss ran a hand over his salt and pepper hair. “There’s no decent way to segue into this, so I’ll just come out with it. You’re a good kid, and I like you. But, I’ve got to cut back on staff, and I’m going to have to let you go. Sorry, kiddo.”

  “Have I done something wrong?”

  “This has nothing to do with your performance. I couldn’t be more pleased. We’re in a bit of a slump and not making enough money right now. We decided to lay off the person with the least seniority. Unfortunately, that happens to be you. Let me know if you need a reference for your next job.” He slid an envelope across the table.

  Cindy picked it up. “What’s this?”

  “It’s your final paycheck and a little something extra to let you know how sorry I am.”

  She tucked the envelope into her purse, stood and extended an arm across the desk.

  Sadness filled her boss’s eyes as he cupped her hand between his.

  “Thanks for giving me a job, Ricky. It’s been nice working for you. You’re a good man.”

  His lips lifted into a frail smile. “Right now, I don’t feel like such a good guy.”