by Bacarr, Jina
That wasn’t the only foolish thing she’d done.
Kissing the sergeant topped the list.
If she’d never invited him to supper, this never would have happened. She wouldn’t be half-crazed with worry, checking Rachel’s room, picking up her pillow, smelling her baby’s sweet scent. Yet Kristen didn’t blame him for what she’d done.
The poor man had no idea what a kettle of troubles he was walking into because his belly was empty. A hot meal was the only thing on his mind when he saw the tall, wrought iron gate with the name of a girls’ school in fancy letters wrought in metal, the branches on the big trees guarding the gate heavy with snow. A strange world to him, but other vets had come this way, no questions asked. He’d served his country, earned a Christmas Eve dinner, and she’d tried her best to give it to him.
It wasn’t his fault she was lonely.
She prayed to God the soldier would find her little girl and bring her home safe. And afterward, well, she’d just have to see, wouldn’t she.
Oh, what a fool I am. A silly fool.
Her throat tightened and after a hard swallow, she came to grips with the truth. The cottage was cozy and warm, but the chill of being alone again seemed to seep through her skin. It had been so nice having someone to talk to, help her deal with Mr. Carey, setting the table for three.
But not at the expense of losing her child.
Was God punishing her for even thinking about another man?
She held Rachel’s pillow to her chest and hugged it. She could feel her cheek rubbing against the soft flannel, but inside she went numb again, an awful reminder of the way she felt before Jared came into her life. She never realized how much she was beating herself up every night. Thinking about how Scott would never see his child again, or cuddle up with her and tell her how much he loved her chocolate chip cookies, or all the Christmases they’d never share.
I can’t go on like this. Dear God, please show me the right way, she prayed, torn between her loyalty to the husband she’d lost in battle.
And the soldier who’d opened her heart.
She dried her tears, determined to hang on to the belief that Jared would find Rachel and bring her home safe. She had to. He’d given her back something she’d lost these past months. Something she didn’t think she’d ever find again.
Trust.
* * * * *
Jared never dreamed he would put his tracking skills hunting down terrorists and insurgents into finding a lost little girl with pigtails.
Moving carefully through the woods, he examined every broken tree branch, every snowdrift, every footprint for clues. Nothing. A petulant darkness taunted him, daring him to race into the unknown without thought or a plan. Knowing he’d be vulnerable, and then easily tricked.
That wasn’t going to happen.
This was what he was trained to do. Navigate a route through the desert using nothing more than a compass and a map of the terrain. He had no map here, but he did have a compass. They’d taken his knife and multi-tool back at the hospital, but he still kept gear in his duffel bag. Tape, bungee cord, and light sticks in case his flashlight gave out.
He’d grabbed his stuff along with his compass and tactical gloves when they found the child missing. Then he whipped the blanket off the little girl’s bed—a thick quilt covered with grinning, chocolate brown teddy bears—and took off into the night.
Jared moved silently over the worn trail, looking, praying, he’d find her soon. It wouldn’t be easy, if not downright impossible to locate her if the snow came down any harder. The cottage sat by itself in a storybook woods far off the main road. Timing was crucial. Daylight would be too late.
He kept to the stone path since he was in unfamiliar territory. Darkness and the cold weather were his enemy, turning him around in circles. Damn, it was frustrating. The temperature was close to freezing. Ice sickles hung from the pine trees in prickly pairs. A bitter wind nipped at his cheeks. Deadly cold made him shiver.
He must find her. God knows what Kristen was going through, her emotions turned inside out. What a damn fool he was. He’d come here to help her, not cause her more misery. He’d seen her face when she realized Rachel was gone.
He knew that look. Pure terror.
He’d seen it on the faces of female civilians after the insurgents stormed through a village, killing, kidnapping. Days, even months later when he passed through the village again, the women still had that same look. Like their souls had been burned to ashes and they were just going through the motions of living. He couldn’t let happen to Kristen. She’d suffered enough.
And it was his fault.
There it was, the truth about what happened that day in Afghanistan.
Why don’t you bring it out into the open, rip open the curtain you’ve been hiding behind all this time?
He blamed himself for Scott’s death, beat himself up every day because he couldn’t save him.
And now he’d hurt his buddy’s wife.
Damn his own hunger to see her smile, kiss her lips. What the hell did he matter when it came down to it? He’d never forgive himself if the child was injured, lying helpless and freezing to death or fallen prey to a night stalker, its sharp teeth hungry for soft flesh.
The thought chilled him.
He pulled up the collar on his field jacket, more determined than ever to locate her. She wouldn’t last more than a few minutes out here. She was just a kid, a spunky one at that, he remembered, but still a kid. She must be scared out of her wits, confused, and so cold her teeth chattered.
Most likely Rachel had taken on enormous guilt for not convincing her mom to have a Christmas tree so her daddy could come home and surprise them. Then seeing a strange man kissing her mom was too much for her to take in.
So she bolted.
Running madly, crying. The child did have one advantage over him. She knew these woods. He didn’t.
He slapped his arms to keep warm. The fresh falling snow was fast covering her tracks, making them nearly impossible to follow. If clouds hid what little moonlight fell on the snow, he’d be in big trouble.
Hunching his shoulders against the bitter wind at his back, Jared spun around when he heard a loud crack behind him. He kept perfectly still. Sounded like someone stepped on a fallen tree branch hidden under powdery snow.
A rabbit, squirrel? Not likely. They’d be hunkered down for the night. It could be a night predator, but his gut told him the sound was human.
The little girl? Or someone else?
“Rachel, Rachel!” he called out.
Nothing.
He pulled out his flashlight, but kept it turned off. He had no weapon, but the long handled light would do if he came up against something unexpected.
Crouching down behind a snowdrift, Jared listened. Nothing moved. Even the wind tested him, its haunting whistle barely audible to his ears. He heard only his own heavy breathing, his frosty breaths hanging in the air like rings of gray smoke before disappearing.
What if she was already dead? Lulled into an endless, peaceful sleep by the soft, pretty flurries falling to the ground. All she’d have to do was lay her head down on the freshly fallen snow and—
Don’t even go there.
The fear of losing Scott’s child gripped him with such an acute heaviness, a crushing weight on his mind, that his reality took on a new dimension. Hammering his brain. Striking it hard over and over like iron hitting an anvil. Echoing in his head nonstop. Violent, painful. Crashing through his skull. He tried to fight it, but couldn’t.
Damn, make it stop.
Slamming his fist into his palm, he pushed down the sounds by sheer willpower. But he couldn’t fight an unseen force pulling him backward, drenching him in sweat, leaving him powerless, like he was caught in a fury of wind and rain. He didn’t see it coming, but something happened to him out there among the tall trees with their thick branches covered with snow.
His darkest thoughts came back to him.
Painted on a canvas no longer blank, but splattered with red and yellow and orange.
The sun, the desert. Alive.
In his mind, he was on patrol again, his jeep speeding over the hot sands, the clean blue sky overhead filled with ugly splotches of smoke and black dust when the explosion hit. Red hot, sizzling, and crackling around him. The smell of rubber burning, the sting of shrapnel hitting his shoulder and sending him flying for cover. The fiery bursts of metal raining down on him.
Then the triumphant cries from the enemy closing in around him, loud in his ears, cries that wouldn’t stop.
No, wait.
Another voice, once more insistent, wouldn’t go away, demanding to be heard. Holding his breath, Jared listened hard. He stepped back from the present, away from the dark and bitter cold, and embraced the fragments of his last moments with Scott. His hands thick with blood trying to close his wound, the pain he’d seen, felt, locked down in his mind for so long pushing through.
I can’t stop the bleeding. I can’t let him die, I can’t!
Hell, what about his wife and kid?
Somehow, Scott found the strength to lift his head, his eyes filled with a brutal honesty that cut through any hope Jared had that he was going to make it. The soldier knew he wasn’t. On a level deep and pure, he found the words he wanted to say, had to say, before he made his peace with God.
“Take care of Kristen…and Rachel,” Scott said, trying to speak. “They’re everything to me.” Horrible, gurgling sounds came from his throat as he struggled for every breath.
“They’ll be safe with me, Scott. I promise.”
He nodded, a half-smile curling over his lips, but he wasn’t finished. With the last of his strength, he formed the words on his dry, cracked lips. “Tell Kristen,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “Tell her—”
Tell her what?
Damn, he still couldn’t put the pieces together. For so long he wanted to remember, but his subconscious kept blacking out the words circling round in his head, never stopping.
Jared wiped the sweat from his face, his heart pounding. A floating feeling made him feel light-headed. What was going on? He wasn’t in the past, but he wasn’t fully in the present either.
He was walking a tightrope between both, knowing he’d lose what he so desperately to remember if he wasn’t careful. He couldn’t lean too far to one side or he’d fall, his memory lost forever. It was a precarious moment, sending terror through him. Yet also hope. His memory was slowly coming back.
Like striking a match, its spark taking him out of the darkness.
Here, finally, the acute silence allowed his brain to form the words. Here he could focus his mind without the whir of hospital noise, the incessant questions from the doctors, the chatter in his own head. He couldn’t make sense out of what Scott told him that day. Now he knew why. Being here in Kissing Creek was the catalyst he needed to solve the puzzle.
After months of trying, begging his internal self to kick into gear, this time something snapped together in his brain.
Click.
Out here in the woods, the full meaning of what Scott had tried to tell him sank in, making him shake his head in amazement. He couldn’t believe it. It was the answer he needed to make everything right for Kristen.
Giving thanks, Jared got down on his knees in the snow and bowed his head. A comforting peace anointed him, refreshed his spirit. Then he prayed like hell he’d find the little girl before it was too late.
* * * * *
The constant banging of the shutters outside broke into Kristen’s thoughts, her prayers. How long had the sergeant been gone? Twenty, thirty minutes? Why wasn’t he back yet?
Desperate to do something, she spied the sergeant’s olive drab duffel bag. Did he have a cell phone inside? Some homeless vets carried prepaid cell phones they got from the shelter. Should she look inside? He’d left the hooks unsnapped, leaving the top flap open—
Before she could stop herself, Kristen dug her hand inside his canvas duffel bag, the familiar act reminding her of times past when she’d helped Scott get ready for a deployment. A strange shiver went through her as she automatically counted down her mental list as she did every time. She knew it by heart. Ear plugs, extra pair of shoelaces, insect repellant, toilet paper. She’d pack his personal stuff last, like his socks and extra skivvies—
But this wasn’t Scott’s bag, she reminded herself. The gravity of her rash behavior hit her hard. The sergeant had secrets, she’d surmised by the faraway look on his face, secrets that were none of her business.
This is wrong. What am I doing? I have no right to pry.
She pulled her hand out quickly, as if she’d burned it.
Shaking, sweating, her whole core coming undone, Kristen sank down on the rug. Okay, so everyone has secrets, not just him. Why shouldn’t she look inside? Her child was missing and this man was her only hope in finding her.
Come to think of it, what did she know about him? Nothing. She’d invited him into her home, she’d kissed him, dammit, she had a right to dig. Who knew what she’d find? What if she discovered he was lying to her? That he wasn’t a vet but a poser, a professional hustler who preyed on helpless women?
Did she really want to know?
Kristen shook her head in denial. She noticed he hadn’t marked the sides and bottom of the duffel bag with red duct tape like Scott did, making his bag easy to find. As if the owner had no identity. Wow, that set her off in a different direction. Seeing him in a new light, her anger dissipated a little.
A sudden sadness gripped her, taking her mind off Rachel, wondering what personal sorrow had set the sergeant on his wandering quest. Did he lose someone? A girlfriend, a wife? So many guys got Dear John emails, Scott told her. Once the glamour wore off, they couldn’t understand or embrace the life of a soldier’s wife.
Or they didn’t want to.
Kristen had to admit it was hard at times. The long deployments and God knows the base housing had its trying moments, though families stuck together and offered help when needed. And a girl learned real fast that her soldier would do anything for his brothers. Drop their own lives if they were home on leave to help him, share the load if he was hurt, and give his life to save him.
She closed the top flap. She couldn’t look inside. Whatever the reason for his sadness, it was none of her business.
This duffel bag belonged to a stranger.
Then why did she let him kiss her? And why did she kiss him back? Thrown herself at him with such passion she would have jumped on him and loved him with every inch of her being. Was she that horny for sex she had no morals? After all, she was still a married woman—
No, Kristen thought sadly, shaking her head. She wasn’t. Not anymore. Her life had changed since the day she sent her childhood sweetheart off to war and he’d come home a man, filled with tales of guts and glory and pride. Eager to serve his country. Then years later he died in that service. She knew that if it had to be, Scott wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. Giving his life for his country, for freedom.
But it didn’t end there. Not for her.
She was constantly wondering what his last moments were like, thoughts that haunted her with an intensity that bordered on both curiosity and fear. Late at night when Rachel was asleep and she was huddled under the covers in the old four poster she shared with Scott, those thoughts took on a life of their own. Frightening, wild images flew before her eyes in the dark. Fiery explosions, cries of men suffering, and then finally, silence.
Scott was dead.
Her heart stopped every time.
Kristen looked down and tugged on her simple gold wedding band. Loose, but still shiny even if she wasn’t a married woman anymore. She’d just never accepted it until now.
With those words sinking in, she felt like crying, but she didn’t. Something in her had changed. She’d shed tears every night for months, cried her eyes out until they burned. She couldn’t, not anymore. She’d always get a
lump in her throat when she thought of Scott. My God, he was her first love, the father of her child, but in a moment of freedom she never saw coming, she let go of her pent-up emotions and embraced without guilt the pure joy of knowing she could fall in love again.
She’d let him kiss her, didn’t she? And she kissed him back.
Why the sergeant?
She’d had chances to date, friends on the base tried to fix her up, but she had no desire to let another man touch her. To know the intimate secrets of her womanhood, to smell her desire, taste the salt off her skin, love her.
Until Sgt. Jared Milano walked into her life.
He’d awakened something buried so deep in her, Kristen didn’t stop him when he claimed her mouth with his. She couldn’t deny his presence overwhelmed her in a pleasant way, and got her dander up when he wouldn’t let her have her way when she wanted to go after Rachel. He was right, of course. And when he leaned down to kiss her again, she clung to him.
If she’d been a smart cookie instead of a cookie baker, she thought, smiling, she would have pulled away. But she didn’t. She wanted to kiss him back.
Let him love her.
All the while in her heart praying he’d find her little girl and bring her home.
Oh, God, where is she? Where’s Rachel?
* * * * *
The falling snow chilled him, but Jared didn’t feel it. Sweat dripped down his face. He was on the move again, trekking deeper into the woods. The joy of remembering Scott’s words, knowing he was going to rock Kristen’s world with what he had to tell her, was short-lived. It didn’t mean a damn if anything happened to Rachel.
He blinked, and then blinked again. How long had he blacked out? No more than a few minutes, but every second counted. The temperature was dropping fast.
He had to find the child now.
He flipped on his flashlight, the bright light making a wide sweeping arc over the tall pines. A few feet back, the trees were easy to scan, but here they were surrounded by thick bushes. The rural landscape took on a gnarly-witch-in-the-woods setting with creepy vines and hanging tree limbs long and spindly. He almost expected to find a black cauldron and bottles of witches’ brew strewn about the high snowdrifts.
