The Soldier's Promise

by Patricia Potter

  “Not yet,” Merry said, “but a Mr. Manning was in here around noon, asking about building permits for a porch. I told him we needed proof of ownership first, and he said he would provide it. He also wanted a copy of the property survey. I was so busy with the tax bills, I asked if it would be okay if I got it later in the day. He said yes, and he would be back tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?’

  “You were at lunch, then I was swamped with those bills.”

  “How was he?”

  “Polite enough, although he didn’t talk much. Looked a bit rough, but I liked him.”

  Eve had to smile. She had yet to find someone Merry didn’t like.

  She would probably like Genghis Khan. But it made Eve feel better. Obviously he was no squatter if he wanted a building permit and a land survey.

  Ordinarily, she would have asked Tom MacGuire to quietly check out the newcomer.

  He had been police chief for the three years since her father had been killed, and had been with the county sheriff’s department as head of detectives before that. He was genuinely kind as well as efficient. But he was at home today, and she really didn’t trust his officers to handle the matter with any finesse.

  That drew her back to her immediate problem. Tom planned to resign because of heart problems. Finding someone to replace him was daunting, especially when small-town politics entered into the equation. There were less than three thousand permanent residents, and policing usually involved speeders, bar brawls and domestic conflicts. But there was the occasional fatal accident, lost child or robbery. She needed officers with diplomacy for domestic problems, and experience and judgment for the others. Tom had all that, and the affection and respect of the community. But he’d had a second heart attack, and his wife insisted he retire.

  The problem was the city couldn’t pay enough to attract someone like Tom. He’d served because he loved Covenant Falls. He was also a second father to Eve and honorary grandfather to her son, and she wasn’t going to risk his life by trying to keep him.

  She picked up her iPad and made her way to the small council chamber. Maybe she would visit the stranger in the morning. Quiet the rumor mill.

  * * *

  JOSH WORKED ALL morning on the interior of the cabin, and was just finishing cleaning the last room. The needed repairs were endless; the more he cleaned, the more problems he found. But he welcomed the work.

  He’d temporarily fixed the roof and scraped most of the paint from the walls of the main room. He had to patch holes and sand rough spots, then prime the walls before painting.

  He’d cleaned the windows, although he wasn’t sure that had been a good idea. Blinds were a necessity since the community was so interested in his affairs, but the local hardware store had none that fit.

  He also needed furniture. All he had now was a folding bed, a cheap chest of drawers, the cooler and an old sofa that had somehow survived years of neglect in the cabin. Probably only the fact that it was alligator ugly kept it from disappearing with the other stuff.

  But even as it was now, the cabin suited him. It was as broken as him and Amos, and the work kept him from thinking. Remembering.

  He quit at midnight. The cabin was hot, but nothing close to the brain-searing heat in Iraq and Afghanistan. His T-shirt was drenched with sweat, some from the heat, some from work and the rest from the pain that never left him.

  Josh ran his fingers over his cheeks. Stubble partially covered a scar. It wasn’t vanity that made him cover it, but he didn’t like questions and he sure as hell didn’t want sympathy. He didn’t deserve it. He’d been team leader and had lost eight of ten men. Their faces haunted him every night.

  He grabbed a beer and went to the window that overlooked the lake and considered his future. The army had given him the only family he’d ever had, and the Rangers had given him pride and purpose and confidence. And then three months ago, he’d been discharged with several useless medals and a bum leg. Bitterness—and drink—had almost destroyed him until he’d finally found Amos. Then he had a new mission. Dave had asked one thing of him before that last mission, almost as if he knew he would die. He wanted Josh to do what he could to help Amos, the military dog Dave had handled for four years.

  He was doing a pretty damn poor job of that one. Amos usually ignored food and ate the minimum to stay alive even when Josh tried to tempt him with steak.

  “We’re a great pair,” he told Amos, hoping for a reaction. A thump of a tail. A lifting of an ear. Anything.

  Nothing. Just that empty stare.

  He went out onto the porch. Clouds nearly hid a new moon and most of the evening stars. He smelled rain, and a cool breeze brushed over him.

  Time to walk Amos. He preferred walking late in the night when no one else was around. He went back inside and called to the dog.

  “Duty time,” he said. Dave’s words every time they went on a mission. He remembered when Amos had snapped to attention, eager to go. But now he stood slowly. Years of training said obey, but that was all he did. There was no joy in it. Only reluctance to leave a safe place.

  Canine PTSD, according to the diagnosis at the Daniel E. Holland Military Working Dog Hospital at Lackland Air Force Base. Josh was told that after Dave’s death, the dog had refused to obey any orders and cowered when approached. But Josh thought the behavior resulted as much from a broken heart as PTSD. Dave and Amos had been inseparable from the day they were teamed.

  “Amos,” he said with more authority, and the dog finally moved to his side. Progress. Small, maybe, but progress nonetheless.

  With the moon entirely blocked now, the night was black. There was no light, but neither of them needed it. Josh’s eyes were trained to see in the dark, or maybe he’d been born with that gift. He’d always been able to see better than his team members. They always said he was more cat than human, both for his night vision and the speed with which he could move.

  With Amos plodding stoically at his heel, Josh followed Lake Road to where it ended in a path. He no longer moved like a cat, smooth and fast. Hell, an eighty-year-old great-grandmother could beat him in a foot race.

  He walked until he feared his leg wouldn’t make it back, then turned toward the cabin. He would read until his eyes closed. Maybe tonight he could actually sleep. Maybe.

  CHAPTER TWO

  JOSH SLASHED THROUGH the weeds as though they were the enemy. One particularly tall one came in for special attention. Whack!

  “Wow,” said a voice from behind him. “You really have it in for that poor weed.”

  He swung around, the scythe in his hands swinging with him, and found himself face-to-face with an attractive woman. He was really slipping if someone could move in behind him without his notice. He hadn’t even heard a vehicle approaching. His attention had been riveted on clearing a path to an overgrown brick barbecue pit in back of the cabin. As far as he could tell, it was one of the few undamaged fixtures on the property.

  He had gotten up at dawn. Made coffee, poured himself a cup then lured Amos outside. He’d instinctively started pulling the weeds that surrounded and nearly covered the pit. Finding it hopeless, he found the scythe he’d purchased the day before along with a number of other tools. Someone might have been mowing the front but they sure as hell hadn’t cut the back for a long time. It was snake heaven.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you,” the newcomer said, and he realized he must have been staring at her. “I rang the bell,” she continued, “but when no one answered I decided to try back here.”

  He went still and studied her. She didn’t wilt under his gaze. A lot of people did. The lady yesterday certainly had.

  “I wasn’t expecting anyone,” he said, hoping she would get the message, although she was certainly younger and prettier than his previous visitors. He rubbed his dirty ha
nds against his equally dirty jeans. “What time is it?”

  “Nine, or thereabouts,” she said.

  He scowled.

  “Now I know why June ran away yesterday,” the woman said, her eyes filled with something like bemused curiosity as her gaze ran over his sweaty T-shirt, stained jeans and, last, the sharp tool in his hands. Her eyes were hazel with flecks of green and gold. Mischief danced in them.

  Damn, but she was fine to look at. He didn’t much like the sudden hot rush of blood through his veins. He didn’t need that. Not now. “I don’t seem to have the same effect on you,” he said wryly.

  “No,” she said. “Takes more than a scowl, although you have a good one. Do you practice it?”

  He ignored the question and asked one of his own. “What does frighten you, then?”

  “Not a Weedwacker. I approve. This place has been an eyesore.”

  He walked to the cabin’s back door and placed the scythe against it. He didn’t need this new...distraction. He had a full day’s work ahead. He had an appointment with the only vet in miles. He also intended to buy more tools and paint. Maybe he would get some fishing gear, as well. Once the barbecue pit was cleaned he could grill fish on it. He was growing tired of cold cuts from the cooler.

  “You didn’t say why you’re here,” he said. It annoyed him that he sounded boorish. But then he’d never been good at conversation. Surprisingly, the mischief didn’t leave her eyes. “No,” she agreed, “I didn’t.”

  He liked the fact she wasn’t intimidated. He couldn’t say she was a beauty, not in the classical sense. Her features were not that regular. The wide hazel eyes went with a pug nose and high cheekbones. Her hair, the color of rich mahogany, fell to just below her shoulders. It was held back from her face by a clasp. Simple, but on her it looked good. His gaze fell lower. She wore a sky-blue sleeveless vest over a short-sleeve white cotton blouse and dark blue slacks. Neat. Practical in the heat, and yet they complemented her body. Which was fine, too. Real fine. Not reed thin like too many women these days. There were curves in all the right places. He suspected she had great legs under those slacks.

  The worn briefcase she carried didn’t quite go with the rest of her. An insurance saleswoman? That would be the ultimate joke. “You another member of the welcome wagon, then?” he said, sarcasm coloring the question. Sarcasm was his armor these days.

  “No,” she said.

  “God, I hope you’re not with the government.”

  “Hate to disappoint you, but actually I am.” She thrust out her hand. “Eve Douglas. I have the dubious honor of being mayor.”

  He was stunned for a moment. Then he shrugged, brushed his right hand against his jeans to shed some of the dirt and sweat and took her outstretched one. If she didn’t care about getting dirty...

  A mistake. Her hand was slender in his large one, yet he felt calluses on her palm. That surprised him. So did the strength in her fingers. He found himself holding them longer than necessary as the very air around them seemed to spark with electricity.

  He didn’t like—or trust—the hot awareness he felt, the instantaneous attraction blazing between them. Or was it all on his part?

  He didn’t think so. Not with that startled, puzzled look in her eyes. He released his hold quickly, the warmth from her hand flowing up his arm. Their gazes met.

  He was intrigued. She was holding her ground. He imagined he looked his worst, and his worst could be formidable as hell, or so he’d been told. But it didn’t seem to faze her.

  He waited, not speaking. A form of hostile intimidation, a psychologist told him when Josh perfected it during unwanted sessions at the hospital. Now it was for an entirely different reason.

  She finally broke the silence. Her voice sounded stilted, unsteady, and he realized she was as shaken as he. “Merry, the city clerk, told me you had been in and wanted a copy of your property survey. She felt bad she didn’t have time to find it then, so I said I would bring it over this morning. Save you a trip back into town. I also want to welcome you.”

  “Do you welcome every new resident this way?”

  “Eventually. It’s why I’m mayor. That and the hard truth that no one else wanted the job.”

  She said it wryly, and he found himself liking her. Combine that with the heat still lingering in his belly and he knew he was in trouble. He recalled how she introduced herself. Not as Mayor Eve Douglas, but simply as Eve Douglas who happened to be mayor. It said something about her that the title was of lesser importance than who she was.

  He was only too aware of her eyes and the way they lit up when she smiled. He tried to ignore them. “I had a visit yesterday from a lady. I think I frightened her. Didn’t mean to. She woke me up and scared the hell out of my dog, and I was a bit aggravated. Perhaps in the role of mayor, you can suggest that I came here for a little solitude.”

  “People in Covenant Falls are friendly. We like to think it’s a plus, but obviously you don’t,” she said. “I’ll try to put out the word that you’re the hermit type and value your privacy.” She said it without judgment and added with that quick, infectious smile, “Can’t promise it’ll work.”

  Concentrate, Josh. She was too damned disarming. He glanced down at her hands. She had a ring on her finger.

  But it had been a damned long time since...

  Down, boy.

  He jerked back to the moment. “Mrs. Douglas,” he replied. “You said you brought my property survey. And the building permit?”

  She looked startled and for a fleeting second he wondered whether she’d felt the same awareness that was galloping through his body. Then she gave him a more cautious smile. “The survey was easy. There’s a small problem with the building permit.”

  She met his gaze directly, and he noted that she was tall, only four inches or so shorter than his own just over six-foot-three height. Perfect height to kiss without contorting himself. A wisp of wind caught her hair and turned a curl loose. He found himself longing to tuck it back in. To feel that smooth skin and see whether her hair was as silky as it looked.

  She sure as hell wasn’t like any mayor he’d ever seen.

  “And the building permit?” he asked, trying to divert the thoughts. Mind over matter. Or body.

  “The city clerk said you didn’t bring a copy of the deed, and she checked with the county. The property is listed as belonging to David Hannity.”

  “Dave Hannity is dead,” he said, barely keeping his voice steady. Even after nearly eight months, the words hurt like hell. “He left the cabin to me. An attorney in the county seat—Laine Mabry—just settled probate. The deed should have been transferred by now. I’ll check with him.”

  “Good. Once we have a copy of the deed, there shouldn’t be a problem.”

  He expected her to leave then, but she didn’t, and he was surprised he really didn’t want her to go. She challenged him. Intrigued him. He really had been too long without a woman.

  Her gaze rested for a moment on the scar on his face. He could tell from her expression that she wanted to ask more questions. Still, she refrained, and that interested him, too, as did the way she stood her ground despite his scowl and lack of manners.

  “The survey?” he prompted, silently cursing himself.

  She lifted the briefcase and steadied it on the brick barbecue pit. She opened it and fished out a large piece of rolled draft paper.

  Their hands touched, and he felt a surge of electricity streak through him. She suddenly backed away and bumped against the barbecue pit. He automatically reached out, steadying her. She smelled like fresh flowers, and he felt the calluses on her hand again. Oddly enough, that was sexy to him. Damn if she wasn’t sexy in every way.

  He didn’t let go, and she didn’t pull away.

  A flame leaped between them. He felt its heat sear him. She leane
d against him for the barest of seconds, then pulled away. Confusion suddenly clouded her eyes.

  What in the hell just happened? He must be more nuts than usual. She wore a ring, and he never played in someone else’s yard. Never. He’d seen too many guys open Dear John letters and knew what it did to them. He was no angel, but he’d sworn never to cause that kind of pain. And he didn’t think much of a woman who could. Maybe that was why he always preferred one-night stands with unattached women.

  She looked at him with wide eyes now. He watched as she tried to compose herself. When she finally spoke, there was a catch in her throat. “Dave Hannity... I knew him years ago. Not well. He was older. Then he just seemed to disappear....”

  That brought him back to reality. Dave was a subject he couldn’t—wouldn’t—discuss.

  “You said inherited,” she continued. “What happened to him?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “It matters that I didn’t know. I liked him. I know my husband did.”

  He didn’t answer immediately, hoping his silence would send her away.

  When it was clear that it wouldn’t, he said simply, “He was in the army. He died in Afghanistan.”

  “He must have been a good friend,” she said softly.

  “Excuse me, Mayor Douglas, but I don’t know why that’s any of your business.”

  She stiffened. “You’re right, of course, Mr. Manning. It’s not.” She started to turn, then swung back. “You said you have a dog.”

  “Is that against the law?” He bristled again.

  “Of course not.” Her smile faded. “But we do have some ordinances regarding animals,” she continued after a few seconds, as if she’d caught her breath. “Dogs have to be on a leash or...”

  “Under the voice control of an individual,” he finished. “Amos is under voice control when we walk.”

  The colors of her eyes seemed to change with her emotions. “I hope you’ll learn to like us,” she said. There was a not-so-veiled challenge in her tone. She wasn’t all sweetness. There was some spice, too.