A Soldier's Promise

by Cynthia Thomason

  Bobby folded his arms on the table and said, “I’m sure it will be okay, Mike. Charlie just got his license, but he’s a careful driver, and the car is safe.”

  “You heard him, Dad,” Carrie said. “Charlie is a good driver.”

  “I’m sure he is,” Mike said, “but I’m saying no. You go on back and eat your pizza before it gets cold, but when you’re done you’re riding home with me.”

  Carrie crossed her arms over her chest and spoke through gritted teeth. “Dad, I’ll be fifteen in another two weeks. I’m old enough to ride with boys. And I’m old enough to make my own decisions.”

  Mike’s face flushed. Brenna could see the effort it was taking for him to remain in control. He pursed his lips before answering. His voice was level and deceptively calm. “Carrie, I’ve told you the way it’s going to be. Now go on back and eat your pizza. It’s almost eleven o’clock.”

  “That’s not late! Jeez, Dad!”

  Carrie walked around to Brenna. “Miss Sullivan, can you talk some sense into him?”

  Brenna put her hands up in a gesture of self-defense. She thought Mike was being overly cautious and intractable, but what could she do?

  Carrie stood her ground, and then glanced back once at Charlie before giving Brenna her most pitiable look. “Please, Miss Sullivan, talk to him. I’m having such a good time.”

  Brenna sighed, asking herself why she was getting involved—again! “Mike, if it makes any difference, I’ve known Charlie for four years. He’s a great kid.” She regarded Diana and Bobby. “And now you know his parents.” She smiled and nudged his arm, trying to keep the situation light. “It’s just a ride home. Maybe you should...”

  She never finished her sentence. Mike grabbed her wrist and practically lifted her from her chair. “Carrie, go back and eat your pizza. Brenna, would you come outside with me, please?”

  He’d asked a question, but Brenna knew it was a demand. Still in Mike’s grip, she took a couple of steps toward the door. She heard Diana say, “Bren, you want me to go with you?”

  She shrugged off Diana’s concern. “It’s fine. We’ll be back in a minute.”

  And then, with Mike’s hand firmly against her back, she preceded him out the door and around the restaurant to the alley where deliveries were made.

  * * *

  “I HOPE YOU’RE HAPPY,” she said when they were in the shadows of the alley.

  Mike pointed to his face. “Does this look like the face of a happy man?”

  She squinted in the darkness, cocked her head left and right as she made an exaggerated effort to study him. “For you? Maybe.”

  “I’m not in the mood for jokes,” he said.

  “That wasn’t a joke.”

  This woman was determined to drive him crazy while she undermined every one of his attempts to be a careful, protective father. Just when he was beginning to think he might be able to trust her, work with her on the arts center project, just when she’d done a fairly decent job of smoothing things out between him and Carrie at the cabin, she had to butt in where she didn’t belong once more. How could any sane person think a responsible father was going to allow his daughter to ride home with someone who was practically a stranger?

  He forced himself to take a deep breath. Maybe stranger was a bit of an exaggeration, but Brenna had to know she was pushing his buttons.

  “What did you think you were doing in there just now?” he asked.

  “Helping to improve your relationship with your daughter.”

  “That’s not your job.”

  She smirked at him. “I wouldn’t even consider it my job if you were doing yours.”

  The blatant criticism was too much. When he couldn’t think of a comeback, he said, “This is so not your business, lady!”

  A snort burst from her mouth or her nose, or somewhere, and Mike knew he’d gone too far. But so had she.

  “Lady?” Coming from her lips, the word sounded like the worst sort of insult. “Did you just call me lady? The calendar says we’re in the twenty-first century, Mike.”

  He scratched the back of his neck. He wasn’t a chauvinist. Never had been. “Sorry. That was uncalled for, but you get my motor racing, and not in a good way.”

  “That’s your problem. Believe me, Mike, racing your motor in any way hasn’t been my intention.”

  He decided to use logic, the one tactic that had always worked for him during his years in the army. Until Carrie. Until Brenna. “I don’t know you all that well, Brenna, but I’m assuming you don’t have any children.”

  “Of my own? No.”

  “Then of the two of us, I’m the only one who does. I’m thinking that makes me a bit more qualified than you to make parenting decisions.”

  “One would think so,” she said. “But in your case...” She shrugged off the rest of her answer, effectively forcing him to conclude her thought. “And besides, I interact with about a hundred and ten teenagers every day. Doesn’t that qualify me to have an opinion?”

  “Not about the way I raise my daughter.”

  She didn’t respond for a long time, and Mike became conscious of several physical effects of her silent treatment. The nape of his neck itched under his collar. He heard his heartbeat in his ears.

  And while he found standing still increasingly uncomfortable, Brenna just continued to stare at him with an intense sort of scrutiny he figured was designed to make him squirm. Starting at his head, she worked her way down his body and back up. Analyzing, drawing conclusions, arming herself for a verbal attack, he supposed.

  Unfortunately, her investigative stare only made him more aware of her eyes, as green and dark as a moonlit meadow, and her mouth, as she ran her tongue over her bottom lip in concentration. And suddenly he didn’t mind being the object of her inspection. In fact, he was enjoying the way her gaze raked his body. He blinked, shook his head. Again, she was making him crazy.

  “What are you doing?” he said before he made a fool of himself for giving in to impulses he hadn’t exercised in way too long. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

  “I’m letting you have your way.”

  He forced a chuckle. “Yeah, right.”

  “No, really. You’re right. Carrie is your daughter, so I’ll just say what you want to hear from now on.”

  “Which is what?”

  “You’re doing a great job with her, Pops.”

  The sting of her sarcasm almost felt like a slap in his face.

  And she didn’t let up. “She’s one happy kid, isn’t she? Keep up the good work. You certainly don’t need my advice.”

  She stepped away from the wall where they’d been talking. “With that I’ll say good night.”

  He grabbed her arm. “Oh, no. You’re not leaving now.”

  She looked down at where his grip locked onto her upper arm. “Pardon me?”

  “Why the one-eighty, Brenna? I can recognize sarcasm, but besides that, you sound serious, like you’ve really changed your tune.”

  “Oh, I have,” she said. “You can make Carrie into Mount Union’s first bubble girl if you want. I’m through. I’ve told you that Charlie’s a good kid. You should be thankful she met someone who has good parents and good values. Carrie couldn’t be safer with anyone else in town.”

  “I’m not questioning the kid’s integrity.”

  “Then you’re just questioning Carrie’s?”

  “No. She’s a girl, that’s all. It’s different.”

  “Oh, come on, Mike. You don’t believe that. Trust is trust.”

  He smirked. “Yeah, and pizza is pizza. I guess that’s the way you look at life. Black is black and white is white.”

  She pried his fingers from her arm. “I didn’t ask for this. This whole involved-teacher thing isn’t me. I do
n’t like football. I don’t spy on students. If your daughter hadn’t come looking for me a week ago, I probably never would have seen a student outside of the classroom.”

  “So you’ve just become a busybody with my kid?”

  “Guess so. Nuts, isn’t it?”

  She locked those enormous green eyes on him again, and he felt weak inside. Mike Langston, elite army ranger, a man who’d been prepared for nearly every dangerous situation the army could conceive of, was fighting to gain mastery over trembling knees and a racing heart. The army had never prepared him for this kind of adrenaline rush.

  “And you know something else?” she said, her eyes seeming to light up the alley with her anger, her indignation. Mike rubbed his finger around his collar. Even at night the Georgia breezes were hot.

  He tried to speak, but his mouth opened and closed like some mindless guppy’s.

  “I definitely don’t put up with Neanderthal fathers.” She started to walk away from him. “Good night, Mike. I’ll see myself out of the alley. And don’t worry. You’re officially relieved from any responsibility at the Cultural Arts Center. I can find someone else who knows what a screwdriver is for.”

  She was everything in a woman that he didn’t like. Opinionated, bossy, outspoken, interfering. Yet he was suddenly overcome with panic. He didn’t want her to go. Not like this. He said the word before he gave himself time to think. “Wait!”

  She turned, stared.

  “Don’t leave. I’m...”

  “You’re what?”

  He swallowed. “Sorry?”

  “Is that a question?”

  “No. I am. I’m sorry.” And he was. Only he wasn’t exactly sure what he was sorry about. Certainly not for protecting his daughter. He’d promised Lori. Certainly not for expressing his opinion. In the army, his opinion had been respected, sought after. So what was he sorry about?

  Her face softened right before his eyes. And he thought he’d never seen such a beautiful transformation. His heart still raced and his mind still struggled to understand what was happening to him.

  She walked back. “Look, Mike, you’re a good man. I know that. You’re swimming upstream against the current of waters you’ve never tested before.”

  She placed her palm on his arm, where the skin was exposed under his short sleeve. He thought his heart would leap from his chest.

  “Something has made you not trust yourself,” she said. “I don’t know what, and—you’ll like this—it truly is none of my business. But you’re about the most uptight guy I’ve ever met. You’re wound up. You’ve got to cut loose a little.”

  He took in a deep breath, felt his chest expand with the breeze from the creek that flowed just south of the alley. “Yeah, okay, I’ll do that. No problem.”

  She gave him a sympathetic smile as if she knew it was indeed a huge problem. “I’ve got a suggestion.”

  “Oh. What?”

  She placed both hands on his face. He gulped air, let his eyes close for just an instant so he could feel the exquisite softness of her palms. And then her lips were on his. Urgent, moist, just the right pressure for coaxing an uptight man to cut loose. It wasn’t a long kiss. If it had been, he’d have died of suffocation because his ability to breathe had stopped. And the kiss wasn’t invasive. But it was spectacular just the same because it had been so long since anyone had really kissed him. And because it came from her.

  She stepped back, dropped her hands. “Nice,” she said. “You’re a good kisser, Mike.”

  He didn’t really believe her. He wasn’t the one who’d done the kissing just now. Maybe he used to be a decent kisser, but he hadn’t practiced in a year and a half. Except for the gentle press of his lips when he kissed his wife as she lay dying... No, don’t revisit that day.

  He wanted another chance. He started to reach for her when a voice invaded their privacy.

  “Mike, you out here?” It was Bobby.

  “Brenna? Everything okay?” Diana followed.

  “We’ve got company,” he said.

  “We’ve got friends,” she said. “It’s nice to have them.”

  She walked ahead of him out of the alley. “We’re fine. Just having a little discussion.”

  Diana stared at her. A subtle smile curved her lips. “I can see that.”

  Mike, thankful his brain was in gear again, pulled his wallet from his back pocket. “I’ve got to settle up the check.” He handed Bobby a few bills. “Will that cover my share?”

  “Oh, me, too,” Brenna said, reaching into her pocket. “What do I owe?”

  Mike waved his hand. “I’ve got this.”

  “Okay. I owe you.”

  No. No, you don’t.

  “Come by the field house on Monday, Mike,” Bobby said. “We start practice around three o’clock. Can you adjust your work hours at the garage to sit in a couple of days, see how we do things?”

  “Alvin is a Ravens supporter,” Mike said. “I don’t think he’ll mind if I leave the shop early.” He rubbed his fingers over his lips. “Oh, another thing. I guess it’s okay if Carrie rides home with your son...as long as there are no stops between here and there.”

  Bobby smiled. “Up to you, Mike.”

  “I want her home by twelve, though,” Mike said. “I can count on Charlie to be on time, right?”

  “If he isn’t, he’ll answer to me.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “All’s well that ends well,” Brenna said. “See you all later.”

  She went to her car, and Mike headed back to the restaurant to tell Carrie his decision. He stopped at the door and watched until Brenna’s car had sped down the road before he let out the breath he’d been holding.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ALL THE WAY home Brenna was smiling. She’d really knocked Mike Langston for a loop with that kiss. His complete jaw-dropping surprise had been evident in the tensing of every muscle in his body. And speaking of muscles—whatever the army did to train their soldiers, it worked.

  She’d kissed him for the shock value, to get him to relax, make him see that life was short and everyone ought to include some spontaneous fun, whether you’re thirty-something or almost fifteen. But the strangest thing was that she was a little astonished herself. Sparring with Mike had some built-in rewards. She’d told him he was a good kisser, and now, thinking back, she realized she’d been too conservative with her praise. He was a darned good kisser.

  Imagine what that moment would have been like if he’d initiated the kiss. That thought kept Brenna’s smile in place as she got out of her car and walked to her front door. Brenna had kissed a number of guys, some so-so, some quite skilled. Mike Langston was unlike any of the others. For the first time she wished she had a dog or a cat or even a hamster—some living, breathing being she could talk to about how she’d left Mike speechless. And about how she was having trouble moving beyond that memorable kiss. She liked the guy. He wasn’t her type, of course. Too regimented, too narrow-minded, definitely too old-fashioned. Or was it too principled? Principles weren’t bad, but he definitely went overboard adhering to his.

  Mostly she and Mike had different sets of values. Not that Brenna’s were better or more worthy than his, but she’d lived this long with her belief system and wasn’t about to give up her goals of security and independence. Still, Mike was a challenge, and she enjoyed trying to figure him out—for now.

  In lieu of a pet, Brenna spoke to a photo on her dresser as she shed her jeans and blouse and reached for her chenille robe. “Sandy,” she said to the smiling face of the ten-year-old girl standing next to her in the picture. “I have a hunch that Mike and I are going to butt heads about a lot of things. But I also have a very good feeling that he and I are going to kiss again.”

  Brenna and Sandy Richards had been best friends in
elementary school. Sandy was the only one Brenna confided her deepest, darkest secrets to. Sandy knew about Brenna’s mother’s despair, her father’s lack of ambition, all the hand-me-down clothes Brenna had altered to fit and detailed with inexpensive trims. Sandy had been there when Brenna taught herself to sew so she could make new clothes of her own.

  The two women still talked and emailed, and Brenna visited her when she was back in that trailer for the day or two at a time she visited her parents. She didn’t need Sandy for moral support so much now, but tonight, when she had something to talk about, it was nice to know Sandy was there in spirit.

  “The man is frustrating, certainly not a candidate for the long term,” she said to the photo, “but I can’t remember when I’ve had so much fun.” She knotted the tie on the old robe and padded barefoot down the hall to the living room. She planned to watch a little late-night TV before going to bed. Her mind was too occupied with Mike to turn itself off just now.

  Before she picked up the remote on the coffee table, she saw headlights reflected in her front windowpane. A vehicle slowed to a crawl and stopped. Curious, she went to the window. Her street was normally quiet, everyone tucked in bed by eleven. Peering through a slit in the blinds, she saw a pickup truck. A blue one.

  Her heartbeat accelerated. “My gosh, what’s he doing here?” Her first thought was that Mike hadn’t allowed Carrie to go home with Charlie after all, and he’d brought his daughter here so Brenna could act as referee again. But she dismissed that idea right away. Mike knew how she felt about Carrie riding with Charlie. Surely he wouldn’t come to her to smooth over an argument with his daughter.

  The truck door opened, illuminating the dome light. Mike was the only passenger. Brenna raked a few tangles from her hair with her fingers. No time for other primping. He was already walking onto her porch. She frowned down at the soft but decidedly unsexy bathrobe that had seen her through many Georgia nights and assorted crises. Oh well, Langston might as well see the down-home side of Brenna Sullivan. That was what he got for showing up unannounced.

  She paused, took a couple of deep breaths after he knocked and opened the door. “Well, howdy,” she said.