The Soldier's Holiday Vow

by Jillian Hart

  “It smells delicious. When it comes to pizza, I’m not picky. As long as it has a crust and cheese, I’m happy. Thanks, Hawk.”

  “No problem. I’m glad to see you doing better.” He jammed his hands into his jean pockets, matching his stride to hers as they crossed through the living room. “You gave me a good scare when I first saw you in that mine.”

  “I was pretty scared myself.” She ignored the look her sister gave her and reached up into the kitchen cabinets for three plates. “But it was only a few stitches.”

  “Don’t forget the surgery. What do you think you’re doing?” Hawk sidled in behind her and took the plates before she could lift them from the shelf. “Go sit down. I’m thinking your sister will agree with me.”

  “That’s right,” Chessie answered curtly from across the room.

  “I’m fine.” Sure, her arm hurt, but she wasn’t about to be waited on. She could take care of herself.

  “You had best stay off your feet, September. You need to heal.” His warm, caring baritone wrapped around her like a wool blanket, soothing and tender. Caring was in the layers of his voice, in the lines crinkling pleasantly at the corners of his eyes, in the space between them.

  He really is a nice man, she thought. She simply had to be careful so the memories couldn’t hurt her. So he couldn’t hurt her. She slipped away from the counter and from him. “Nobody needs to worry about me. It was a hard fall, true, but I wasn’t hurt like Crystal. Did you hear? She’s doing better. I heard from her mom that she was already asking when she could go riding again.”

  “That’s a good sign. She’s a trooper. I hope she’s back in the saddle before long.”

  “Me, too. You were great with her. I know all about your training, of course, but to see it in action, it was impressive.”

  “Just your tax dollars at work.” He opened the box tops for Chessie, so she didn’t have to put down her plate to dish up, but his gaze remained firmly on September. “You kept the girl alive until help came. You made a real difference.”

  “I didn’t do much, and you already said that earlier.”

  “That doesn’t make it less true.” He took the next plate, watching her carefully. “Ham and pineapple or the works?”

  “A slice of both, please.” She was ashen, all the color drained from her cheeks, her wide brown eyes too big for her face. Had his presence done that to her? Or her ordeal? She looked fragile with her casted arm in a sling.

  “I’ll dish you up. Go ahead and sit down,” he told her. “Join your sister.”

  She nodded once in acknowledgment, watching him closely with appreciation or caution, he couldn’t tell which. Maybe a little bit of both. He chose the largest slices and slid them onto her plate, aware of every step she took through the kitchen of granite counters and white cabinets to the seating arrangement in a sunny bay window nook. Her sister spoke to her in low tones, and the murmur of women’s voices was a strange, musical sound he wasn’t accustomed to. But he liked it. He was more used to the sound of plane engines, gunfire in the shooting range and barked orders rising above it all in a no-nonsense cadence.

  He reached for the last plate and served himself two slices of the works. Why was he here? He couldn’t quite say. He wanted to believe he’d come because Tim would have wanted him to make sure September was well.

  That wasn’t the whole of it. He had to be honest. He closed the tops to the pizza boxes and crossed over to the women. His boots knelled as loud as a jackhammer on her wood floor, or at least it felt that way because when the women looked up, their conversation silenced. One studied him with suspicion, the other with a hint of care. That surprised him. Her caring couldn’t be personal. He’d never had the chance to know September much, it was hard to get to know any civilian with his job, but he knew she was gentle and kind to all she met—even to a guy like him. Emotion tugged within him, distant and unfamiliar, and he dismissed it. He was simply glad for the luxury of her company, that’s all.

  “The motorcycle is new,” she began after her sister said the blessing. “I didn’t know you rode.”

  “Since high school, but I sold my Honda after I enlisted.” He tried not to look at her. Maybe it would make the unaccustomed feelings within him fade instead of live. “Last year I realized I missed riding, so I got another bike. I figured why not?”

  Small talk. That’s what this was. It was uncomfortable. Maybe he shouldn’t have stayed, he thought, as he took his first bite of pizza. The taste of spicy sauce, cheese, dough and pepperoni ought to overpower everything he was feeling, but it didn’t come close. He cared about her. He hadn’t planned on it, but his feelings were there just the same. The threads knotted up inside him tightened; he didn’t dare look at those hidden feelings.

  “I had forgotten.” She set her pizza on her plate. The tiniest bite had been taken from the end of the slice. “You, Tim and his brother, Pierce, had dirt bikes when you were kids.”

  “My mom didn’t like the idea of me speeding around on the back of a motorized bike, as I was prone to getting hurt on the regular two-wheeled variety, but I didn’t relent and she finally gave in. Tim, Pierce and me, we rode far and wide. I think at one point we knew every trail and old forgotten logging road in two national forests.”

  “It sounds similar to how we grew up, right, Chessie?” September glanced across the table at her sister, and her look said, Play nice.

  He appreciated that. The table was a small round one, and that meant there wasn’t much room between him and either lady. He could feel icy dislike radiating off September’s sister like vapor off dry ice. The only thing worse was the awareness of September, how she was close, how he wanted her to be closer. He wanted to comfort her. Even he could see that she’d hit a rough patch.

  “Instead of dirt bikes, we had horses.” When she spoke of times past, the shadows in her eyes softened. The corners of her mouth upturned with a hint of a smile.

  “Those had to be good times,” he found himself saying, as if to urge her on. As if he wanted to hear more.

  “They were. We had the sweetest little mare to learn on. Clyde was twenty-two years old. Our dad was worried about us getting hurt—we were in grade school—so he would only let us get a very old and even-tempered horse.”

  “Sounds like he was a good dad.”

  “The best.” Dad was the reason she’d grown up living her childhood dream. He and Mom had sacrificed a lot so she could have Comanche. “He wanted us to live our dreams and he did all he could to help us work for them. Right, Chessie?”

  She looked to her sister, maybe to include her in the conversation and also for an unspoken need for sisterly support. He had the distinct feeling she was uncomfortable with him. She kept avoiding direct eye contact. Maybe dropping by hadn’t been his smartest idea ever.

  “Dad is stellar. They don’t make men like him anymore.” The older, sterner sister’s tone implied that Hawk fell short. Very short.

  “There are plenty of good men,” September said gently. “Chessie and I were fortunate enough to take riding lessons. When we were older, we both worked in the barn to earn board for our show horses. We were suburb girls, but Mom drove us the twenty-three-mile trip each way twice a day. Sometimes more.”

  “Sounds like a good mom.” His mom had suffered from depression after his dad’s passing, which was why he’d practically grown up with the neighboring Granger boys. He would have explained it all to September, but that would mean bringing up a past she shouldn’t have to deal with. Instead, he kept it simple and in the moment. “She obviously loved you both.”

  “And we love her. After the divorce, she remarried and moved to San Francisco. We don’t see her like we used to, but she’s happy.” Longing weighed down her voice. Clearly she was close to her mother.

  “My dad died when I was in third grade.” The words were out before he could draw them back. Once said, they couldn’t be unspoken. So much for his decision not to mention the past. He shrugged a shoulder, as
if that past couldn’t hurt him anymore. “She never got over it.”

  “Sometimes a woman doesn’t.” The shadows in her beautiful eyes deepened, like twilight falling.

  The human heart was a fragile thing, capable of great, indestructible love and yet able to infinitely break. He bit into his second slice of pizza, crunching on a few green peppers, thinking. He didn’t believe in coincidence; he’d seen it too many times in the heat of battle and had felt God’s swift hand. He had to consider that reuniting with September was God at work. Maybe she needed a little help. Maybe he was being given a mission to be that help.

  “I always thought it was a great loss that Mom never learned to live or to love again.” He kept out his experiences of growing up underneath that dark, hopeless cloud. When his father had died in a logging accident, it was as if he had lost both parents. Understandably, his mother was never the same. But she had never been a mother again. He’d grown up a lonely kid, taking care of his younger sister and finding belonging and acceptance in the neighboring Grangers’ house. “I don’t think Dad would have wanted her to be alone like she is. He would have wanted her to be happy.”

  “And you’re telling me this because…?”

  “We were on the topic. My mom would never have driven me anywhere once, let alone twice, every day of the week.” His tone was indifferent, as if his past was something he’d learned to deal with long ago. “Sounds like you have an awfully nice mom.”

  “We do,” Chessie answered, regarding Hawk with a narrow, terse look, which she reserved for possible swindlers and fraudulent door-to-door salesman. “What I don’t get is why you’re here. Sure, you were on the search-and-rescue team the base sent out. I get that. But you could have let this go.”

  “Perhaps I should have.” He straightened his shoulders, sitting ramrod in the chair, looking as tough as nails and nobler than any man ever.

  “Can’t you see this is causing September more pain?” Chessie pushed away from the table and stood, protective older sister and something more. Her distrust was showing. “She shouldn’t be reminded of—”

  “Stop, Francesca.” Her stomach tied up in knots and she took a deep, cleansing breath. “I’m glad Hawk is here. Please don’t chase him off.”

  “I’m going to the grocery store, then.” Chessie didn’t look happy with her chin set and her mouth clamped into a firm line. “I won’t be long. Hawk, I’m guessing you won’t be here when I get back. Thank you for finding my sister. And for the pizza.”

  “Not a problem.” He was the kind of man who showed respect, even to a woman being rude to him.

  She had to admire him a little more for that. Hawk was a very good man. She simply had to think that and nothing else—the past, Tim or what could have been. She waited until the door had closed behind her sister before she turned back to him. “She’s overprotective. I’m sorry.”

  “She loves her sister. Who can blame her for that?”

  At his kindness, the tightness within her chest coiled tighter, cutting off her air. It made no sense why his kindness troubled her more.

  “Is it true?” His voice dipped low and comforting. “Is it better for you if I go?”

  This was her chance for safety. He was offering her away out. She could say yes, walk him to the door, thank him for his thoughtfulness and never see him again. The past could remain buried, where it couldn’t harm her.

  But she had learned to survive. She had become good enough at it to fool everyone else and some days herself. Not today, but some days. Possibly, right now, she could cope instead of simply survive. “No, Hawk. I’m glad you’re here. Remember I told you I had wanted to look you up?”

  “Sure.” He grabbed a napkin from the holder on the table and swiped his mouth and rubbed his hands, looking busy, as if the act was what held his attention, although she could feel his interest, sharp and focused.

  “You’re here, and this is my chance. I need closure.” She thought of the prayers she had given up on and of her need for God’s comfort that she had been too lost to feel. Maybe having Hawk here would help as much as anything could. “I’m stronger now than I was after Tim’s funeral. Could you tell me what happened to him? Could you tell me how he died? You were there.”

  “Are you sure you want to hear this?” His hand covered hers, and everything within her stilled.

  “Yes.” It wasn’t the whole truth. She was afraid that it would be better to stay in the dark, to leave the last moments of Tim’s life a mystery. She didn’t want to hurt again, yet how could she let this chance slip by? Finally she could lay to rest the broken shards of the questions that had troubled her. With the answers, maybe she could have closure.

  “I want to know, even if it’s difficult.” She set her shoulders, braced for the truth. “I know you had been shot, too.”

  “Caught a ricochet. Nothing serious.”

  “Can you tell me what he said?”

  He didn’t answer right away. Moments ticked by and the heater clicked on, breezing warm air across her ankles and teasing the curtains at the window. Hawk sat like a seasoned warrior, his face set, his shadows deepening and his truth unmistakable. He was a man who fought for others and who protected them. He looked every inch of it.

  She leaned forward, pulse fluttering, both dreading what he would say and hungering for it.

  Chapter Four

  “He didn’t have a pulse when I got to him.” Hawk sounded distant, as if that was the only way he could cope with the memory.

  “He was already gone?”

  “His brother was closer to him and got there first. He started CPR. The machine guns, the grenades, the shouting, it all faded to silence. Everything went slow motion. I pulled a corpsman over to help because he wasn’t coming fast enough.”

  “You fought for Tim’s life.” She read the emotion twisting his face and saw what he could not say. This loss had been a turning point in his life, too. “You fought with everything you had.”

  “We all did.” He swallowed hard, the tendons in his neck working with effort. It had to be torture remembering.

  She was sorry to put him through that. Maybe she shouldn’t have asked. “At least he didn’t suffer. That’s what I had to know. That he wasn’t afraid.”

  “Tim? Never. We got him back for a minute or so, but the bullet caused too much damage.” He reached across the distance separating them, both physical and emotional, to take her hand.

  His touch alarmed her. Her spirit flickered and warmed, like dawn’s first light. She withdrew her hand, and the brightness dimmed. She sat as if in shadow.

  “He gave Pierce a message for his family,” he went on as if nothing had happened. “That was all the time he had. He died in his brother’s arms and in a circle of friends. The last thoughts he had were of you.”

  “How do you know?”

  “His last breath was your name. Didn’t you know?”

  She shook her head. She wanted to stay unaffected, to gather the information logically and heal from it. Impossible. Tim’s life had ended—all that he would be, all that he would do wiped away. That’s what she wanted to change. “If God could give me one wish, I would go back in time and have forced Tim to get out. I would never have let him serve a second hitch in the army. He wouldn’t have been sent overseas. He wouldn’t have died.”

  “You don’t know that. You can’t torture yourself with that guilt.”

  “How do you know?” She stared at him in amazement, this big, capable man more wise than she had given him credit for.

  “I know how you feel,” he confessed. “I did everything I could. Everything I knew how. I couldn’t save him, either.”

  Everything within her stilled. Their gazes collided and the force of it left her paralyzed. The honest sincerity of his gaze held a power she had never felt before, one strong enough to chip at the frozen tundra of her shielded heart. “How do you go on?”

  “I struggled for a long time.” Honesty softened the planes of his rugged
face and revealed more of his character. One of strength and deep feeling. “I almost opted out and thought about finding a civilian job.”

  “You were soul-searching, too.”

  “Not that I want to admit it to anyone.” He squared his shoulders. “I had to question what one life is worth, and what cost? I had a hole in my life as a reminder. I had to figure that Tim would want me to make good choices for me, so I turned down my uncle’s offer to find me a job and signed for another two years.”

  “That was your idea of a good choice? Going back into danger?”

  “I want to make a difference.”

  “There are a lot of ways to do that without risking your life.”

  “Are you questioning my decision?” Not defensive, but curious. He looked as if he wanted to take hold of her hand again.

  She kept them tightly folded together. “I’m just asking, that’s all.”

  “My sister is happily working in San Diego. She doesn’t need me. My mom is safe and living her life the way she wants to in Wyoming. They are the only family I have, and neither of them really needs me. I’m not married. I don’t have any strong calling to do charity work or anything like that. The military is what I believe in. Being a soldier was the only thing I ever wanted to be.”

  “Why?” It was Tim’s decision she was asking about, not Hawk’s. But she had to know why Hawk had chosen to be a Ranger. “Why do you guys feel so committed to the army?”

  “Because I fight for what I believe in. I love this country. I want to do my part.” Not defensive, just powerful. Poignant. “Although it comes at a cost. I’m still single.”

  “Why haven’t you gotten married?”

  “Why get involved with someone when I knew I had to leave?”

  “And yet being alone is the reason you stayed in the army?”

  “It’s a circular argument. Don’t think I don’t know that.” He shrugged a shoulder, as if dismissing it, but something that looked like sadness clung to his features. “You’re alone, too, September. I don’t have to ask to know the answer. You aren’t dating.”