by Jillian Hart
“Right here?” Hawk asked, his voice hooking her attention.
“Yes. Perfect.” She hardly noticed where her sister placed the platter and Hawk settled the tree. Sunshine tumbled through the window, growing brighter, and gracing the man who turned the planter to show off the fir.
Hawk was a thoughtful man. He had become a loner, too, just as she had. Somehow Chessie had left the room, she hadn’t noticed that, either, leaving them alone. The pleasant afternoon, their conversation and closeness remained between them.
“If you’ve changed your mind about supper tomorrow, I would understand.” He jammed his fists into his coat pockets, attempting to seem casual.
She wasn’t fooled. It had to be an effort for him, as it was for her. Their wounded pasts stood between them, something that could not be erased or forgotten.
“No way, soldier. You are coming tomorrow. End of story.” She owed him that much. She couldn’t risk caring about him, but she wasn’t about to toss him out in the cold, either. Hadn’t he admitted today had helped him, too? Maybe there was a higher purpose at work—and that thought surprised her. She hadn’t looked to her faith in a long time. She followed him to the door. “I’m going to need help with the tree. I can’t decorate by myself.”
His grin said he saw straight through her. He glanced toward the kitchen—must be where Chessie had retreated to—but he didn’t point out the obvious, that she was hardly alone. Instead, he hesitated on the porch and peered up at the gutters. “I’ll bring my toolbox and see if I can’t get that patched for you.”
“That would be nice of you, Hawk.”
“Not nice, trust me.” He looked like a man struggling as he lifted a hand. “See you tomorrow.”
“Come anytime,” she called after him. She wasn’t sure if she caught a grim downturn to his mouth, or if it were simply a trick of the light. He bounded away, a powerful, substantial man.
What a relief. She eased into the house and closed the door. Through the window, she could see his truck door close and pale exhaust puff into the damp, cold air. Since he was leaving, she could return to her peaceful numbness, to let her feelings settle into nothingness. She could go back to the way she’d been.
“I don’t like how he looks at you.” Chessie returned with two steaming cups, tea bag tags dangling.
“What are you talking about? Hawk looks at me with respect.”
“Exactly. You aren’t going to get involved with him, are you?”
“How could you think such a thing?” As if. She wasn’t that girl, not anymore. “Nothing happened. Nothing’s changed.”
“Are you sure about that?”
Staying silent, September turned to the window in time to catch sight of Hawk’s truck ambling down the road, and her spirit brightened. She was wrong—everything had changed. She had changed. Hawk had stirred her emotions to life and there was no going back.
Chapter Six
Why couldn’t he get her out of his mind? He’d been home for hours, but the five-mile jog and the hour’s worth of chores had pushed her from his thoughts. She remained front and center and nothing he did could dislodge the sweet memories of how she had looked in that stable, her uninjured arm around her horse. Her girl-next-door beauty and gentle nature had caught him like a fish on a hook.
He dropped the laundry basket in front of the dryer and opened the door. No way could he deny how he felt about her. He knelt, reaching in for his fresh, warm laundry. As towels tumbled into the basket, he battled something that went beyond guilt. If Tim knew, what would he think? Should he walk away?
“What are you doing here, Hawk?” Reno, a fellow Ranger, plodded into the basement laundry room with a full basket in his arms. “I thought you were on leave?”
“Still have to do laundry regardless.” He knew that wasn’t what his buddy meant. He closed the dryer door, caught the basket with the side of his boot and scooted it over to the next dryer. “Haven’t gotten around to heading out of town.”
“What is it this time? Extreme skiing? Base jumping?” Reno set his burden on top of a washer. Typically, he was wearing an army T-shirt and battered jeans, just like Hawk. “I heard you and Granger were up to something.”
“We’ve got a date with a mountain up north, and a backcountry trip in Wyoming.” He tugged open the dryer. “That ought to keep me out of trouble.”
“Or in it.” Reno smirked and upended his basket into a washer. “Only two scheduled activities? I don’t get Granger. Once you tie yourself up with a woman, your fun gets curtailed. That’s why I’m a free man.”
“That’s not why you don’t have a gorgeous fiancée.” Hawk couldn’t resist. Joking with one’s buddies was the Ranger way. “It’s your personality, man. No woman would have you.”
“Hey, I could get a fiancée if I wanted one. Girls would line up to marry me.”
“Right. I’ll try not to trip over the long line on my way out.” His basket full, he headed for the exit. “Dude, there’s only one reason you and I are doing laundry on a Friday night.”
“I’ve got a ten-mile run first thing in the morning.” Reno boasted. “Got to keep in killer shape. The ladies can’t resist that.”
“You’re a sad man, Reno.” He shook his head with mock pity. “Destined to be a lonely bachelor.”
“Hey, you’re doing laundry, too.” Reno’s laughter filled the stairwell. “I’m not alone in the sad department.”
No denying that. With a grin, Hawk took the staircase, rounded the landing and kept climbing. His footsteps made a lonely sound. His buddy’s good-natured banter stuck with him. They were two confirmed bachelors—at least in this stage of life—and since he wasn’t one to hang out in bars or play dating games, he was doing chores on a Friday night. He used to hang out with Pierce, but Pierce was in Wyoming with his fiancée, the lucky dog.
That was one reason he had considered getting out. He didn’t have the kind of faith in love that Pierce did. No way could he leave a woman behind over and over again, knowing what distance and constant separation could do to a relationship. He didn’t want to take that chance. No, it was better to wait, at least that’s what he told himself as he unlocked his door and dropped the laundry on his couch. He didn’t want to admit his heart had ideas of its own.
September. The light floral scent of her shampoo and lotion had somehow gotten on his shirt, and he couldn’t forget her. The image of her, tall and slim and graceful, trailed after him as he ambled into the kitchen. The music of her laughter, the warmth of her joy, the way she picked out Christmas trees and tried to save the world riding and walking for one cause after another. Emotions swelled within him, pure and honest tenderness.
He was in trouble. He opened the mayonnaise jar, knifed some on the bread lying on a plate and finished making his sandwich. A smart man would end it right here. He would never turn around and look back, but keep going forward without another thought of the woman.
You know that’s the right thing, he told himself. He slapped slice after slice of roast beef on the bread, then went for the cheese. The Lord knew he had enough to keep him busy. He didn’t want any emotional entanglements, so he should stop these feelings. Do what it took to break the connection he felt with her.
He layered lettuce and tomato on his sandwich and reached for the mustard jar. That settled it. Tomorrow, he would help with September’s decorations and do a few minor repairs around the house, but he would keep a tight rein on his feelings. Sure, it would be tough, but he was a Ranger. He was tougher.
Satisfied, he moved his sandwich to a plate, grabbed a bag of chips and headed to the couch.
September heard the knock over the sizzling meatballs. She turned down the heat, checked on the bubbling tomato sauce and grabbed a towel to wipe her fingers. She hurried to the door, feeling both anticipation and dread. The tree looked lonely without decorations as she passed by, but that would be soon remedied. She found him on her doorstep, looking dapper in a black leather jacket, matching T-shir
t and jeans.
“I brought dessert.” He held a baker’s box in both hands, and on top lay a bouquet of baby pink roses. “Decided I ought to show up with something besides my tool chest.”
“And the flowers?”
“Those are to make you smile.”
“Is it working?”
“Prettiest smile I’ve ever seen. So, yes.” He handed her the bouquet, carefully wrapped in florist’s paper.
Why this man? Why did her heart flutter when their fingers brushed? “Come in. I’ve got to get back to the stove.”
“Fine. I’ll make myself useful out here for a bit.”
“Let me know if you need anything. I’ve got tea water simmering.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He set the box on the entry table, a man on a mission. His red toolbox waited for him, and he seemed eager to get to it.
Since the meatballs needed a turn and the sauce a stir, she admired the flowers on her return route to the kitchen. The little pink rosebuds were perfect, not romantic, not casual, just right. She spotted a florist’s card tucked into the paper and tugged it loose.
Ecclesiastes 11:7.
She couldn’t place it. Since the meat was sizzling, she laid the flowers and card on the counter and grabbed a pair of tongs. Just in time—the meatballs were perfectly browned, and she turned them. Over the drone of the stove exhaust and the popping and crackling oil, she heard the rhythmic beat of a hammer.
Hawk. What was she going to do about him? Before he’d walked back into her life, she had been buried in the past, she believed she might never find her way out. But she had been wrong. He had shown her that.
After giving the sauce a stir, she went in search of her Bible, tucked in with her books on the table. She flipped through the thin, dog-eared pages until she found Ecclesiastes. The hammering stopped as she began to read. Truly the light is sweet, and a pleasant thing it is for the eyes to behold the sun.
The door squeaked open, and she didn’t need to hear the pad of his boots on the hardwood to know he was coming. She felt his closeness like a touch to her soul. By the time he rounded the corner, she’d put her Bible away and was reaching with her good arm for the teakettle.
“Smells good in here.” He took the kettle from her. “Are you sure you should be doing all this? I’m just about ready to take over and order you to the couch.”
“Just try taking over my kitchen, soldier.” She felt featherlight as she held up two tea boxes for him to choose. He pointed at the mint blend. “I don’t relinquish my command easily.”
“You could delegate.” He filled the two waiting cups on the counter, not bothering to wait for the tea bags. “I’ve got a few domestic skills.”
“We’ll see about that.” She plopped the bags in the steaming water, pretending to size him up. “I have an order for you. Are you ready?”
“Lay it on me. Whatever it is I can take it.” He drew his shoulders back, military posture.
Show-off, September thought, and in the best possible way. He was exemplary and growing in her estimation with every passing moment. Not that she was letting it affect her, because that would be foolish. This was totally casual. She tried not to see anything but a friend standing in her kitchen. A friend. Tim’s friend. Reminding herself of Tim ought to make the tension within her ease.
It didn’t.
“The pot needs water, if you please. I can’t lift it.” She found a vase in a bottom cabinet.
“As you wish, pretty lady.” He grabbed the pot off the counter next to the sink and hit the tap. Over the rush of water, he kept talking. “Have I told you how impressed I am? It takes a strong woman to rebuild her life.”
“If that’s how it looks, then I’m glad. It’s what I’ve been trying to do. Go through the motions every day, put one foot in front of the other. Eventually life would get better. If I lived as if it were normal, then maybe one day it might be.” She turned off the water for him. “You didn’t come here to hear about this.”
“Sure I did. We’re friends, September. I care.” His words grew tender, personal, everything she was afraid of. Her pulse lurched, but before she could move away, he was the one who broke the distance. He carried the pot to the stove and twisted on the burner. “You have a nice home, a job you love, friends who treasure you. I saw all those flowers at the hospital. When you were missing, a lot of people were really scared for you.”
“I’ve done the best I could without my heart.” Her throat closed, making it impossible to speak. Until you, she wanted to say, I think you are bringing me back.
How could she say something like that? It would sound romantic, as if she had a crush on him. She searched, but could not find the words to tell him the difference his friendship had already made for her.
“Your heart is still here.” Hawk came to her and cupped her face in his calloused hands. Absolute certainty blazed in his intense gaze.
Feelings, powerful and overwhelming, winked to life. Her throat clogged tighter, making it impossible to breathe. She felt as if she were falling, but she stood on solid ground. The sauce still bubbled, the oven beeped that it had finished preheating, and the roses on the counter added a delicate fragrance to the air—those things remained the same.
Inside she felt as if the frost within her cracked apart one painful break at a time. The defenses had kept her safe after she lost Tim, and without them she felt as if she might crack apart with them. Except for Hawk’s presence. His hands cradled her face with caring reverence, a link that held her together. Thank the Lord for the blessing of friendship.
“How did you do it?” Her voice sounded thin and raw. “You’ve lost close friends. You’ve seen suffering and war and terrible things. Yet you are centered and vital. Alive. It’s as if none of that has touched you.”
“Of course it has. I am a different man because of it.” His thumbs stroked her jawline in small comforting circles. “I don’t take the good moments for granted. I treasure friendships, respect the hardships other people go through and I’m grateful for every moment. I try to live my life in honor of the friends I have lost.”
“How do you deal with the hurt?”
“The way anyone does. I face it and go on.”
“With honor.” She smiled a little, as if she didn’t need to be told that was the Ranger way. “That’s what I’m trying to do, but I feel as if I’m groping in the dark.”
“That’s the sure sign you’re doing it right. The right path is never the easiest.” He did his best to keep a barrier around his feelings. He was here to help her, nothing more, because it was the right thing. “No gain without pain. It’s always darkest before the dawn.”
“You’re a fount of wisdom.”
“Just repeating what I’ve heard. You’re painting me to be someone I’m not. Someone better.” He was like anyone else, with more hang-ups than he wanted, just trying to make good decisions and live right. “That doesn’t mean I haven’t questioned everything from God’s motives to my role in the military.”
“You mentioned leaving the military.”
“I lost a lifelong friend. He died right in front of me. It was a loss that hit hard.” He stopped to shore up his defenses and keep his emotions rock steady. “It took me a lot of soul-searching to figure out that I can’t be less than who God meant me to be. Holding myself back because of grief, or choosing a path that might not be right for me because I don’t want to hurt like that again, is not doing justice to the life God gave me.”
“That’s what troubles me most.” She looked even prettier in her sincerity. She was vulnerable and exposed, and it was easy to see the real September Stevens. He winced. She tugged at every emotion in him, but he had to stand firm.
“I have been doing my best, but I’ve only been existing. Surviving.” Her throat worked, as if she were struggling with emotions, too. “Until you.”
“I’ve done nothing, September. Unless you count the gutter work.”
“Go ahead and deny it, bu
t what you have done for me is no joke.” She resonated with gratitude and caring.
Easy to read the shine of emotion, for she was an open book to him. With her cinnamon-brown locks curling from the warm kitchen, and her cheeks pink from heightened emotion, it took all his reserve to release her and step away. Letting go of her was the last thing he wanted, but he did it. Instead of drawing her into his arms and holding her close, instead of lifting her chin and capturing her mouth with his, he backed away.
“The water is boiling, and my toolbox is waiting. I’ve got a few more things to fix. Are you okay?” He fisted his hands to keep from reaching for her.
“Better.” She squared her slim shoulders, looking stronger than he had ever seen her.
It wasn’t right, it wasn’t what he wanted, but he couldn’t stop from caring. From truly caring. Right now he would stop the earth from spinning if it would guarantee her happiness.
“I’ll be back to dump that pot for you.” He turned on his heel, retreating. A smart soldier knew when to head for high ground. “You had better give me a shout when the noodles are done.”
“Yes, sir.” She saluted him, a twinkle glimmering in her eyes. The hint of her dimples had the force of a grenade attack.
A bigger chunk of guilt dug like shrapnel in his chest, and he headed for safety. There was a lightbulb out in the entryway. He would concentrate on getting that problem solved and repair the damage to his defenses. The evening wasn’t over yet.
Good thing Hawk kept the conversation light throughout the meal. Their honest encounter left her raw and vulnerable, as if a rift had been made in her defenses. She needed to regroup and get used to the change in her. He regaled her with funny stories of him and his buddies, from tent life to travel near disasters and tales of his friendship with other Rangers. He probably thought he was entertaining her—no doubt about it, he was hilarious.
