The Soldier's Holiday Vow (4 page)

“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.

“H
e 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 every
thing 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.”

“No. I don't have the heart left to.” She couldn't give voice to the loneliness of the last two years and the fears that she had been broken beyond repair. Beyond hope. Beyond God.

“We are two of a kind.”

“In some ways,” she agreed.

He leaned closer, looking as if he wanted to comfort her and didn't know how.

She was grateful he didn't reach out. It was easier to stay frozen inside than to look toward the light. “Are you going to be here alone for the holidays? Or are you flying home?”

“I haven't decided. I might head down to Mom's. My sister will be there. It would be good to see them both.”

“You haven't said it, but I can hear it. There's something holding you back.”

“It's tough going down there. My mom never got over my dad's death. Nearly twenty years later, she lives like a hermit, closed off from what life has to offer.” He shifted in his chair. “I love her, and it's hard for me to see. I couldn't save her, either.”

“Don't give up on her, Hawk.” Sunlight brightened, tumbling through the windows, finding her. The lemony brightness graced her, emphasizing an inner strength, a glimpse into the real September Stevens. “Everyone needs love in their life. Even you.”

“Me? When did this conversation become about me?” Sure, he was uncomfortable with the
L
word. He was too tough for love. Too scarred. “I'll go visit my mom for Christmas. Fine. We were talking about you.”

“Were we? I don't think it's necessary. I'm fine, too.”

“Sure, you look it, bandaged and casted. Don't forget I found you in that hole in the earth. You can't fool me.”

“Okay, fine. My arm hurts. My head hurts. I sat in what felt like a grave and worried about dying.”

“I'm glad I found you.”

“Me, too.”

He would never forget the relief or how it had pounded
through him with the force of a riptide, leaving him weak down to the quick. Like now, never had he seen a lovelier sight than her alive. The sunshine clung to her, as if it thought so, too. He was thankful to God for this mercy. “You are going to take care of yourself, right? Need me to get you anything? Do something for you?”

“In case you haven't noticed, I have my sister for that.”

“Yeah, well, I was asking as a friend.” Okay, so he cared for her. He was man enough to admit it. But it was caring on a nonromantic level. “Don't know about you, but that's something I could use.”

“Me, too.” She relaxed, as if a wall went down. When she stood, it didn't feel as if she were trying to keep him at a safe distance. “Any man who hauls me out of a mine is a friend for life.”

“Glad to hear it.” He kept pace with her through the kitchen. Nice and amiable, walking alongside her. “I noticed you have a gutter coming loose from your fascia.”

“My what?”

“The board beneath the roofline.”

“Oh. No idea. I haven't looked up in a while, but there are a few drips when it rains.”

“This is the Pacific Northwest. It tends to rain a lot here. Hello.” He was chuckling, knowing full well what she was doing. Downplaying the problem because she knew what was coming next. “There's no avoiding it. We're friends now. You have to accept my help.”

“It's a law? Written into the Constitution?”

“I'm sure it is. I'll put it on my to-do list.” She wasn't getting rid of him easily. He wasn't a man who walked
away from a mission or regrets. He spotted a trio of cardboard boxes next to the big front window. Indentations in the carpet showed that a piece of furniture had been recently moved. “That would make a perfect spot for a Christmas tree.”

“Which is why I moved the couch. Don't give me that look. I did it before the accident. Last weekend.” She shook her head. “I'm afraid to ask about that expression on your face. You are planning something.”

“I'm a planner. It's who I am.” He didn't deny it. Regrets could haunt a man when he was belly down in the sand, taking fire. That meant he couldn't afford to back off now. “Since we're friends and all, I have a few thoughts to help you out while you are down and out.”

“In case you haven't noticed, I am getting around just fine. My arm is casted, that's all. The rest of me is good to go.”

She tried to hide it, but he wasn't a fool. He knew how loss could strip you of your heart, breaking it off piece by piece until there was no light, no love and no hope left. Sometimes a person needed a hand up, that was all. More than anything he wanted to be that hand for her.

“Getting a tree. Putting up lights. Decorating.” He had reached the door and turned, drawing out his time with her. “Seems like doing all that is going to be hard with that cast.”

“Then it's a good thing I'm not going to go all-out for Christmas. I'm going to haul out my little plastic tree—”

“Plastic? Sorry. No. I can't allow that.”

“The last time I looked, you were not in charge of
me.” She planted her good arm on her hip. “I'm used to you pushy alpha types. You don't intimidate me, Mark Hawkins.”

“I'm not trying to intimidate you.” He grinned, bringing out his dashing twin dimples. He had a smile that could charm glaciers into melting. “I'm helping out a friend. Remember, that's what we are?”

“I owe my life to you. How could I forget?” Yes, he really was far too charming for his good—and hers. “I know what you're up to.”

“Just trying to help spread Christmas cheer. Do unto others. Help the less fortunate.” He sure
appeared
innocent.

“Sure you are.” She could see right through him to the pure kindness beneath. Hard not to appreciate that. “If you really have nothing else to do with your free time.”

“I'm on leave. The rest of the year is mine.”

He didn't need to say the words, because she understood. He was lonely, too. One of his best friends was gone. She knew just what that was like.

“How about I drop by tomorrow?” He gave the knob a turn. Damp, chilly air puffed into the room. “We'll see if we can do something about your lack of Christmas spirit.”

“I may need help.” What she needed was a friend. She liked the idea that maybe he needed her.

“Then prepare yourself. I fully intend to put you in a festive mood. Consider it fair warning.”

“Yes, Sergeant.” She couldn't resist saluting him. He eased onto the front porch, reminding her of the man she'd
once lost and the future she was still grappling to find. “You were shot on that mission, but you didn't say where.”

“Nothing serious. I healed up okay.”

She recognized that hollow sound, for it was the way her voice sounded when the past threatened to overtake her. “What happened? No one has told me.”

“First I took a bullet to the shoulder and then shrapnel in my back. A grenade went off nearby and I covered Tim's body with mine to protect him.” He waved off the importance, but emotion darkened his eyes. He was not a man to talk of his sacrifices. He had come to the wake, but he'd been more injured than she had realized.

Caring rolled through her, unbidden and impossible to stop.

“I'm glad you recovered, Hawk.”

“Until tomorrow.” He saluted her in return, pivoted on his heel and marched into the watery sunshine. She thought she caught a hint of hope on his handsome face, but she couldn't be sure.

Good, she thought, because that's how she felt, too. Hopeful because he was coming back, encouraged at the prospect of seeing him again. Maybe it was because he was familiar, an old acquaintance. She liked the idea of being friends with him. As he strode toward his bike, she remembered the few group outings they had been on together long ago: volleyball at the park, bowling at Tim's favorite rink, a barbecue on base. In all of those memories, Hawk had always been laughing, a dependable guy, a steadfast and loyal friend to the man she'd lost.

She closed the door, and the click echoed in the silent house. She leaned against the door, fighting against falling into the hole of grief she had spent years climbing out of. She could no longer feel God, but she had to believe He was somewhere close.
Lord, I'm trying to move on and let go. I've given my sorrow up to you so many times, too many to count. And yet I'm still holding this burden. It's like being trapped beneath a deep layer of ice. I can't see You to find my way out. A little help, please.