The Soldier's Holiday Vow (7 page)

“I've done nothing, September. Unless you count the gutter work.”

“Go ahead and deny it, but 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.

But she got a thorough view of the real Mark Hawkins—loyal, devoted, ever resourceful. A man who never let his friends down. She felt honored to be one of his friends.

He insisted they put on a Christmas CD and sang in harmony while they did the dishes. Bing Crosby serenaded them as they took the bakery box of brownies into the living room and started stringing the tree lights. She told him of her students and a typical day at the stables. He asked about the trail rides she took her students on and the upcoming benefit ride-a-thon. She asked about his sister, who sold real estate, and he asked her about her sister, who was unmarried also.

By the time the multicolor lights were strung around the tree, she felt on stable ground again. Maybe this was the way things between them should stay—on the surface, casual, nothing too personal. Safer, she opened one of the storage boxes to find a beautiful wreath on top—she and Chessie had made it at a day workshop at a local crafts store.

“Let me guess, you made that.” Hawk grabbed another brownie from the box—his third—and took a bite. “You are one of those talented people, aren't you? You probably had never made a wreath before.”

“Not a wreath, no.” She held it up, deciding it did have a certain festive flare. “This was my only decoration last year. I figured, why bother? My sister and I flew down to Mom's for the whole week.”

“Is that what you're doing this year?” Hawk took a second bite of the brownie—gone—and took the wreath.

“This year Mom's husband is taking her for a Mediterranean cruise. She's always wanted to go.”

“What about you?”

“Dad and his wife live in Seattle, so we will celebrate up there with them.” She removed a box of ornaments from the storage bin. Gold and silver winked in the light. “Work is light around Christmastime. Most people are busy with family and getting ready for the holidays.”

“So you will have some time off?” He grabbed his hammer and a nail from his box. “Something tells me you will be at the stables anyway. I saw you yesterday. It's tough on you to stay away.”

“My best friend lives there, remember?” She took out
an ornament and approached the tree, studying it speculatively. She gave it some thought, as she apparently did everything, before hanging it. “When do you leave for your ice climbing trip?”

“Tomorrow.” He didn't like to think about it. Usually he would be gung ho, itching to go and ready to roll. But heading up north meant he wouldn't be with September. Nope, he didn't like that one bit. He grimaced and drove a nail into the door.

“Most people are going Christmas shopping. Lighting Advent candles. Giving time or money to charity.” She studied the tree again, another ornament in hand.

“That's how
you
do it.” Didn't take a genius to see how candy-sweet her holidays were. With songs about white Christmases and angels on high, good causes and candlelight services, she had the kind of life he'd forgotten about. Eight of the last nine Christmases he'd spent either on a forward post, a camp out in the middle of nowhere or gearing up for a deployment. Sometimes it got easy to forget the details of what he was fighting for and what he wanted his life to be after he laid down his rifle.

Maybe it was the picture of this life and not the woman that pulled at his heartstrings. Perhaps this glimpse of a dreamlike holiday would explain the well of emotion troubling him. He'd been jumping out of planes and fast-roping out of helicopters for most of his adult life. Sometimes a man wanted more.

And his gaze went right back to September. Sure enough, she was picture-perfect in a simple green sweater and jeans. He flipped off the switch, and the
room fell into darkness. The flash and gleam of the jewel-colored twinkle lights shone like something off a Christmas card, adorning her with the sparkle of red, blue, yellow and green. With the colors burnishing September's hair and accenting her delicate profile, Hawk lost the argument with himself. He could try to logically explain away his soft spot for her with all kinds of reasons, but that didn't disguise the truth.

“The wreath looks great.” She considered the ornament and moved it an inch to the left. The frail branch dipped down, swaying with the silvered ball. “Come help with the ornaments.”

“I don't have the knack for it.” That, and it would mean he would have to be near to her. Bad idea. “I'm a terrible ornament hanger.”

“You did fine with the wreath.” She had no idea how appealing she was, like a carol. She flipped a lock of hair behind her shoulder and chose another ball from the box. “I'll take my chances. Come help me.”

His feet moved him forward and he learned something new. It was impossible for him to say no to her. Impossible to keep the walls up and the defenses strong.

“Don't know how much help I'll be.” Gone were the days of his boyhood, where he was the one in charge of the tree. Of his little sister wanting decorations and his mother, lost to depression, having left them to make what Christmas they could. He chose a blue ball from one of the boxes, liking the sprinkles of glitter that formed the star of Bethlehem, and slid a hook through the eye. “Don't say I didn't warn you.”

“Get over here, Gloomy Gus.” Gloomy was the last thing she could possibly be, wreathed by the richly colored lights and twice as radiant. “That would look perfect right here.”

Good thing he had control of his heart. He stalked toward her, the perimeter around his feelings reinforced. He shouldered close to her, teeth gritted, ignoring the wish tempting him. Easy to see how it would be for the guy who landed her as his wife, Christmas seasons just like this, each one better than the next. He hung the ornament where she'd indicated, and the glistening blue orb made the twig bow dangerously.

“It's not going to hold,” he warned her.

“Sure it is. Have a little faith.”

“Faith, sure, but this is a matter of physics.” He was captivated by the mystery in her expression. He shifted away and pretended interest in choosing another ornament, but in truth, it was to study her more. He grabbed a hook just as the limb slumped, the ornament tumbled and bounced down the tree.

He caught it before it crashed to the floor. “See, Galileo was—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know who Galileo was.” She batted him in the arm, a light playful slap.

His perimeter shattered, his defenses fractured. There was nothing left of his will. He could not hold back the rising tide of his adoration. He was not that strong.

“Next you will bring up something about Ptolemy and the stars.” She took the holy star from him and hung it on a bough.

He was staring again. Way to go, Hawkins. He tried to act casual and reached into the storage bin. Maybe there would be something in here he could hang on the front porch and get some fresh air and his head clear.

“What's that?” She swept close, luminous with the blinking lights. When he didn't answer, she bent to take a look, squinting in the dark. “It's plastic mistletoe. It's a family tradition to hang a sprig over the front door. When we were little, Dad would chase us for a raspberry kiss every time he came home.”

“I can picture it.” He brushed a lock of hair from her face. It wasn't really in her way, but he took the excuse to touch her. To close the bridge between them. He caught her hand in his and lifted it over her head. He didn't know what made him do it. It just happened. His lips fit over hers in one tender brush—that just happened, too.

I
t was a perfect kiss. For an instant, September's eyes drifted shut and she let the sweetness sweep through her. It was something out of a dream. His mouth was patient and not demanding, and that made it easier to grasp his arm, hold on tight. Her mind stopped working. It took her a few long moments to realize this was no dream. Hawk was kissing her.

Kissing her! She broke away, watching the dance of light on his face. He seemed lost in a dream, too—the dream of Christmas, she told herself firmly. She uncurled her hand from his shirtsleeve and stepped away. The moment over, he bolted away, too, and together they stared at the mistletoe she held.

“Got to keep up the traditions.” His glib remark told her that his hadn't been a serious kiss. “Want me to hang that for you?”

“Sure.” She was shaken. Did it show in her voice? She couldn't tell. He looked pretty blasé as he scooped
the plastic twig of mistletoe from her and ambled to the entryway. He scooted the ladder up and into place, quite as if their kiss hadn't happened.

She could not forget it. She fumbled with the hooks. They globbed together and she couldn't free a single one from the knot. When she did, two dozen of them tumbled to the floor.

“You okay over there?” His good-natured baritone held no hint as to what he was feeling.

“Just peachy.” For a girl who didn't want to wake up from the dream. Who wouldn't have minded if the kiss lasted a few beats longer, because then she could have had time to absorb and process. To make sense out of why he had kissed her.

Get a grip, September. He kissed you. He didn't propose to you.
She scooped up the last of the hooks, dumped them back into their original box and opened the next container of ornaments.

He didn't appear to be affected, but she was. Her hands continued to tremble, her knees stayed like jelly. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him climb the ladder and drive a small white nail into the ceiling. She chose a hand-painted glass ball, careful not to drop it. She didn't trust her fingers. She didn't trust herself. All shields were down. How had Hawk gotten through her defenses?

“You were right.” He startled her. Suddenly he came up behind her. “It's the perfect Christmas tree. You didn't need my help tonight, not really, but I'm glad to be here with you.”

“You're a good friend.” She wanted him to know she
understood. It was only a friendly kiss. A holiday kiss. Nothing more. She wasn't one of those women who was prone to seeing romance everywhere—not anymore. “It wouldn't have been half so fun decorating this by myself, and I did need you. I could never have done the lights by myself.”

“So you said, but your sister could have helped you.” He reached out as if to brush her face, but his hand changed directions in midair and caught the length of her hair. He nudged it back behind her ear, although it hadn't been out of place.

Perhaps he felt more awkward than she'd guessed. That made two of them. Good thing she was a pro at covering up her true feelings. “You've packed up your toolbox.”

“I can stay if you need me to, but your tree is nearly done. Unless there's anything else you want me to hang, fix or nail for you, I'd better be on my way.” He didn't sound in a hurry to exit stage left.

Maybe she was reading too much into things. It was—she glanced at the wall clock—after nine. “You probably have an early day tomorrow.”

“I'm picking up Pierce at Sea-Tac in the morning. We're driving to Canada.” The only hint of tension was the tight line of his jaw. “We'll be gone for five days.”

“You say that with such excitement, as if you're heading off on a Caribbean cruise.” She hung another ornament, careful to keep her gaze on the tree. “Mountain glaciers have to be horribly cold this time of year. Are you staying at a lodge or a cabin or something?”

“A tent. We're roughing it.”

“You'll freeze this time of year. Are you nuts?”

“Beyond a doubt.” He laughed along with her. “This is fun for us. We get to test our mettle. We bundle up in goose down and build fire like cavemen. We eat beef jerky and complain about how cold we are. It's a blast.”

“It certainly sounds appealing. Remind me to
never
go on a vacation with you.”

“For you, I could make less challenging plans. I'm flexible.” He hefted his toolbox, feeling as if he had not accomplished what he had set out to do, although he couldn't begin to explain what that was. Unsettled, wanting more and knowing he couldn't have it, he headed for the door. “When you head back to work, say hi to Comanche for me. I think he and I bonded.”

“I'll be sure and mention you to him.” She followed him to the door. “Want me to pick out a ride for you?”

“A ride? You mean, like a horse?” His hand lingered on the knob. One turn, and he would have to walk out the door. It was getting late, but did he want to go? No way.

“You agreed to go on the benefit ride. You promised, remember?” She could talk him into jumping to the moon, he figured.

“I'll be there.” Probably not a good idea, because of his impulsive kiss. It stood between them right now. September wasn't as easygoing; there was something she held back just beneath the surface. She kept a few more paces between them than was necessary. When she smiled, her eyes didn't dance and sparkle.

Yep, the kiss was to blame. He opened the door,
hooked one arm around the ladder and hauled it onto the porch. Rain speared under the porch roof, background music on a cold winter's eve.

“I'll call and leave the details on your answering machine.” She hung in the doorway, probably not wanting to get wet or cold. Although it could be she was afraid he might plant another kiss on her.

Cool, Hawk. Real cool.

“You forgot your brownies. Let me go wrap them up for you—”

“No,” he interrupted. “You keep 'em. I appreciate the meal. You're a good cook.”

“You say that as if you were surprised.”

“No. Maybe one day I'll cook for you.”

“I would be brave enough to eat whatever you prepare.”

“I'll hold you to it.” His gaze slipped to her mouth. He couldn't help it. He thought of that kiss again, like peppermint and Christmas morning and a Sunday hymn all rolled together. “Good night, September.”

“Good night, and thank you.” She beamed up at him, quiet and shy, a wholesome combination. “I appreciated your help tonight. I appreciate you.”

“Back at you, cutie.” Call him an idiot, but he apparently hadn't learned his lesson. He leaned down to slant his mouth over hers. One soft brush was all he allowed himself before he pulled away. He had only one explanation for his rash action. “Mistletoe.”

“It's not directly over the door.” She sounded amused, not really protesting at all.

“Close enough.” He grabbed his tools and his lad
der and hoofed it down the steps. “I'll call you when I get back.”

“Be careful on that glacier.”

“Count on it.”

“Better yet, I'll pray on it.” She waved her good hand in goodbye. Night had fallen, and as he left, Hawk was a shadow against the dark curtain of rain, so it made no sense why she could see him clearly. Maybe she wasn't looking as much with her eyes as with her heart.

The big, strapping man striding confidently through the storm was no longer a reminder from the past, Tim's Ranger buddy or a passing acquaintance. He was her friend, the man who had chased away her shadows and brought color and light back into her life. The tree lights blinked as if in perfect agreement as she closed the door against the damp, chilly night and moved to the window to watch his truck drive away.

Beside her the tree stood in silent reminder of the evening. She raised her hand to wave again, not sure if he could see her, as his pickup ambled down the road. Hawk, a faint silhouette behind the wheel, waved in return. The first stirrings of deep emotion fluttered to existence in her heart—hope in the darkness.

 

“Earth to Hawk.”

As the freeway north of Seattle swished by beneath the hood of his truck, Hawk heard a distant amused voice. Shaking his head to clear it—not that it worked—he attempted to stay in the here and now. His mind was stuck in a loop that took him straight back to last night.
Two kisses. Correction—two mistletoe kisses, and she didn't seem sorry about it. He shook his head again, hit his turn signal to pass and moved into the far left lane. “Sorry, buddy. I've got a lot on my mind.”

“Apparently. Whenever I have that much on my mind, it always has to do with Lexie.” His fiancée. Smirking, Pierce waited for affirmation. He already knew he was right.

Why deny it? Hawk maneuvered past the semi, keeping his eyes on the road. “I ran into September Stevens, Tim's—”

“I know who she is,” Pierce interrupted, surprised. “She could barely speak to my family at the funeral. I've never seen anyone so devastated.”

“I have.” He thought of his mom. He knew about loss. He'd lost not only his dad in a logging accident, but his mother, too. “She's doing better. I was over at her place last night. She bought a nice little town house south of the city. I did a few repairs and hauled in her Christmas tree for her. No biggie.”

Except for those kisses. He couldn't get rid of the feeling that he shouldn't have done that. September was off-limits. Any decent man would think so. She was still recovering from a deep heartbreak. She had once been his best friend's girl. He might have tried explaining those kisses away using the mistletoe, but the truth was he would have kissed her without it. It wasn't right to care about her in any other way than friendship.

“No biggie, huh?” Pierce, fearless on the battlefield and smart tactically, was never easily fooled. “I understand,
man. Don't sweat it. I've been there before. Fact is, I still am. Nearly killed me to leave Lexie behind. It doesn't get easier. Every time I go, it's leaving a piece of me.”

“Hey, what kind of talk is that? This is your last outing as a free man.” Not exactly your usual bachelor party. “Getting cold feet yet?”

“Not a chance, but Lexie keeps saying we should forget the expense and bother and head for Vegas. I know it's the stress of the preparations talking, but my mom would tan me for sure if she doesn't get a wedding. I'm the first of us to get married.”

“I can see her really liking the wedding stuff.”

“You're still going to be my best man, right?”

“I
don't have cold feet.” Although when it came to September, he should. Guilt tore through him. He couldn't bring himself to tell Pierce what had really happened last night. Maybe it was time to reevaluate this relationship with her. Since his normally impenetrable defenses and iron will had no effect around her, he ought to consider ending things.

“Take the next exit, would you?” Pierce gestured toward a freeway sign coming up on them pretty fast. “It's about chow time and I'm starving.”

“Sure thing.” Still troubled, Hawk tapped the turn signal and changed lanes just as the first drops of rain fell.

 

“I know you're getting antsy, handsome. You've been without a long ride for way too long.” September gave the cinch a good tug and laid her casted hand against
Comanche's stomach. “You aren't holding your breath, are you?”

Caught in the act, the palomino exhaled sheepishly.

“Every time,” she told him. “That's how I know. You might as well not even try.”

He shook his head, as if he had an opinion on that. He was the best horse in the entire world—okay, she was biased—but he tended to have a mind of his own. She buckled up, and they were ready to go.

“C'mon, boy.” She caught his reins and led him down the aisle. “We can't take the trails up the mountain until they are all inspected. You don't mind, do you?”

Comanche lipped her ponytail, just glad to be with her. She knew, because that's how she felt. Grateful to be spending time with her best bud. Her riding boots gave a satisfying knell alongside her gelding's steeled shoes as they followed the cement pathway past the riding arena.

“I didn't know you were cleared to ride.” Colleen, her boss, appeared in the office doorway. “Did your doctor give you clearance?”

“Not only that, but I can come back to work whenever, if you'll have me.” She dug in her jacket pocket and handed over the doctor's memo. “I'm not sure how useful I'll be in the barns, but I can do my lessons.”

“Excellent. I'll put you in the office on Monday instead of cleaning stalls until that's healed.” Colleen studied the paper and folded it in precise half. “I heard from Mrs. Toppins. She says Crystal is home and recovering nicely. The girl is already begging to resume her lessons.”

“Sounds like Crystal.” She had a definite soft spot for her favorite student. “I meant to call her mom today. I'm glad she isn't afraid to ride. A lot of kids wouldn't want to get back on a horse after an experience like that.”