Читать книгу The Soldier's Holiday Vow - Jillian Hart - Страница 33

Chessie set the last vase of flowers in the middle of the breakfast bar and fussed with it, turning the vase to get it just right. “So, time to fess up. What’s the deal?”

“About what?” September looked up from her position on the couch, sorting her mail. A surprising amount of junk had accumulated during the two days she’d been in the hospital.

“Not what. Who.” Satisfied with the way the flowers looked, Chessie dropped into one of the bar chairs. “What was Mark Hawkins really doing in your hospital room?”

“The obvious. Bringing flowers. Seeing how I was.”

“I didn’t know you had anything to do with that life anymore.”

She meant army life. September sighed, remembering the tough time her sister had given her over her decision to date a Ranger and then accept his marriage proposal. She tossed a handful of advertisements into the paper-recycling bin. “I haven’t seen Hawk since the funeral.”

“Talk about coincidences.”

“You have no idea.”

“Not a good coincidence.”

“No.” Her heart twisted hard, remembering how Hawk had changed. What had happened to him? “I’m trying to move on with my life, and it’s not easy. Something always pops up to pull me back.” Something forced her to remember when life had been bright and her dreams shiny and new.

“He should know that. He should have left you alone.” Chessie, protective big sister, folded her arms across her chest. “Want me to talk to him?”

“No. He meant well. Besides, it’s not like I’m going to see him again. As if. He will probably be TDY by the end of the week.”

“You mean on a tour of duty?” Chessie relaxed and propped her chin on her fists. “All right, I won’t hunt him down. But that doesn’t mean you’re okay. You didn’t need a reminder of your losses.”

“True.” She tossed a few more envelopes thick with coupons she would never need. “He looks hardened. No longer the carefree guy I remember.”

“War will do that, I suppose. It’s his choice to do what he does, carrying a gun and shooting people with it.” Chessie had a strong opinion on that. She had strong opinions on just about everything. “Don’t worry, I will stay off my soapbox, but what kind of man does that year after year?”

The kind who cares about others more than himself. September kept quiet. She wasn’t up to any kind of serious discussion about the rights and wrongs of war. Nor did she remind her sister that those words maligned Tim’s memory. Tim who had died trying to save innocent embassy hostages. Hawk had been wounded on that mission, she remembered. The hows and whys were a mystery to her.

“I’m going to swing by and pick up some pizza. That ought to put a smile on your face.” Chessie slid off the chair and hooked her purse strap over her shoulder. “I’ll get a dessert pizza, too. The Stevens girls are going to totally carb out.”

“Sounds just like what I need.” Comfort food all the way. She flung the last junk mail envelope into the bin. There, done with that chore. Not that there weren’t a dozen more needing to be done around here. Clutter was accumulating. She needed to give her family room and kitchen area a serious going-over. Keeping busy would keep her mind off her troubles, right?

“What are you doing?” Chessie scolded from the doorway. “I see you getting up. You’re going to do housework, aren’t you?”

“Why do you say that like an accusation?” September swiped a stack of books off the coffee table and tucked them into the crook of her good arm. “I have pizza coupons you can use.”

“I have some in my car.” Chessie closed the door and crossed through the living room. “That’s it, I’m calling for delivery. Someone needs to keep an eye on you. Now lie down. Do it now, or I’ll make you.”

“This sounds exactly like my childhood,” she quipped, reluctantly putting down the books. “No one can understand the hardship I went through as your sister.”

“Ha, ha.” Chessie tapped her foot, pointing to the arm of the couch where she’d propped two fluffy down pillows earlier. “Feet up. I mean it—”

The doorbell rang. She was saved. She kept her feet firmly on the hardwood floor. “Should I get that?”

“As if.” Chessie huffed out a frustrated sigh as she pivoted on her Mary Janes and marched through the town house. “You stay right where you are, sister dear. You just got out of the hospital and you’re going to take care of yourself even if I have to—”

She opened the door and fell silent. Curious, September leaned forward far enough on the cushions to see a uniformed delivery dude holding pizza boxes.

“Got a delivery for Hawkins,” he announced.

“Hawkins?” That had her moving across the room. She was halfway to the door before she saw the black motorcycle pulling up to the curb out front. Hawk swung off his bike, unbuckling his helmet.

“I’ll sign for it.” He slung his helmet over the backrest while the delivery guy handed Chessie the pizzas. The look on her sister’s face wasn’t a good one.

What was Hawk up to now? Why was he here? She hadn’t recovered from seeing him in the hospital. She hadn’t recovered from seeing him at all. Why did he have to show up looking so alive and vital?

“What aren’t you telling me?” Chessie asked as they watched Hawk sign the charge slip with an efficient scribble.

“Not one thing.”

“I hope you’re right. I’ll take these to the kitchen.” Chessie tapped away, her tone cool.

The sunlight graced him, but he was a man who walked as if he did not notice. He’d turned grim over the last hard years, and his strong, granite face, which had always been quick to grin, was serious.

She held the door for him, watching as he strode up the walkway. She couldn’t stop from caring. Well, not the serious kind of caring. What she felt was sympathy, she told herself, understanding for the man who had rescued her. Nothing more complicated than that.

“Hope you don’t mind.” He slipped the receipt into his wallet. “I figured you wouldn’t be up to cooking and your sister might appreciate a little help.”

“It was nice of you.” She didn’t need to wonder if there was a deeper motive or a hidden agenda. He was a straightforward guy. She liked Hawk; she had always liked him, and why wouldn’t she? He had been a good friend to Tim. He was a good man. That’s what she would concentrate on and not the past, not the hurt. She pulled open the door a little wider in welcome. “Why don’t you come in and have lunch with us?”

“I don’t mean to impose. I wondered if there was anything I could do for you. Run some errands or something.” He crossed the threshold, towering over her. “I’m good at fetching.”

“Are you sure you don’t have anything better to do?”

“Positive.” His humble grin reassured her.

He was merely being kind, the way Tim would have wanted. That realization made her heart squeeze shut. There was the past, yawning wide open, full of everything she had lost. Best to pretend it wasn’t there, a void between them. Dully, she let him take charge of the door and close it.

“I didn’t know what kind of pizza you like,” he explained, “so I got a couple different combos.”

“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.