The Soldier's Holiday Vow (5 page)

No answer came, and she didn't expect one. She only hoped her words had a chance of being heard. A motor roared to life outside, muffled by the sturdy walls, and she caught sight of a blur moving beyond the window—Hawk rocketing down the street. She moved to the sill, but he was already gone. Sunshine swept the steady branches of the rhododendrons outside, their green leaves held up toward the sky, as if with faith.

The back door opened and Chessie's shoes clicked on the hardwood. Sacks rustled as they came to rest on the kitchen counter.

“I see he's gone.” Her voice echoed in the coved ceiling and bounced off the plain white walls. She clomped into sight. “Tell me why you aren't lying on the couch with your feet up.”

“Because I'm bored of lying still. Let me help put away the groceries.”

“Not on your life. Get on that couch or do I have to come over there and make you do it?” Chessie might be all bark, but it was concern that softened her dark eyes,
worry that furrowed across her brow. “You are my only sister, don't forget. I could have lost you. So, are you going to do what I ask?”

“Yes, big sis.” Tired and drained, she retreated to the couch. It felt good to lie back on the soft cushions and fluffy pillows and grab the remote.

After Chessie was done putting away the groceries, she plopped in the nearby chair. They spent the afternoon watching classic movies and humming along with Fred Astaire. But to her, Hawk wasn't forgotten. He was like those old songs, familiar and dear, the ones she wanted to sing over and over again.

 

The tree lot on the corner of two main roads sparkled with cheerful Christmas lights rimming their blocked-off portion of the grocery store parking lot. Through the rain speckling the windshield, she spotted an older man and his wife trying to stay dry under a small makeshift awning. It had to be a cold job. She empathized, as she often worked in the cold winter rain, too.

“Looks like we have plenty of choices.” Hawk stopped the truck and killed the engine. The hot air from the heater sputtered out, and the windshield immediately began to fog. “We're the only customers here.”

“I can't imagine why.” She released her seat belt, turning toward him in the seat. Rain pinged on the glass, smearing the outside world like one big Christmas watercolor. “Don't most people shop for trees in the pouring rain?”

“I've been in monsoons that were drier than this,” he
quipped. “Wait a second. I'll grab an umbrella and come around for you.”

“Umbrella? Who do you think I am? I'm a Seattle girl. I'm not afraid of a little rain.” She opened her door and hopped down from the truck, lifting her face to the spattering rain.

Footsteps splashed on the wet blacktop, pounding in her direction. Hawk, glowering at her, as he rounded the front corner of the truck.

“You could have waited for me to help you down.” He stared at the umbrella, folded and tied neatly in hand. “It's too late for this now. You're already dripping wet and loving it.”

“After being cooped up indoors for so many days, I do love it.” She swiped at the raindrops collecting on her lashes and breathed in the fresh-cut tree scent. “I'm feeling better already.”

“You look better. There's color in your cheeks.”

“See? I don't need to be pampered. Too bad my sister isn't here to see. I'm going stir-crazy.” She waved to the couple huddled under their awning. “Good morning.”

“Hello there,” the husband greeted. “Are you two wanting anything in particular?”

“We'll browse around and let you know.” Hawk stepped in, locking his arm through her good one. They must look like a couple out to buy their tree. “Where do you want to start? There's some good-looking spruce right here. Well shaped and full. That would look mighty pretty in your front window.”

“I would rather shop around first. See what my options are.”

“That's where we are different. I know what I want and when I see it, I grab it and go. Quick in and quick out.”

“The Ranger way?” She shook her head, enjoying the pleasant squish of puddled water beneath her boots and the symphony of rainfall pattering around them. Holiday lights flashed cheerfully as she followed an aisle past the perfect trees. “I like to take a careful look. Sometimes you find a hidden treasure.”

“I see what you mean.” His tone was thoughtful, drawing her attention. Suddenly she didn't feel as if he was talking about the trees surrounding them.

Heat stained her face, and she looked away. With every step she took, she was deeply aware of him at her side. The force of his noble presence was as tangible as the ground beneath her feet.

“How about this one?” He paused to admire a noble fir, tall and proud and perfect.

“It is lovely.” She bit her bottom lip, a habit when she was thinking. “I can't help but think this tree is gorgeous. Any number of people will want it. It will sell in a snap.”

“Well, I don't know. It's still here, isn't it?”

“It's two weeks before Christmas. A lot of people haven't come by yet. I'm positive this tree will find a home.”

“So that means we get it?” He wasn't exactly paying attention to her every word. He couldn't. She captivated him, looking like Christmas come early with her spun-sugar pink hat, scarf and mittens and matching coat.

“It means I feel confident leaving the tree right here.”

“Right. Because we have to worry about the trees who won't find a home?” A total guess on his part, but he knew he was right when he was rewarded by her smile.

“Now you're getting it, Hawkins.” She took the lead. “I'll take point. Follow me.”

“You've picked up a few military terms.” He jammed his fists into his coat pockets and trailed after her.

“Hard not to. C'mon, soldier. I see exactly what I'm looking for.” She forged ahead, undaunted by the virtual forest surrounding them, sure of her mission.

“I know what you are up to.” He hiked to keep up with her. “You are going for the pity tree.”

“Pity tree? I don't think that's a very nice thing to say. Trees are God's creations and every one of them is beautiful.” She tossed a grin over her shoulder, as if daring him to argue.

As if he could argue with the likes of her. Too pretty and smart for a guy like him—besides, she made any arguments vanish. How could any guy argue with her? When she smiled, she made his heart skip three beats, but he didn't break stride as he caught up to her. He shook his head. “I should have known.”

“This one is perfect.” She touched a scrawny branch of the slightly lopsided Douglas fir. He'd never seen a sorrier tree—or at least not one that was still green.

“I'm not even going to try to talk you out of it.” He might not be the smartest tool in the shed, but he knew happiness when he saw it. He wouldn't take that from her for the world. “You're sure this is the one you want?
There might be a more sickly looking one on the other side of the lot.”

“I've bonded with this one. Plus, it's a live tree.” She pointed to the big brown planter, presumably of all natural material.

“Perfect.”

“I'm glad you think so. You're more of a kindred spirit than I first thought.” She beamed up at him, a moment of joy on a rainy gray day, and his heart did more than skip a few beats. Everything within him stilled, as if he would never be the same.

“Can I help you with that?” The owner appeared with a handcart.

Hawk hardly heard him. In the whimsical flash of the multicolored twinkle lights, September's gaze locked on his with appreciation, and guilt hit him like a cluster bomb.

T
he cotton candy clouds slowly ripped apart, and the rain turned to a lazy drizzle as she let Hawk help her into the truck. His hand at her elbow was a comfort. She felt better today than she had in a long time. Maybe it had to do with getting out of the house and feeling the wonder of the outdoors, the rugged, snowcapped mountains rimming the horizon. Maybe—just maybe—it had to do with the man who pulled her seat belt for her and buckled her in snuggly.

“Tell me why you aren't married again?” He was a gentleman and a caretaker. She had a soft spot for the protective, caring type.

“No woman will have me.” He grinned, flashing those gorgeous dimples of his as if he knew full well the effect they had on a girl. “Probably because I'm deployed all the time. Hard to know a girl long enough that she could see past my faults.”

“Your
numerous
faults,” she couldn't resist correcting.

“Hey! I'm not that bad. At least, I hope not.” He winked, confident as always, and closed the door. Even through the blur of the wet windshield, he radiated integrity and good humor. Definitely hard not to like the guy.

The door wrenched open and he hopped behind the wheel. “I hope you're not keeping count of my faults.”

“I've decided to make a list.”

“That's bound to be one mighty long list.” He laughed at that and started the truck.

A list. That might do it. She would need some way to keep from liking him too much. Hard to say why, but she felt more herself today. She could almost see the girl she used to be in the reflection of the shadowy windshield.

“Anything you need to get? Any place you need to go?” He put the truck in Reverse and laid his arm over the back of the bench seat dangerously close to her. “Maybe new decorations for your new tree?”

Sitting there, with the defroster blowing through his short, dark hair and happiness softening the striking planes of his masculine face, he represented everything noble and righteous in the world. His honor shone through, unmistakable. She saw friendship and kindness and a soldier's loyalty. She had the feeling that if she asked him, he would move the mountains stone by stone.

“There is somewhere I'm dying to go.” She pointed to the right—away from the way home—after he turned the truck around. “I need to see my horse.”

“I thought doctor's orders were to take it easy. You might not have been hurt the way Crystal was, but
you're bruised up pretty good. I know. Back at the hospital, I sweet-talked the nurses into telling me the truth.” Serious concern layered the deep notes of his voice and warmed the air between them. Not accusing, when he could be, and not controlling when he could simply drive her home. He probably had no idea how attractive that made him. His gaze fastened on hers, as if he were expecting nothing short of the whole truth. “Do you feel up to it?”

“Not exactly. I'm still fairly weak.” His gaze intensified, or maybe it was her perception. She resisted the urge to tear away and break the intimacy. “I've heard the reports, I've spoken to my boss and the vet, but I have to see with my own eyes that Comanche is okay. He's been my best friend for the last ten years.”

“Friendship means a lot to you.”

“It's everything.” Friendship was the kind of love she could depend on. She fingered her cast, fighting frustration. “I miss him. Whatever has gone wrong in my life, Comanche has always been there to make it easier. And now I can't drive because of the medication I'm on, so I can't see him.”

“What about your sister? Won't she drive you?”

“Chessie tends to be a little overprotective.”

“A big sister's prerogative.” He hit the turn signal—right, not left toward home. “Here's the deal—no riding, no stress and strain, no exertion of any kind.”

“Thank
you, Hawk.” Hard not to like him more than she already did. Joy sparkled through her, and it was because of him. “You never answered my question.”

“Neatly evaded it, did I? Learned how to walk softly in Ranger School. It's saved me more than once.”

“You can't tiptoe around this ambush. I have skills of my own. Being a riding instructor teaches you a lot of things. Perseverance. Focus. How to stick with a problem until you work out a solution.” She liked how tiny lines crinkled at the corners of his eyes when he grinned.

“So you're saying I have met my match?”

“You have. No more glib phrases so you don't have to face the real issue.”

“I'm in big trouble.” He slowed to a stop at the intersection and let his eyes meet hers. “Okay, here's the scoop. I'm not looking for marriage right now for the same reason you haven't started dating again.”

“Oh.” She didn't want to look at the places iced over and wintry within her, but she understood. He didn't need to say more. “Tim.”

“I don't want to leave someone behind to grieve me.” He checked for traffic and concentrated overly hard on his driving, as if the simple task of making a right-hand turn took all of his mental capabilities.

Caring. That was the danger. She understood what he could not say. That when you took the initial small step in a relationship, you let that person through your first layer of defenses. When you cared, you opened your heart, leaving you vulnerable to the world, to life and to loss. Sometimes that was too much of a risk to take.

The swipe of the wiper against the windshield helped to fill the silence between them. Miles rolled by in many shades of green—the faded tones of the grass, the
deeper hues of the evergreens, the sedate greens of bushes and shrubbery. Houses on acreage whisked by and within minutes she was pointing at the turnoff to the riding stables.

“Is this the same place where you learned to ride as a kid?” he asked as he parked in the gravel lot.

“Yes. When I was ten, I used to makes wishes on the first star of the night that I would grow up to be just like Colleen. She owns the stables. I couldn't imagine spending my life working with horses and riding all day.” She reached to release her seat belt, but he beat her to it.

“Just proves some dreams are meant to come true.” He released the buckle, his hand catching hers. The calm of the contact shook her. It lasted only for a moment before he turned away. “This time you wait for me to come help you down. I know I don't look like it, but I can be a gentleman.”

“I never doubted it.” The door shut, leaving her alone in the compartment. He dominated her thoughts. He was all she could see as he circled around and opened her door. His hand took hers again, and she leaned into his touch, wanting more of the unyielding peace he brought to her. She wasn't sure the exact moment her feet touched the ground.

“Tell me what you do here besides private lessons.” He beeped his truck locked and followed her across the gravel toward the main barn. “Did you used to show?”

“Now I train others who show. But don't get me wrong. I spend a lot of hours mucking stalls and hauling hay. Barn work is a part of owning a horse.” She strode
through the main doors, open to the blustery winds, and hiked down the aisle. Gladness radiated her, and she raised her good hand to someone out of his sight and kept going. “I practically live here. I'm never home.”

“I know what that's like.” He loved his job, too, the challenge and the duty. This was a different world, one that smelled like fresh alfalfa and horse. A pleasant combination, one that drew up memories of his boyhood in Wyoming, racing through the fields of wild grasses, while across the way farmers cut their fields, the scent carrying on the summer breeze. On either side of him, horses poked their heads over their gates, full of curiosity. Everything was clean and shining, from the polished wood to the animals themselves.

“There's my boy.” A horse whinnied, more anxious than the others at the sight of the woman in the aisle, and she went to him. Her good hand curled around his fancy purple halter. “Hey, Comanche. I've been missing you, big fella.”

Hawk froze in the aisle, caught by the sight of the petite woman, diminutive compared to the giant gold horse. The animal strained against the gate, making it groan as he pressed his face into her hand. He nibbled the edge of her cast as if with great concern.

“It's all right. I can still ride.” Her assurance was met with a doubting nicker.

He could watch the woman all day long. She was different with her horse, softer, more alive and less shadowed. Her hair hung in a straight curtain, framing her sweetheart's face, and she moved like a Christmas
carol—with grace and spirit. She leaned her forehead against the horse's cheek, a moment of pure tenderness between two friends.

That was what it would be like to be close to her, he realized. Sugarcoated moments and quiet closeness. His heart warmed as feelings came to life, new and powerful and unlike anything he'd known before. Soft and tender emotions, ones he had no right to. He more than cared about her. He liked her. A lot. Guilt returned to pierce him like a blade.

“He's a good-looking horse.” What he knew about the creatures could fit into a boot, but it didn't take a horseman to see the quality of the animal. His face was finely shaped, his forehead high and intelligent, his eyes wise and kind. His coat gleamed like honey in sunshine, and his mane shimmered like white silk. Beneath the purple blanketlike garment he wore, the horse looked pleasingly built.

“Comanche has an impressive pedigree. A quality quarter horse isn't cheap. I think my parents took out a second mortgage on their house for him and the mare they bought my sister when we were in junior high.”

“Good parents.”

“The best.” She readily agreed, and she had never looked lovelier or more wholesome, the kind of woman a man wanted to come home to. She could make a soldier like him wish for things that were out of his reach.

He winced, wanting to retreat. He had no right feeling this way. He was wrong to look at September and wish.

“My sister mostly grew out of her horse phase, but I
never will.” Her laughter rippled, the sound of gentle chiming joy, as the horse lapped at her coat pocket, trying to work it open. Gently, she focused her attention on Comanche. “Let me see what I have in here. I might be out of peppermint.”

They were a pair, Hawk decided as he watched woman and horse. September bent to her task, her hair hiding her face as she searched in her pocket and came up with a single wrapped piece of candy. Best friends, she had said. He didn't doubt that the horse adored her. Being close to her had to be as sweet as walking in heaven.

“This is the only one, sorry, buddy.” She unwrapped the candy, while the horse tried to grab it with his whiskery lips. When he succeeded, she laughed again, a sound that wrapped around Hawk's heart, a memory he would never let go of.

His quiet, unspoken wish remained, right and wrong all at once. Torture. He cleared his throat, struggling to hide it. “I bet there isn't anything Comanche doesn't know about you.”

“True. He is my closest confidant.”

“So, if I want to learn your secrets, I would have to go to him. Get him to talk.” He ambled closer and rubbed the gelding's nose. Comanche crunched happily on his candy.

“Why? Is there something you want to know about me?” She cast him a sideways glance, curiosity alight on her delicate features.

“Don't worry. Your secrets are safe. I don't speak horse.”

“Lucky for me.” She dipped her head, as if suddenly shy.

Maybe because he was studying her too boldly. He didn't mean to. She had hints of little dimples, and he missed seeing her real smile, the full-fledged, all-out one he remembered back when she had been dating Tim. What would it take to see that full-out grin again? Everything within him longed for the sight.

Guilt wedged again into his soul. What would Tim think? Was his buddy looking down from heaven right now with anger? Or would he understand? Hawk shifted his weight, stepping away, and the horse nickered in protest. Apparently Comanche was used to a lot of adoration.

September had turned to him, about to speak, when someone called her name. She whipped around, her hair flying, calling out a howdy to the woman bouncing down the aisle.

“I knew you couldn't stay away!” A redhead wrapped September in a careful hug. “Everyone has been asking about you and wanting to know when you're coming back.”

“As soon as the doctor says I can.”

The two women fell into a lively conversation about people and horses. Hawk leaned against Comanche's stall and folded his arms. September was all he could see—the graceful, tall way she stood like a ballet dancer. Her warm manner, her concern for the other people she discussed with the redhead, her gentle voice that had the nearby horses turning their heads to listen to her. Could he blame them? Not one bit.

Face it, you like her, man. And not just a little, either. If only he knew how to bury his affection for her or to somehow erase his feelings. He had no right to them. None at all.

 

Peace. It seeped into her in an innocent warm rush that went straight to her heart. September took one last look at the stables—a comforting place where she truly belonged—before Hawk turned the truck around and headed down the drive. “At least the rain has stopped.”