The Soldier's Sweetheart

Samantha shrieked playfully as Genevieve chased her. The little girl was, as Samantha had predicted, having a wonderful time in the park, both with the other children and with Samantha, who at first hovered protectively nearby without making Genevieve feel uncomfortable, and then flat-out joined in the games.

The kids accepted Samantha as if she was one of their own, as if it wasn’t odd to see an adult crawling through their tunnels and climbing over the bars on their jungle gym. They laughed and played alongside her, even giving her a turn on the slide when she asked.

Will watched with amusement as Samantha worked up a little too much speed sliding down and, with a screech of surprise, landed on her backside, creating a cloud of dust in the sand.

Will was on his feet in an instant, offering her a hand up.

“That looked like it hurt,” he commented as she brushed the sand from her jeans.

She beamed at him, her blue eyes sparkling. “The only ache is my dignity, and I don’t have much of that to begin with.”

Her lack of self-consciousness made Will a little jealous. He’d spent his whole life striving for decorum and honor, and yet he knew perfectly well that he had failed in every way possible to be a man. He’d never been able to please his own father. He hadn’t been a good husband and father himself. He’d hurt the people he’d professed to love. Besides that, he wasn’t ignorant of the fact that, with his naturally pessimistic personality, he came off as a regular old sourpuss, whereas Samantha, with seemingly effortless ease and grace, laughed at the world—and more importantly, at herself—and was a better person for it.

Though it pained him to admit it, he clearly had a lot to learn from the woman.

Genevieve ran up and tugged on the bottom of his shirt. “Swing me, swing me, Daddy,” she begged, smiling up at him.

Smiling.

That hadn’t happened much in the little girl’s life lately. She hadn’t had much to smile about.

Will’s heart melted right there on the spot. What a beautiful child she was. He could see her mother in her, but what really choked him up was that he could see himself in her, as well. How had such a lovely little thing come from a soul as ugly as his?

“All right, Monkey,” he agreed. “Let’s go swing.” He lifted her into his arms and headed for the swing set. He intended to deposit her into one of the safety swings, the ones with four sides and holes for the legs.

“No, Daddy,” Genevieve protested. “I want to swing on the big-girl swing.”

Will glanced at Samantha, hoping she’d give him some much-needed direction. He didn’t want to make the wrong decision and end up hurting his daughter.

“Yeah. Come on, Dad. The big-girl swing,” Samantha echoed with a laugh.

Will realized that what he’d really wanted was Samantha to back him up on the decision he had already made, not agree with Genevieve. He was loath to admit that he was scared half out of his wits that his daughter would lose her balance and fall to the ground.

If she got hurt, it was all on him.

Both Samantha and Genevieve were looking at him expectantly, waiting for his decision. He didn’t see any way out of it now. He was good and stuck. He set his jaw as he perched Genevieve on the big-girl swing, waiting until she had a good hold on the chains before giving her a gentle push.

“Higher, Daddy. Higher!”

“Honey, I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Will responded, once again glancing at Samantha for support, sure that she’d back him up on this one. Genevieve was so little, and the swing so high. It was a long way to fall.

Samantha laid a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay,” she assured him. “Don’t you remember when you were a little kid, what a thrill you got from swinging just as high as you could?”

Will cringed. He couldn’t remember much from his own childhood, at least not much that he cared to recall. He knew he hadn’t had a lot of playground time, not even when he was young. He’d had a strict father who believed children should be busy working for the food they ate. His father had never been happy with Will’s performance, no matter how hard he’d tried.

The memory of his father’s bitter voice echoed through his head. You can’t go to church. Church is for good people. You are not good. Will had spent all his time doing chores and studying for school and dreaming of the moment he’d be old enough to leave that house permanently.

The day he’d turned eighteen, he’d enlisted in the U.S. Army, and he hadn’t ever looked back.

He wasn’t going to let his daughter feel that way about her life.

With a whoop and a smile, he pulled Genevieve back and pushed, giving her the freedom to fly.

Chapter Three

“Yes. No. Maybe so.” Genevieve repeated the words Samantha had taught her, a game she and her brother had played as a child. The little girl’s high-pitched laughter pealed through the otherwise silent store, and Samantha’s heartbeat rose in crescendo. She’d really grown to care for the little girl in the days since Will and Genevieve had so suddenly entered her life.

Samantha held Genevieve around the waist as the girl perched on the counter in Sam’s Grocery and swung her feet in rhythm to the chant. Since it was summer, Genevieve was staying with Samantha’s parents while Samantha and Will worked in the store, but the older couple had come into town to pick up some supplies from the hardware store and had dropped the girl off for a quick visit with her papa.

Samantha thought perhaps Will would join in the fun, but he just leaned his shoulder against the back wall, crossed his arms, and silently observed, his expression as unreadable as always. He was either angry about something or bored out of his skull. For all his glowering, Samantha had found Will to be a kind and soft-spoken man, so she guessed it was the latter.

Genevieve was clearly an expert at amusing herself and had quickly picked up on the game. Taking her cue from Samantha, she nodded, then shook her head and then shrugged offhandedly as she repeated the phrase over and over again, laughing all the more as her voice echoed throughout the store.

“Yes. No. Maybe so.”

“Practicing to be a grown woman, Monkey?” Will asked, walking to the counter and ruffling his daughter’s curly black hair affectionately.

Samantha practically did a double take. Had he cracked a joke? That would be a first. Will rarely spoke, and even when he did, he was solemn both in word and expression. Samantha sensed a golden opportunity here to draw him out of his shell a bit.

“Hey, now,” she protested. “Watch it there, mister. You’re in the company of a grown woman. You’re going to get in trouble if you keep talking that way.”

Will’s left eyebrow darted upward. He wasn’t smiling, exactly, but the corner of his mouth moved just a little. “Just sayin’.”

Samantha sniffed in feigned offense. “No comment.”

At least it appeared he was trying, which was enormous, not only for his own sake, but for his daughter’s. Genevieve needed a father who could let go and laugh once in a while. Will wouldn’t be qualifying as a stand-up comic any time soon, but his jest was more lighthearted than anything else she’d ever heard from him. It was progress.

“What have we got on our agenda today?” Will asked, his expression fading into the serious demeanor Samantha now associated with him, the creases around his eyes and over his forehead deepening as his brows lowered.

“Not much,” she answered, nodding her head toward the stockroom. “We’ve got a few boxes of canned vegetables to put out on the shelves. If you feel so inclined, you can give everything a good dusting before you place the product.” She reached under the counter and grabbed a large ostrich-feather duster, waving it like a flag on the Fourth of July.

The look on his face was priceless, somewhere between pure surprise and utter mortification.

“You want me to dust with that?” he choked out.

“Is that a problem for you?”

“No.” He answered too fast, clearly backpedaling. “It’s just that...”

She raised a brow.

“I am going to look ridiculous using a feather duster. Do you want me to wear a frilly apron, as well?”

“Like a fifties housewife, you mean?”

He coughed. If it was anyone but Will, Samantha might have mistaken it for a laugh. “Yeah. Exactly like that.”

She laughed, reached under the counter again and tossed a rag at him. “Better?”