The Soldier's Holiday Vow

“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.

Chapter Four

“He 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.”