The Soldier's Holiday Vow (13 page)

“I need them, Hawk. Don't you see? I can't let myself
care for you more than that.” She pulled away from him as if being near to him tortured her. As if he had hurt her beyond repair.

“But friendships can deepen.” At least he prayed it would.
This is in Your hands, Lord, but please, if it's Your will, let this work out. Let her love me.

All he wanted was the chance to win her heart. Just the chance.

But even he could see it was too late.

“I didn't want you as anything more than a friend.” Terribly gentle came her words, laced with genuine affection. “You knew this from the start. I'm sorry, but I am never going to love you. It's not a possibility.”

“Wow.” A puff of air escaped him, otherwise he couldn't move, couldn't breathe. He felt frozen from the impact of her words. That happened in a serious injury, he knew from firsthand experience. The pain was too much for the body to tolerate, the shock too great for the nervous system. First came a vast, stunning stillness, which he was experiencing. Proof that he'd come to love her more than he'd realized. Then pain crashed through him like a bomb strike—a polite bomb strike. Apology was etched into her beautiful face, along with concern for him.

But there was more. He could feel her agony. This was hurting her.
He
was hurting her. The devastation felt like a death blow. He steeled his spine and pretended he was fine. This was no big deal. She didn't need to feel sorry; she'd been honest. A man couldn't ask for more than that. He pasted what he hoped was a good-natured
look on his face. “I heard you loud and clear, September. Message received.”

“I'm sorry to be so blunt.” More than apology crinkled adorably around her pretty mouth and luminous eyes. “I don't mean to be. This isn't easy.”

“You're hurting. I'm hurting. This is not what I want. It's not why I'm here. If I'm not making you happy—”

“You should leave,” she finished his thought, completed his sentence and looked as broken up as he felt.

Everything inside him screamed to go to her, to draw her into his arms, cradle her to his chest and comfort her. Make this better for her. But how could he go against her wishes? No, he had to turn away. He had to walk off, knowing his love caused her pain.

His boots rang on the porch boards—a hollow sound. The tree lights blazed through the window, as if nothing catastrophic had happened. A car rolled down the street behind them. The carolers' tune grew louder as they stopped at the house next door, singing about rockin' around the Christmas tree. And September backed through her doorway, standing there like the other times she had wished him good-night. One horrible thing was different—the way she looked at him with utter misery.

It wasn't good-night this time. It was goodbye.

“Thanks for the good day.” His steps drummed on the stairs. “I will remember it for a long time.”

“Me, too.” She didn't move from the doorway. She couldn't. “Thanks for everything you've done for me. I want you to know that it mattered.”

“I'm glad. Then it was all worth it.” He raised his
hand in one sweeping wave for goodbye. Maybe he couldn't say the words, either. He pivoted on his heel and strode away, straight shouldered, noble, infinitely strong.

She hated seeing him go. It was killing her. She gripped the door, unable to close it, unable to deprive herself of the last look she would have of him. Watching him walk away was the hardest thing she had done since burying Tim. She felt broken all over again. There was no way to shield herself from the truth. She was not the same woman she'd been when she'd tumbled down that forgotten mine shaft. She was someone healed, someone hopeful, someone who longed to dream again.

She longed to love him, truly and deeply for the rest of her life, but he was a Ranger, in and out of danger. She could not do it. She could not face that again. Not even for him. No one, especially not she, was strong enough for that.

She heard his truck door close and the engine roar to life. She watched him drive away, her every cell, her every neuron, her very essence shrieking at her to go after him.

She didn't. He disappeared into the night, gone forever from her life. As the carolers harmonized “We Wish You a Merry Christmas,” she bowed her head, overwhelmed with misery.

 

Black clouds rolled in from the coast, grabbing the starlight and stealing it like a thief in the dark. Hawk grabbed the shopping bags from the backseat and shouldered the door shut. The parking lot was still and silent; a few lights blazed in the base apartments. A faint drone
of voices and music rose as he hoofed it up the front steps. The complex's Christmas party. He'd totally forgotten.

Not that he was in a social mood. No, he was pretty much toast. September didn't want him. She'd told him so. She was never going to love him. That would never be a possibility.

Never
was a harsh word. With every step he took down the hall, the pain set in deeper. With every crinkle and rustle of the bags came a reminder of their evening together: September's blazing joy in front of the Christmas books, the prowl for a parking spot and all the fun little things they had shared, his hunt for change through his pockets for the Salvation Army donation pot. Dinner at the food court where he ate ten tacos—she'd counted in disbelief. How she'd tuned his truck radio—and he let no one mess with his radio—to some frilly station where Christmas music played 24/7 and they sang along with the carols to while away the time trying to get out of the mall parking.

Yeah, good job at not remembering, Hawk.
He took the stairs at the far end of the hall, so he could avoid the loud common room where, judging by the sound of things, the party was in full swing. A singing competition of “The Twelve Days of Christmas” rang along the empty corridor as he hit the stairwell. Laughter and merriment followed him like a dog on a trail.

Never, she'd said. She would never love him. She might as well have taken a knife to his soul.

He charged into his place and shut the door. Darkness met him. The bags gave a final rustle as he dropped them
to the floor. He didn't bother with the light. Finding his way by memory, he headed straight to the fridge, cracked open a can of soda and hiked out onto the balcony. Cold met him, and he welcomed it. With any luck, it would numb the agony threatening to overtake him. He could freeze his emotions enough so he would never feel the pain of September's rejection.

He eased into a frosty deck chair, planted his elbows on his knees and stared off into the night. Only a few stars remained, the rest of the sky loomed inky-black, heavy with a coming storm. Faint sounds from the party down below drifted up to him like a carol. He took a swig of soda and tuned out the music, too. Did it work? No, because the music looped him back to standing on September's yard getting the new decorations just right. Why had he let her so far in? It was a doomed mission—he could have seen it rationally. He was always going to get hurt.

“Hawk, you in here?”

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, drawing up his reserves, burying his hurt. By the time Reno found him, he'd been able to wipe the grief from his face.

“Why aren't you at the party?” Reno leaned against the frame of the slider door. “I came to fetch you earlier, but you were out.”

“Christmas shopping. I head home tomorrow morning.”

“I know. I'm your ride to the airport, remember? You look like you could use some cheering up. Some of the new recruits are going to put on some kind of Christ
mas skit. It's supposed to be a riot. You don't want to miss that.”

“Right.” He took another slurp of cola. “I'll be down in a bit.”

“Something wrong, buddy?”

“Nothing I can't handle.” It was true. He would face the pain. He was a Ranger; he didn't go around, he went through. He didn't give up and he didn't give in. Right now, he couldn't see there was any other alternative. September didn't want him. He had moved too fast too soon.

“Okay. I'll come fetch you for the skit.” Reno sounded unsure, as if he were starting to figure out something wasn't right.

“I'm good,” he assured his buddy. “Go back to the party.”

“I'll see you there, then. Did you hear? Word is, our deployment's been moved up.”

Hawk managed to nod. As Reno headed for the exit, he took another swallow of soda. So much for being alone. He couldn't miss the obligatory production by the newbies, but he didn't feel like being around a lot of people, either. All he wanted was September.

He'd scared her with that final kiss and he lost his only chance with her. She was his light in the dark and always would be. Grief grabbed at him, shadowed and all-consuming. She had been the one he'd let too close. Funny how he hadn't even realized it. It just happened. And now look at the result. He was sitting alone in the night without her.

 

She watched the last stars wink out, and she felt hopeless. She'd cried until there were no more tears, and that made no sense. She didn't love Hawk. Losing him shouldn't hurt like this.

She shifted on the window seat, the house dark and quiet around her. The entire world had gone still, as if the earth had stopped spinning. The sweet memory of their kiss remained like a treasure she could not relinquish.

She leaned her forehead against the cold glass, wishing she could turn back time and bury herself in ice. If she were numb, she wouldn't have to feel the keen-edged pain of breaking Hawk's heart. She wrapped her arms around her middle, trying to comfort herself, but the pain remained.

She relaxed into the window-seat cushions, the rustling movements echoing in her solitary family room. She had gotten carried away tonight. Caught up in a rare happiness, she had forgotten to hold back, to keep Hawk at a distance. She hadn't realized her emotions were threatening to get away from her.

Good thing she caught it when she did before she started dreaming of Hawk as her husband one day, of the happy marriage and the kids they would have. Two little boys—her rebellious, foolish mind could almost see them—and a little girl who loved horses. Dreams she could not give in to, but it was too late. Their seeds had already taken hold, and she would be haunted by their promise for the rest of her life.

Raindrops struck the window and slid down the dark
glass. More followed behind them, tapping a lonely melody. A few moments later water gurgled in the gutters and the lilac bushes began to sway, their branches whispering against the siding. She couldn't help wondering if Hawk was watching the rain fall and if he were thinking of her, too. She thought so. It was as if emotion connected them across the miles, and she could sense his hurt, as bleak as her own.

Don't think of him, September.
She rose from the cushions, walking through the dark room to the kitchen, where the faint blink of colored lights grew stronger with every step. The dear little tree with its nonproportional branches and lopsided trunk stood proudly at the window, limbs raised toward heaven. With the star topper blazing, the fir looked like grace itself, transformed by the light, a symbol of grace.

I cannot love him.
She touched a featherlike needle and drew in the tree's comforting pine scent. Hawk was a soldier. As a Ranger, he put himself in harm's way every time he went on a mission. The thought of losing Hawk fractured her in pieces. Proof that it was too late for friendship. Her affections ran too deep. Life for a soldier was too uncertain and her heart too fragile. She had to let him go.

Help me to be strong, Lord, and to do the right thing.
She gazed skyward, but heaven felt far away on this desolate night.

“Y
ou look terrible.” Chessie marched across the cathedral's parking lot, her heels tapping a no-nonsense rhythm. They came every year for the seasonal performance. “Did you sleep at all last night? It's your arm. It's hurting you.”

“Stop, my arm is fine.” September wasn't about to admit why she had tossed and turned all night. “It was just one of those nights. You look gorgeous. Is that a new dress?”

“An impulse buy when I was shopping for Evelyn.” Chessie gave a flourish, showing off the flowing silk garment beneath her equally tasteful wool coat. “You know how I am about sticking to budgets, but it was on sale and I fell in love with it.”

“Do you know what that would be great for? Your New Year's Eve date.” They followed the sidewalk to the church's wide steps.

“That's what I thought, too.” Chessie paused to take
two programs from the stand in the vestibule and handed one over. “So, how did your shopping expedition with Hawk turn out?”

“How did you—?”

“Ha! Colleen told me. I stopped by to see Princess. I don't think she meant to tell. She assumed I knew all about the new man in your life.”

“He's not in my life.” Especially after last night. Battling regret, she forged ahead down the aisle, ignoring the beautiful glasswork and the discordant notes of the orchestra warming up. She pointed to an available pew toward the middle. At Chessie's nod, she eased into the row, praying that her sister would drop the subject and knowing she would not.

“I thought things were going well.” Her sister looked chagrined as she settled onto the bench. “You were spending a lot of time together.”

“Were
being the operative word. He left for Wyoming this morning.”

“Well, it's still early. You can call him before you get home. It's what, only an hour ahead in Wyoming? It won't be too late.”

“You want me to call him? I thought you didn't like him.” She unbuttoned her coat, paying a lot of attention to each button. The one thing she could not do was to think about Hawk's laugh, or his undying optimism, or his kiss. What she especially could not afford to do was to imagine the dreams lost, pictures of a future with him.

“I told you. I don't like what he does, but look at you. If this is how much you miss him when he leaves, it's
too late for my opinion. Your heart has already decided. You are in love with him.”

“I am not.” That came out defensively. Out of the corner of her eye she saw people two pews away turn to look at her. She lowered her voice. “Hawk and I aren't a couple, trust me.”

“But you want to be?”

“No.”
But we could have been.
Regret battered her. Everything inside her shouted out for him. She stowed her purse on the floor beneath the pew, doing her best not to look at Chessie. She did not want her sister to guess what had happened. “I can't fall for another Ranger. I knew it all along. You do, too, remember? You told me from the start. But—”

She hung her head, unable to admit it was already too late. She felt her sister's concern like the draft from the wide-open doors. Rustling started as the choir filed onto the bleachers at the head of the church. Soon the program would start and that would put an end to this discussion.

But not to her misery. Why couldn't she forget what it had been like to be cared for by him? If only she could forget the time they had spent together—picking out the tree, doing dishes, sipping hot coffee. It wasn't as if he had whisked her off to Paris. He had simply taken her to the mall. So why was she hung up on him? Why couldn't she bear to let a single memory of him go?

The conductor tapped his baton against the podium, and the cathedral quieted in anticipation. She tried to silence the whisperings in her mind. She tried to quiet
her unmistakable sadness. The first majestic notes of Handel's
Messiah
blasted into the sanctuary, but the music didn't touch her. “Hallelujah,” the choir belted out in perfect harmony, but it might as well have been silence. The beautiful, inspiring music did not touch her. It did not uplift her. It did not make her want to believe.

I'm grieving him,
she realized. She hadn't imagined that love could come again into her heart. She had mistaken friendship for something more. She had ignored her deepening feelings when she should have been honest enough to examine them. As the music crescendoed and the joy of the music reverberated in the acoustic glory of the cathedral, she was in silence. The only music she heard was longing within her soul for a lifetime with Hawk. For one brief second, she saw what could be—frequent laughter and quiet moments, a lifetime spent with his companionship and his stalwart, ever-caring love. Children and birthdays and celebrations. Grandchildren and retirement. Evenings spent on a porch. A love that strengthened day by day.

A wish was all it could be, a daydream and nothing more.

Chessie leaned close to whisper, “Are you all right?”

“I will be.” She set her chin, fixed her eyes on the choir and tried to let the music carry her away. She had to be practical. She might want that future with Hawk, but she was not a woman who could afford to dream. End of story. The fall that followed love lost was not worth it.

Wait a minute. Did that mean she would rather have
never met Tim? That she would have been better off never loving him? No. Her life was richer—she was richer—because the sweet, enthusiastic idealistic Tim Granger had come into her life. So that made her wonder. What would she miss with Hawk?

She hung her head, realizing that was one question she would not have answered. Remembering the look on his face, it was over. She was too late.

Sorrow hit her with a bleak punch, unfair on an evening so beautiful in a sanctuary fraught with light and glorious in song.

 

“You've been awfully quiet tonight.” Frank Granger, Pierce's uncle, drew up a chair and hunkered down beside him at the cloth-covered table. The extended family had moved into the living room to pour over old wedding albums.

Hawk didn't have the will to join them. All through the wedding talk, rehearsal and rehearsal dinner, he couldn't help wondering about his future—the one he wanted more than air to breathe. An impossible future. He should have known that all along. He could have saved himself a passel of disappointment.

“Just got a lot on my mind.” He grabbed the can of root beer he'd been working on and upended it. Drained the last of the soda in three gulps.

“When a man looks like you do, it's always woman trouble.” There was no pulling the wool over Uncle Frank's eyes. He was a widower who ran a successful ranch north of Jackson Hole. It was hard not to like
Frank. He was the sort of man who looked you in the eye when he talked to you, a man who always did the right thing. Hawk had known him since he was a boy and respected him more with each passing year.

“If I tell you you're right, that I've got some major woman trouble, then you will want to know about it.” He set down the can and pushed back his chair.

“We don't have to talk about it.” Frank reached across the table to steal a carrot stick left on the vegetable plate from dinner. “Sometimes it's best to let things simmer. If you think on it long enough, the right answer will come to you.”

“I appreciate that. But I doubt there's a right answer.”

“There's always a right answer, son.”

“No, it's definitely over.” Miserable, Hawk snatched a carrot stick, too, and crunched on it. “She dumped me.”

“That hangdog look on your face can only mean one thing.” Frank looked as if he had seen it all. “I was a married man for a long time. I know what a woman can do to a man's heart.”

“It's my fault. Not hers.” That was the worst part. He'd known how she felt and yet he went charging ahead like a good Ranger. But he forgot sometimes you got further by sitting tight. “I fell in love with Tim's ex-fiancée.”

“You sure know how to find trouble, don't you?” Frank finished off his carrot stick and stole a radish off the platter. “It takes time to get over a loss like that. The more the girl loved him, the longer it's gonna take and the harder it is.”

“I know. I moved too fast. I thought she felt the same
way, or close enough.” His guts twisted and he tossed the carrot stick onto his abandoned dinner plate.

“The thing about women is that you can never tell what they're thinkin'. They will surprise us men every time. I can see this girl means something real to you.”

“As real as it gets.” The conversation in the living room crescendoed into a roar. Laughter, playful shouting and Mrs. Granger's drill sergeant voice echoed through the house. Even Roger, the old sheepdog, added a
woof! woof!
as if cheering someone on. Pierce and his brother were probably wrestling in the house—something crashed to the floor. Yep, and now they were getting into trouble.

“That's no way for you boys to behave on the night before a wedding.
Your
wedding, Pierce. I'm not sure you are mature enough to get married after this.” Beneath the firm layer of stern in Mrs. Granger's tone was suppressed laughter. “Sean, I can't believe you. Get off the floor and pick that up. You're lucky nothing broke. Now straighten up, both of you.”

“Yes, ma'am,” two voices answered in unison, stuttering laughter.

Hawk shook his head. Time passed, one year blurring into the next, but some things stayed the same. The Granger family would always be just like this, even without Tim. It heartened him to know love went on, and that families could survive. Maybe if he gave her enough time—

“This girl you're in love with. You want to marry her?” Frank broke into his thoughts.

“More than anything on this earth.”

“You're the man. It's up to you to convince her of that.” He leaned back in his chair, nibbling on the radish. He nodded in the direction of the kitchen doorway. “Hello there, Giselle.”

“I didn't mean to interrupt.” Pierce's little sister padded into the room. The dark-haired college-age sweetheart was going to break a lot of hearts one day. “I wanted to get a start on the dishes. Mom and Lexie did all this cooking and baking. Mom's tired, and Lexie is getting married tomorrow. They should not have to do the dishes.”

“I agree. Let me pitch in. Make myself useful for a change.” Wry-humored, Frank pushed out of his chair. “Hawk, listen. I've thought this through. You are a Ranger. Tim was a Ranger. Is that the problem?”

“It sure is.” His guts coiled tighter. “Plus, I think she's afraid to love anyone again.”

“Most of us don't want to walk a path that we're afraid of alone.” He grabbed a few plates to stack. “Maybe she needs you more than you think.”

“Maybe.” Stoneware clinked and clattered as Giselle rinsed dishes and stacked them in the dishwasher. He pushed away from the table, scooped up as many glasses as he could carry and followed Frank to the sink. Music vibrated from the front room—Mrs. Granger was playing the piano. The simple melody of “Silver Bells” was drowned out by the Granger family's singing.

He wished September were here. Regret choked him. He wished he had held back on that kiss. He wished he
could change her fear. He didn't know how to fix it. Uncle Frank had to be right—he was always right. What was the solution? How was he going to try to win back a woman who'd admitted she would never love him?

He missed her so much, it was a physical pain. A blade-sharp incision digging into his guts. An emptiness in his soul he couldn't heal. She touched him deeply, where no one ever had before. She turned him inside out and upside down, and yet her softest touch made peace settle within him. She was the reason he drew breath. This was no ordinary love. Not for him.

This was a divine gift. The chance for a truly special love. How could he walk away from that?

“Hey, Frank, get in here!” Mr. Granger called out to his brother, when the song ended. “You and Carol can play duets, and we'll all sing along.”

“Oh boy, I knew this was gonna happen.” Pretending to grumble, Frank carried one last load to the sink. “You look like a man who needs a dose of Christmas spirit. C'mon, Giselle, Hawk. We'll do these later.”

Looked as though he wasn't going to be able to avoid the family—usually the one thing he looked forward to the most when he came home. Mom was sitting on the couch, cradling a cup of tea, the fireplace crackling merrily in the hearth nearby. She smiled at him and patted the cushion at her side. As Mrs. Granger made room on the piano bench and Frank gave the ivories a tickle, he gave the sheepdog a head pat and dropped down next to his mom.

“You've been awfully quiet tonight,” she observed. “You aren't coming down with something, are you?”

“Nothing a good night's sleep won't cure.” That was true enough. He'd hardly slept a wink last night. He feared tonight he would be doing the same. Twisted up over September, unable to fix what was wrong, looking at his future without her.