The Soldier's Sweetheart (6 page)

Remorse settled heavily in his chest. Without saying a word, Samantha nodded, sympathetic tears in her eyes. It was almost too much for Will to bear, but somehow, it moved him to keep going.

“They surmise that it started as a mugging, given that her purse was found in a Dumpster and her wallet had been torn through. Her driver’s license was still there, but the cash and credit cards were gone.”

He twisted his lips as he recalled the details. “She was walking home one evening from her job as a waitress at a truck stop. A
waitress,
” he repeated, the word feeling like chalk on his tongue. She’d wanted to be—
should
have been
—a child psychologist working in a fancy office in a good part of town, making more than enough money. But because of him, because she’d flown from their relationship, she’d had to pinch out a living for herself and their daughter any way she could. As a waitress in a truck stop. He hadn’t wanted the separation in the first place. Even afterward, he’d wanted to support Haley and Genevieve, but Haley wouldn’t take a penny from him. She’d wanted to be independent. Instead, she was dead.

He swallowed his gall. “She was stopped by a group of gang members. As best as the police can tell, when they tried to nab her purse, Haley fought back. And she was stabbed to death for her effort.”

“Oh, Will,” Samantha said. She reached for him, covering his hand with the smooth softness of hers and rubbing the pad of her thumb across his rough skin. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you.” She was incredibly gracious, especially considering he didn’t deserve her sympathy. “What bothers me most is that they never caught the guys who did it.”

He pulled away from her touch and got to his feet, stepping away so she wouldn’t see him clenching and unclenching his fists. His blood boiled as he mentally counted to ten. He wanted to punch something, but he didn’t want to show his anger and lack of control in front of Samantha.

“I have to live with that knowledge for the rest of my life. Had it not been for me, Haley would still be alive.”

He had never before admitted that aloud to another human being. He felt like he was choking. He couldn’t pull in more than a gasp of air no matter how hard he tried. For once in his life, he simply wanted to
breathe
.

Despite the slight relief that grazed his heart now that he’d finally opened up to the truth, he was mortified that he’d just blurted out his culpability to his new boss, of all people. She would have every right to fire him on the spot.

Even worse than that—what must she think of him now?

“You couldn’t have known she was going to be attacked,” Samantha protested. “You were a continent away, fighting in a war.”

“Exactly.”

His heart fell. She didn’t get it. Frustration made his words a bit harsher than they otherwise would have been. “I wasn’t there for Haley. I wasn’t the man she needed me to be. If I had been, she never would have separated from me. She wouldn’t have been in that dark alley in the first place. She should never have been walking home alone at night, especially in a bad part of town. If I had stepped up—if I had been a better husband to her...”

“That sounds like a lot of ifs to me.”

“Yeah.” He blew out a breath and leaned his shoulder against the rough bark of the tree trunk, staring unseeingly into the distance. She was a softhearted, benevolent woman. She wouldn’t be able to see how he was at fault.

They remained silent for a moment, each with their own thoughts. Will was wrestling to contain the ugly guilt spreading through him, which always happened whenever he thought about Haley and relived the details of the terrible tragedy. He had no idea what Samantha was thinking, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“We got sidetracked,” he forced himself to say in a lighter tone. He should have steered this discussion back to her a long time ago. “If I’m not mistaken, we were talking about how you needed to learn how to accept help from other people.”

“And I believe I told you that I didn’t need any assistance.”

He made a sound in his throat somewhere between a cough and a chuckle. The woman was nothing if not stubborn. She refused to let him help her and her family in this fight, but what she didn’t know was that he was at least as stubborn as she was. He
would
help the Howells keep their store.

“And as
I
said, sometimes you need it. Pride can only take a person so far.”

Samantha’s gaze widened. “Is that what you think of me? That I’m prideful?”

“Of course not. I see the bigger picture.” He crossed back to her. “Look. I know how hard it is to ask for help. But you do what you have to do. I had to depend on Haley’s parents, who, despite their declining health, took care of Genevieve until I was able to be honorably discharged from the Army. I don’t know what I would have done had they not been there to keep me on my feet.” He gestured toward Samantha. “Once I arrived in Serendipity, you and your family stepped up to help a stranger in need. You’ve all shown me and Genevieve such great kindness. I can never repay you. But I do wish you’d allow me to try.”

Samantha’s cheeks shaded a deep, alluring rose. She scoffed. “I don’t know how you could call my welcome to you a
kindness
. It was lukewarm at best, I’m ashamed to say. Not very Christ-like at all.”

“Only because you didn’t get a heads-up that I was coming,” Will protested. He’d been around her enough to know she wasn’t usually the type of person to see the bad side of a situation or a person. She was an idealist from her head to her toes. “You’ve already done so much for Genevieve. She can’t stop talking about you. She thinks the earth revolves around Miss Samantha.”

She chuckled and her face brightened. Will heaved a great sigh of relief. Maybe the world didn’t
revolve
around Samantha, but it was definitely made better by her smile.

“I like her, too,” she confirmed.

Samantha’s blue eyes were shining with such sincerity and vibrancy that he was almost convinced there might be hope for his world. He didn’t pretend to understand the depth of her gaze, but it affected him to the very core of his being.

A frisson of awareness skittered across every nerve ending in his body. He wondered if she felt it, too.

Never mind that. He pulled his mental brakes and put a tight grip on his response to her—the adrenaline that coursed through him and the way his heart was beating overtime whenever their gazes met. He supposed he could write it off as that of a man just coming back from a tour in Afghanistan, but he knew it was more than that.

Samantha was
special
.

But whatever was between them didn’t matter. It
didn’t
matter, because he wasn’t going to let it. There was no way he was going to put himself in the position of caring for someone again. He was hazardous material and Samantha was too good a person for him to risk wounding her. Because no matter how hard he tried to prevent it, at the end of the day, that’s exactly what would happen if he didn’t stop this train before it started. The last thing he wanted to do was give her the wrong impression.

She had nothing to gain, and he had nothing to offer. End of subject.

He reached out a hand and helped her to her feet, careful not to touch her any more than was absolutely necessary; careful, in fact, not to stand too close to her, because he might run the risk of inhaling the sweet floral scent of her.

He didn’t doubt that he possessed the strength of will to conquer those urges, if he put his mind to it, and he had enough respect for Samantha and her family not to toy with her when he had nothing of substance to offer.

He dropped her hand as soon as he was certain she had her balance and tunneled his fingers through his hair. He’d been a loner for most of his life. It shouldn’t be difficult to maintain the facade of detachment.

So why was it that he had to continually remind himself that’s what he needed to do?

“Are we finished?” he asked abruptly.

“Finished with work, or finished with our conversation?” She sounded confused, possibly a little hurt. He’d obviously wounded her by pulling back the way he had. He was sorry about that, but in the long run, she’d thank him.

“Both.” He forced himself to meet her gaze straight on.

Her dark brows rose into high arches. She looked as if she was going to argue, and then apparently thought better of it. “Both it is, then.”

She spun on her heels and started to walk toward the shop, but she suddenly halted and turned back. Her lips twitched as she narrowed her gaze on him, watching him carefully. He squared his shoulders and met her gaze.

“Will you be coming for Sunday supper? I know my parents really enjoyed having you over last week.”

Up until that moment, Will had had every intention of spending Sunday afternoon with the Howells. Having not had much of a family life growing up, he appreciated the way Samuel and Amanda Howell drew him and Genevieve into their world. He almost felt as if they had become part of the Howells’ extended family.

And the food was incredible. He’d never experienced anything close to the sizable country banquet they spread every Sabbath. He thought Amanda must cook the entire week just to present the fixins she offered, extending from one end of their sideboard to the other.

But the way Samantha had asked the question, he had the distinct impression she didn’t want him to come. He narrowed his eyes on her, but her gaze gave away nothing.

“Yeah, I’m coming,” he said after an extended pause. “At least I was planning on it.”

There. That should give her a clear way out—if she wanted to take it. She could tell him to make other plans, simple as that.

But she didn’t. She just gave a clipped nod. “Well, fine, then. My parents will like that.”

He had no doubt that her
parents
would like it. They longed for their son, Seth, to return safely from the war. His absence was especially felt at the dinner table, where his chair remained empty. Will didn’t mind sitting in for him. And Samuel and Amanda adored Genevieve, treating her like the granddaughter they did not yet have.

“What about you?”

As much as he wanted to know the answer to that question, he hadn’t realized he’d spoken aloud until he heard her abrupt intake of breath. He winced. If he hadn’t previously hollowed out his own grave, he’d certainly managed to mine a wide chasm now. At the moment, burrowing into that foxhole and covering his head with his arms to protect himself from the fallout didn’t sound like such a bad idea.

She raised a brow. “What
about
me?”

Will’s throat worked as he searched for words, but he simply shook his head and remained silent.

Because
that
was a question he wasn’t sure he wanted her to answer. Because no matter what she said, it meant trouble.

Chapter Five

W
ell, that was weird,
Samantha thought as she laid out the Sunday dinner china on her mother’s table
.

Two days had gone by and Samantha still couldn’t wrap her mind around everything that had happened during her conversation with Will. Yesterday she’d been thinking of confronting him, or at least picking up where they’d left off, but Saturday was always the most hectic day of the week for Sam’s Grocery.

As if regular weekend grocery shoppers weren’t enough to keep the store hopping, the traditional Fourth of July celebration on the town green was scheduled for the coming Tuesday and folks were planning their family picnics and loading up with extra supplies, so it had been exceptionally busy in the store. Though she and Will had spent the entire day together, they’d barely spoken, and even then only about impersonal subjects having to do with the shop. By the time the day was over, they’d both been exhausted and had parted without another word to each other.

But so far, Sunday had been a good day of worship. Samantha loved playing the organ for the service, and today had been no exception. It was her gift to the church and the congregation, and she was always happy to do it, no matter how crazy the day before had been, no matter how many problems continued to plague her. She set it all aside when it came time to offer up to the Lord the music she carried in her heart.

She was looking forward to spending the afternoon with her family, including Genevieve, who always brightened the dinner table with her sweet smiles and innocent chatter.

And, if she was being honest with herself, she wanted to see Will.

He’d said he would be there, and she knew him to be good on his word. If she could sit near him or pull him aside at some point, maybe she’d get a better handle on what had happened at the end of their conversation; although to be honest, she highly doubted it. The man was an enigma. Every time she thought she grasped what he was thinking, he turned the tables on her and went off in a different direction. Now that she’d spent more time with him, though, she was beginning to suspect it was a defense mechanism. She couldn’t blame him for that—not after all he’d been through.

As soon as she’d arrived at her folks’ house for Sunday dinner, her mother had put her to work laying out place settings for the meal, using their best tableware. It wasn’t fancy china—not out here in the country—but it was Mom’s best set, the one she used when guests were present at their table. She treated Will like a son and Genevieve like a granddaughter, but they were company just the same.

As she worked, Samantha turned over the conversation in her mind again, hesitating only for a moment when Will and Genevieve arrived and seated themselves at the table. She tried to avoid his gaze, but she couldn’t help but glance at the man from time to time, nor could she help the way her heart leapt as she watched him amusing Genevieve by making animals with his fingers.

She knew the exact moment he’d shut down their conversation, the moment when she’d pushed him too far. Physically, he’d drawn away and his posture had straightened into rigid lines. His jaw had tightened until she’d been able to see the tendons straining in his neck. But most telling were his deep brown eyes, which had shaded over, fading to black. It was as if someone had dropped a dark curtain over his countenance.

She might have been distressed by his reaction had the man in question not been Will Davenport, but Will was a complicated man who often shut down when his emotions were tested.

What she found
odd
wasn’t so much the fact that he’d pulled away from her but that he’d been willing to open up to her at all. Out of nowhere, he’d trusted her with sensitive information she hadn’t even solicited, much less pushed him on. She knew he wasn’t the kind of man to go all touchy-feely, which was just one more reason she was confused by his forthright admission.

She had to admit that it was courageous for him to speak on those difficult topics. It couldn’t have been easy for him. Will was a restrained man, preferring to keep his thoughts and feelings to himself, and yet he’d shared a very personal episode of his life with her. She suspected that he didn’t speak of Haley often. Her memory clearly pained him, and Samantha now knew that guilt and bitterness accompanied his tragic story.

Looking back at it now, it was easy for Samantha to see why Will had suddenly wanted to drop the sensitive subject.

The question was, where did they go from here? She now knew his history. It changed the tenor of their friendship, as did his pushing her to allow him to support her against Stay-n-Shop.

He’d said what he’d said for a reason. She’d heard his message loud and clear.

He didn’t believe she ought to face her war with Stay-n-Shop on her own. He wanted her to accept the assistance he offered.

But should she accept the assistance he offered? Could she let her guard down enough to allow him to stand beside her in this fight?

The idea—no longer fighting alone, having someone guarding her back—had its own appeal. Could she trust Will enough to let him in? To make him understand why she could not and would not share this burden with her parents? Would he keep her secrets?

With a perplexed sigh, she slid into a chair on the opposite side of the table from Will, Genevieve and Grandpa Sampson. All three were quietly eyeing the food her mother was placing on the sideboard. Samantha glanced at her father, who was sitting in his usual spot at the head of the table, his rectangular blue reading glasses perched on the tip of his nose as he completed the daily crossword puzzle in the local tricounty newspaper.

“Thank you again for inviting us, Mrs. Howell,” Will said, nodding his head toward her mother. “It’s an honor to share your table and be a part of your family dinner.”

“It’s Amanda,” her mother corrected gently, a speculative look on her face. “Your folks weren’t the family dinner type?”

Will shook his head. “No, ma’am. Can’t say that we were. We usually ate off trays in front of the television, often in separate rooms. My pop wasn’t home much during the evenings, and when he was—”

His sentence dropped abruptly.

Her mom approached Will’s straight-backed figure and laid a motherly hand across his shoulder. “We can’t help who we grew up with, son, but we can certainly make things better when we have families of our own.” She shifted down the table to where Genevieve was sitting and leaned in to plant a kiss on the top of her head.

“Yes, ma’am,” Will replied. “I’m hoping to do just that.” He cleared his throat. “With Genevieve.”

Samantha knew how very much he wanted that to be true. When he wasn’t at work at the store or helping with her parents’ B&B, Will spent all his time with Genevieve, learning what it meant to be a father. Anyone with eyes could see how important the sweet little girl was to him, and if the smile on her face was any indication, he was learning quickly and succeeding brilliantly.

Her mother reached for a pitcher of sweet tea and started pouring it into their glasses. “I was a foster child, tossed around from house to house in the Dallas area.” Her gaze took on a far-off quality. “I had a good deal of trouble finding my way. Were it not for the Lord and Samantha’s father, I don’t know where I would be right now.”

Samantha’s jaw dropped. In the past, her mother had only shared pieces of the story with her, and she realized there was much she didn’t know about her own kin. Unlike most of the other residents of Serendipity, her mother had been born and raised elsewhere. Samantha knew she’d aged out of the government system, but her mother had never spoken much of her childhood. Samantha was ashamed to realize she’d never given much thought to how her mother had grown up.

She’d never placed herself in Amanda Blake Howell’s shoes.

How could she have been so insensitive, not to have known her mother had struggled through childhood? But then again, she’d never had a reason to suspect her mother had been anything less than happy. Amanda Howell was a cheerful woman, vibrantly in love with her husband of many years and clearly content with her family life. Her rock-solid Christian faith had helped many others in Serendipity make their way through adversity. However and wherever she’d grown up, she’d turned into a beautiful person.

“Thankfully,” her mother continued softly, “for the most part, I was raised in good homes with churchgoing folks who cared enough to set me right with the Lord.” She paused, an unfamiliar frown marring her brow. “But over the years it was inevitable, I suppose, that I’d stay in a few rough houses—I wouldn’t go so far as to call them homes—where the money my guardians received from the government for supposedly keeping me fed and clothed didn’t go to necessities.”

She shook her head as if to clear her mind of the unpleasant memories, and then her smile returned to her face. “I seemed to have fallen off track here. All I meant to say, my dear man,” she said, nodding at Will, “is that I not only sympathize, but empathize with where you’re coming from.”

Her mother moved to the head of the table, where she stood behind Samantha’s father and rested her gentle hands on his arms. Her dad covered her mom’s hands with his, sending a loving glance and an affectionate smile over his shoulder.

“When I met Samuel,” her mother continued, “he was taking classes at a community college and I was working in the cafeteria, trying to save up for my first semester of school. He ordered a grilled-cheese sandwich with a dill pickle on the side. I took one look into his big blue eyes and I knew I was a goner for sure.”

Samantha tried to swallow around the lump in her throat. Her parents had been married for thirty-five years and they still shared a special spark. It was a relationship to which Samantha could only aspire.

Maybe that was why she was so reticent to form a relationship of her own. She was waiting for the kind of love her parents shared. Only God could provide her such a soul mate. Having a husband was one of the deepest desires of her heart, but it had to be the right man at the right time. Until then, she had a business to run—or
save
, rather—and a family to enjoy.

She smiled at her parents’ beaming happiness. No way was Samantha going to let anything screw that up for them.

With a contented sigh, her mother finally took a seat next to Samantha and they immediately joined hands to say grace.

As she bowed her head, Samantha’s heart lay heavy with her unspoken burden. Her father prayed a simple blessing over their food and their family. Samantha’s petitions were not as trouble-free. She prayed for Will, for him to find peace from all the grief that haunted him and for him to be able to bond with his little girl. She prayed for Genevieve, who was still facing major upheaval as she settled into her new town and school. She desperately prayed that she would find patience and be able to seek the Lord’s will in her life, especially for guidance and clear direction on how to deal with the situation with Stay-n-Shop. What
could
one small-town businesswoman do against a large, well-financed corporation? The situation seemed impossible, when looking at it from a human perspective.

All things are possible through Him who gives me strength.

The Scripture verse was one she’d memorized as a child. It silently entered her mind, filled her heart, and gave her new hope.

She might be one small person in the big scheme of things, but her God was mighty. With God’s strength and power, she could fight Stay-n-Shop, and she would do so with every fiber of her being.

But what she wouldn’t do was involve her family. As she watched her parents laughing and sharing conversation over supper, Samantha renewed her determination to win this war alone. Anyone could see how happy they were, finally being able to live out their dream without worrying about Sam’s Grocery.

When her mother spoke of expanding her opportunities to serve others through their new bed-and-breakfast, her entire face lit up with joy. And Samantha knew how much her dad loved to tinker around with construction and plumbing. They’d be in paradise.

And Will? Will had his grief to work through and his daughter to get to know. He didn’t need the added burden of worrying about a grocery store he’d only been employed at for a few weeks.

No—this was something Samantha needed to settle on her own.

After the main course of country-fried chicken with sides of homemade potato salad, baked beans, deviled eggs and a cheesy broccoli casserole that was her personal favorite, Samantha rose and helped her mother clear the dishes.

“Anyone for pie?” her mom asked.

Will groaned in anticipation and patted his lean stomach. “I wish I had known about the pie before I took that second helping of chicken. I’m stuffed.”

“I’m sure you can find a little room left in your belly for a slice of Phoebe Hawkins’s cherry pie,” her grandfather commented with a satisfied grunt. “She makes the best pies in all of Texas, maybe in the whole U.S. of A.”

Will chuckled and held his hands up in concession. “Okay, you got me. I’m a sucker for cherries, and this Phoebe Hawkins of yours sounds like a diamond.”

Will’s words immediately had Samantha bristling like a porcupine and wanting to point out that Phoebe was happily married with two children.

What is that? Jealousy? Over a woman who bakes a good pie?

Just because Samantha couldn’t cook to save her life didn’t mean she had nothing unique to offer the world. She played the organ for church every Sunday, and she was a crack shot with a BB gun. She could pop tin cans off a log faster than a person could number them.

Baking pies, indeed.

And what did it matter, anyway? It wasn’t as if she was trying to get Will’s attention—especially not after what he’d shared with her on Friday afternoon. The man was nowhere near ready to move on. He needed time to heal. That was exactly why he’d moved to Serendipity. To find peace and to spend time with his daughter. Yet more reasons for her to release whatever crazy notions that were constantly niggling at the back of her mind.