A Soldier for Keeps

by Jillian Hart

  She blinked hard, willing down her emotions. A millennium passed before her mail program flashed onto the screen. She double-clicked, hands shaky, hungry to see his name on the screen, needing contact with him.

  Her in-box was empty. No message from Pierce. Her hopes plummeted to the ground. She sank into the chair. He hadn’t written her.

  Her throat tightened, as if she’d swallowed a big ball of bread dough. It stuck there, stubbornly refusing to move as she stared at her screen. All the reasons why he hadn’t e-mailed rolled through her head. He was busy, he only had time to write family, he had another mission, he was on his way back to the States. But her heart cracked in tiny, painful breaks because it knew the truth.

  He had time to write to his family, but he hadn’t made the same time for her.

  With ice-cold fingers, she closed the program and shut down her computer. Time to pack it up anyway. She was down to her final three boxes, and then she would be checking out the last of the girls and heading home.

  No joy touched her as she slid her laptop into its protective sleeve and placed it carefully in a box. The tiny breaks in her heart hurt as much as a huge one would have. She took a deep breath, grabbed the last can of orange soda from her fridge and popped the top. The cold liquid eked past the tightness in her throat.

  So much for the safety of friendship. She set the can on her desk and went back to her packing.

  Pierce stared at the screen, ignoring the sounds of PT drifting in from outside the tent. He’d waited in line to send a cheerful hello, and now that he was sitting at a keyboard the words didn’t want to come. He shifted in the chair, ignoring the conversations rising and falling all around him from the soldiers at the phone banks or waiting in line for an opportunity to contact home.

  Lexie,

  One thing I’m grateful for: care packages. I devoured the licorice and the chocolate bars. Thanks. It was nice of you to think of me.

  He stared at the words, shaking his head. He frowned, ignoring the knot of emotions cinched tight around his chest. It was all wrong. That wasn’t what he wanted to say, not at all. He hit Delete and watched the words disappear. He tried again.

  Lexie,

  Sorry it took so long to get back to you. We ran into a little trouble on a mission. Nothing we couldn’t handle. I hear from Giselle that you sat with her, held a prayer circle and gave her a lot of support. Thanks for that, and for the care package.

  He stopped typing to read over what he’d written, gut tightening. No, this was all wrong, too. It didn’t say what he really meant, how deeply it mattered to him that she had been there for his sister. He wanted to tell her how much her care package had meant, and the thoughtfulness behind it. That she would go to the trouble when her own life was so busy. He wanted to write how he’d ached from missing her e-mails on the long days he’d been away from base camp. And judging by all the emotions he was denying, he cared for her more than he wanted to admit.

  Best not to analyze that too closely, right? Maybe he ought to go on typing, keep it easy, keep it light.

  “What’s takin’ Granger so long?” Gray asked, standing behind him. “He’s been sending a lot of e-mail since he got back from leave.”

  “Maybe he’s got a girlfriend,” Case speculated from the next computer over. “The candy girl.”

  “I’m not getting on that battlefield, remember?” Pierce started typing. “This is one man who isn’t falling.”

  “Face it, Granger, even the strongest have to fall sometime.” Gray sounded amused as he took a newly available chair at the end of the row. “Everyone has his match. It’s hard to believe, but maybe you’ve met yours.”

  That was what he was scared of. He was a man of discipline, he prided himself on his self-control. But down deep he longed for her beautiful face, to see again the exact shade of blue of her eyes and the way they lit up when she laughed. It was a longing he had to deny.

  He glanced around at the other soldiers keeping what contact they could with the ones who mattered. His guts cinched tighter. Denial was definitely the best choice. He didn’t want to lose Lexie. It made no sense, but there it was. He hit Send, battling the words he’d left unsaid and the feelings unrecognized.

  In her bedroom of her mom’s house, Lexie stared at Pierce’s e-mail.

  I don’t know what this summer will bring. Something tells me I may be stuck here for a while. If not and my plans change, I’ll head your way. How’s that?

  Buds,

  Pierce.

  Buds. She couldn’t make her eyes look at anything but that one word. Of course we are only friends, she told herself. She knew that. Just because her feelings had grown, that didn’t change things between them. So why were the cracks in her heart expanding in depth and width? Why could she feel each tiny expansion like a fissure of pain through her soul?

  “Lexie, honey?” Mom rapped on the open door.

  She whipped out of her desk, mostly startled, but also not wanting her mother to see that she was down. She pasted what she hoped would pass for an upbeat look on her face and went to take the laundry basket her mother was carrying. “Mom, you shouldn’t be doing my laundry.”

  “It was in the dryer. All I did was fold it.” Mom hovered in the nicest possible way. “I don’t mind. I know you’re busy up here. Oh, are you keeping in touch with a friend?”

  There was that word again. “I didn’t realize it had gotten so late. I’ll come help you with supper.”

  “No need. The chicken is in the oven, the rice is on the stove and I’ve already made the salad. Len won’t be home from work for a bit, so you may as well stay up here and answer your e-mail. I’m not even going to comment on the boy’s name I see on the screen.”

  “Mother.” Lexie rolled her eyes. Really. Time to change the subject before her mom started extolling the virtues of married life—this time around. “I need to finish packing my summer gear. I can’t find my riding boots.”

  “Try the basement,” Mom suggested, still hovering. “I know you’re reluctant to date again, Lexie. I know Kevin hurt you.”

  “It was a long time ago, Mom.” She wrapped her arms around her middle, hating that while that pain had passed, the memory had not. “I know all guys aren’t like that.”

  “That’s right. One day you will meet the right one.” Mom came closer and brushed a lock of hair out of Lexie’s eyes. “You make sure when you do, you risk your heart again. Life is too short to let what matters slip by.”

  Not exactly the advice she wanted to hear. Down deep, her feelings roiled, as if demanding recognition. On the surface, she could not talk about what hurt. She had found the right man—a trustworthy, honorable man straight out of her dreams. Except for one tiny problem—one huge, small thing. He didn’t love her.

  And never would.

  “I’ll call you when supper’s ready.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  She waited until her mother was safely down the hall before she returned to her computer. With every crack in her heart stinging, she began to type. She did not tell Pierce how much she had missed his e-mails, or how often she thought about him and prayed for him. She did not mention her disappointment that his words had been impersonal or how she longed for the real Pierce Granger, for his quiet strength, manly tenderness and steadfast companionship.

  Pierce,

  I’m writing to you from my mom’s place. School is over, finals are done (yay!) and I drive down to my aunt and uncle’s tomorrow. I can’t wait to see Pogo. The first thing I’m going to do is take him on a long, hot ride. Too bad you won’t be able to join me. You’re always welcome, but I get that you’re a long way away and duty calls. Stay safe.

  Your friend,

  Lexie.

  Friend. She stared at that word for a long time. She wanted more, knowing it was impossible. This was how it was going to be, their letters getting further apart and less personal over time. It wasn’t what she wanted. She sent the letter into cyberspace, the cracks in her
heart expanding with each painful beat.

  Chapter Eleven

  Dust from the dirt road rose like a cloud, engulfing him as he angled the truck to a stop and studied the cluster of mailboxes. The names, if there had been any, had worn off long ago. A few of the boxes, victims of drive-by baseball bats, sported dents where numbers should have been.

  He rolled down his window, ignoring the dust. Good thing finding his way with little direction was part of Ranger training, and growing up with country directions sure helped. The convenience store attendant in the little town of Swinging Rope ten miles back had advised, “When you hit the end of the county road, keep left until you see the mailboxes. The one shaped like a fish is Bill’s. You’ll know you’re on the right road. Keep going until the stump, turn right and when you see the creek, it won’t be far.”

  There was no fish-shaped mailbox. There was one painted like a trout, and it looked as if it had once sported a fin and a tail before being dented nearly in half. The dent looked recent, but the name on the side of the box was a casualty.

  His instincts said to keep going. Pierce rolled up the window, swiped the dust from his face and caught movement in the field up ahead. His guts tightened. The back of his neck tingled. He knew it was her before his eyes could focus on the paint horse galloping through a field with a woman on its back.

  Lexie. His soul stilled. Seeing her again made his troubles and conflicts fade into the background until there was only her. He took in her glossy hair as it whipped behind her, the kiss of a tan on her lovely face and the slender right ankle, which appeared completely healthy and healed. She looked beautiful and vibrant and happy.

  Thank You, Lord. Gratitude filled him keenly, as if a physical pain. All the reasons he hadn’t wanted to come were nothing compared to the glory of seeing her again.

  Clinging to the back of her horse, she hadn’t noticed him yet. She was riding into the sun, so she wouldn’t see him until she was much closer. There was no bridle or saddle, just a lead tied to a halter as she bent close to the gelding’s neck, the black mane whipping her face. Horse and rider streaked as one, flying low to the ground, wind lashing them and the sunshine blessing them.

  She wore a yellow T-shirt, faded denim cutoffs and no shoes. He climbed out of the truck, leaving it idling in the summer heat. He tipped the brim of his Stetson as he crossed the road, kicking up chalky dust as he approached the fence. He knew the exact moment when she saw him. Surprise shifted across her face and joy sparkled in her eyes. He felt the impact of her emotion like a blow to his chest.

  “Pierce! It’s really you!” The horse changed direction, dashing straight for the fence. The animal’s gait slowed from gallop to trot and, with a skidding stop, closed the distance between them. The prettiest girl in the world slid off the back of that fine-looking bay paint and into the sweet wild grasses. She launched onto the bottom rung of the wood fence. “It’s so great to see you! I can’t believe you’re here!”

  Her arms flung around his neck, holding on before he could step away. His armor wasn’t enough to protect him as he breathed in the summer scent of her, of wildflowers and sweetness. One thing he knew, she didn’t belong in his arms. It was like winter holding hands with summer. Before he could draw back, she let go, flashing that dimpled smile at him, the one that made his heart forget to beat.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? I would have brushed my hair or something.” She patted at the tousled mess of her hair, which wasn’t messy at all, but perfect. Just like the rest of her.

  His eyes drank up the sight of her. His spirit, as if thirsty for her nearness, leaned toward her. He had to force his boots to take a step back and put space between them, the safe distance reason demanded.

  Maybe he had been a fool to come, he thought with a pang, but staying away had become impossible. He’d hated the long days spent trying not to think of her. Evenings that seemed empty without her e-mail to look forward to. He’d never written her back. He hadn’t been able to.

  “I should have called,” he admitted. “This was part impulse and part opportunity. The powers that be sent us back to Fort Lewis, and since I had time coming I wanted to head home to Wyoming.”

  The whole truth: he’d wanted to come to her. Staying away had been too hard.

  The horse reached over the fence, snuffling toward him so he held out his hand. Warm velvet lips and fine whiskers tickled his palm. “This must be Pogo?”

  “The one and only. He was a wild mustang.” She wrapped a lean, sun-browned arm around the gelding’s neck. “When I was seven and totally horse-crazy, I begged my dad for a horse. We went to the bureau of land management’s auction and I fell for this guy. It was love at first sight. He was a yearling, and I didn’t know anything about a horse, but we managed.”

  “You gentled him and broke him to ride?”

  “It was team work, mostly.” One of the high points of her life had been those first years with Pogo, walking through the fields together, him following her hoping for bits of apples and cookies, popsicles or a taste of ice cream. “When Dad took off, it looked like I would have to sell Pogo. There was no money to care for him, not when it was all Mom could do to scrape together enough for our needs. If Aunt Julie hadn’t offered to keep him for me, he would be someone else’s best buddy right now.”

  “You must miss him during the school year.”

  “Horribly. I’m hoping after I finish my program next year, I’ll be able to afford to keep him with me.”

  “In the city?”

  “Who knows? I don’t know where I’ll land. I would like to have my own practice one day, but I’m flexible. I’ll see where God leads me.”

  “There are riding stables in cities, too.”

  “Yes, so I’m sure the right thing will work out. It always does.” At least that’s what she told herself. She had to believe it. The fissures in her heart felt impossibly wide, but she was no longer hurting, not in his presence.

  “That’s what I tell myself, too.” With the brim of his Stetson shading his face, he looked twice as handsome as she remembered. He braced both arms on the fence, striking a masculine and very Western pose. “It’s good to see you again, Lexie.”

  “You’re a sight for sore eyes, too.” She shaded her eyes with her hand, savoring the look of him. His hard granite face and square jaw, the dimples flirting at the edges of his lopsided grin, and the charming confidence that made him stand out wherever he was, on a mountain top, in the rain, in sunshine. Longing filled her gently, purely, with the power of a thousand dreams.

  The rough rumble of a small engine drowned out the lull of the wind and drew Pogo’s attention. The mustang lifted his head, whinnying at the green front-load tractor rolling up the road—Uncle Bill coming in from the north field. He pulled to a stop behind Pierce’s truck and hopped down.

  “We got ourselves a traffic jam.” Bill, in his ball cap, grass-dusted T-shirt and faded overalls, offered his hand. “You must be a friend of Lexie’s.”

  “Yes, sir.” The men shook hands, Pierce friendly, Bill carefully measuring the younger man.

  “Pierce Granger is the one who rescued me on the mountain when I fell. I told you about that.” She’d left out all the private details, like how blessed she felt to have met him, like how wonderfully protected it had been in his arms, and how bereft she was that he’d gone a month without writing. “You know all those e-mails I get from Giselle? She is his sister.”

  “I see.” Bill took off his cap, letting the wind ruffle his salt-and-pepper hair. “Good to meet you, Pierce. It’s a scorcher today. You come right on up to the house and have some of Julie’s pink lemonade. It’ll wet your whistle.”

  “Thanks, sir, I will.”

  “You Army, boy?”

  “Thirty-seventh Ranger Battalion. You, sir?”

  “Served two tours in Vietnam. Infantry.” Bill nodded his approval. “I like you, boy. Now move your truck so I can get home.”

  That was her uncl
e, to the point with a grin on his face. Lexie grabbed Pogo’s lead. “See you up at the house,” she called.

  As Pierce raised his hand in answer, striding into the slant of the sunlight, the world stopped turning. Just like it did the first time he’d taken her hand, everything within her stilled. Love seeped through the cracks, impossible to hold back. The connection forged between them remained, tensile and unyielding and impossible to deny.

  Did he feel it, too? Was that why he was here? She swung onto Pogo’s back, gripping a handful of mane, praying that she could hold on to what was left of her heart. Pierce was a bad heartbreak waiting to happen.

  “Here you kids go.” Julie Evans finished pouring a pitcher of lemonade into two tall glasses and set it on the cloth-covered patio table. “You holler if you need anything. Pierce, you’re going to stay for supper.”

  He leaned back in the wrought-iron chair. He liked the woman with her to-the-point manner. It was clear she kept everything shipshape. “I don’t want to impose.”

  “You won’t be. Now, as long as we’re all clear that you’re staying, I’ll get back to my gardening.” She grabbed a straw hat from a wicker seat, dropped it on her head and pulled a pair of gardening gloves from her back jeans pocket. Her sneakers padded down the walkway, where tall stands of bold-colored flowers bloomed cheerfully.

  “You passed muster.” Across the umbrella-topped table, Lexie grabbed a cookie off the plate between them. “They like you.”

  “Those poor misguided folks.” He gulped down a swallow of lemonade. Sweet and tart, just right. “I bet you’re wondering what I’m doing here.”

  “Stopping by, obviously. You didn’t write or call. Not that you had to.” She stared down at her cookie, her emotions shielded to him. “I’m sure you were busy.”

  He could have made time. Truth was, he was afraid to. He didn’t like that about himself. “I don’t want you to think you were low on my priority list, because you weren’t.”