A Soldier’s Promise
Cheryl Wyatt

MILLS & BOON

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Dedications

To Mom, who always said I could.

To my favorite soldier, Dad, who always said

I could do it better.

To Lisa, who always said she could do it better. Grin.

To Billy. Not one soldier marching around my imagination

could occupy the place you’ve secured in my heart.

To Granny Nellie and Aimee. I could not have done this

had you not stepped in while I went MIA from my

Hide-N-Seek posts to write.

To Mag, Eno and Randa. I love you to infinity.

Ready or not…here I come!

To my editor, Melissa Endlich, for handing me

this dream in the form of a contract.

To my agent, Tamela Hancock Murray of Hartline,

for seeing promise in my work.

Thank you, Lord, for remembering our dreams

even when we feel they’re long lost.

I love you all beyond what words can express.

Contents

Acknowledgments

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Acknowledgments

To fellow author Anne Greene and her personal hero, Colonel Larry Greene, U.S. Army Special Forces, Ranger, and the other military contacts (you know who you are) who’ve helped me validate research for this series. May the Lord watch over you and your loved ones as you watch over our country. Thank you for serving.

To Lynette at Lifeway in Carterville, Illinois. Little did we know when you led me down the Christian fiction aisle that God used you as a traffic director to walk me into my destiny as an author.

Chapter One

“Sure you wanna do this, Montgomery?” Fellow U.S. Air Force Pararescue Jumper Nolan Briggs asked above the engine hum.

“I’m sure.” Joel shifted away from the window as the luxury jet broke through wispy Southern Illinois clouds on descent to the one place on earth he never wanted to see again.

Refuge. The irony made him snort.

Nolan leaned close enough for Joel to inhale toxic doses of mafia-strength garlic. “’Cause if you don’t, we’ll handle it.”

Teammate Manny Peña joined Nolan in the passenger aisle. “Yeah. Nobody’ll know if you don’t make the jump, dude.”

Joel fastened a gaze on his well-meaning friends and fellow PJs, and aimed a thumb at his sternum. “I’ll know.”

And so would that kid.

“It’s gonna be tougher than you think,” Nolan said.

Hardest mission of his life. Especially on a cold Friday in September. Joel laced his boot. “Nah. Piece of cake.”

“Right. Like running a catering service with an Easy-Bake.” Manny clicked the overhead bin open.

“No sweat.” Joel tugged his chute pack from under the seat.

“Not a drop,” Nolan agreed. “But the offer still stands.”

“He asked for me. I can’t let him down, guys.” Joel retrained a determined gaze on the small town peeking up at him. Recognition of his old neighborhood clogged his throat. He clenched his jaw against a surge of unwanted emotion. He looked away from familiar landmarks. “I’ll be fine.”

As long as he steered clear of that house, and the uncle who’d destroyed his family, he’d be fine.

A chorus of unconvinced faces stared back at Joel when he looked up. A torrent of vulnerability rushed through him at their perception. He torqued his gaze out the window. True. They could do this without him and spare him the pain.

Except for one thing.

He tugged the letter out of his chest pocket. Unfolding it, he eyed the elementary attempt at cursive.

My name’s Bradley. I’m eight and I have cancer. My teacher called Dream Corps who said I should write a letter about my wishes since doctors say I might not get a transplant in time. I want to meet a Special Forces soldier more than anything. Well, almost anything. Having a family would be nice. I heard a PJ grew up in my town. It would be awesome if he’d come see me but I know he’s kinda busy with wars and rescues and all. Anyway, if you find him, tell him he’s my idea of a hero…

Words blurred. Joel blinked, refocused and read: Thinking of soldiers who fight terror helps me be brave and fight mine. If me and God win our cancer war, I promise to plug my nose and eat my stinky call of flower so I can grow up strong and come help the soldiers win theirs. Love, Bradley Tennyson. Refuge, IL U.S.A.

Joel folded the letter Dream Corps had forwarded to him. He crimped along the crease and came back with blue fingertips, probably from one of those messy erasable pens. He rubbed fingers on a hanky, but the ink didn’t come off. Weird, since it had transferred from the paper with no trouble.

Ink imprinted his hand, but scribbled wishes stained his heart. Family. The very word stung. Joel couldn’t help the little guy with one, but he could make the other a reality. No matter how hard the next hours proved to be, Joel’s discomfort in coming back to the site of his most painful childhood memories would be a speck of dust compared to the earth of hurt this kid faced.

Joel pressed thumbs into the corners of his eyes and lifted his face. He swallowed, but his voice box didn’t seem to want to loosen and let him speak.

“I appreciate you guys offering me an out, but…” He met and held each man’s respect-filled gaze, drawing courage from the admiration in each one. “I need to do this.”

Grins erupted all around, revealing to Joel they wanted him to conquer this every bit as much as he did.

Nolan tossed Joel his goggles. “Don’t tangle up on a power line before you hit the ground, Montgomery. It wouldn’t bode well to fry your fanny in front of a load of little kids.”

Joel smiled back at the grinning faces before refastening his gaze on strings of pinpoint runway lights rising to meet the Dream Corps aircraft. “All right, you platoon of goons. As soon as we hit tarmac, load the choppers while the pilot flies me back up into a holding pattern. I’ll jump when you hover on the school lawn. Fastrope down when I flare my canopy. Let’s go make this little guy’s dream come true.”

A chorus of “Hoorah!” shouts punctuated the end of his sentence, and a dozen fists shot up.

He’d parachute in, spend a few hours with the kid, then get away from Refuge for good. It would be as easy as that. What could possibly be simpler?

“What on earth is that?” Special needs teacher Amber Stanton grasped the desk and held her breath.

Her best friend and co-teacher, Celia Muñez stared at Amber as if she’d morphed into a snail. “What?”

“You don’t feel that?” Amber whispered.

Ebony eyes waxed blank and oblivious. “Feel what?”

Leave it to her zippy friend to be in the middle of a natural disaster and not know. Had Amber imagined it? No. The rumbling vibration beneath her feet strengthened. Ripples pulsed across the surface of the water in the small fishbowl on her desk. “Shh—” Amber leaned in. “Listen.” The windows gave a faint rattle. “That!” Amber clutched Celia’s shoulder in a pinch grip.

“Cool it with the claws, will ya?” Celia peeled fingernails from her blouse. “It’s only—”

“I know. Let’s get these kids outside.”

“You know?” Now Celia looked properly stricken. “Who told?”

“Shh. I don’t want the children frightened. Let’s go.”

Celia tugged Amber back. “Hold on. They all know except Bradley. If you keep yapping, you’ll ruin the surp—”

“Class—” Amber moved from Celia’s grasp. Why didn’t Administration ring the bell? “Line up at the door please.”

Celia yanked Amber hard back behind the desk. “Not yet!”

“Sit!” Celia waved the class down with choppy arm motions. Children sat, giggling as crayons jittered off slanted desks.

Amber’s chest tightened. She turned a fierce gaze on Celia. “Obviously you have no idea how dangerous they can be.”

Celia screwed up her terra-cotta–toned face. “They?”

Amber helped children from seats, then leaned close to Celia’s ear. “Do not panic or react outwardly to what I am about to tell you, but I think we are having an earthquake.”

A sharp laugh yelped from Celia, causing Amber’s face to jerk back. Celia slapped a hand to her mouth.

Amber glared at her and ushered the class down the hall like a kiddie cattle drive. “Stay together, guys. Good.” Amber kept her teacher voice calm and helped stragglers along, including Celia.

“Though this is frightening, it’s only minor and should stop any moment. I moved from California to get away from these things,” Amber said out of student earshot.

“Looks like they followed you here.” Celia spoke in a wry voice. Amber’s pulse spiked. Did Celia forget Refuge sat atop the New Madrid fault? Amber pushed her feet against fear that weakened her knees. Please, Lord. Not now. Not here. Not even a thousand years from now. Not these children. Not on my watch. Celia maneuvered Bradley up to Amber as she flung open the double doors and stepped outside into—

A war zone? Talk about shock and awe. Bradley gasped and froze beside her as a blast of cheers erupted. She grew cognizant of little hands shoving them forward into a sea of noise and green. Military stuff—everywhere. Amber and Bradley moved down concrete steps to grass where the entire school, sans her class, waited. A bugle charmed the air with a patriotic tune, and drums danced a rhythm with Amber’s pulse.

Mouth agape, she peered at Celia, who winked.

“Whoa!” Bradley’s voice cut through the chaos.

Amber realized the roaring vibrations were military helicopters hovering above the school, fumigating the air with a sharp exhaust smell. Camo-fatigued men slid from ropes hanging out. One after another, they dropped to the ground. Helicopters lit on the lawn like twin gigantic metal grasshoppers. Thunderous chopping abated as the blades slowed to a halt.

Bradley drew in a sharp breath. “Look! Look at him!”

Amber followed the trajectory of the finger Bradley jabbed at the sky. She gasped. A uniformed man dangling from a white parachute etched with a blue USAF insignia penetrated clouds above them. How could a person jump from such heights? Amber tugged Bradley’s shoulder to move him back but a large hand halted her. She turned.

A wide grin peeked at her from a dark face painted in calico earth tones. “Don’t worry, ma’am. He’s never landed on a lady’s head. Yet.” The camouflaged man chuckled then directed her class to join with others as if this were…

Planned. Suddenly she knew. Her phone call. The letter. Dream Corps. Bradley’s wish coming true in a spectacular way.

Slammed with a tidal wave of emotion, Amber sprawled fingers over her lip to smother a tremor.

Celia’s hand circled her wrist, tugging it back down. “It’s okay to cry happy tears, chica. You’ve shed enough sad ones for him. Don’t quench the enormity of this moment. Revel in it.” Tears glistened in Celia’s eyes, too, though she prided herself on never crying. She pressed paper in Amber’s hand.

Celia peeled the backing off a flag sticker and placed it on Bradley. Amber lifted hers and read the preprinted font:

Welcome to Refuge. My name is Ms. Stanton. Faith Elementary, along with Dream Corps International, wish to thank you for your service to our country.

Chills marched down her arms as the words took hold of her.

“Oh!” Her head snapped up and her shoulders back as the parachutist landed mere feet in front of them. Bradley stumbled backward.

The soldier grinned, took three steps forward, dropped to one knee, putting him nose to nose with Bradley, and saluted.

Bradley sliced a clumsy hand to his forehead, causing his glasses to topple. The soldier righted the lopsided frames on Bradley’s nose.

Amber laughed, recalling her earnest prayer the day she’d called Dream Corps. “I asked for one, and you sent…fifty.” She roamed a deeply thankful look over each soldier who’d answered this very special call.

But it was the one brandishing a heart-seizing grin, the most piercing blue eyes, and parachute material falling around him in billowing waves, whom she couldn’t extract her gaze from.

Chapter Two

As Joel knelt on clean-shaven lawn, Bradley’s eyes widened through bottle-thick glasses perched haphazardly atop his nose. His eyes traveled up Joel’s body.

His mouth gaped like the nine-pound bass Joel hooked yesterday. “Whoa! Dude! Who’re you?”

Joel offered his hand. “Senior Airman Joel Montgomery, little sir. You must be Bradley.”

Awe and trepidation flowed over the child’s gaunt face. “H-how do you know my name?” He shook Joel’s hand, pumping as if it were the handle of a water well.

Joel grinned, tapping the patriotic sticker on the boy’s bony chest. “Says so right here.”

Bradley’s gaze hit the sticker the way heat seekers locked on target. He lifted his shirt, twisting material to view it. “A flag tag! With my name!” His gaze skittered to Joel’s shoulders. He stuck a tiny finger out and poked his bicep. “Are those real muscles?” Poke. Poke. Poke. “They are! Dang!”

“This is a private Christian school, kiddo. You sure you’re supposed to be saying that kinda word around here?” Joel asked.

Bradley jerked his head around, rapidly scanning the perimeter as if they’d just come under heavy enemy fire. “N-no. I ain’t supposed to. Good thing the playground patrol’s not—”

“Right behind you, Bradley?”

Bradley stiffened as if stabbed in the caboose with a bayonet. The sweet-timbred voice belonged to a very attractive woman with night vision–green eyes. He flashed his best grin and offered a hand to her. “Joel Montgomery.”

She reached forward. “Amber Stanton.”

From the air, he’d mistaken her for a student because of her petite frame. Closer observation confirmed she was all woman. He continued the handshake past the edge of proper, enjoying the flush that crept up her neck.

“Pleasure to meet you, ma’am. How do you know this brave guy?” Joel tousled Bradley’s hair, which lay unusually sparse in places.

“I’m his teacher.”

So this is her.

Joel rose to face the reason he was here today. Her phone call had deployed six military units to a hundred-student school in a middle-of-nowhere town.

“So, you’re the one.”

She started at his words. He wondered about the blush invading her cheeks until he realized how his statement could have been misconstrued. He dipped his chin to his chest, laughing at himself. Half-embarrassed, he looked back up. “You’re the one…who called Dream Corps?”

She laughed then nodded. “I am.” She smiled again. Cute mouth. Nice teeth. The kind that spoke of parents who’d forked over some hefty dough to orthodontists.

“Miss Stanton, you knew about all this?” Bradley’s words rode out on the winds of an awe-induced whisper.

The riot of auburn curls framing her ivory face bounced as she looked from Joel to Bradley. Childlike mischief frolicked in her eyes as she surrendered a secret wink to Joel. “Not exactly.”

He admired the way she pretended not to notice how hard Bradley attempted to simultaneously push his shoulders up and his chest out as far as Joel’s. The jerky movement came out looking more like a barnyard bird with Parkinson’s.

Joel watched her study Bradley, enthralled with the level of loving care in her eyes.

Eyes that seemed to glow with interest when they came to rest on Joel. He bit down on his cheek to keep from grinning over the possibility of the attraction being mutual.

Pink infused her cheeks when he didn’t break his focus except to travel lazily down to her left ring finger before returning to her face again. The gesture was far from covert, as he’d intended to gauge her reaction.

Her blush deepened. Butterfly-delicate hands fluttered across her forehead before coming to rest atop Bradley’s shoulders. “Shall we walk?”

Bradley clasped her hand, then Joel’s. He had the feeling she’d wanted to slip out from under his assessing gaze but Bradley trapped her. He grinned. This couldn’t have worked out better had he planned it himself. The threesome trekked past soldiers talking with huddles of enthralled students.

Around the east side of the school Bradley led them through a garden gate to a huge oak tree. An anklet of yellow flowers surrounded it. Bradley pointed to one whose color seemed muted. “That’s mine. Planted it myself.”

“Each student in class planted one,” Amber explained.

Another teacher motioned Bradley to the gate.

Joel remained beside Amber. Concern troubled her expression as she eyed Bradley’s flower, then the ones flanking it. Joel brushed fingers along the droopy petals. “Hey, I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything.”

She blinked and smiled. “It shocked me to see the wilted condition of his compared to the others.”

Joel pushed his fingers in the soil surrounding Bradley’s flower, then eyed the other stems intently. “I’m no botany expert but my mother was an avid gardener before she died. She taught me a thing or two. Seems to me Bradley’s isn’t planted in the soft dirt like the rest. If it doesn’t perk up, maybe transplant it into better soil so it can take root and be healthy. It might thrive then.”

“Thank you.” Amber stood, tracking Bradley, who grinned at them from the gate. “I think he’s waiting for us.”

Joel chuckled. “I think so.”

The fence chinked as Bradley bounced against it. “Miss Muñez says a special show is coming.”

“Okay, catch a bathroom break and take your seat with the other students,” Amber said.

Joel adjusted his waterproof Luminox watch with the PJ emblem and motto So Others Might Live engraved on the band and peered at the face. Ten minutes until the hour.

“Where’d you get that cool watch?” Bradley turned Joel’s wrist around, peering intently at it.

Joel slid his cuff up. “It was a gift from one of my boys.”

Bradley’s shoulders slumped and his grip on Joel’s wrist slackened. “Wow. Your kid sure is lucky. How many you got?”

Joel caught Bradley’s hand before he pulled it away. “I don’t have children. By boys, I meant one of my teammates.” Joel gave Bradley’s hand a comforting squeeze as compassion for the little guy consumed him.

“You gonna have any kids?” Bradley swung their arms back and forth like a hand clasp pendulum.

Miss Stanton put a firm hand on his shoulder. “Bradley, it’s not polite to ask personal questions.”

Joel looked at her and shrugged. “Doesn’t bother me.” He met Bradley’s gaze once more. “I don’t think being a dad is in God’s plans for me, buddy.”

Bradley squished up his nose. “Why not?”

“Enough, Bradley.” Miss Stanton’s voice carried a sternness that made even Joel perk up.

Bradley dipped his head. “Sorry, sir.”

Joel inched Bradley’s chin up with his finger. “No sweat, buddy. It’s all good, but I think it’s okay that you know. I didn’t have great examples for parents so I’d probably be no good at it.”

It struck Joel suddenly that his uncle Dean had been more of a father figure than Joel’s dad had been. Joel hadn’t thought about that in years. He certainly didn’t want to start thinking about it now. Despite Joel trying to sweep thoughts of Dean from his mind, they clung like stubborn dust.

The latent question of years ago resurfaced. Why had Dean gone out of his way for Joel? Were his actions motivated by guilt for cheating on Joel’s dad with his mother?

Or was there something else?

No matter. Joel had little mercy for a man who trampled on another man’s wedding vows. He didn’t want to disappoint Bradley in case the kid got some wild notion about hoping Joel would want him. A career military dad was the last thing this kid needed. He relinquished Bradley’s hand.

“Will I get to talk to you again?” Bradley asked in a small voice and twisted his shirt hem.

Miss Stanton smoothed his fidgety hands down.

“Of course. I’ll be here all day unless something happens. Tell you what. Save me a seat after the show and I’ll sit next to you. I’d feel honored if you’d be my best buddy today.”

Bradley’s face ignited with joy. “Cool! Did you hear that, Miss Stanton? He wants me to be his best buddy today! I’m going to be a PJ just like Joel when I grow up. A man of integ—”

“Integrity,” Miss Stanton enunciated. Pain flashed across her face with Bradley’s words. Joel doubted Bradley saw because she quickly hedged it. He determined to put his prayer pedal to the metal so that Bradley would get to grow up.

“Integrenary.” Bradley skewed his face.

“In. Teg. Rit. Tee,” she repeated. “Bathroom, tater.”

“Okay, gator.” Bradley ambled toward the building with an unsteady gait.

“You sure he’ll make it up those steps without falling?” Joel eyed Bradley until double steel doors swallowed him.

“Probably not, but he’d be mortally wounded with embarrassment if I helped him in front of the other students. Mr. Montgomery, I apologize for Bradley’s personal questions. He hasn’t been raised with the best of manners or social skills.”

Joel shrugged. “Kid’s just curious. Besides, it’s no secret to those who know me that having children is not on the radar for me.” Joel wanted to laugh at the curious look that flashed in the teacher’s eyes. It seemed to him that kids usually just spoke aloud what adults only had the guts to think.

He considered that he felt so mesmerized by her a blessing. Without knowing, she was keeping his mind off why he hated this town so much. It also helped that the school sat miles from the house on Haven Street. The spot where his life had unraveled, beginning with the breakup of his parents’ marriage and ending with his mother’s desertion of him. Then the fatal accident on her way back that snuffed out her life, and his hope of ever seeing her again.

Joel scanned the streets past the school yard where he’d worn out many sneakers and bicycle tires. Some good times, yeah. But the bad overshadowed and overtook them. In short, this wretched place haunted him with too many painful questions.

The only person with answers was the last person Joel ever wanted to speak to or see again. Questions like why his mom had been on her way back to Refuge from wherever she’d gone after abandoning him at age seven. Was it to come get Joel as she promised? Or even better, to reconcile her marriage so they could be a family again as he’d prayed and imagined night and day for three years?

“I understand you were born in Refuge. Do you come back here often?” Amber’s gentle voice tapped into his thoughts. Joel blinked a moment, figuring out how long he’d been staring like a lost astronaut into space, probably with a hopeless expression that matched the dismal chasm this town opened in him. His teammates had been right. This was tougher than he’d anticipated. He didn’t like not being in total control of his emotions and thoughts. He pondered how to answer her.

“You’re right. I was born here.” He hated the crack in his voice and forced a smile he didn’t feel.

He could tell by her concerned expression that she wasn’t fooled by the hedging veneer.

Another part of his mind rippled with pleasure that she had retained that bit of personal information about him. Her smile and soft voice eased the sadness of missing his mother. He cleared his throat. “I don’t recall hearing the Stanton name growing up here. So what about you? What brought you to Refuge?”

Her eyes lit with wit. “A car brought me here. I want to know why you’re avoiding my original question.”

Joel chuckled. She joined him as they walked along the grass. He’d forgotten how it felt to laugh with a lady.

“Well?” She lifted a brow; the smile never left her face.

He bent to pick up a gravel pebble, staring first at the chipped ridges, then at her. “I haven’t been back here since I moved away.”

Surprise shone in her eyes. He handed her the rock. “Memories live here that I’ve spent a lifetime trying to forget. I have a longtime rift with a family member who still lives here. So I try to avoid the place.”

He didn’t want to dredge up the memories by talking about them. But something in her eyes called to him. She placed the rock back in his hand then pulled out a stick of red licorice from her jacket pocket and peeled the plastic wrap off it. “Then it was truly a sacrifice for you to come here for Bradley. That speaks well of your character. Want half?”

He took the licorice, loving the smell, but hating the memories it evoked. He didn’t want to hurt the teacher’s feelings. Uncle Dean kept bowls full of red licorice at his house. “He used to give me one every day after school,” Joel surprised himself by saying.

She nodded. “I think I know the man in question.”

Joel nearly choked on the candy. He stopped chewing and stared at her, feeling his jaw harden like the rock in his palm. “Excuse me?”

“Dean DuPaul. You’re the spitting image of him. How long’s it been since you spoke to your father, Mr. Montgomery?”

Joel shook his head. “He’s not my father. He’s my uncle, my father’s brother. They had different fathers, so their last names don’t match. Dean betrayed my family and I have no use for the man.” The words felt bitter even with the layer of sweetness coating Joel’s mouth. She nodded again, eyeing him with what Joel interpreted as concern. He needed to stop looking into those compassionate, compelling green eyes. Doing so made him want to get all soft and talk about it.

He forced his eyes to an about-face and his feet to march ahead as he motioned with his hand. “Let’s move on.” Hopefully she’d get that he didn’t want to talk about it further. Relief melted the tension from his jaw and shoulders when she fell into step beside him.

They meandered toward the ranks of Bradford pear trees flanking the concrete walk leading up to the school entrance. “Tell me about Miss Stanton,” Joel said, really wanting to know.

“There’s not much to tell.” She tugged her shirt hem much the same way Bradley had earlier.

Joel bit back a smile. “Really?” He leaned closer.

She looked everywhere but at him. “Really.”

He had a hard time believing that. Her chin lifted and she squinted her eyes at a yard scuffle erupting near the jungle gym. Another teacher blazed in, looking intent to deal with it.

Joel stepped off the path to a patch of sparse lawn which reminded him of Bradley’s thinning hair. He kicked a dirt clod. Dust layered the toe of his boot. “What kind of cancer does Bradley have?” Joel cringed inwardly, wishing he’d eased in instead of crashing into the subject.

Amber stopped and stared somberly at the scattered dirt. “Leukemia.” Emotion thickened her voice. “Without a successful bone marrow transplant, he’ll be—” she paused, swallowing “—gone by the end of the school year. I know God can step in and intervene either way. Regardless of whether his time is long or short, I intend to make it matter.” She lifted her face to meet his. “So, thank you very much for coming here today.”

Joel’s respect for her went up a notch. It took a unique person to teach children with special needs. Then to champion the task of making life matter to a dying child—he admired her big-time.

She shifted her stance as Bradley emerged from the brick school. Joel clenched his jaw. No need to cry in front of the kid, right? Today was supposed to be his dream come true. Joel was determined to go all out to accomplish that. Fact was, Bradley had already bunkered down into Joel’s heart. “Kid’s cute.”

“He knows it, too.” Pleasant laughter trailed her words.

Bradley hobbled up, darting his gaze from one to the other, making google eyes. Joel tugged off Bradley’s glasses, handing them to Amber. He swooped him up on his shoulders and galloped around more gently than he would if he were toting a well child. Bradley squealed with laughter.

Joel set him down and adopted a conspiratorial whisper. “Wanna hear my brilliant idea?”

Bradley leaned in, mimicking the whisper. “Yes.”

“How about we make you an honorary PJ for the day?”

Bradley’s shouts pierced the air then he ran off to tell his friends.

Over the next two hours, Joel felt anchored to Miss Stanton like a tether strap. He could mill around. Should even. Had no desire to. Completely fascinated with this small-town teacher, he soaked up her presence like drought-cracked earth after rain.

Too bad she lived in this tree-infested town. He’d like to get to know her better. Besides, in his line of work, long-term was tough. Not only that, her persona blared maternal!

The crackle of an ailing sound monitor preceded the high-pitched screech of toe-curling feedback. Joel shifted toward the announcer.

“I’m Mr. McCauley, the principal of this school. Though it’s daytime, students wanted to welcome our military visitors with a fireworks display and a special program, followed by our national anthem to be sung by one of our students.” His gaze sparkled with pride as it roved over the crowd of servicemen.

He swept his hand in an arc. “Gentlemen, we welcome you.”

Bottle rockets, lit by students with the assistance of teachers, streaked into blue sky. Screaming whistles zinged through the air, leaving spirals of twirling white smoke in their wakes. Cardboard cones on a concrete pad shot multicolor fire streams in regal hues.

Joel pivoted to observe Miss Stanton watching students interact with his teammates. The kindness in her face captivated him. That must be the appeal, he figured as she regarded each child with a tender smile. He shouldn’t stare. His good manners whispered, look away, and he would in a second…or two.

Hairs on the back of Amber’s neck stood at attention. She tilted her face upward. The intensity of the soldier’s gaze siphoned breath from her lungs. The sparks in his eyes were more electrifying than the fireworks.

Fireworks. She summoned strength to rip her eyes from the man and return them to the sky. Three muffled pops birthed sparkling red, white and blue alternating starbursts that sprinkled themselves across the sky before raining dozens of miniature plastic parachutes toward earth.

Children scrambled to grab them. As Joel turned to watch them, an eye-sized tattoo peeked at her from the back of his neck, just below the horizontal buzz of inky black hair. Her heart warmed at the sight of the Christian fish symbol with the Greek letters IXOYE in the middle of it.

But if he was a Christian, why would he harbor unforgiveness against someone, especially a blood relative?

Amber determined to pray for this soldier. If he was as stubborn as he looked, it would take someone bigger than her to convince him that reconciling was best. She knew firsthand what postponing forgiveness could do. She didn’t want this softhearted soldier to fall prey to bitterness. When he’d smiled, she’d been shocked just how much his cheeky grin resembled his uncle’s. Dean had mentioned Joel fondly in prayer requests at church.

She felt bad for assuming Joel was Dean’s son. She guessed now was not the time to tell Joel that Dean had been the one to stuff her pockets with gobs of licorice last Sunday. “For those special students,” he’d said. But she didn’t have to deal with the soldier on a sugar high the way she did her class and was glad to have someone else to give the red twists to.

When he rocked back on his heels, Amber shunted her stare back to the display. What was wrong with her today? She hadn’t even realized she’d been gawking until he’d turned and nearly caught her. She had no business scolding Bradley when she couldn’t keep her own manners in check.

Still, she couldn’t help wondering about this man who’d mentioned his mother in past tense with a twinge of sadness in his eyes.

And what had he meant by saying that God didn’t have children in his future?

She couldn’t fathom a person feeling that way. She couldn’t remember a time when she didn’t look forward to being a mother more than anything. But a California quake had shaken her life, leaving that dream in ruins.

Had it not happened, though, she might not have considered adopting a child. She could do that without a man and spare herself from heartbreak.

A concussive thump broke into her thoughts and ear-piercing whistles accompanied by dozens of gold and silver shooting stars that completed the show caught her attention.

When frenzied cheers and clapping subsided, a cocoa-skinned girl with dark, curly tresses whom Amber had seen around school stepped boldly to the microphone.

Palms to hearts and hats in hand, servicemen and parents stood to honor three students as they marched respectfully across the lawn with homemade flags bearing the words, Freedom, Liberty, and Just Us Four All, in glittery paint.

A laugh flew from Amber’s throat.

Joel, hands pocketed, leaned over and bumped her shoulder with his. “The children mean well.” Baritone laughter rumbled from his chest.

From an open side door, fifty students emerged, each waving a small American flag. T-shirts choreographed in order—one red, then white, the next blue, and so on all the way to the end. Well, almost to the end. Amber giggled. Two children must have gotten out of order, disrupting the color sequence.

Her heart melted as Joel and his rough-and-tumble cohorts’ expressions turned tender as they watched two students run back to help a lagging third with Down syndrome catch up. So the sequence went red, white, blue, red, white, blue, darting red, tugging blue…toddling white.

In a soulful alto, the little girl sang, and every voice became her chorus. On her ending note, the principal stepped to the podium and adjusted the microphone back to his level. He patted the little girl’s back as she stepped into the lawn of applause amid a standing ovation.

Just then, a dozen different beepers went off like cicadas all over the school yard. Silence dropped like a bomb.

A platoon of quiet murmurs and confused glances rippled as students, parents and teachers studied the serviceman closest to them. Palpable tension swarmed the air as each uniformed man pulled beepers from various places and peered at numbers.

Concern floated across faces one by one as numbers and codes registered, before they quickly recovered, controlling facial reactions. She doubted anyone else noticed. She probably wouldn’t have, either, had she not known sign language which attuned her to lipreading and nonverbal communication.

The military personnel met each other’s eyes, passing invisible signals like some sort of ominous code. Dread slithered up Amber’s spine. Thoughts spun like the twin chopper blades. Reason scrambled like the spotted men.

This many beepers. Not one silent. Every branch of the military. Every available soldier. All Special Forces. This is no coincidence. Fear entrenched itself in her chest and burrowed deep. Something major. Something global. Something terrible had just happened in the world.

What? Her mind screamed.

What?

Chapter Three

“Yo, Montgomery!”

Amber stepped aside as a man in desert camouflage sprinted over with a cell phone in hand. “CO Petrowski’s callin’ you back on this phone in twenty.”

A flurry of activity erupted as military personnel packed up display items and loaded gear into the choppers, which roared to life. Their blades swooshed her hair like monstrous fans, and ended conversation. Despite that, Amber picked up on a few words passed between Joel and the other officer. Unprecedented magnitude. Tragic destruction. Thousands trapped.

Something about a large rescue, relief and recovery operation, and their team being on standby for deployment.

“Let’s be ready to roll just in case.” Joel bent as Bradley neared—to hear over the thwumping helicopters, she supposed. Clay-colored dust clouds turned the air into a sandstorm.

Bradley looked like a poster child for despair. “Am I ever gonna see you again?”

Amber wanted to ask the same thing.

“I sure hope so, lil’buddy.” Joel circled Bradley’s waist with one arm.

“I sure hope so, too.” Bradley’s chin quivered. Amber drew closer, hand to Bradley’s back.

“You promised I could be a hairy PJ for the day.” Bradley fingered an emblem on Joel’s uniform.

Honorary, Amber corrected mentally.

Joel tilted his face and coughed into his hand and pulled Bradley closer. Amber wasn’t fooled. Moisture sheened Joel’s eyes before he’d blinked it away.

Hands sidling Joel’s face, Bradley leaned nose to nose. “You promised, and PJs don’t break promises, right? That means you’ll be back. You only rescue people. No one really ever shoots at you, right?”

Joel’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he regarded Bradley. “Let’s make a pact. You promise to fight this cancer as hard as you can and hang on till I get back, and I promise to be the best rescuer and bullet-dodger in the world. Deal?”

Bradley’s smile reached his eyes. “Deal.”

Chills danced up Amber’s scalp as Bradley transformed before her. Hope. She hadn’t seen it on his face since his diagnosis. Bradley hugged Joel hard. Joel held Bradley tighter. He pulled a maroon beret from his side pack and placed it on Bradley’s head. After swiping tears at the gesture, Bradley made Joel pinkie-shake on their special deal.

At the last bell, a horn sounded in the parking lot.

Amber brushed Bradley’s arm. “Your ride is waiting, tater.”

A frown beset by a flash of irritation drew Joel’s face tight as he glared at the car, a dilapidated source of incessant honking which Amber deemed Bradley’s ride.

Bradley stole one last hug, then shuffled off like a slug in the slow lane. Joel watched him, looking coiled and ready to pounce should Bradley stumble.

The car door swung open and a barrage of female screeching tumbled out. Compassion settled on Joel’s face.

“What makes his gait unsteady?” Joel asked.

“His illness,” Amber replied.

He eyed the car and its driver with what she interpreted as disdain as it jolted forward. It sped from the lot, leaving twin tire trails and poufs of silvery-white dust. “Car muffler’s obviously MIA. That his mom?”

“No. Bradley’s birth mother abandoned him.”

Joel twisted to peer at her. Had his skin blanched a shade lighter with her words?

He flicked a glance down the road. “Who picked him up just then?”

“His foster mom.”

“That the best they can do for him?”

“There is a court hearing scheduled to secure a better arrangement for Bradley.” She glossed over the fact that the woman was one violation away from losing her foster license and custody of Bradley. Her answer must not have pacified Joel.

With pinpoint accuracy and acutely unnerving silence, Joel stared into her eyes like a sniper to a scope.

Amber brushed hair behind her ear. “We suspect she’s neglectful on many levels.”

His brows crinkled. “He’s still with her, why?”

“Because we need concrete proof, and she’s the person his mother left him with.”

“Why doesn’t she let someone adopt him? He’s an adorable little kid. Though I suppose with his illness, most families wouldn’t want to take him.”

I would. “Adoption requires consent from his biological mother. After a two-month quest, we located her, hoping his diagnosis might spur her to want time with him.”

“Did it?”

“No. She signed over rights, saying she couldn’t deal with a healthy kid, much less a sick one. His caseworker and attorney subpoenaed paperwork to determine where things stand legally with the foster mother, and whether he needs to be a ward of the state.”

Joel peered at his watch, then to the choppers.

“Do you need to go?” She wondered what the page had been about. Had to be something big, but she didn’t want to put him on the spot if it were something top secret.

“Not yet. The page earlier set us on standby alert. We’re packing up just in case we get deployed. We’re a quick reaction force, so I like to be ready.” He dipped his head toward her collar. “I forgot to give his glasses back.”

She looked down, and tugged them from her pocket. “That’s okay. It’ll give me an excuse to run them by his house.”

Joel lifted a boot to the school yard slide. “You need an excuse?”

“His foster mother can be…volatile.”

He stared at the glasses in Amber’s hand. “No wonder he wished for a family. How can they allow a questionable individual to be a foster parent?”

“I gather she put up a good front at first. Lately, not so good.”

“Poor guy’s got a lot on his plate.” Joel lifted hands to soldiers gathering tiny flags the children had left them. He caught one they tossed. “You said we. Are you involved in the process as his teacher?”

She nodded, about to clarify she had applied for a foster care license to take Bradley in. Something stopped her. “I spearheaded the search for his mother—”

Joel’s reaction silenced her. He first looked slapped, then detached as he faced the swings. His head dropped forward toward the ground and he swallowed. His expression like a flint, he set his face skyward, as if searching for something. As if suddenly remembering Amber, he swiveled toward her and their eyes locked.

Her breath hitched at the bold, compelling intensity. Amber couldn’t tell his thoughts. He didn’t speak, just stared. She stared back, wanting badly to know what in the world was happening. Not just here between them, but globally. A shrill jingle made him blink.

She flinched, the moment lost.

He flipped the cell open. “Yes, Commander…I am aware, sir…We anticipated that and are only ten from liftoff…You’re welcome…I know, sir. I’m praying, too.”

Joel closed the phone, dropped it in his front pocket. “Can they spare you a minute?” He darted a glance at the school.

“For a few minutes.” Amber followed. “Can you tell me what’s happened? We’re all understandably frightened.”

“It’s all over the news. An earthquake hit Asia, causing floods in the tsunami zone.”

“Earthquake?” Amber blurted.

“Thousands of South Indians are in dire need along the coastline. My team will be part of the humanitarian mission.”

Amber deflated, glad World War III hadn’t started. Then guilt assailed her. The tragedy might not have struck her world, but it had struck someone’s. Lots of someones. “How horrible.” She held Joel’s empathetic expression.

He nodded. “Listen, I intended to make things real special for Bradley, but literally the ocean came up. Will he understand?” Uncertainty flickered behind the calm in his eyes.

Was he kidding? “Oh, Joel. You have no idea the impact of what you’ve done here today, do you? All these soldiers, those helicopters, your jump…un-be-lievable. Bradley has never experienced anything so profoundly amazing.” Neither have I. The world needs more men like this one, Lord.

The glimmer resurfaced in his eyes. Not tears really, just tangible emotion. “That’s good. I hate to cut this convo short, but I should help pick up.” He moved toward soldiers who passed by, loading supplies. They waved him back, so he retrained his gaze on her. She guessed this was goodbye.

“I feel exceedingly blessed to have met you, Special Soldier Montgomery.” She stretched her hand for a departing shake.

He didn’t budge except to blink down at her palm before casting a thoughtful expression at her. He scratched a finger over his temple where tanned skin melted into an onyx-shadowed buzz cut. “Can I, uh—can I get your contact info?”

Her heart thudded warmth onto her face. “Um…Okay, sure.”

“You know, for updates on Bradley. And stuff.”

Stuff? What constituted stuff? “Of course.” She patted her pockets for something to write with and on.

So did he, and came up with a blue splotched paper.

“That’s Bradley’s letter,” she said.

He eyed her head and grinned. “And this—” he tugged the blue pen from behind her ear “—is the culprit.”

They shared a laugh as she wrote down her contact information. Fending off a snicker, she slipped the pen between the paper folds while he peered past her.

Amber handed him the bulky letter. “I know you need to go.”

“In a minute.”

She thought he’d find the dreaded pen right then but he tucked the paper in his chest pocket and reached out his hand.

When she put hers there, he sandwiched it between his. He stared at her with sincere intensity. “It was truly an honor to meet you, too, Special Teacher Stanton. I won’t soon forget you.” Warmth emanated from his fingers and spread up her arms.

Soon forget? That meant he’d eventually forget, right? A weird panic seized her that she may never see him again. Her heart and mind raced. How could she make him know how much this meant to Bradley? Did Joel know what a rare and precious stone he was in this rocky world?

Aware the children had gone, Amber slipped her hand from his then reached up as far as she could without making frontal contact, and hugged him.

Bulky arms wound around her, pulling her close, reciprocating. My, she hadn’t meant to get this close.

She marveled at how he could be strong and tender at the same time as he held her against a wall of security and warmth.

The guy was built like a tank. Thankfully he smelled of crisp air and soap instead of mortar and metal. She pulled back, instantly missing the comforting thud of his heart.

His eyes twinkled. “Wow. What was that for?”

“For giving him something to live for. A reason to hope. The will to fight.” For being one very special and sensitive human being that I suspect you are but try to hide.

“Bradley’s a real fighter. Hey, I should jet before they take off without me. Although, I could handle this all day.” He grinned as if having a private joke with himself that she wasn’t privy to.

“I understand.” Even though she didn’t understand what he could handle all day. The hug, or being with Bradley? She stepped aside so he could pass. His lip twitched as if to laugh. Her action took him by surprise, for sure. She turned to watch him board.

Every man hung out the chopper doors, gawking. Heat scorched her cheeks. Joel peered back over his shoulder, disabling her motor function with a bold wink and a disarming smile that made her pulse trip.

She quickly spun away, imagining he’d be relentlessly teased. Great. They probably didn’t know her hug had only been out of thankfulness and nothing more.

Neither did her heart for that matter, for it beat over a hundred times per minute.

The choppers lifted off. Hurricane-like winds tousled leaves and bent limbs. Multicolored flowers and waxy green grass swayed as if a large invisible hand brushed back and forth across their tips.

Dust swirled in a cyclone, stinging Amber’s skin. She shut her eyes and shielded her face. Once it died down, she waved her arm to clear air in front of her and caught sight of blue. She lowered her hand to study it, momentarily blipping on what caused it. Then she realized.

Ink had transferred to her fingers and palm from the paper Joel had handed her. She scrubbed. The impression only smeared, leaving imprints everywhere she touched.

“Stupid pen.” She raked her hand along her jeans. It wouldn’t erase. She laughed.

The pen was the soldier’s problem now.

She peered around her.

Only charred cardboard remnants, firework soot and debris remained in the school yard.

On her trek to the entrance, Amber bent to retrieve a glass jar the bottle rockets shot from. A few more steps, and she picked up a flag from a stone bench near the garden. As she turned, something white caught her eye. Foreboding stopped her short but then the object in the middle of the fountain compelled her feet forward.

One of the toy parachutes thrust through the air with fireworks must have landed here. A bamboo plant clutched its tattered chute. Rocks wedged the plastic man. Water rolled over the side like a miniature flood, engulfing the toy.

Frozen, she studied the odd little scene.

Water. The Asian plant. A parachutist.

The flood. South India. Joel.

Amber snatched the little man from the water, hoping no one watched. It might be plastic, but she couldn’t leave it trapped underwater by the fountain’s rolling wave. She dried it on her jeans, folded up the parachute and tucked it inside her jacket.

Close to her heart.

From the Chinook, Joel watched the school until it became a tiny red dot in the distance.

“That was way cool,” Manny said above the whipping wind.

“Yeah. I’ll never forget those kids’ faces when we landed. How long you figure that little guy’s got?” Nolan’s smile faded as he shifted to face Joel.

“His teacher says he won’t make it to the end of the school year without a bone marrow transplant.” Joel used the tip of his boot to push his newly folded parachute pack against the wall.

“He really bonded with you, man.” Manny lifted his voice above the roar. “You ought to make it a point to get back there and see him.”

You promised. Joel leaned sideways, resting on an elbow. “Depends on how long we’re needed in Asia. I really liked him.”

“And his teacher?” Nolan grinned and elbowed Chance. They both stared at Joel. “Because she sure seemed to like you.”

Snickers erupted among Joel’s Special Forces buddies.

Joel just shook his head.

“You get her number, Montgomery?” Manny asked.

“That’s for me to know, Peña.” Joel leaned his head back, intent on playing possum.

“Sounds like a challenge,” Chance announced.

Next thing Joel knew, scuffling erupted. He vaulted to his feet but Nolan tackled him. SEAL Silas and PJ Chance restrained his arms.

The skirmish landed them all on the floor and garnered interesting looks from the new female pilot. Manny sat on his torso, and Nolan lunged for Joel’s chest pocket.

Muscles tensed, Joel strained and cycled his legs, making contact with flesh. Someone groaned. Good, he got one. Others pretzeled his legs with grips of titanium. Crinkling sounded as Silas jerked the letter from his pocket. Something blue flew out when Silas flipped it open.

That pen. He knew she’d slipped it in there back at the school. He’d pretended not to notice.

“Don’t rip that note or I’ll—” Freed, Joel shot to his feet, lunging for the paper.

Arms grabbed him from everywhere, netting him in.

With a victorious shout and a fist shot to the air, Silas tossed Nolan the letter.

Joel took a deep breath, then laughed during exhale because they all looked as sweaty and disheveled as he felt. At least he’d put up a good fight. They needed to break a fun sweat now and then.

Nolan opened the blue polka-dot-splotched battle prize and flicked his forefinger at Amber’s handwriting. “Told you, Peña.”

Manny took the paper, looked, then handed it to Joel.

Joel picked up the pen and tucked it in his pocket with the letter before securing a comfortable seat against the wall.

Manny slumped beside him. “It figures. You got numbers, and I got nothin’.”

Jack Chapman’s dimples popped up, bracketing a teasing smirk. “Speaking of figures, nice from what I could tell with all those baggy clothes on. Joel could give us the stats since he got closer at her than any of us.”

The other guys laughed good-naturedly.

Joel pinned them to the wall with a look, then closed his eyes and folded his arms across his chest, feigning sleep.

He’d never hear the end of it. Never.

The talk of women didn’t usually bother him this bad, even when some of the guys got raunchy. He’d simply walk away when the talk moved beyond PG-13. The thought of their minds tainting Amber’s innocence over a hug made him feel defensive.

Not liking his shift in loyalty, Joel rubbed his chest, right where the attraction for Amber had stemmed from. He rubbed but it wouldn’t go away. In fact, the more he thought of her, the greater it got. So he needed to stop thinking of her.

Shifting uncomfortably, he rested his other hand on his stomach, where concern had evolved into gut-deep compassion. It had been harder to leave Bradley than he’d anticipated. Still, he associated Bradley with Refuge. He wouldn’t, couldn’t go back there. You promised.

To keep his promise meant facing Refuge and his attraction to the teacher. Maybe he could just write Bradley. That would be good enough. Wouldn’t it?

A distant echo of words swarmed his mind.

You promised. They grew loud to the point he couldn’t hear anything else.

And you never break a promise, right? Whose voice whispered? Bradley? Or himself as a child pleading with an invisible mother, then for God to make her want to come home? He missed her so much it hurt beyond words. Then. Now.

Come back. You promised.

But she couldn’t. Not now. Not ever. Death took her before she could keep her promise. He didn’t want any child to go through that kind of loss. If he took the easy way out and avoided Refuge, Bradley was destined for disappointment.

Joel remembered how it felt to have childhood dreams ripped from his grasp like a favorite toy from the arms of a child in clutching need of its comfort. Every dream except one.

I want to be a PJ. Joel smiled at both the irony and the miracle. Joel’s one realized dream packed potential to fertilize a little boy’s last wish into fruition. He refused to let past hurts ruin the redemption of that child’s hope.

He opened his eyes, imploring his men to hold him to the creed of courage and accountability that bonded them as a team. “I promised the kid I’d come back.”

At his words, most of the men nodded. They settled in for the long flight, except Manny, who tugged something from his belt clip. “Ever seen one of these, Montgomery?”

Joel leaned forward and palmed the dark-colored handheld with a BlackBerry logo. “Not this brand. Thing looks pretty cool.” He started to hand it back to Manny.

Manny pushed it back to Joel with a grin. “Try it out. Since you have her e-mail address and all.”

Joel eyed the tiny keyboard and scratched his stubbled jaw. “Maybe I will. You know, to keep up with what’s going on with Bradley.”

After laughing, Manny leaned forward and showed him how to make international calls and send e-mail. “Use it anytime you want. Even once we’re there.”

“This’ll work all the way from India?”

“As long as we’re in a secure location and keep the battery charged.”

“It’ll work right now?” Joel peered around the helicopter, and the sky that carried it. “Up here?”

“When those bars light up, that means you have a valid signal.”

At least he and Amber could forge a friendship. Bradley’s plight had already bonded them. He felt it, and suspected by her spontaneous hug that she had, too.

After intense concentration, Joel typed an e-mail to her. He gathered the nerve to hit the send command before constructing a second e-mail to the students.

Joel handed the gadget back to Manny, suddenly feeling unsure about this. Was there any way to retrieve those messages?

Manny tucked it back in his hip clip. “Don’t look so scared, Montgomery.”

Joel raked a hand around the back of his neck. “I’m not scared, Peña. It’s just been a long time since I’ve…”

Just what was this? Joel clasped his hands on his knees. How could he define something he didn’t know what to call?

Two bushy black eyebrows rose. “Since you what?”

“Pursued an interest,” Joel said with honesty that he knew would leave him an open target for relentless razzing.

“As I said, feel free to use it whenever the urge strikes you.” Manny rested his head back, shutting his eyes.

Joel stretched his feet out before reclining his head back, as well. “Thanks, Peña. It will come in handy.”

One of Manny’s eyelids slid open. “For keeping up with what’s going on with Bradley.”

“Right.” Joel slid his boot across the floor to kick his snickering friend into silence.

He’d never hear the end of it.

And maybe, for once, he didn’t want to.

Chapter Four

Amber stepped into her apartment after bicycling from the grocery store Friday evening. Shoulders shrugged, her backpack clunked to the floor. Pouch unzipped, she tugged out two bulging sacks, evicting their contents on the countertop. At the rattle of plastic and clatter of cans, her cat bounded around the corner and hopped on the counter.

“Off there, Psych.” She swept him to the edge with the back of her hand. His paws screeched until his giant fuzz ball of a body lost the battle with gravity. Amber transferred everything to the fridge except the Cornish hen for dinner. She’d save leftovers for Bradley to eat on Sunday.

She put nonperishables in her school satchel, since Bradley’s foster mother couldn’t seem to remember to pack him a lunch lately.

Amber preheated the oven before surfing Illinois Foster Care online. While pages printed, she opened her e-mail.

Several new messages.

She replied to her dad’s, noticing that folder held more saved messages than any other. She thought he’d stop once she moved here, but he still e-mailed daily. “He’s trying, I’ll give him that.”

Amber groaned at the next message. “I hate those.” She deleted the forward-this-or-have-bad-luck message from someone on her teachers’ loop.

She clicked on the final message and nearly sent it there, too—then froze. Wait.

Sender: J.M.M. Subject line: Just Checking In.

Sender: J.M.M…. J.M.M.? Could it be him, and so soon? She dared to hope so. Her eyes scrolled to the bottom of the message.

Kind regards, Joel M. Montgomery, USAF

“Yes!” Unable to stifle a burst of eagerness, she glanced out the window. No neighbors watched. All clear, she allowed herself a few undignified jumps. The cat bobbed his head in sync with her motion, looking tense and prepared to flee.

“Psych! We have a cyber link to Mr. Gorgeous.” She read the first line of text. “No-oo.” Her forehead banged the pine desktop above the rollout keyboard shelf.

Her heart plunged with every word.

I hope this finds you all in good health and obeying your teachers. Please remember the people of India in your prayers. Thanks for having us at your school. The production was phenomenal. Each of my men felt honored and esteemed. Kind regards, Joel M. Montgomery, USAF.

“Ugh!” He didn’t write her—he’d e-mailed her students. Amber chastised herself for her strong reaction.

She’d had no business hoping.

“False alarm, Psych. Story of my life.” Had she imagined the fizz between them? In all her dreamy Cinderella-ness, probably. “It’s better that way anyhow, Psych. Bart shattered my glass slipper at the altar last year.”

The cat padded over and raked against her ankle.

She scratched along Psych’s ribs, then dusted orange-yellow hair off her hand. “What do you think, buddy? Is Joel just a player who flirts with all the gals?”

Amber stiffened against disappointment, and clicked through the remaining messages.

Another caught her eye. Her pulse revved at the name.

Sender: J.M.M. Subject line: Reporting For Duty, Ma’am.

She embraced the words with caution this time.

Hey, teach. Soldier Joel here. Making sure I got the right in-box. Reply if this is you. Ignore if you’re not you. Ha-Ha. How’s our little playground prince? I’m sending a second e-mail shortly for you to share with your class. Let me know if you get these. Okay, signing off to compose the other message. Cordially, JMM—USAF

She scrolled to the first message, noting the time stamp. Sure enough. The message settings inverted the order received. She’d have Bradley fix it when he came over Sunday after church. Little tech whiz could do anything with a computer. She knew just enough to pose a danger to her sanity and her hard drive.

Amber arched a brow at her cat. “Are you the culprit who messed with my settings? I saw you enthroned on my keyboard terrorizing a moth.”

Psychoticat meowed and curved his back under her fingers as she scratched. Amber suppressed the urge to sneeze. She had a feeling Psych’s hair caused the allergies. But she couldn’t bear to give him up since he’d been abandoned as a kitten.

Amber smiled in anticipation of the children’s glee when she shared Joel’s e-mail with them Monday. She hit Reply, then typed:

Last time I checked, I was me. Are you still you? Oven beep summons a hen basted in honey and oranges—a meal fit for a playground prince whose kingdom is Cloud 9 thanks to G.I. Joel and his fearless friends. Will forward your other message to my students. Must go. Oven dirty. Particles burning and stinky. Fire alarm makes Psychoticat more neurotic than usual. Warmly, Amber M. Stanton

Twelve hours and two time zones later put Joel’s team in Paris, France, the halfway mark to Mumbai where they would catch another flight to the Indian coastline near Cochin.

Manny plopped in one of the airport’s lounge seats beside Joel and elbowed him.

Joel looked over. Manny shoved the BlackBerry back in Joel’s hand. “Use it again. You know you want to.”

“I think I’ll wait until she e-mails me back. Thanks.”

A grin overtook the squat and stout PJ’s brown face. “Maybe she did.”

Joel narrowed his gaze, looked at Manny then the device. “Gimme that Blueberry.”

“BlackBerry. Don’t worry. I didn’t read it.” Manny stretched the handheld out again. Joel reached for it.

Manny eased it back. “Unless you want me to…”

“Hey—” Joel stood, prepared to wrestle the thing from him if need be. Manny jerked it back a few more times as Joel grasped at it. Finally, Manny handed it over.

Joel took the teasing and the BlackBerry without preamble. He pulled up her message, trying not to show outwardly how much it meant to him that she’d responded.

“What did she say?” Manny scooted over and leaned in, straining to read the small text in the window.

Joel tilted the screen at an angle so his friend could see.

Manny nodded and tapped Joel’s forearm with the stylus. “We’re in Paris. You ought to go buy her something. That kid, too. Chicks like romance and flowers and stuff. Especially rare, exotic gifts from other countries.”

Chapman tipped his cowboy hat. “Get her a beaded Indian sari.”

PJ Vince Reardon smirked. “Nah. Save some cash. Bring her back a parasite instead. They’re exotic.”

Joel shook his head. “I’ll hit the shops on the way back to the States since we’re on standby for the next flight. We need to stick together. I don’t want to get stuck in a checkout line.”

Manny yawned. “You did good yesterday, Montgomery. I’m proud of you.” He sprawled in a seat at the stainless steel aesthetic DeGaulle Airport. Other teams went by military craft, but since they’d deployed from Illinois, the government flew them domestic.

“It was harder than I’d anticipated. But it helped that I had the distraction of Bradley.” A pretty teacher, too. “Only at one point did I feel myself slipping.” He hoped it wouldn’t hit him after the fact. He didn’t need to be a train wreck heading into South Asia.

Manny leaned forward, clasping his hands in listen mode. “Yeah, when was that?”

“In the playground. You know I went to that school for a few years when I was a kid, right?”

Manny shook his head. “Ah, man. No, I didn’t.”

“Yeah, my mom—she used to take me there and swing me. That was the last thing we ever did together.” Joel swallowed and cast a hard stare at the BlackBerry. He thought of Amber’s determined quest to find Bradley’s mom.

How many times had he prayed as a child for someone who wouldn’t give up until they found his mother? How many nights had he cried himself to sleep missing her? Wishing he could at least have an answer? He’d prayed and prayed for God to bring her home but the only thing that came was news there had been a car accident. His mother had died but longing lived on for someone to tell his deepest fears and craziest dreams to. Someone to be real with.

Someone like Amber.

“Bradley’s blessed to have her. She’s good for him.” Joel cleared his throat to rid himself of the emotion. He wouldn’t let it crack him again. He’d lived broken as a child because he had no choice. As a man, he had a choice. He would avoid anything with potential to breach the dam walling his past from his present.

That included Refuge, and everything in it.

Joel coughed, but the elastic band wouldn’t ease from his chest. He hadn’t felt like this in fifteen years, and he hoped for another fifteen at least before he had to feel anything like it again. The pressure made it hard to breathe.

Manny eyed him with unwavering intent. “I think it’ll be good for you to keep that promise. She could be good for you. You’ve never dealt with that junk with your mom and your uncle, dude. And you need to.”

“I’ll keep my promise to Bradley, Peña.” Don’t expect more.

“I know you will. And then some.” Manny leaned back.

Joel tapped the keyboard to compose a message.

After sending it, Joel stared at the blank screen while Manny’s mantra rang in the ears of his soul. I know you will. And then some. These guys held each other to the same stellar code of standards. Above and beyond, no matter what. On missions, in personal lives. When everyone looked, or no one.

Integrity. The creed didn’t stop when the missions did.

They didn’t make promises without intent to bulldoze mountains if that’s what it took to keep them. Even Everest with a Barbie Jeep if that’s what it required to maintain the pristine field of their word, and they’d all taken the creed together.

So Others Might Live.

He hoped he wasn’t walking into a God trap. Surely He wouldn’t expect Joel to confront the hurts of his past and the person responsible for them before he felt ready. Right?

Joel pressed thumbs to his temple, steeling himself against the insurgence of silence which advanced heavily on his mind. He listened for the question which carried a cavernous echo for an answer.

Truth was, he didn’t know if he had courage enough to face it. His biggest fear had always been backing down from something.

Help me. I don’t want to let him down, or You.

He’d keep his promise to Bradley. No matter what.

No matter what.

A vague sensation wrapped around him that this promise would be severely tested. His job consisted of life-or-death danger. He didn’t want to die before he fulfilled his promise to that fragile child who’d undoubtedly been placed in his path for a reason.

Joel settled in his seat and closed his eyes.

Don’t let me run, no matter what comes.

Chapter Five

Saturday morning, Amber approached her computer with a glass of high-pulp orange juice, a wheat bagel and a tote brimming with foster care information. She sat in the cushy blue chair, pulling up her in-box. Two new messages. She felt doubly blessed. One from her dad. One from Joel. Proving to herself she could have self-control, she opened her dad’s first.

Then opened Joel’s, a smile going through her.

Greetings from Paris. We’re halfway to our destination. Not sure how much opportunity I’ll have to e-mail once we arrive but don’t think I forgot about Bradley. Or my promise. Or you. I’m not sure when I’ll be able to get away. I’ll keep in touch as able. Tell Psychokitty to watch his back. I’m armed and dangerous. Ever been to France? Food’s great. Really made my day to hear back from you. This e-mail stuff is amazing. Talk to you soon. JMM—USAF.

“Better watch out, Psych. He’s armed and dangerous.” Her comment drew a blank stare from the cat. “More like charmed and dangerous.” Amber sighed at her computer screen.

The cat scrambled across the kitchen, paw-skiing the smooth tile surface before skidding to a halt in front of the food dish. He looked from the bowl to Amber and flicked his tail.

“I know. I forgot to buy tuna yesterday. You’ll have to settle for chicken.” She got up and grabbed a can of soft cat food from the pantry. Fingernails lifting the tab, she peeled off the aluminum top expecting Psych to rush over and rub her ankle as usual. He did that when any can was opened, even green beans.

This time he only stared, and flicked. She tapped chicken into the bowl, then ran her finger around the can to get remnants out.

While Amber washed her hands, the cat hunched its shoulders and sniffed. He lifted his head, hissed at her, hissed at the food, then sashayed to the laundry room.

After glaring at the moody creature’s back, she typed a reply to Joel:

Paris? Did you see the Notre Dame Cathedral or the Eiffel Tower? I’ve always wanted to. You’re probably world traveled. I’ve only lived two places—California and Illinois. Never been outside the U.S. Probably never will. I know you’re short on time, so I’ll sign off. Thanks for everything you did for Bradley. PS: You’re nobody until you’ve been ignored by a bipolar cat. Kindly, AMS—

Amber drummed her fingers on the desk. USAF stood for U.S. Air Force. What could she put? She phoned Celia. “He e-mailed me.” Amber held the phone back from Celia’s loud kudos. “Now that you’ve blown out my eardrums, help me brainstorm a four-letter acronym to put behind my initials.”

“Give him a riddle to figure out,” Celia said.

Amber had it. “Apartment on Sonnet Drive.” She added AOSD to her e-mail and then sent the message. Call ended, Amber gathered her keys and the tote of foster care stuff for her mom to help with, since Lela’s profession involved legal paperwork.

Past the last stoplight out of town and nearing the guard towers flanking the government road leading to the non-mapped Eagle Point Military Base which Refuge secretly housed, Amber’s cell rang. Celia’s number popped up.

“Heard from him yet?”

Amber turned on the gravel road that would take her the half hour to her parents’ place. “I doubt it. It’s been what, a half hour?”

Celia clicked her tongue. “You mean you don’t know if he e-mailed you back yet or not? Don’t you check your e-mail?”

A deer darted across the road several yards ahead. Amber slowed. “Not while I’m in the car, and certainly not fifty times a day.” Not that she’d admit.

“If I had someone that cute in possession of my e-mail address, I’d chain myself to the computer. You know there are cell phones with e-mail plans, right? You better tell me when he e-mails you again.”

“If he e-mails me again.”

“When.” Motorized gurgling. Then brutal clinking sounded, such as a spoon dying in the sink disposal. Silence. “And I want some serious details. In fact, forward the e-mails to me.” More sink drain gurgling.

Amber laughed. “Not on your life.” She approached a curve, scanned the tree-lined road for critters, then accelerated.

“He’ll keep in touch.”

“I don’t know about that, but I hope he at least stays in touch with Bradley.”

“When you get legal guardianship, that’ll be convenient. How’s that coming along?” Scraping sounds. Liquid sloshing.

“Mom’s judge friend says there’s not enough proof to get Bradley out of there.”

Celia grumbled. “Her sending him to school every day with an empty lunch box isn’t proof? Come on. She knows this school is bring-your-lunch-only while they’re remodeling the kitchen. Even if we were serving hot lunches, I doubt she’d send him with money.” Faucet thump. Water off.

“I know. It takes time. These are serious accusations. We have to keep documenting. In the meantime, pray for his well-being and safety. I hate the thought of him not getting decent meals. Also, Bradley’s doctor pulled me aside at the market. He confided he has reason to suspect Foster Lady’s not giving Bradley his meds. If he proves it, he can have her court-ordered to administer them.”

The sound of liquid spraying in spurts. “That’s horrible. He needs to gain weight and have both proper nutrition and the treatments in order to stay eligible for the transplant, right?”

“Right.”

“Where is he in that process?”

“Moving up. Closer to finding a donor.”

“I’d abduct him if I were you.”

Amber laughed, knowing Celia kidded. Still, she was really glad the FBI didn’t have a tap on her line.

“When Bradley’s oncologist voiced his concerns, believe me, it tempted me. But I can’t help him if I’m sitting in jail. He said if Bradley’s levels don’t rise, he’ll have him admitted to be sure he stays medicated. We have to hurry up and wait. And pray.”

“And pray.” Water off, then on. Something metal plunked against stainless steel. A large splash.

“I better let you go before you drop the phone in the water and electrocute yourself. Besides, I’m in a lowsignal area. Cel? Hello?”

“Amb, you’re cutting out. Anyway, I said if prayer doesn’t work, I’ll help you devise a plan to kidnap Bradley and—”

She lost the call in the deep country roads. No cell towers out here, just soybean fields and forests dense with poison ivy. She’d be able to reach Celia up ahead.

Once there, her phone rang as she went to flip it open. Amber switched it from speaker to earpiece and hit Talk. “Beat me to the draw. You better hope the FBI isn’t listening in. They’ll take us both to jail.”

A heavy silence invaded the phone, then a huff of air and deep, masculine laughter. Amber nearly ran off the road.

“Do I want to know?” Joel asked.

“Hey! No. Sorry. I thought you were Celia.”

“She’s shorter than me.”

Amber laughed, surprised how it pleased her to hear Joel’s voice. He probably called for an update on Bradley.

“How’s Bradley?”

She knew it. “He’s doing great. You really made an impression. His caseworker phoned to tell me he hasn’t stopped talking about you since Friday.” I haven’t stopped thinking about you, either.

Amber tapped a finger to her forehead to the beat of her CD. Stop. Stop. Stop. Last thing you need is another heartache.

“What about you?” Joel asked.

It took her a second to figure out the last thing she said. Her thoughts rang so loud, she sometimes couldn’t remember if her mind or her mouth spoke last. “I’m fine.”

“That you are.”

Was he flirting? She fanned herself, hating the giddy factor. “How are you?”

“You tell me.”

She refused to bite. Obviously he flirted with all girls or he wouldn’t be so suave at it. A sick feeling roiled inside. Leave it to her to be attracted to a womanizer. Yet so much of what she’d glimpsed of his character spoke of the opposite. “I may lose you.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m getting into an area of low signal. Let me pull over.”

“Just stay safe, Amber.”

Amber. He’d called her Amber. Not Miss Stanton. “I’m not on the interstate. About the only thing that could get me out here is a raccoon.”

“Out here?”

“I’m heading to my parents’ fishing pond.”

“Do you fish?”

“I love it.”

“So do I. Don’t get to as much as I’d like. I plan to retire in eight years. I hope to have more time then.”

“Wow. Eight years? How old are you?”

“Thirty. That puts me in until I’m thirty-eight. I’ll have twenty years because they counted my ROTC in high school and college. My dream is to be a skydiving instructor for civilians and new recruits since I’ll be old and decrepit.”

“Thirty-eight is hardly decrepit.”

“For a Special Forces soldier, thirty borders on geriatric. Forty’s ancient. Fifty’s antique. And sixty is not happening. They want the young pups in there who still feel invincible and whose knees don’t creak when they sneak up on the enemy.”

Amber laughed. “I hear rumors they have skydiving instructors at Eagle Point. You could come back to your old stomping ground.”

Why had she blurted that mindless suggestion? “Not a chance.”

A little ping of disappointment hit her with his rapid-fire response, which boldly shot down her idea with zero hesitation.

Wanting to keep things light, Amber’s mind grasped for straws from her wit arsenal. “You could fish sooner than eight years, ya know.”

“Is that right?”

Relief hit her that she could hear the smile in his voice again. “That’s right. When you make it back to visit Bradley, you two can fish at the pond. Bradley loves it.”

“Is the pond in Refuge?”

Her words had stripped all humor from his. Way to go, Stanton. Keep batting foul balls and run him right out of the park. But that’s what she wanted, right? Safe! Yeah, right. Maybe in baseball. The guy’s smile was lethal alone.

“Refuge address, but out of town,” she answered.

“That’s good. That might work.” His tone seemed thoughtful now. What an odd statement.

“You’d come with us, right?” he asked.

“Sure, if you want.” Did he just ask her out? Or had he simply been polite and included her, since it happened to be her parents’ place? And why did she dare even hope, after the heartache she stumbled out of last year? She wished she were more experienced with this sort of thing. According to her track record, she seemed destined for failure where relationships were concerned. “However, if you need some alone time with Bradley, I can just give you directions.”

“No way. If I’m there, you’re there. I’d love to see you again. Plus, I’ll need a little moral support when I can get free to make it back. You know how I have that aversion to Refuge.”

The hollow echo in his voice floated through her heart. His transparency caught her off guard. “I remember. So, how did you come to know about Bradley’s letter?”

“I’m the PJ he mentioned who grew up there. That’s why Dream Corps contacted me.”

“I didn’t know that. They kept the whole ordeal hidden from me beyond the note and phone call. Celia knew you guys were surprising Bradley and me, so she and the other staff put together the production to welcome you.”

“It was awesome. My guys still talk about it. Celia, she’s the Hispanic-looking teacher, right?”

“Yeah, the firecracker.”

He laughed. “I wasn’t gonna say it. She married?”

“Why, you interested?” Traitorous disappointment pinged her stomach again.

Another laugh. “No, but my buddy Manny might be.”

“Celia is dead set against getting involved with men in dangerous jobs. She lost her husband in the line of duty as a cop. Her goal is to steer clear of guys packing heat, and go for ones packing calculators instead. She also wants to date a Christian.”

“Then I won’t encourage it. Manny is a backslider and running on the wild side right now.”

If Joel was using Christian lingo, could he be a believer? She’d gotten the feeling at school that he was. Then again, so was Bart, and he still bashed her heart to pieces.

“What about you? What are your life goals, Amber?”

To have a baby. “Something that will never happen.”

“Come on. Tell me. I told you mine.”

“Maybe in time.”

“Well, whatever you dream for, I hope it comes true.”

“Thank you.”

“Hey, I need sleep, and you need to escape the clutches of that rabid teacher-eating coon sneaking up behind you.”

“Very funny.”

His chuckle eased her tensions. “Did you look?”

She still was. “I’ll never tell.” Her eyes slipped away from her rearview mirror.

“Fair enough. I’ll be in touch. Later, tater.”

She smiled, touched that he’d remember her and Bradley’s special exchange. “Later, gator.”

The only thing Amber could think about as she drove the remaining miles was how pleasant Joel’s voice sounded, and how Bart had never once called and e-mailed her on the same day.

It’s just for Bradley, she told herself.

On her mom’s patio five hours later, Amber eyed her watch. “I should go soon. Psychoticat is out of tuna and on a hunger strike. The market closes in two hours.”

“Dad will be home in a few minutes. Can’t you stay a bit?”

“Is he getting off early?”

“Yes.” Lela’s face flushed. “We’re going out tonight.”

Amber stared at her. “Like, on a date?”

“Yes. You should never stop dating your spouse.” She tugged Amber close for a hug. “Thank you for sharing the day with me, and what that nice young man did for our little Bradley, giving him that beret and all.”

“Mom, he’s not our little Bradley. Things might not go through. If they do, it may be too l—”

Lela placed a gentle finger to Amber’s lips. “It’s never too late when God is in the equation. So does this soldier happen to be attractive?”

“You sound like Celia.” Amber fanned herself with a stack of napkins and stood. “Yes. He’s what I would consider attractive.”

“Is he a Christian?” Lela motioned Amber down.

Amber sat. “His faith seems genuine.”

“Are you interested?” Lela refilled Amber’s tea.

Glass to her mouth, Amber let the sweet liquid linger on her tongue. No one made sun tea better than her mom. “In friendship.”

“That’s a good foundation.” Lela smiled behind her glass.

“Don’t count on it going anywhere.” Amber swirled the ice in her glass. “Is this sugar?”

“Sweetener. Why just friendship if you were the only one at the school that day with whom he flirted?” Lela’s eyes twinkled with wisdom and motherly mischief.

The glass in Amber’s hand clunked down a smidgen too hard. “I’m going to throttle Celia.”

“Oh, spare her life another day. She only told me a little. Plus, we have a Cupid conspiracy.” Lela winked.

“Is nothing in my life private from you two?”

“Of course not, dear. What’s the fun in that?”

Off the stool now, Amber placed her glass on the tray. “On that note, I’m out of here. Give Daddy hugs for me.”

Lela stood, peering at her watch. “Why don’t you wait five minutes and he’ll be home? I’m sure he’d love his hugs directly from you.”

“I used to be the family peacemaker. Now it’s you.”

“I prefer the term moderator. Your dad regrets not being there for you all those years. If life provided second chances, his choices would be different. So would mine. We were young and kids don’t come with instructions in the box.”

Amber laughed.

“I regret putting you in the middle. You should have had a carefree childhood, not being a full-time ambassador working peace negotiations between the two people supposed to be taking care of you instead of arguing.”

Amber shrugged. “You were like a single mom with Dad gone all the time. Which is precisely why I want my future adoptive children to have a dad with a stationary job.”

She expected her mother to comment, but Lela stood silent. The kind of silent which usually meant she didn’t agree with Amber, but wanted to let her figure it out on her own.

Her father pulled up. She met him ascending the porch steps.

“You leaving already?” He set his briefcase down.

“I have to get to the market before it closes. Psych’s out of tuna and freaking out.”

He laughed. After visiting several moments, he walked Amber to her car and opened the door for her. He leaned in for a hug. Amber hated that she patted him awkwardly.

“Be careful. Deer are moving. Hunting weekend has them spooked,” he said as she got in her car. He pushed her door closed. Then he rested his hand on the glass a moment, as though cupping her chin through the transparent barrier the way he used to when she was little before they’d drifted apart emotionally.

Halfway back to town, Amber rolled her window down.

“Deer aren’t the only things wigging out, Lord. Not only am I learning how to relate to Dad, Cupid’s henchmen are moving in for the kill where Joel’s concerned. I don’t know whether to flee or fling up a white flag. I’m glad You know what You’re doing, because, though I’m not one to let feelings lead me around by a leash, I sure don’t feel ready for this new season, whatever it brings.”

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