Cheryl Wyatt - A Soldier's Promise

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.