Homecoming Hero. Renee Ryan
J.T. nodded at Wolf, and a moment of camaraderie passed between them. Wolf didn’t know what to do with that. He’d decided to dislike the man, on principle if nothing else. But he realized that wasn’t going to be as easy as he’d first thought.
“How long have you been home, soldier?”
“Since this morning.”
J.T. cocked his head. “Did they have a welcome-home parade at Cottrell Field?”
Wolf rolled his shoulders uncomfortably. “I chose not to attend.”
He’d told himself it was because he’d been focused on getting to Hailey and fulfilling his duty. But his reasons were more complicated than that.
Without Clay and the others marching by his side, Wolf didn’t deserve a welcome-home celebration.
Had he seen that bump in the road, had he paid more attention to that sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that day, all four of his fallen friends would be here today.
He—
Hailey touched his sleeve, her soft voice breaking through his thoughts. “You didn’t look for Clay’s tree?”
“No.” He hoped she’d leave it at that.
It wasn’t that he hadn’t tried to pay homage to his friend. But when he’d pulled alongside the long row of evergreens, one planted for each fallen soldier of the Third Infantry Division, Wolf had lost the stomach for it. Literally.
Disgusted with himself, for his self-indulgence as much as his weakness, he’d climbed back on his motorcycle and had headed straight to Savannah.
“You really are determined,” Hailey said, shaking her head in resignation.
Wolf stared into her eyes, silently communicating his resolve. “I made a promise to a friend. I—”
A loud whoop of feminine shouts cut off the rest of his words. “Hailey, Hailey. There you are.”
A group of teenage girls swarmed her, giggling and laughing at such a shrill decibel Wolf wanted to cover his ears with his hands.
“Come on, Hail. The program’s about to start.” One girl after the other tugged on her, buzzing around her like bees to a flower. “You promised to sit with us.”
Hailey looked at Wolf with a question in her eyes.
“Go on. I’ll find you later.”
She hesitated, looking uneasy at the thought of leaving him behind. “Are you sure?”
“No worries, Hail.” He winked at her. “I’ll be right behind you.”
She sighed. “If you’re sure.”
“Positive.”
After a final glance over her shoulder, she turned her full attention on the giggling girls. Three steps and her demeanor changed. She turned into one of them. She laughed and smiled and…was that a skip? Did the woman literally have a skip in her step?
A surge of unexpected anger had him gasping for a decent gulp of air.
Did she have any idea what her life would be like once she arrived in the Middle East? Did she not understand the dangers she was about to face, merely because she was an American and a woman?
She couldn’t possibly be prepared for the culture shock. Most soldiers weren’t, and they had training.
If nothing else, Wolf had to make her understand what she was getting herself into.
Not until Hailey disappeared inside a larger crowd did Wolf remember the man standing beside him.
He turned his head, only to discover that J.T. was watching Hailey, as well. The man’s eyes were filled with an emotion that had nothing to do with friendship.
Were the two dating?
Was it any of Wolf’s business?
Yeah, as a matter of fact, it was.
He’d promised Clay he’d keep Hailey safe. And safe meant safe. From all threats. That included the kind that came wrapped inside surfer-dude pastors.
Wolf nearly growled.
J.T. visibly pulled his gaze away from Hailey and refocused on him again. “So you were a friend of Clay’s.”
The words were spoken as a statement, an attempt perhaps to open up friendly conversation.
Wolf wasn’t in the mood. “I was with him when he died.”
“That’s tough, man.” Understanding flared in J.T.’s gaze and something else, something tragic. “I…” He shook his head. “There aren’t words.”
Wolf recognized the haunted look in the other man’s eyes. It was the same Molotov cocktail of nasty memories mixed with guilt he’d seen in his own mirror. “No. There aren’t.”
J.T. rocked back on his heels and then stuffed his hands into his pockets. He blinked once, twice. By the third try his expression cleared and the carefree pastor was back. “Welcome to FCC, soldier.” He slapped Wolf on the back. “Now come with me. You can tell me about yourself while we head inside.”
Yeah, as if that was going to happen.
Feeling trapped, he matched J.T. step for step. Something in the pastor’s manner warned Wolf to brace for impact.
What had started out as a long day was about to get longer.
Chapter Three
All Wolf wanted to do was climb back on his bike and ride. It didn’t matter where. As long as it was anywhere but here. He still had most of his forty-eight hours of leave left. He could go a lot of places in that amount of time, even within the hundred-and-fifty-mile limit they’d given all returning soldiers.
At least J.T. had quit with the probing questions and Hailey had stopped looking at him with all that distrust in her eyes. Like she feared he was going to bolt at any second.
Okay, yeah. He wanted to take off. But he’d made a promise to Clay’s sister.
He wouldn’t break his word.
Pulling in a tight breath, he settled back against the metal chair Hailey had saved for him. He managed to sit through the Mulligans’ introduction before the fidgeting set in. He contained his twitching to a light drumming of his fingers on his thigh. But as the missionaries continued talking, nothing could stop the hard ball of dread clogging in Wolf’s throat.
Open mind, Wolf. You promised Hailey an open mind.
He took another breath. Slow and easy.
“It’s not numbers we’re after,” Harold Mulligan said. “It’s hearts.” The man paused, and then slid his gaze over the crowd with deliberate slowness.
Wolf took the opportunity to study the missionary. The man was just what he’d expected. Tall, scarecrow thin, middle-aged with sandy-blond hair and fervent eyes.
“No obstacles are too big for God,” Harold continued, pulling his wife closer to his side with an affectionate little tug. “Patty and I go where the Lord leads us.”
Patty smiled up at her husband. The woman could be anybody’s mother, thanks to her plump figure, curly helmet hair and polyester pants.
Harold cleared his throat. “Patty and I are on a faith journey that will impact eternity.”
Wolf blinked at that last sentence, only now realizing what was making him so antsy. Mr. Mulligan wasn’t saying anything of substance. He was speaking in fancy rhetoric—one lofty, Christian cliché after another.
Yet, throughout the room, heads bobbed in agreement to each hollow statement.
Had Wolf missed something here?
“We’re