A Soldier for Christmas. Jillian Hart

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      No matter how hard she tried to stop the caring from creeping into her heart, she couldn’t.

      She liked Mitch Dalton. She liked him very much.

      “Why do you love pearls?” He studied her, waiting.

      “Everyone knows that a pearl starts with a tiny grain of sand, but to me, it’s like faith. We are like that grain of sand and it’s God’s grace that can cloak us and make us shine, if we are humble and faithful enough. In the end, it’s a thing of true beauty.”

      “Yes, it certainly is.”

      He wasn’t looking at the pearl. But at her. Somehow his gaze deepened and there he went, somehow feeling too intimate, as if he could see too much. But how could he look past the layers of defense in which she cloaked herself so carefully?

      JILLIAN HART

      makes her home in Washington State, where she has lived most of her life. When Jillian is not hard at work on her next story, she loves to read, go to lunch with her friends and spend quiet evenings with her family.

      A Soldier for Christmas

      Jillian Hart

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      I wait for the Lord, my soul waits,

      and in His word I put my hope.

      —Psalms 130:5

      To Frank Heidt. Thanks for taking the time

       to answer my questions about Force Recon, I’ll keep your family in prayer, always.

      Contents

      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

      Letter to Reader

      Questions for Discussion

      Chapter One

      Kelly Logan closed the textbook with a huff and blinked hard to bring the Christian bookstore where she worked into focus.

      Math. It was so not fair that she, a twenty-four-year-old college student, had to take the required course so she could graduate. She intentionally hadn’t thought about quadratic equations since high school, which was six years ago. Hello? Who would want to have to think about this stuff? Unfortunately, she was paying good tuition money to have to think about this stuff. She rubbed her forehead in the hopes that her equation-induced headache would go away.

      No such luck. Pain pounded against her temples as though someone was inside her skull, beating her with a mallet. Lovely. She’d been studying algebra for thirty minutes in the quiet lull of a Friday afternoon. Thirty minutes was all it took for her neurotransmitters to quit working in protest. Not that she blamed them. Definitely time for a study break before her head imploded. She leaned a little to the left over the counter to check on the store’s only customer, busily browsing in the devotionals display. “Do you need any help, Opal?”

      “Any more of your help and I’ll break my budget, honey.” Elderly Mrs. Opal Finch wandered away from the decorated table with a small book in hand. “I got this one. The one you recommended. I see one of your bosses put up a written recommendation on it, too.”

      “Katherine has exquisite taste.”

      Opal slipped the book onto the counter. “Since when have you two steered me wrong? It’s such a pretty cover, I couldn’t resist.”

      “Neither could I. I bought it today—payday.” Kelly gestured toward the identical small pink book next to her textbooks before she rang up the sale. “I already took a peek at it. The first day’s devotion is awesome.”

      “Wonderful. Are you going to want to see my identification? That new girl did last time I was here.”

      “Nope, I know your account number by heart.”

      “That’s not what I meant.” Opal’s merry green eyes sparkled with amusement. “So you can verify my senior citizen discount! It’s a hoot, that’s what it is, questioning my age. Oh my, it’s good for the soul.”

      “You look eighty-three years young to me,” Kelly assured the lovely octogenarian as she scribbled down the purchase on an in-house charge slip.

      “Bless you, dear, I surely appreciate that. And I don’t need a bag, sweetie. Conservation, you know.” She opened her wide paisley-patterned purse, hanging by sturdy straps from her forearm.

      Kelly leaned over the counter to slip the book and receipt into the cavernous purse. “Thanks for coming by. You stop in and tell me how you like the devotional, okay?”

      “I most certainly will.” Opal snapped her purse shut, her smile beaming and her spirit shining through. “Don’t study too hard. An education is important, but don’t you forget. There are greater blessings in this life.”

      In yours, yes. Kelly filed the in-house copy of the charge slip in the till and held back the shadows in her heart. She feared that a happy family may not have been in God’s plan for her. Sometimes it was hard to accept, to see the reason why she’d been given the parents she had.

      Some days it was all she could do to have faith.

      “Kelly, dear,” Opal called over her shoulder on the way to the door. “Be sure and tell Katherine good-bye for me. That girl works too much!”

      “I’d tell her that, but she won’t listen.”

      The bell over the front door chimed cheerfully as it swung open with a force hard enough to keep the bell tinkling a few extra times.

      “Let me hold the door for you, ma’am.” A man’s rugged baritone sounded as warm as the intense August sunshine, and the bell jingled again as he stepped aside, holding the door wide as Opal passed through.

      Something puzzled her. His voice. There was something about it. Kelly couldn’t see him well because of the glare of bright sunlight slanting through the open window blinds lining the front of the store.

      All she saw of the newcomer was his silhouette cutting through the strong lemony rays of the western sun. It was a silhouette cut so fine, everything within her stilled, awestruck by the iron-strong impression of his wide-shouldered outline.

      “Why, thank you, sir,” Opal’s genteel alto rang with admiration. “You’re a fine gentleman.”

      “You have a nice afternoon, ma’am.” He stepped out of the touch of the light. His shadowed form became substance—a fit, capable soldier dressed in military camouflage, who looked as if he’d just walked off the front page of the newspaper and into the bookstore.

      Wow. Definitely, one of the good guys.

      “Good afternoon.” The soldier removed his hat, the floppy brimmed kind that was camouflage, too, revealing his thick, short jet-black hair. He nodded crisply in her direction.

      “Uh. G-good afternoon.” Was that really her voice? It sounded as if she had peanut butter