The Soldier's Sweetheart. Deb Kastner

knock a third time when the door flew open and she nearly fell into the room. Will stood in the entrance holding Genevieve. The girl was wrapped in a green bath towel with a froggie face on the hood. Wet black curls framed her face and water dripped from her nose.

      Will looked as if he’d taken a dunk. He was wearing worn blue jeans and an Army-issue tan T-shirt that was soaked with water, clinging to his chest and muscular arms. She couldn’t help but take a second look.

      Samantha held back a chuckle when she realized he had bath bubbles clinging to the spiked blond hair on top of his head.

      “You...uh...” she said, pointing awkwardly, “have...”

      Instead of finishing her sentence, she reached up on tiptoe and scooped the bubbles into her palm. With a playful grin, she held them out to him so he could see.

      “A new fashion statement?” she teased.

      She thought that would bring a laugh—or at the very least a smile—but instead his expression darkened.

      “I was trying to give Genevieve a bath,” he explained, as if it wasn’t perfectly obvious. “As you can see, my mission was an epic fail.”

      Samantha smothered another laugh. Only an Army guy would consider giving his child a bath a mission. And how did one fail a bath, anyway?

      Her gaze swept over Genevieve. “She looks clean enough to me.”

      Will sighed. “Maybe. But you should see the state of the bathroom.” He gestured at his shirtfront. “Also, I hadn’t intended to give myself a bath in the process.”

      Samantha made a final, valiant effort not to laugh at what Will clearly did not consider to be a humorous situation, but this time, a chuckle sputtered from her lips.

      He looked at his shirtfront and then back at her, his twinkling chocolate-colored gaze mixing with hers. Her breath hitched.

      “This is funny, isn’t it?”

      “Well...yeah. Pretty much. Cute, too.”

      “Cute?” He choked out the word, clearly appalled by the notion.

      “I meant Genevieve,” she assured him, though in all honesty, Will, with his wet clothes and bath bubbles in his hair, was every bit as adorable as his little girl.

      Which was precisely what Samantha suspected a man’s man like Will Davenport would not want to know about himself.

      There was no doubt in Samantha’s mind that every unmarried woman in Serendipity—except for her, of course—was going to be doing all she could to catch Will’s eye. Will was going to have his work cut out for him.

      “I came by to see if you and Genevieve might like to join me for a picnic in the park.” She lofted the picnic basket she carried in her left hand. “I’ve got ham, turkey, fresh rolls, some fruit and cheese. I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I threw in a little bit of everything.”

      He eyed the basket speculatively and then shook his head. “Thanks for the offer, but I think Genevieve might feel overwhelmed playing at a park with a bunch of kids she doesn’t know.”

      “Is she normally shy around other children?”

      He frowned. “I don’t know.”

      “Well, then, there’s no harm in trying, is there? If she’s not enjoying herself, we can always bring her back home. But I suspect she may surprise you.”

      He glanced behind him, as if remembering something important he had forgotten to do. “I’ve still got a lot to accomplish to get us settled in before I start work in the morning.”

      She could hear the hesitation in his voice, but she couldn’t tell if it was because he felt a duty to get his things in order, or because he didn’t want to go with her and was searching for a polite way to decline her invitation.

      “Oh, come on,” she urged. “You have to eat.”

      “I’m hungry,” announced Genevieve.

      Will’s gaze met Samantha’s and they both chuckled. He tapped the tip of his daughter’s nose. “Well, then, Monkey,” he said, reaching to take the picnic basket from Samantha, “I guess we’d better get you dressed so Miss Howell can take us to the park.”

      * * *

      Leaning on one elbow, Will stretched his legs out on the picnic blanket and popped a bit of a fresh whole-wheat roll into his mouth, savoring the way it melted on his tongue. The roll was perfectly baked, just the way he liked it—crispy outside and soft inside.

      Samantha, Will was quickly learning, was a lot like the bread she’d brought—a little hard on the outside, at least upon first meeting, but a real softy inside.

      Samantha shrieked playfully as Genevieve chased her. The little girl was, as Samantha had predicted, having a wonderful time in the park, both with the other children and with Samantha, who at first hovered protectively nearby without making Genevieve feel uncomfortable, and then flat-out joined in the games.

      The kids accepted Samantha as if she was one of their own, as if it wasn’t odd to see an adult crawling through their tunnels and climbing over the bars on their jungle gym. They laughed and played alongside her, even giving her a turn on the slide when she asked.

      Will watched with amusement as Samantha worked up a little too much speed sliding down and, with a screech of surprise, landed on her backside, creating a cloud of dust in the sand.

      Will was on his feet in an instant, offering her a hand up.

      “That looked like it hurt,” he commented as she brushed the sand from her jeans.

      She beamed at him, her blue eyes sparkling. “The only ache is my dignity, and I don’t have much of that to begin with.”

      Her lack of self-consciousness made Will a little jealous. He’d spent his whole life striving for decorum and honor, and yet he knew perfectly well that he had failed in every way possible to be a man. He’d never been able to please his own father. He hadn’t been a good husband and father himself. He’d hurt the people he’d professed to love. Besides that, he wasn’t ignorant of the fact that, with his naturally pessimistic personality, he came off as a regular old sourpuss, whereas Samantha, with seemingly effortless ease and grace, laughed at the world—and more importantly, at herself—and was a better person for it.

      Though it pained him to admit it, he clearly had a lot to learn from the woman.

      Genevieve ran up and tugged on the bottom of his shirt. “Swing me, swing me, Daddy,” she begged, smiling up at him.

      Smiling.

      That hadn’t happened much in the little girl’s life lately. She hadn’t had much to smile about.

      Will’s heart melted right there on the spot. What a beautiful child she was. He could see her mother in her, but what really choked him up was that he could see himself in her, as well. How had such a lovely little thing come from a soul as ugly as his?

      “All right, Monkey,” he agreed. “Let’s go swing.” He lifted her into his arms and headed for the swing set. He intended to deposit her into one of the safety swings, the ones with four sides and holes for the legs.

      “No, Daddy,” Genevieve protested. “I want to swing on the big-girl swing.”

      Will glanced at Samantha, hoping she’d give him some much-needed direction. He didn’t want to make the wrong decision and end up hurting his daughter.

      “Yeah. Come on, Dad. The big-girl swing,” Samantha echoed with a laugh.

      Will realized that what he’d really wanted was Samantha to back him up on the decision he had already made, not agree with Genevieve. He was loath to admit that he was scared half out of his wits that his daughter would lose her balance and fall to the ground.

      If she got hurt, it was all on him.

      Both