Blessed Vows. Jillian Hart

      “Got your number.” It wasn’t too hard to see that Rachel was a genuinely nice person. “Okay, I went a little commando. I had Sally to protect. She’s been through enough.”

      “I’m not blaming you, City Boy. I just wondered if you had fun playing with poor Bullwinkle.”

      “Not so much.”

      He liked her. He liked the twinkle of humor in her eye. That she was as friendly as could be without batting her eyes at him like a marriage-minded woman. He did not have a great neon sign pasted to his forehead that blinked, “Not married!” He liked that she was easygoing and that she was pretty up close. Very pretty.

      And here he’d been dreading this. He’d originally planned to fly in tomorrow morning, bright and early, and do the wedding and fly home, but Sally had changed things. Here he was in town early, and Ben wasn’t here to meet him.

      He didn’t blame his friend. Instead of a rehearsal dinner, the groom had reservations at one of the nicest restaurants in the area to spend a quiet pre-wedding evening with his bride-to-be, and there was no way Jake wanted him to cancel that. But when Ben had suggested this, Jake had felt obligated to accept this invitation. A home-cooked meal would be good for Sally.

      Her hand in his felt so small and held on so tightly. There was a surprising strength in her fingers—or maybe it was need. The way she clung to him was an undeniable reminder of the promises he’d just finished making to her. From the day she’d been born, she’d had a sweet little spot in his heart and now that he was the only one left to look after her, he was only more committed. How he was going to keep those promises to her, he didn’t know. Not when his job took him to dangerous corners of the world and kept him there.

      Rachel had disappeared through a connecting door on the other side of a laundry room—it was a nice set-up. A closet lined one wall and a washer and dryer covered the wall on his right. Through the window he caught a glimpse of the backyard filled with lush green grass and blooming red roses and big yellow-faced flowers in tidy beds. Trees stood on the far side of the lawn, and that’s all he saw before he tugged Sally into the kitchen after their hostess.

      “Let me get you something,” she said from across a spacious country kitchen.

      Nice. He didn’t know why he thought so, maybe it was because he’d been on Temporary Duty way too long. Home had become a desert base with a tent over his head and food served on a tray.

      Everything smelled so good. The floor of fresh pine and the air like cookies. A chipped coffee mug sat on the granite counter stuffed with red roses from the vines outside. Their old-fashioned fragrance took him back to his grandma’s house when he was a kid, where he ran wild during the summers on their San Fernando Valley farm. Maybe that was why he felt at ease with the pretty woman in the kitchen, who looked as if she were in her element as she yanked open the fridge door.

      “We’ve got milk, soda, juice. What’s your pleasure?” She looked to Sally first. “I have strawberry soda.”

      “Strawberry!” Sally gave a little leap, taking his hand with her. “Can I, Uncle Jake?” She beamed up at him with those big green eyes and he was helpless. They both knew it.

      “Sure.” He’d have to figure out how to say no to her eventually; being a parent was a whole world different than being an uncle.

      Sorrow stabbed him, swift and unexpected. He couldn’t get used to Jeanette being gone. He dealt with death a lot in the military; he’d lost close friends and team members and soldiers he’d admired. But to lose his sister crossing the street on the way to her office, it wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair to Sally.

      “I’ve got two cartoon cups to pick from.” Rachel held the cupboard door open wide, displaying characters he didn’t even recognize.

      He hadn’t watched cartoons since he was a kid. But Sally lit up and chose one with a big dinosaur on it while Rachel took the other one. She popped one can, filled it, foam and all, to the top of the plastic cup and set it on the round oak table to his right.

      It was strange, this big kitchen and eating space, with kids’ school pictures framed on the walls—the clothes and hairstyles from decades ago. Through the picture window next to the table he saw half of an old-fashioned metal swing set and slide, in good repair, as if someone had painted it not too long ago. “Ben didn’t say. Do you live here alone?”

      “Yep. It’s way too big for me, but the memories here are good ones. What would you like to drink?”

      “Ben said you were a waitress. I can see you’re probably an excellent one.”

      “It’s a hard job, tougher than people realize. But it’s the family business, and I like it because I get to make all the chocolate milk shakes I want.” She waited, hand on the refrigerator door, one slim brow lifted in a silent question. “What’ll it take to wet your whistle, sir?”

      “If you’ve got root beer in there, I’ll be eternally in your debt.”

      “I’ll hold you to that, soldier.” With a wink, she reached inside the well-organized fridge and withdrew two more soda cans.

      Before she could snag him one of those breakable glasses neatly organized in the cupboard on the shelf above the cartoon cups, he stole the can out of her hand. “I’m not used to being waited on. Put me to work.”

      “Work?” She looked him up and down, taking in the strong and capable look of him. “Don’t tempt me, or I’ll take you up on it.”

      He perused her big pink slippers and her comfy clothes and the fact that she hadn’t had time to do up her hair into anything remotely involving hair spray and gels or whatever it was women put in their hair. That said everything. “Did you have other plans before Ben strong-armed you into doing this tonight?”

      “Plans with the couch and an old movie. Nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow night. Or the next night.” She poured the contents of her can into the plastic mug, and the sweet-smelling pink liquid fizzed. “Wait!”

      He had hold of the cup the instant she stopped pouring.

      “Hey, what are you doing taking my strawberry soda?”

      “What? Do you think I’m stealing it from you?”

      “That’s what it looks like. I call things like I see ’em.”

      “And what, that look of outrage is because you didn’t know you were letting a strawberry soda bandit into your house?”

      “That, and you’re setting a very bad example for Sally.”

      “Is that true, Sal?” He sent a wink to his niece, who’d seated herself at the table and was sipping from the cup with both hands.

      Her solemn gaze met his over the wide rim. Strawberry soda stained her mouth as she said the words of betrayal. “Stealing’s wrong, Uncle Jake.”

      “Hey, I’m one of the good guys. Or at least that’s what they tell me.” And because he knew what it was like to put in a long hard workweek, he wasn’t about to give up the glass of soda. “How about I wait on you? You said you had a date with the couch?”

      “You’ve got to be joking.”

      “I never joke, ma’am. I’m an air force commando. Duty is my name.”

      “Yeah, yeah, you forget I have a brother who spouts that macho stuff all the time.” She waved him off as if she knew better, as if she had his number.

      Fine. The trouble was, now that he wasn’t worrying about a rampaging moose, he could get a real good look at her. He liked what he saw. She was petite, there was no other word for her. Delicate, for lack of a better word. She had the clearest, creamiest skin he’d ever seen, and the gentlest manner.

      A real nice woman. He wasn’t about to impose on her like a deadbeat. No, he wasn’t that kind of man, although he read her look of skepticism loud and clear.