A Soldier's Promise. Cheryl WyattЧитать онлайн книгу.
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.
Joel remembered how it felt to have childhood dreams ripped from his grasp like a favorite toy from the arms of a child in clutching need of its comfort. Every dream except one.
I want to be a PJ. Joel smiled at both the irony and the miracle. Joel’s one realized dream packed potential to fertilize a little boy’s last wish into fruition. He refused to let past hurts ruin the redemption of that child’s hope.
He opened his eyes, imploring his men to hold him to the creed of courage and accountability that bonded them as a team. “I promised the kid I’d come back.”
At his words, most of the men nodded. They settled in for the long flight, except Manny, who tugged something from his belt clip. “Ever seen one of these, Montgomery?”
Joel leaned forward and palmed the dark-colored handheld with a BlackBerry logo. “Not this brand. Thing looks pretty cool.” He started to hand it back to Manny.
Manny pushed it back to Joel with a grin. “Try it out. Since you have her e-mail address and all.”
Joel eyed the tiny keyboard and scratched his stubbled jaw. “Maybe I will. You know, to keep up with what’s going on with Bradley.”
After laughing, Manny leaned forward and showed him how to make international calls and send e-mail. “Use it anytime you want. Even once we’re there.”
“This’ll work all the way from India?”
“As long as we’re in a secure location and keep the battery charged.”
“It’ll work right now?” Joel peered around the helicopter, and the sky that carried it. “Up here?”
“When those bars light up, that means you have a valid signal.”
At least he and Amber could forge a friendship. Bradley’s plight had already bonded them. He felt it, and suspected by her spontaneous hug that she had, too.
After intense concentration, Joel typed an e-mail to her. He gathered the nerve to hit the send command before constructing a second e-mail to the students.
Joel handed the gadget back to Manny, suddenly feeling unsure about this. Was there any way to retrieve those messages?
Manny tucked it back in his hip clip. “Don’t look so scared, Montgomery.”
Joel raked a hand around the back of his neck. “I’m not scared, Peña. It’s just been a long time since I’ve…”
Just what was this? Joel clasped his hands on his knees. How could he define something he didn’t know what to call?
Two bushy black eyebrows rose. “Since you what?”
“Pursued an interest,” Joel said with honesty that he knew would leave him an open target for relentless razzing.
“As I said, feel free to use it whenever the urge strikes you.” Manny rested his head back, shutting his eyes.
Joel stretched his feet out before reclining his head back, as well. “Thanks, Peña. It will come in handy.”
One of Manny’s eyelids slid open. “For keeping up with what’s going on with Bradley.”
“Right.” Joel slid his boot across the floor to kick his snickering friend into silence.
He’d never hear the end of it.
And maybe, for once, he didn’t want to.
Chapter Four
Amber stepped into her apartment after bicycling from the grocery store Friday evening. Shoulders shrugged, her backpack clunked to the floor. Pouch unzipped, she tugged out two bulging sacks, evicting their contents on the countertop. At the rattle of plastic and clatter of cans, her cat bounded around the corner and hopped on the counter.
“Off there, Psych.” She swept him to the edge with the back of her hand. His paws screeched until his giant fuzz ball of a body lost the battle with gravity. Amber transferred everything to the fridge except the Cornish hen for dinner. She’d save leftovers for Bradley to eat on Sunday.
She put nonperishables in her school satchel, since Bradley’s foster mother couldn’t seem to remember to pack him a lunch lately.
Amber preheated the oven before surfing Illinois Foster Care online. While pages printed, she opened her e-mail.
Several new messages.
She replied to her dad’s, noticing that folder held more saved messages than any other. She thought he’d stop once she moved here, but he still e-mailed daily. “He’s trying, I’ll give him that.”
Amber groaned at the next message. “I hate those.” She deleted the forward-this-or-have-bad-luck message from someone on her teachers’ loop.
She clicked on the final message and nearly sent it there, too—then froze. Wait.
Sender: J.M.M. Subject line: Just Checking In.
Sender: J.M.M…. J.M.M.? Could it be him, and so soon? She dared to hope so. Her eyes scrolled to the bottom of the message.
Kind regards, Joel M. Montgomery, USAF
“Yes!” Unable to stifle a burst of eagerness, she glanced out the window. No neighbors watched. All clear, she allowed herself a few undignified jumps. The cat bobbed his head in sync with her motion, looking tense and prepared to flee.
“Psych! We have a cyber link to Mr. Gorgeous.” She read the first line of text. “No-oo.” Her forehead banged the pine desktop above the rollout keyboard shelf.
Her heart plunged with every word.
I