A Soldier's Christmas Read online

  "Well, you could always get a job with a cruise line. Pick one that goes to the places you'd like to visit."

  "Hmm." Her smile grew crooked with amusement. "Are you trying to tell me something?"

  He shrugged. "Not really. Just presenting alternatives to a four-year hitch that might take you to places you really don't want to go."

  "I see." Her smile faded. "You've been there, haven't you?"

  "Been where?"

  "Places you really didn't want to go."

  He could have laughed off her comment and said something about how he kept extending his enlistment, and you didn't put in nearly twenty years by accident. But something forced him to be straight with her. "That," he said flatly, "is part of the job."

  She nodded thoughtfully. "I'll keep that in mind." Then she glanced away from him and said, "Oh! Look at the snow now."

  A drift was building against the glass doors, and small white flakes were whirling in a frenzy. Rising, Seth went to turn on the outside light. Its brightness illuminated the snow, and nothing else. The world beyond had vanished in a whiteout.

  "It's so beautiful," Maria breathed.

  That's when Seth first realized she had joined him at the glass doors. "Yes," he said.

  "I love storms of every kind. I'm crazy about thunderstorms. But this is so very beautiful. It's hard to care that tomorrow no one will be able to go anywhere."

  "Was anyone planning to?"

  She laughed. "Probably not. The schools are closed for the holidays, and most people have finished their Christmas shopping."

  "I haven't," he admitted. "I didn't have time before I left, and I was planning to do it here."

  No, he hadn't had time. He'd returned from a highly secret mission just hours before his leave began. He barely had time to jam clothes into his duffel, sign out and catch his flight to Wyoming. He certainly still hadn't enjoyed the opportunity to truly uncoil.

  "I may," he said, "have to give everyone an IOU."

  She touched his arm, sending a surprisingly electric tingle through him. Then she laughed. "They'll understand, Seth. The girls are grown up now."

  "You laugh very easily."

  Her eyes met his. "And you don't laugh at all."

  It was true, he realized. He rarely laughed anymore. And when he did, it wasn't a deep, carefree laugh. More of an obligatory one. What a sorry ass he'd become.

  "I'm sorry," she said after a moment. "It's none of my business."

  He shrugged. "It's okay. No big deal. I've been drowning in self-pity for a while. My own company bores me."

  "Because of Darlene?"

  He shouldn't have been surprised that she knew. Hell, the whole county probably knew, given that Conard County boasted only about five thousand souls, and his dad had been the sheriff for nearly thirty years. Given that gossip was prime entertainment in a place this tightly knit, he'd probably been talked about from one end of the county to the other.

  "Sorry," she said again. "It's just that your eyes…" She trailed off.

  "That?" Now he did laugh, but it was a tight sound, humorless. "That's the thousand-yard stare, Maria. You've heard of it?"

  "No."

  "It's the look in a person's eyes that comes after he's been places people shouldn't go, seen things he shouldn't see." He shrugged again. "It goes with the job."

  "That's sad."

  "I'm a sad ass. Sorry."

  She reached out suddenly and gripped his forearm. "Why do you keep putting yourself down?"

  "Just being truthful."

  "No, you're not." Her voice became stern. "Thank God for people like you who will do the tough jobs. I'm just sorry it costs you so much to do it."

  He looked at her then, feeling every bit as hollow as his gaze. "That's right romantic."

  She shook her head, frowning at him as if he were a thirteen-year-old in one of her classes. He recognized the look; more than one teacher had shot it his way. But he was past being worried by it.

  "There's nothing romantic about it, Seth. But somebody's got to do it."

  It was such a statement of the obvious that he didn't bother to answer. Hollow people didn't feel a whole hell of a lot, anyway…except maybe self-pity, and that was starting to drain away into anger and self-loathing. So maybe he wasn't as hollow as he'd like to be.

  She let go of his arm and settled back in her corner of the couch, giving him a brief, tantalizing glimpse of silky thigh. He ignored it and turned his attention back to the fire.

  "I'm glad you came home, Seth," she said after a few minutes. "I think you need it more than you realize."

  Maybe, maybe not. But sitting here in the warmth of the family room, looking at a crackling fire and deepening snow, with a lovely woman beside him, he began to realize something.

  He realized just how much shit he'd buried these last years behind the facade of duty and work. How he'd driven himself to avoid his demons.

  God knew he had plenty of them.

  CHAPTER THREE

  IT WASN'T MUCH LATER THAT MARIA said good night. He listened to the swish of her satin gown as she disappeared down the hallway toward the bedrooms. He'd been a boor and he knew it, but right now he couldn't regret it. Right now he had some real issues to deal with.

  Except that his mind kept shying away from them, as if some part of him feared that if he looked into the abyss he might tip over into it and fall forever.

  Time passed, the fire began to burn low, the snow had deepened into a drift well over two feet against the glass doors. He wondered vaguely if it had snowed that much, or if it was just the wind building the wall of white. Stretching, he rose to toss another log on the fire. He certainly wasn't getting any closer to sleep, or any closer to facing his demons.

  When the hell had this mess begun? What had started it? As he poked the log into position, it seemed to him that the problem might have begun before Darlene left him. Maybe the problem was part of the reason she'd gone. Maybe he'd died inside long before.

  Maybe it was just being different. God knew, Special Ops people were different. They got to look inside themselves, know themselves, better than most folks. And what they learned about themselves wasn't pretty.

  He knew, for example, that he could risk his neck to put a bomb on a ship in the middle of the night. He knew he could kill for a change of clothes to protect himself. He knew the stuff that most people liked to watch in movies, and he knew he was capable of the ugliest, dirtiest things in support of his mission and survival.

  Maybe looking inside had started to pull him apart.

  He drew the screen over the fireplace and turned. He tensed as he saw Marge, clad in footed flannel pajamas, standing near the couch.

  "I thought I heard someone moving around," she said with a smile. "Can't sleep?"

  He shook his head.

  "I can't, either. How about I make us both a cup of cocoa."

  He didn't really want it, didn't want her company. But some last bit of decency made him polite. "Sure. Thanks."

  He shouldn't have come. He should have damn well stayed in the BOQ, locked himself in and faced all this crap where he wouldn't be interrupted.

  Too late.

  He smiled when a few minutes later Marge returned with two steaming mugs and offered him one.

  "I know it's not heart healthy," she said with a little chuckle, "but I put some cream in it anyway. I come from a farm family, and I like it rich. The way my mother made it."

  "Before everything in life became a threat to longevity?"

  She laughed again. "You got it. The way I figure it, the human race wouldn't have survived this long if everything we ate and drank was fatal."

  "Live in the moment?"

  "It's the only one we have."

  He nodded. "I couldn't agree more." He meant it. So why the hell was he all tangled up in his past?

  "Seth…" She put her mug down. Firelight caught the red in her hair and made it blaze. "I know the divorce cut you up. I can't tell you how sorry I
am. You know I was almost there myself."

  He knew. The day he had showed up on the Tates' doorstep and announced to Marge that he was the son she'd given up for adoption, the son of the man she had later married, Marge's life—and Nate's, for that matter—had gone into a real tailspin. Seth had been a secret that Marge kept for twenty-seven years. And Nate had felt he could never trust her again.

  "But, hon," Marge said, "it's been four years. So I have to think something else is going on. What the hell is tearing you up inside?"

  Her eyes were liquid, as if she were on the verge of tears. He felt a moment of shame that it was so obvious he was messed up. "I didn't know I was wearing a sign."

  "You aren't," she assured him. "But when I came in here a little while ago, and you turned away from the fire, I could see…I'm sorry, I caught you off guard."

  "Forget it. No big deal."

  "But it's not just the divorce?"

  He shook his head and stared into the fire, not wanting to see all the sympathy and love in her gaze, neither of which he deserved. "No. I've been telling myself it was but…no."

  "I didn't think so." She sighed, and he could hear her sip her cocoa. "Nate's done your job," she said finally. "You might do yourself a favor if you talked to him. He was…when he came home, it was a long time before he lost that thousand-yard stare."

  Her words so closely echoed the earlier conversation with Maria that his head turned sharply toward her. But all he saw on her face was love and a kind of sadness.

  "And I promise I'll leave it alone," she said. "I won't pick at your scabs."

  He nodded again, for the first time wondering what it would have been like to grow up with this marvelous woman as his mother. Not that his adoptive parents hadn't been good parents. But they hadn't been the warmest or most expressive of people.

  "Anyway," Marge continued, "you're probably going to feel overrun with everyone here." Deft change of subject.

  Again he managed a smile. "It's fun, actually. I grew up as an only child."

  "That's hard in some ways," Marge said, then added wryly, "and easier in others. Believe me. You wouldn't imagine how these girls could fight. Or what this house was like when all six of them had a pajama party on the same night. Nate and I used to say we ought to camp on the front lawn."

  He nodded and managed a faint chuckle. "I can see it."

  "Nowadays there's too much peace and quiet around here." She laughed. "And to think I used to wish for it."

  She rose from the couch and dropped a kiss on his forehead. "Sleep, son. I'm here if you need an ear. And so is Nate."

  "Thanks…Mom."

  She smiled, as if it touched her that he was at last calling her that. "Good night."

  Carrying her cocoa, she headed toward bed.

  Outside the wind howled like a banshee, and the snow grew deeper still. It began to look as if it were going to bury the world.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THEY WERE INDEED SNOWED IN. By early morning, nothing in Conard County was moving. In consternation, the Tate girls called their boyfriends over at Wendy's house and bewailed the fact that they couldn't get together. Marge, too, seemed a little upset, because they were supposed to decorate the Christmas tree together that day…and tomorrow was Christmas.

  Sleepy, in an almost dreamlike state, Seth sat in an easy chair near the sliding glass doors and watched the family swirl around him as he sipped a cup of coffee. The aromas of a huge breakfast still lingered in the air: pancakes, bacon, eggs, home fries. Marge and the girls had really gone to town.

  Outside, the blizzard continued, creating a whiteout that hid even nearby houses from sight. Nate had disappeared into his den to use the other phone to talk to his deputies.

  "But, Mom," Krissie said to Marge, "Dad has a plow on the front of his Tahoe. He could get the boys."

  Marge shook her head. "You know perfectly well that's a police vehicle and it can't be used for personal reasons. What's more, I won't have your father going out in this. He wouldn't be able to see past the front of the car."

  Krissie scowled, then sighed and walked away, once again joining the other two women at the phone wanting to talk to one of the men trapped across town with their sister and brother-in-law.

  Seth found himself trying to hide a smile, it was so cute.

  Suddenly Krissie squealed. "The boys are coming over here!"

  Marge went into action like a juggernaut. "No, they're not!" She spoke sternly and nudged her way through the girls to take the phone.

  "You stay right where you are," she said into the mouthpiece. "You'd be risking your necks if you come out in this, and I'm not going to have the girls' father risking his to try to find you. Am I clear?"

  Apparently she was, because she nodded, said goodbye and hung up the phone.

  "Guess what," she said to her daughters. "You're stuck with your mom and dad just like in the old days."

  There was a collective groan, but nobody moped or argued. Instead they turned on the TV and went to the weather channel.

  "All day," Krissie announced. "We never have storms like this." She switched off the TV.

  "It would have to happen now," Cathy remarked. "Let's go play a game or something."

  "I want to sleep," Bets said. "I don't get enough sleep at school."

  One by one the daughters disappeared toward their rooms, leaving Marge, Maria and Seth alone in the family room.

  The wind still howled, sometimes loud enough to drown the sound of the ticking clock on the fireplace mantel.

  "I guess," said Marge, "we'll have to go ahead with decorating the tree later. And I've got some pies to bake and some candy to make."

  "Can I help?" Maria asked, starting to rise.

  "No, you just relax. The girls always help me with this, and they're going to come out of their mopes and do it this time, too."

  She looked rather purposeful as she strode toward the bedrooms.

  Maria laughed quietly. "Those poor girls. All they want is their men, and now their mom's going to make them help bake."

  "Better than brooding," Seth remarked. As he should well know. Problem was, he didn't take his own advice.

  "Did you get any sleep last night?" she asked.

  He shook his head.

  "I'm sorry. I did finally. Good, deep sleep." Her smile was dazzling. "And if you don't mind, I'm going to go help with the baking, anyway. I don't like feeling useless."

  He nodded, returning her smile. Then, once again, he was alone with himself. To hell with it, he thought, and went to the den to join Nate.

  Nate was on the phone, but he smiled and waved Seth into the room. Seth sat across the desk from him in a wooden captain's chair. Behind him was the couch on which he'd tossed and turned too much.

  "Okay," Nate said. "I agree, Micah. If it's that bad everywhere, we're shut down except for emergencies. Okay. You, too."

  Nate hung up and regarded his son with a kindly eye. "No point risking my deputies out there unless there's a real need. Nothing's moving, not even on the state highway. Forecasters are calling it the blizzard of the century, for these parts at least."

  "It does look wicked out there."

  "Wouldn't be so bad if the temperatures weren't predicted to fall to about thirty below tonight after it stops snowing. Then we might have some real problems. The cold is always more deadly than the snow."

  "I hope everybody has enough heating oil."

  "They should. Cold is something we're used to in these parts."

  Nate settled back in his chair. It creaked beneath him, but he ignored the sound as if he'd heard it so many times it had become inaudible. "Now," he said, "about you."

  "What about me?"

  "You're looking bad, son."

  "My clock's all messed up from my last mission. I just couldn't sleep."

  "Hmm." The sound implied disbelief. "You been really busy?"

  "Lately, yes. All the terrorist stuff. Keeps us hopping."

  Nate nodded. "I though
t it might. You know, son, there aren't many who can stay in this business as long as you have."

  "It's all I know."

  "I know. And that concerns me."

  Seth felt a spark of resentment. "My decision."

  "Of course it is. And I'm damn proud of you. I'll be honest, too, and admit that sometimes I miss parts of it myself. But only parts of it."

  Seth nodded, needing no elucidation. He knew which parts he wouldn't miss himself.

  "Be that as it may," Nate continued, "maybe you ought to give some thought to a career change. Maybe you could take a training position."

  Seth nearly jumped out of his chair but restrained himself, instead gripping the arms of it with white-knuckled intensity. "What is it with everyone? You, Marge…"

  "Maybe we're seeing something you're not."

  "You don't know me that well." It was a nasty thing to say, and he wished the words gone the instant they escaped. But they hung in the air, an accusation, a self-indictment. Nate's face creased with inexpressible sorrow.

  "I wish I could change that," he said quietly.

  "I'm sorry," Seth said, ashamed. "I didn't mean that the way you probably took it."

  "It's all right. Too much water under the dam now, and too little time to make up for it. But you might keep in mind that you haven't come home in four years, and that makes the changes in you pretty damn obvious. That's what we're seeing, Seth."

  Seth nodded. Whether he liked it or not, apparently Marge and Nate could see the internal demons he was struggling with. And it was pointless, he told himself, to get defensive about it. Absolutely pointless.

  "I am struggling with some issues," he said finally. "I was blaming it all on the divorce, but it seems there's more to it. I'm trying to work it out."

  Nate nodded. "Good. We're here if you need us for anything at all."

  * * *

  "COME PLAY WITH ME," MARIA said to him when he emerged from the den.

  "Play with you?"

  She was smiling at him, looking adorably huggable in a navy-blue sweatsuit and white furry slippers.

  "Yes," she said. "I've been banished from the kitchen. Evidently it's a family tradition, and I'm a guest, so I'm supposed to stay out of the way. So I need somebody to play with."