A Soldier's Christmas Read online

  At that moment icy snow rattled against the sliding glass doors. Seth looked over his shoulder and realized the blizzard seemed to be worsening still. "Just don't say you want to build a snowman."

  Maria laughed, tossing her head. "I want to have fun, not die of hypothermia. There are plenty of board games. Or we can play cards."

  He lifted a brow at her. "Seven-card stud? Or Texas Hold 'Em?"

  "Poker?" Her brow creased. "I don't know if a schoolteacher should…"

  He waved away her protest. "This may be a small town, but nobody here will squeal on you. Besides, I bet most of the folks in these parts play poker on cold nights."

  She laughed again, her eyes sparkling. "You might be right. But I've never played."

  "I'll teach you, then we'll see if we can get some of the others to join us."

  "I wonder where I can find a deck of cards," Maria said, looking around.

  "I'll ask Nate."

  "Sure," Nate said in answer to the question. "There're a couple of new decks of cards in the drawer in the entertainment center, and poker chips if you want them. And the card table is in the hall closet."

  "Which means," Seth told Maria as he set up the card table, "you're safe. If the sheriff of this town owns poker chips, who's going to say anything when the schoolmarm plays the game at his house?"

  Maria laughed again. Seth realized that he really liked the sound of her laughter. Short, long, loud or quiet, every one of her laughs lifted his spirits.

  "Wow," he said when he opened the large drawer in the entertainment center.

  "What?" she asked, coming to peer over his shoulder.

  "I was expecting a couple of boxes of plastic chips." He pulled out a long leatherette case and carried it to the table. Opening it, he said, "These are the real things. Clay chips." Pulling a black one out of the neat side-by-side stacks, he turned it in his hand, savoring the feel of it. Then he passed it to Maria.

  "Like they use in casinos," he said. "Man, he's even got them marked with denominations."

  "I take it this is special?" Maria asked, turning the chip over and noting the gold impression that read "50."

  "Most people won't go to the expense. Nate must play a lot of poker."

  "I like the way it feels."

  "Yeah." He smiled at her. "Heavy. Solid."

  She laughed again. "Now I really do think it's okay to play."

  "Well, we're not going to gamble, anyway. Just play for the chips. Come on, let's set up."

  Just then Nate joined them, carrying a large, oddly shaped canvas case. "Did I hear somebody say 'poker'? I've got a poker tabletop here."

  He zipped open the case and pulled out the tabletop. It was folded in the middle, made of heavy fiberboard, but when he opened it there was a green felt octagonal tabletop with chip racks and cup holders. "Gotta do it right," he said.

  Seth started counting out chips as Maria said, "You'll join us, won't you, Nate? But I have to warn you, I've never played before. Seth is going to teach me."

  Nate winked. "I always love playing with a fish."

  Maria laughed again.

  "Set it up for seven," Nate told Seth. "Marge and some of the girls will join us in a little while, I'm sure. And let me warn you, Marge and Krissie are both sharks. Killer Hold 'Em players."

  "So we'll play stud," Seth said with a wink to Maria. "Take away their edge."

  It was Nate's turn to laugh. "That'll do it," he allowed.

  They played the first dozen or so hands with all the cards faceup, so Maria could get a sense of the game.

  "This is cool," she said finally. "I think I'm ready to play."

  "Okay," Nate said. "My deal. Everybody ante up."

  Chips were tossed into the center of the table as Nate shuffled, then dealt each of them three cards, two facedown, one faceup.

  Seth glanced at his and knew he was going to fold immediately. It was more fun, anyway, to watch Maria furrow her brow as she studied her own hand.

  "Remember," he told her, "that unless you already have the makings of a good hand, you probably should fold. And you can get a sense of whether or not you'll draw the card you need by looking at our faceup cards. Nate is showing an ace. It would probably not be wise to try to draw to three aces. Same for my nine. And we both have spades, so that reduces the number of spades in the deck if you're thinking about drawing to a spade flush."

  She nodded. "I remember. Besides, you said not to draw to a flush unless I already had three of the suit."

  "That's a good rule for beginners," Nate agreed.

  Maria smiled and pushed two ten-dollar chips into the center. Seth folded.

  "Uh-oh," Nate said, then laughed. "I call." He pushed twenty in.

  Another card was dealt to the two of them. Maria had a pair of tens showing now, Nate an ace and a three. Maria bet, Nate folded.

  "By George," Nate said, "I think she's got it."

  Maria laughed and proudly showed her three tens. "I think I have it," she said.

  "You certainly did," Seth agreed. His eyes met hers, and he felt a warmth somewhere deep inside. He wanted to look away, to deny the feeling, but her gaze held his and the sense of warmth continued to grow.

  "Your deal," Nate said, passing the cards to Maria. Shattering the moment.

  Seth sighed, feeling as if he'd been breathless for an eternity. "Ante up," he said, to cover a sense of awkwardness. This was not good, not good at all.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE NEED FOR SLEEP FINALLY caught up with Seth during the middle of the afternoon. Excusing himself, he headed for the couch in the den and crashed, falling instantly into a deep sleep.

  When he awoke again, the world was dark and silent. Confused, he bolted upright, then remembered. The wind reminded him. The howl had diminished not at all.

  He swung his feet to the floor and stretched. Night was a friend to him, and the bit of firelight that seeped beneath the door was enough to bring the room into focus. Nate's den. He could see the outlines of various furnishings by their shadows, or by the way they reflected just a bit of the orange glow.

  Rising, he went to open the door and find out why it was so quiet. He was shocked to realize that the entire house was in darkness. By the firelight in the family room he could see the Christmas tree in the corner, its decorations glinting. He had missed the tree trimming.

  A glance at the clock on the mantel told him he had slept for nearly twelve hours. Outside the snow continued to blow.

  "It's stopped snowing," Maria's voice said from behind him.

  He jumped and turned, spying her shadow on the couch.

  "The wind is just blowing everything around," she told him. "The drifts will probably be deeper than ever by morning."

  "Why didn't someone wake me?"

  "Nate said you needed the sleep."

  "But it's Christmas Eve."

  "Yes." She said no more than that.

  "God, I feel awful for missing it."

  "Everyone understood." Her voice was gentle. "Are you hungry? Marge left you a plate in the microwave."

  "Maybe later."

  He stretched again and went to sit at the far end of the couch from her, resting his elbows on his knees and staring into the fire.

  "We've got to stop meeting like this," she said, a tremor of laughter in her voice. "People will start talking."

  He was surprised to hear his own laugh answer her. "Yeah. Can't sleep?"

  "I was asleep. Something woke me up."

  He looked over his shoulder at her. "The wind?"

  "I don't know. I just know that I was suddenly wide awake. Too awake to sleep. It happens sometimes."

  There was a rustle as she stirred, and firelight glinted off satin. "I was sitting here thinking about life."

  "That's heavy-duty."

  "Yeah." She gave a little laugh. "I'm sure you know about that. But, anyway, I was sitting here thinking about my real reasons for wanting to join the navy. The thing is, the farthest I've ever been out o
f Wyoming is Denver. I was born in this tiny town up north, population around three hundred. I grew up there, then went off to college in Laramie. And when I graduated, I was offered a teaching job here. By comparison to my hometown, this is the big city."

  He nodded encouragingly, and leaned back a bit to see her. "What makes you think the world out there is better?"

  "I don't know that it is. Maybe it's not. But it's different."

  "Very different."

  "I know. At least from my trips to Denver. But I've never even seen the Great Lakes, let alone an ocean."

  "You know what endless prairie looks like?"

  "Yes, of course."

  "Paint it blue."

  She laughed. "Okay, okay."

  "I'm sorry. I don't mean to make light of what you're saying. The world is full of exotic places, but unfortunately when I'm there I'm usually working. I wouldn't make a good travel brochure."

  "I don't expect you would." She sighed and stirred again, unwittingly creating the seductive sound of satin against skin.

  "You know where I'd like to go?" he said suddenly.

  "Where?"

  "Antarctica."

  "Wow." She laughed. "Now, that is different."

  "Well, it's the only place on earth where they've never fought a war."

  He didn't need her silence to tell him he'd made a serious misstep. He opened his mouth to apologize, but was forestalled by the sound of her voice.

  "Oh, Seth," she said, a mere sigh. Then, "You can't be sure of that." Her tone had turned teasing, as if she were trying to lift his spirits. "I've heard that some people think Atlantis is buried under all that ice."

  "People have theories about Atlantis being everywhere."

  "I know. My personal favorite is Central or South America."

  "How come?"

  "Because I don't think we've ever given those civilizations their due. Nor do I think archaeologists are willing to recognize that there's a lot of evidence for world-wide seafaring before recorded history."

  "I take it this is an area of interest for you?"

  "It's one of the reasons I want to travel."

  "Then don't do it in the navy. Most of the places you'd want to visit are the places we're least likely to go. And when we do go there, you don't get a lot of time ashore."

  "Then what would you suggest?"

  The bummer of it was, he didn't have an alternative. "Go back to school? Study archaeology?"

  She shook her head, her eyes glinting in the firelight. "Then I'd have to buy into the accepted theories."

  "I guess so."

  "You're in the navy," she said. "Why are you so dead set against it?"

  Good question. One he wasn't sure he wanted to answer. Or that he could answer. "I'm just going through a bad spell," he said finally. "It happens."

  "Have things been especially difficult lately?"

  "I guess." But he didn't want to go into it. Couldn't go into it, anyway. Most of what he did was so damn secret he wasn't even supposed to know it himself. An old joke, but too true.

  Then he heard himself say, unwillingly, "I think I'm getting tired of living my life in secrecy."

  She moved a little closer to him. "That would be awfully hard, I imagine."

  "You know how most people talk about their lives? I can't do much of that. I can't discuss most of what I do, and I can't even discuss the stuff with the people I do it with, because somebody might overhear. So we go out, do the job, come back, get debriefed, and it's like it never happened."

  "That must have been hard on your marriage."

  "Damn straight. Hard on any kind of relationship." Except with his teammates. They shared the secrets, even though they could never mention them. They trusted one another with their lives. There was an intimacy there he couldn't even achieve in marriage, and he was beginning to resent the hell out of that.

  But he didn't know how to express that, without revealing too much to a woman who was still a stranger. Nor did he know if he was ready to give up the only intimacy in his life, which was with his team, in order to try to create a different intimacy with people on the outside.

  He didn't even know if he could achieve that intimacy with anyone else.

  And that, he realized, was what had been bugging the hell out of him. His life was deformed not just by ugly things, but by secrets, as well.

  "But you know," she said gently, "there are lots of people who can't talk about their jobs. Lawyers, doctors, other people who do secret things for the government."

  "But there are things they can talk about. If he doesn't mention a patient's name, a doctor can say to his wife, 'I saw a really interesting case today.'"

  "Maybe he can. And how much of that is she going to be interested in?"

  He didn't think it was quite the same thing, but he didn't want to argue with her. What was that perfume she was wearing? It teased and tantalized him in the same way the sound of satin slipping over her skin tantalized him.

  Whoa there, man, you've been away from women too long.

  But that wasn't the case and he knew it. He hadn't been away from them, he simply hadn't wanted them. Too emotionally bruised to even think about it, really. But he was thinking about it now, at the worst time possible. For God's sake, this woman was his parents' guest.

  She spoke. "People can share what they choose to share. And if there are restrictions on job details, it doesn't have to be the end of the world."

  He looked at her. "You think not? When most husbands come home, their wives don't have to wonder where on earth they've been for the last week or month, and what they've been doing."

  "Maybe, but that's not the point, is it?"

  "Why not?"

  She tilted her head to one side. "Well, there are things you can talk about. Like the emotional climate you've been through, how you feel about it, how hard it was. A million things that don't give away any secrets."

  Those were things he didn't talk about to anyone. It was understood by those who went through it with you, but never mentioned. Hell, the whole team had been there. They sure weren't going to sit down and hold a group therapy session about feelings.

  No, when the job was done, it was done. Over. Finished. Put away. Nobody talked about it after debriefing. Nobody wanted to talk about it.

  But Darlene had always wanted to know. He'd never been able to satisfy her by telling her it was all secret, and he was home now, so just forget it.

  He looked away from Maria, staring into the fire's dancing flames, then over to the whirling snow in the night outside.

  Maybe she was right. Maybe there was a different kind of intimacy, a kind he'd never been able to share with anyone. Most of the time, his feelings were locked up pretty tight. He didn't have room for them in his life. At times they could be a threat to his very survival. Most of the time they were simply something he didn't want to look at too closely.

  But apparently they weren't going to stay safely locked up, because over the past few years he'd been growing steadily more depressed. And blaming it on Darlene wasn't cutting it.

  Fact was, after four years, he didn't give a damn about Darlene one way or another, except that in a fair-minded sort of way he was glad she was at last happy. God knew, he hadn't made her happy.

  In fact, he might as well be brutally honest with himself and admit that he'd been relieved when she packed her bags, because living with her had been a constant reminder of his shortcomings.

  "Seth?" Maria's voice was gentle. "I'm sorry. Did I upset you? I didn't mean to. I only wanted to make you feel hopeful."

  He turned and looked at her, feeling his eyes grow hot and feeling the hollowness in his heart. "No, it's okay. You made me realize something."

  She was sensitive enough not to ask him, but for some damn reason he told her, anyway. He needed for once, to speak out loud to someone about what was going on inside him. And Maria was a pretty safe listener, considering he'd probably never see her again after this holiday.


  "I've been lying to myself," he said. "I go around thinking I'm brutally honest with myself, but the truth is, that's just a cover. I've been lying to myself for years."

  She scooted down the couch and laid a hand on his arm. "Seth…"

  "Let me just say it, okay? It's time I faced up to it. The fact is, the only way I can do my job is to cut off my feelings. Oh, sure, I can laugh and joke with the guys. That's okay. I can get the hots for some woman. That's okay. But the thing is, I spend my life on the surface because I can't look down inside. I don't dare. Because I damn well know I'm not going to like what I find."

  Her hand squeezed his arm gently, comfortingly, but she said nothing.

  "I tell myself I know what I'm capable of. I know better than most people in the world will ever know. Better than I hope they ever have to know. That makes me different, sure. We SEALs like to think that makes us special. It sure as hell sets us apart. We know that our families will never understand, that we live in a whole different world."

  "Yes, you do," she said quietly.

  "It puts up this wall between us and our families. We know it. We even accept it. They can't go where we've been, live how we've lived, do what we've done. And we tell ourselves that what we do protects them from ever having to live the way we live."

  "Don't you think it does?" she asked gently.

  He looked at her again. "Yeah, it does. That part is true. I mean, if we go sink a ship that's carrying weapons-grade plutonium to some terrorist group, we're saving lives. Saving our families. Maybe even saving the world. Hell, we even pat our own backs because we do it in such a way that none of the crew dies. Hoo-ah!"

  "It's true."

  "I know it's true. But the thing is…We know all this stuff on the surface. We do all this stuff on the surface. But for the past couple of years it's like something inside me is trying to tell me that what's underneath is important, too. And I don't want to look at it. Because I know I'm going to hate myself."

  "Oh, Seth…"

  "I was even glad when Darlene left. I didn't admit it to myself or anyone else, but I was relieved. Just living with her reminded me of the walls. And I made her miserable, I know it." His face hardened to concrete. "The simple fact is, Maria, whatever the reason I do it, I'm not a whole lot different from a terrorist."