Читать книгу: «Homecoming Hero», страница 2

Chapter Two

Hailey stepped onto the front porch ahead of Captain Wolfson. Although she could feel his intense gaze on her, she managed to click the lock in place on the first try.

Gathering her composure, she turned to face him directly.

Their gazes locked, held. And held some more.

Her pulse did a little cha-cha before settling into a heavy, thick thump…thump…thump.

Something deep inside her, the part she’d ignored since Clay’s death, recognized this man as a kindred spirit. Was it solidarity from a mutual loss? Or something more disturbing?

Either way, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. She wasn’t supposed to be emotionally involved with a man after only a half-hour acquaintance.

Yet, here she stood, blinking at him without a word coming to mind. As the silence lengthened, the cold, wet air encircled them, creating an illusion that they were the only two people left in the world.

She wasn’t attracted to the man. Was she? No. He wasn’t her type. She preferred artistic intellectuals who wore wire-framed glasses. Not big, strong, elemental warriors.

“Where are you parked?” she asked, pleased at her even tone. If her mother was still alive she’d be proud of Hailey. After all, O’Brien women always kept control of a situation, no matter how unusual, unexpected or emotionally charged.

“I’m three blocks that way.” He angled his head to her left.

She lifted her eyebrows, fully aware that the city’s layout didn’t afford adequate parking. “You actually found an open spot on the street?”

“Yeah. Total cakewalk.” He gave her a wry grin. “If you consider three passes down eight different streets easy.”

Hailey heard a trace of humor underneath the frustration in his voice. He didn’t seem angry about the inconvenience of finding a parking space, only mildly annoyed. That said a lot about his character.

Her brother’s friend was a patient man, even when he was clearly exhausted.

She found herself intrigued by him all over again.

Hailey, no. Not your type. Remember why he sought you out today. “Captain Wolfson—”

“Ty.” One side of his mouth kicked up. “My name is Ty.”

Oh, why, why did he have to turn appealing now, when she was working so hard to put him in the role of opponent?

A breathy sigh slipped out of her before she could stop it. “Ty, I—”

“Or…you can call me Wolf.”

Wolf. Right. That’s what Clay had called him. She could see why, too. His eyes were just like a wolf’s. Stark, emotionless, guarded. Maybe even a little scary.

“Who’s afraid of the Big, Bad Wolf?”

He sighed, looking slightly disappointed in her. Clearly, he’d heard that one before.

Why had she said it, anyway? Maybe it was because his grin had made her feel like Little Red Riding Hood skipping unwittingly into the beast’s trap.

She’d been wrong in her earlier assessment of the man. He wasn’t elemental.

He was dangerous.

And when it came to men, Hailey O’Brien did not do dangerous. Ever.

It was important she remember that little factoid about herself. “All jokes aside, I think Wolf suits you best.”

He lifted a shoulder. “Call me whatever you like.”

“Well then, Wolf, do you want to ride with me?”

“No.” He looked over his shoulder in the direction he’d indicated earlier. “I have my own wheels.”

His answer was quick. A little too quick. “How can I be sure you’ll show?”

“Because I said I would.”

She recognized her mistake at once. Even without Clay’s e-mails to attest to his character, the rough honesty and deep code of ethics Wolf lived by were obvious in his direct gaze and straightforward manner.

“I’m sorry.” She broke eye contact, resisting an urge to dig her toe in the knothole at her foot. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”

“Apology accepted.”

Before he could speak again, she rattled off the address for Faith Community Church.

He nodded. “I know the one.”

Again, he surprised her. “You do?”

He didn’t reply at first, merely stared at her. A battle seemed to wage behind his eyes before he said, “Hailey, this isn’t my first trip to Savannah. I was at Fort Stewart six months before I was deployed to Iraq this last time.”

“But Clay’s e-mails said you two met in Iraq.”

“We did. We became friends—” He stopped, shut his mouth, swallowed hard and then started again. “We became friends when I got transferred to his platoon twelve months ago.”

She reached out to touch his arm but he shifted away and then started down the front steps ahead of her. Without turning around, he waited for her to join him.

Play it safe, use your head and never, never make a decision out of emotion. Those had been the rules the old Hailey had lived by before Clay died. The new Hailey was a full-grown, twenty-six-year-old woman who lived by a different set of standards. She took risks. Lots of them. Well, not yet. But she would soon. When she boarded a plane to Iraq. Or Afghanistan. Or wherever the mission board sent her.

Deciding to start being brave right now, Hailey marched down the stairs, head held high, and faced Wolf. “I’ll see you at the church in fifteen?”

“Just so we’re clear,” he began. “I’ll meet your missionaries. I’ll listen to their stories, but then you have to let me say what I came to tell you. All of it. Without interruption.”

“That’s the plan.”

“Good. We understand one another.” He turned to leave without speaking another word.

Oh, but she’d caught the grim expression on his face. And the unrelenting tilt of his chin. On the surface, the man looked like a hard, physical specimen ruled by his own prowess. But Captain Wolfson was no knuckle-dragger. He was intelligent, determined and loyal.

He was not going to come around to her way of thinking easily.

Sighing, Hailey watched him head down the sidewalk. Only then did she notice his slight limp. Had he been injured during the attack?

It was possible. After all, he’d been blown up by an IED. The muscles in her stomach twitched at the thought.

Lord, why have You brought this man into my life? Why now?

With effort, she folded her confusion deep inside her and headed toward her own car.

Twenty minutes later, Hailey steered into the parking lot of Faith Community Church of Savannah. A feeling of home washed over her.

Like most modern churches, FCC was a functional collection of brick, glass and steel. But despite its lack of worldly grandeur, Hailey always met the Lord here. Even during the dark days following Clay’s death, she’d found comfort. And peace. Not from the building, but from her church family.

It was her turn to give back to others in need. A spurt of excitement twisted along her spine. She would no longer be on the sidelines, waiting her turn. Soon, she would be in the heart of the action.

Smiling, she exited her car at the same moment a motorcycle roared into the empty spot beside her. The snarl of the engine had her jumping back. Her hand flew to her throat and she flattened herself against her car.

Loud, obnoxious, danger-on-two-wheels—what sort of insane, crazy person rode a steel beast like that?

As soon as the question came to her, she noticed that the person climbing off the bike wore BDUs and tan army boots. Even before he removed his helmet, she knew whose face she’d see.

Didn’t she already recognize the powerful set of Wolf’s shoulders and the way he favored his left leg?

There was something so familiar about the man, something that made her feel both safe and uneasy at the same time.

Maybe it was because he reminded her of Clay.

Or…maybe not.

She took in a steadying breath and sighed. She might tell herself she liked the artistic type, she might even believe it in her head, but Captain Wolfson was a man. A warrior. A bona fide hero in BDUs.

It was hard not to be attracted to him.

Her twenty-six years of safe existence hadn’t prepared her for someone like him, someone who made her question everything she’d ever known about herself and the very real need in the world around her.

Wasn’t that the point of her decision to become a missionary? To live out her faith among people? After all, what good did a formal education and countless Bible studies do if she didn’t put her knowledge to use in the real world?

And this man, the one pulling off a motorcycle helmet, was here to stop her from taking the next step in her Christian walk.

Fat chance.

Convicted all over again, she waited for Wolf to join her on the sidewalk that led to the front of the main church building.

They walked in silence.

Despite her best intentions, Hailey kept sending him covert glances from below her lashes. She was aware of the man with a sharp-edged clarity that was downright disturbing. “You won’t regret joining me this afternoon.”

He made a noncommittal sound deep in his throat.

Ho-kay, so he was going to play it that way?

“I thought you promised an open mind?” she said, failing to keep her annoyance out of her voice.

“It’s open.” He tapped his left temple. “Wide open.” He sounded sincere. But then he gave her a grin that could only be described as…wolfish. Oh, boy.

Thankfully, she caught sight of a familiar face heading their way. Relief spread through her. “Look, there’s J.T.” She lifted her hand in greeting.

“Who’s J.T.?” Wolf asked, his voice wary.

“Our mission’s pastor.”

“Right.”

Hailey wasn’t sure what she heard in Wolf’s voice, but he didn’t sound convinced.

His next words confirmed her suspicion. “He doesn’t look like any pastor I’ve met before.”

Hailey eyed J.T., trying to see him from a newcomer’s point of view. “That’s because he looks younger than he really is. Don’t be fooled, he’s in his thirties.”

“It’s not his age.” Wolf narrowed his eyes. “It’s something…else.”

There was such gravity in his voice that Hailey felt the need to reassure him. “J.T.’s a good guy. You’ll like him.” She played her ace. “Clay did. They were friends. Good friends.”

Before Wolf could respond J.T. pulled her into a tight hug. “Hellooooo, beautiful.”

Wolf had thought he’d seen everything. He’d survived fifteen brutal years with a mean, alcoholic father. He’d lived on his own for the next fifteen after that. He’d faced insurgents, enemy fire and an IED. But he’d never confronted anything—or anyone—like Hailey’s pastor.

Man of God or not, the guy was overly friendly with Clay’s sister. In fact, Pastor J.T. hugged Hailey a little too long, with far too much enthusiasm.

Inappropriate. That’s the word that came to mind as the two finally untangled from each other’s arms.

When J.T. kept his hands on Hailey’s shoulders, a white-hot ball of emotion roiled in Wolf’s stomach. He ignored the sensation and detached himself emotionally from the situation. He was a master at compartmentalizing. It was a gift.

Besides, what did it matter whether he approved of the relationship between Hailey and her pastor?

It was none of his business, emphasis on none.

“J.T.,” she said, “I have someone I’d like you to meet.” Hailey shifted out of the pastor’s reach—which was good—and turned those compelling green eyes onto Wolf. Not so good.

His breath tightened in his throat and that ball of emotion rolling around in his stomach tied into a tight knot.

So much for detachment.

“Wolf, this is J. T. Wagner, our mission’s pastor.”

Despite his instant dislike of the guy, Wolf shook J.T.’s hand. With his surfer-dude, spiky, sun-streaked hair, ratty cargo pants and rock-star T-shirt, J.T. looked like a grown man masquerading as a teenager.

Something wasn’t right.

Other than a diamond stud in his left earlobe, the pastor wore no jewelry. Not even a wedding ring.

Yeah, Wolf had checked.

After another moment of inspection, Wolf realized why the picture didn’t fit completely. Despite the civilian clothing, J.T. had military written all over him. It was in his stance and the way he moved.

A former soldier turned pastor. Talk about a walking, talking nightmare for a man who didn’t want to discuss the military or what had happened in Iraq or anything to do with the good Lord.

Wolf had to give the guy points, though. J.T. didn’t flinch under his scrutiny.

Hailey cleared her throat. “J.T., Wolf was a friend of Clay’s. They were together in Iraq.”

J.T. nodded at Wolf, and a moment of camaraderie passed between them. Wolf didn’t know what to do with that. He’d decided to dislike the man, on principle if nothing else. But he realized that wasn’t going to be as easy as he’d first thought.

“How long have you been home, soldier?”

“Since this morning.”

J.T. cocked his head. “Did they have a welcome-home parade at Cottrell Field?”

Wolf rolled his shoulders uncomfortably. “I chose not to attend.”

He’d told himself it was because he’d been focused on getting to Hailey and fulfilling his duty. But his reasons were more complicated than that.

Without Clay and the others marching by his side, Wolf didn’t deserve a welcome-home celebration.

Had he seen that bump in the road, had he paid more attention to that sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that day, all four of his fallen friends would be here today.

He—

Hailey touched his sleeve, her soft voice breaking through his thoughts. “You didn’t look for Clay’s tree?”

“No.” He hoped she’d leave it at that.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t tried to pay homage to his friend. But when he’d pulled alongside the long row of evergreens, one planted for each fallen soldier of the Third Infantry Division, Wolf had lost the stomach for it. Literally.

Disgusted with himself, for his self-indulgence as much as his weakness, he’d climbed back on his motorcycle and had headed straight to Savannah.

“You really are determined,” Hailey said, shaking her head in resignation.

Wolf stared into her eyes, silently communicating his resolve. “I made a promise to a friend. I—”

A loud whoop of feminine shouts cut off the rest of his words. “Hailey, Hailey. There you are.”

A group of teenage girls swarmed her, giggling and laughing at such a shrill decibel Wolf wanted to cover his ears with his hands.

“Come on, Hail. The program’s about to start.” One girl after the other tugged on her, buzzing around her like bees to a flower. “You promised to sit with us.”

Hailey looked at Wolf with a question in her eyes.

“Go on. I’ll find you later.”

She hesitated, looking uneasy at the thought of leaving him behind. “Are you sure?”

“No worries, Hail.” He winked at her. “I’ll be right behind you.”

She sighed. “If you’re sure.”

“Positive.”

After a final glance over her shoulder, she turned her full attention on the giggling girls. Three steps and her demeanor changed. She turned into one of them. She laughed and smiled and…was that a skip? Did the woman literally have a skip in her step?

A surge of unexpected anger had him gasping for a decent gulp of air.

Did she have any idea what her life would be like once she arrived in the Middle East? Did she not understand the dangers she was about to face, merely because she was an American and a woman?

She couldn’t possibly be prepared for the culture shock. Most soldiers weren’t, and they had training.

If nothing else, Wolf had to make her understand what she was getting herself into.

Not until Hailey disappeared inside a larger crowd did Wolf remember the man standing beside him.

He turned his head, only to discover that J.T. was watching Hailey, as well. The man’s eyes were filled with an emotion that had nothing to do with friendship.

Were the two dating?

Was it any of Wolf’s business?

Yeah, as a matter of fact, it was.

He’d promised Clay he’d keep Hailey safe. And safe meant safe. From all threats. That included the kind that came wrapped inside surfer-dude pastors.

Wolf nearly growled.

J.T. visibly pulled his gaze away from Hailey and refocused on him again. “So you were a friend of Clay’s.”

The words were spoken as a statement, an attempt perhaps to open up friendly conversation.

Wolf wasn’t in the mood. “I was with him when he died.”

“That’s tough, man.” Understanding flared in J.T.’s gaze and something else, something tragic. “I…” He shook his head. “There aren’t words.”

Wolf recognized the haunted look in the other man’s eyes. It was the same Molotov cocktail of nasty memories mixed with guilt he’d seen in his own mirror. “No. There aren’t.”

J.T. rocked back on his heels and then stuffed his hands into his pockets. He blinked once, twice. By the third try his expression cleared and the carefree pastor was back. “Welcome to FCC, soldier.” He slapped Wolf on the back. “Now come with me. You can tell me about yourself while we head inside.”

Yeah, as if that was going to happen.

Feeling trapped, he matched J.T. step for step. Something in the pastor’s manner warned Wolf to brace for impact.

What had started out as a long day was about to get longer.

Chapter Three

All Wolf wanted to do was climb back on his bike and ride. It didn’t matter where. As long as it was anywhere but here. He still had most of his forty-eight hours of leave left. He could go a lot of places in that amount of time, even within the hundred-and-fifty-mile limit they’d given all returning soldiers.

At least J.T. had quit with the probing questions and Hailey had stopped looking at him with all that distrust in her eyes. Like she feared he was going to bolt at any second.

Okay, yeah. He wanted to take off. But he’d made a promise to Clay’s sister.

He wouldn’t break his word.

Pulling in a tight breath, he settled back against the metal chair Hailey had saved for him. He managed to sit through the Mulligans’ introduction before the fidgeting set in. He contained his twitching to a light drumming of his fingers on his thigh. But as the missionaries continued talking, nothing could stop the hard ball of dread clogging in Wolf’s throat.

Open mind, Wolf. You promised Hailey an open mind.

He took another breath. Slow and easy.

“It’s not numbers we’re after,” Harold Mulligan said. “It’s hearts.” The man paused, and then slid his gaze over the crowd with deliberate slowness.

Wolf took the opportunity to study the missionary. The man was just what he’d expected. Tall, scarecrow thin, middle-aged with sandy-blond hair and fervent eyes.

“No obstacles are too big for God,” Harold continued, pulling his wife closer to his side with an affectionate little tug. “Patty and I go where the Lord leads us.”

Patty smiled up at her husband. The woman could be anybody’s mother, thanks to her plump figure, curly helmet hair and polyester pants.

Harold cleared his throat. “Patty and I are on a faith journey that will impact eternity.”

Wolf blinked at that last sentence, only now realizing what was making him so antsy. Mr. Mulligan wasn’t saying anything of substance. He was speaking in fancy rhetoric—one lofty, Christian cliché after another.

Yet, throughout the room, heads bobbed in agreement to each hollow statement.

Had Wolf missed something here?

“We’re doing important Kingdom work,” Patty added with just enough gravity to earn her…wait for it…an other round of head bobbing from the crowd.

Wolf shifted, gritted his teeth. Swallowed hard.

Open mind, dude. Get your mind open.

“Our goal is simple,” she said. “We want to expand God’s Kingdom to unreached places.”

Yet. Another. Platitude.

Wolf couldn’t take much more.

Thankfully, Mrs. Mulligan turned her attention to the open laptop on the table in front of her. “It’s best if you see the people we’ve met for yourself.”

One keystroke later and a PowerPoint presentation popped up on the screen behind her. In the perfect splash of added drama, a contemporary praise song blared through the computer’s speakers.

For five solid minutes, photographs of men with haunted eyes and missing teeth, women holding impossibly small babies and children with lost appendages slid by on the big screen.

Unable to look away, unable to bear the sight of those sorrowful kids, Wolf’s stomach clenched. It was one thing for the men and women of the U.S. military to put themselves in harm’s way. That was their job, what they’d signed up to do in the recruitment office.

But the Iraqi children couldn’t choose for themselves. They had no control. And IEDs didn’t discriminate.

Wolf shifted in his seat.

Why did the missionaries have to show all those blown-up kids, he wondered?

Oh, yeah, right. He knew why.

This was propaganda. At its finest.

Even still, it was impossible to remain unmoved. Wolf swallowed a lump in his throat the size of a cannonball and proceeded to drum his fingers on his thigh. Faster. Harder. His foot joined the erratic routine.

Those kids. There’s too many to protect. It’s an impossible task.

The music hit a crescendo and Wolf glanced over at Hailey.

She was wiping at her eyes and sniffling. Her conviction was palpable, her passion for the wounded kids evident in the slump of her shoulders when one of their pictures hit the screen.

His job just got harder.

As though sensing his eyes on her, she glanced over at him. Helpless despair was etched on her face.

Wolf knew the feeling.

She gave him a wobbly smile. He smiled back, but he was pretty sure the gesture made him look less than enthusiastic.

Sighing, she reached out and covered his hand with hers, squeezed gently then let go. The light contact, though short, had a soothing effect on him—enough to make him relax against the back of his chair and focus once more on the missionaries’ testimony.

All right, he admitted it. The Mulligans might speak in Christian clichés, but their hearts seemed to be in the right place. Wolf still wasn’t comfortable with their presentation. It wasn’t what they were saying that bothered him so much. It was what they weren’t saying.

Not once did they mention the dangers that came with their posting in an “undisclosed location” of the Middle East. And didn’t that say it all?

They didn’t speak of insurgents or the bounties on Christian ministers’ heads. They didn’t allude to IEDs, except in the subtext—obviously the blown-up children got that way somehow. Bottom line, the Mulligans were giving only one side of the story.

Confused, Wolf searched out J.T. He spotted the pastor lounging against the door frame in the back of the room. His gaze was glued to the screen, his attention completely engaged.

What was wrong with the guy? Surely he saw the flaws in the Mulligans’ presentation.

The missionaries made it sound as if living in the Middle East was some sort of fun-filled adventure, with the added benefit of helping people along the way. Oh, sure, the wife spoke of her loneliness and missing her church friends, but she said nothing—not one word—about burkas or the deep-rooted hatred for Americans.

And nobody in the room but Wolf seemed to notice the glaring omissions.

Lambs to the slaughter.

He couldn’t take it any longer. “I have to get out of here.”

Hailey’s eyes widened. “But you promised,” she murmured. “You said you would stay and listen to the whole presentation.”

“I’ll be back. I just need a moment. I need…” Air.

“I—” She cut herself off and then gave him a short nod. “Okay.”

The woman was certainly playing nice. Wolf appreciated that, until she gave him “the look.” The one people sent him in airports and other public places. That insulting mix of hero worship, horror and sympathy.

Wolf hadn’t expected that from Hailey.

Oddly disappointed, he rose and stalked toward the back of the room. He had a bead on that bright red exit sign and nothing was going to stop him from leaving.

He stepped out of the room without incident. Unfortunately, he was able to enjoy only three minutes of freedom before J.T. had the bad manners to join him.

Well, all right. Good. Wolf had a few things he wanted to say to the pastor.

“What’s up, Wolf?”

Straight to the point. This was Wolf’s kind of conversation. “Those people in there. They aren’t telling the whole story.”

“What are they missing?” J.T. sounded clearly confused.

“Don’t tell me you really send people onto the mission field that unprepared.” Talk about blind faith. Even Joshua had dispatched spies into the Holy Land before engaging in battle.

“What do you mean by unprepared, exactly?”

All right. Maybe Wolf was wrong. Maybe he’d jumped to conclusions. Maybe the real presentation happened later. “What sort of training do you give your missionaries before they leave the country?”

“Training? Oh, you mean preparation.” J.T. nodded in understanding. “Not to worry, Wolf. We don’t send anyone into a foreign country without putting them through an extensive application process.”

Application process? Sounded sketchy to him. “What does that involve, exactly?”

Clearly unhappy with Wolf’s sarcasm, J.T.’s lips flattened. “The usual stuff.”

Right. “Let’s pretend I don’t know what that is.”

J.T. spoke slowly, patiently, as if he were talking to an imbecile. Which they both knew Wolf was not. “We make sure they have a heart for God and a love of His Word. That they understand their job is to plant seeds through relationships. You know, that sort of stuff.”

Now Wolf was insulted. “What about general knowledge of the region, the terrain, the culture? What about basic survival skills?”

J.T. looked at him oddly. “We have classes. They learn how to speak to the unchurched and how to build relationships through common ground.” He was so cool, so in control.

So full of it.

“What about when things go wrong? Are they prepared for that?” Wolf frowned. “I know all about the random kidnappings and ransoms and…worse.”

“There are always safety issues,” J.T. admitted. “But we aren’t naive or stupid. We don’t send our people into the field alone. There’s always a seasoned missionary from that region who guides them along the way, a person who knows the terrain and the culture and, yes.” He held up a hand to stave off Wolf’s argument. “That includes teaching them which areas are safe and which ones to avoid.”

“What do you mean by ‘seasoned’? As in a former soldier, or a cop or even someone who knows how to defend himself properly, someone who hasn’t spent his entire life in country clubs?”

“Ah, I get it now.” J.T. nodded sagely. “You’re worried about Hailey going to the Middle East.”

“Ya think?” Wolf wiped a hand across his mouth, determined to keep his temper in check. “The question is, why aren’t you more concerned? I know you’re former military, so don’t bother denying it.”

“Hadn’t planned on it.”

“Were you ever in Iraq?”

“I was there.” J.T.’s voice came out flat, unemotional. Hard. “Three times. Afghanistan, six.”

Nine deployments to the Middle East? Not possible. For regular Army, anyway. Which meant only one thing. J.T. had been Special Forces.

Now the guy’s behavior really confused Wolf. “If you’ve been over there that many times, you gotta know how dangerous it is to send someone like Hailey into the region unprepared.”

J.T. remained silent. Wolf could almost see the thoughts running through his head. The sorting, sifting, measuring.

Wolf waited, mainly because he could tell that whatever conclusion J.T. was coming to, the guy wasn’t happy about it.

About time.

“Okay, Wolf, maybe you’re right. What Hailey and the others on her team are gearing up to do is beyond our usual scope here at Faith Community Church.” The admission came hard, if his tight lips and stiff tone were anything to go by.

Wolf let out a relieved breath of air. “So you’ll help me discourage Hailey from going to the Middle East.”

“No.”

And they were right back where they’d started.

“But you just said I was right.”

“I said maybe you’re right.”

Semantics? The guy was arguing over word choice?

“There are some things we have to leave up to God,” J.T. added, his tone full of conviction. “We have to trust that His plans are bigger than ours and that His timing is always perfect.”

“Now you’re talking in platitudes?” Wolf expected better from a former Green Beret. At least a little more realism.

“Not platitudes. Truth. We haven’t lost a missionary yet. Not on my watch.”

Before Wolf could challenge him on that shortsighted rationalization, J.T. went back to thinking. He scratched his chin, but this time not a single emotion crossed his face.

At last he dropped his hand to his side. “I admit you make a good point. Sending missionaries into long-term assignments might require more than the usual preparation.”

“Might?”

J.T.’s eyes narrowed in thoughtful consideration. “We could start with a series of classes on basic survival techniques and see where that leads us.”

Okay. They were getting closer to the same page.

“That’s not a bad idea,” Wolf admitted reluctantly. Very reluctantly. After all, what J.T. suggested didn’t solve Wolf’s immediate problem—keeping Hailey out of the Middle East.

“And I think you’d be the perfect person to teach the class.”

“Me?” Wolf’s heart stopped a beat, and in that single instant he experienced all the pain, guilt and regret of the past six months.

He could not, would not—no, no, no—teach any class inside a church. It was hard enough to be here today. He could not walk into this building on a regular basis.

He wasn’t that much of a hypocrite.

“You’re the pastor, J.T. Shouldn’t you teach the class?”

J.T. dismissed the suggestion with a flick of his wrist. “An active-duty soldier would be better.” His lips curved at a shrewd angle. “And it might be just what you need, too.”