Homecoming Hero. Renee Ryan
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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