The Soldier's Holiday Vow by Jillian Hart Page A

that made it easier to grasp his arm, hold on tight. Her mind stopped working. It took her a few long moments to realize this was no dream. Hawk was kissing her.
    Kissing her! She broke away, watching the dance of light on his face. He seemed lost in a dream, too—the dream of Christmas, she told herself firmly. She uncurled her hand from his shirtsleeve and stepped away. The moment over, he bolted away, too, and together they stared at the mistletoe she held.
    â€œGot to keep up the traditions.” His glib remark told her that his hadn’t been a serious kiss. “Want me to hang that for you?”
    â€œSure.” She was shaken. Did it show in her voice? She couldn’t tell. He looked pretty blasé as he scoopedthe plastic twig of mistletoe from her and ambled to the entryway. He scooted the ladder up and into place, quite as if their kiss hadn’t happened.
    She could not forget it. She fumbled with the hooks. They globbed together and she couldn’t free a single one from the knot. When she did, two dozen of them tumbled to the floor.
    â€œYou okay over there?” His good-natured baritone held no hint as to what he was feeling.
    â€œJust peachy.” For a girl who didn’t want to wake up from the dream. Who wouldn’t have minded if the kiss lasted a few beats longer, because then she could have had time to absorb and process. To make sense out of why he had kissed her.
    Get a grip, September. He kissed you. He didn’t propose to you. She scooped up the last of the hooks, dumped them back into their original box and opened the next container of ornaments.
    He didn’t appear to be affected, but she was. Her hands continued to tremble, her knees stayed like jelly. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him climb the ladder and drive a small white nail into the ceiling. She chose a hand-painted glass ball, careful not to drop it. She didn’t trust her fingers. She didn’t trust herself. All shields were down. How had Hawk gotten through her defenses?
    â€œYou were right.” He startled her. Suddenly he came up behind her. “It’s the perfect Christmas tree. You didn’t need my help tonight, not really, but I’m glad to be here with you.”
    â€œYou’re a good friend.” She wanted him to know sheunderstood. It was only a friendly kiss. A holiday kiss. Nothing more. She wasn’t one of those women who was prone to seeing romance everywhere—not anymore. “It wouldn’t have been half so fun decorating this by myself, and I did need you. I could never have done the lights by myself.”
    â€œSo you said, but your sister could have helped you.” He reached out as if to brush her face, but his hand changed directions in midair and caught the length of her hair. He nudged it back behind her ear, although it hadn’t been out of place.
    Perhaps he felt more awkward than she’d guessed. That made two of them. Good thing she was a pro at covering up her true feelings. “You’ve packed up your toolbox.”
    â€œI can stay if you need me to, but your tree is nearly done. Unless there’s anything else you want me to hang, fix or nail for you, I’d better be on my way.” He didn’t sound in a hurry to exit stage left.
    Maybe she was reading too much into things. It was—she glanced at the wall clock—after nine. “You probably have an early day tomorrow.”
    â€œI’m picking up Pierce at Sea-Tac in the morning. We’re driving to Canada.” The only hint of tension was the tight line of his jaw. “We’ll be gone for five days.”
    â€œYou say that with such excitement, as if you’re heading off on a Caribbean cruise.” She hung another ornament, careful to keep her gaze on the tree. “Mountain glaciers have to be horribly cold this time of year. Are you staying at a lodge or a cabin or something?”
    â€œA tent. We’re