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“You’re the only one here who totally gets me and my concern for these animals. It’d mean a lot if you’d hike with me,” Chance said.
Chance’s life had been bereft of joy for the past six months. How could she consider denying him this one small pleasure?
“I, um, I’m not sure that—”
He smiled. “Please? For me?” He wove his arm through hers and slid his strong, warm hand down until their hands met palm-to-palm.
His touch branded in her a deep and irrefutable knowing.
This is meant to be.
Awestruck, she felt her heart leap inside her.
The world around the two of them faded away. All the personal protests and reasons she shouldn’t ceased to exist in her mind. The chaos calmed.
All she could see was Chance.
Chance’s face sent her pulse skittering. He gently drew her close. “Walk with me, Chloe?”
Her gaze welded to his, she felt a little dazed.
At this moment she wanted nothing more than to take that walk with Chance.
CHERYL WYATT
An R.N. turned stay-at-home mom and wife, Cheryl delights in the stolen moments God gives her to write action- and faith-driven romance. She stays active in her church and in her laundry room. She’s convinced that having been born on a naval base on Valentine’s Day destined her to write military romance. A native of San Diego, California, Cheryl currently resides in beautiful, rustic southern Illinois, but has also enjoyed living in New Mexico and Oklahoma. Cheryl loves hearing from readers. You are invited to contact her at [email protected] or P.O. Box 2955, Carbondale, IL 62902-2955. Visit her on the Web at www.CherylWyatt.com and sign up for her newsletter if you’d like updates on new releases, events and other fun stuff. Hang out with her in the blogosphere at www.Scrollsquirrel.blogspot.com or on the message boards at www.SteepleHill.com.
Steadfast Soldier
Cheryl Wyatt
MILLS & BOON
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My heart, O God, is steadfast, my heart is steadfast; I will sing and make music.
—Psalms 57:7
Dear Jesus, thank You for being a fisher of men. Love You, Lord. To Mom and Dad, who raised me to know I’m worth something in your eyes and God’s. I’m blessed to have you. I appreciate you teaching me and Lisa to bait our hooks and cast our own lines, even when one goes astray. Sorry, Dad! You wanted your ear pierced, right? Grin. To Rachel Z at Books & Such for your friendship, industry insight and career guidance. To Melissa Endlich and Sarah McDaniel for loving these characters and believing in my books.
Acknowledgments
Thanks to this book’s research helpers:
—Kim and Jeremy Woodhouse for your gracious insight into things boat-related. May all your bass be over ten pounds!
—Mary and Ivan Connealy also for help with fishing-boat stuff. Ivan, don’t believe a word Mary tells you about those silly Seeker-villains. Snicker.
—Kim Lunato and Janet Klein for occupational and speech therapy research help, and Cara Putman for introducing me to these contacts.
—Animal therapy expert Eric Gillaspy and Megan DiMaria for this research contact.
—Tina Radcliffe for sharing the inspirational animal-rescue video.
—Janna Ryan for coming up with Chloe’s name. Thanks!
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Letter to Reader
Questions for Discussion
Chapter One
“Talk about unconventional.” U.S. Air Force pararescue jumper Chance Garrison shoved the gauzy curtain away from the glass pane cooled by the overworked air conditioner. He blinked to make sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him as he stared at what was coming up the yard he’d just mown.
He pivoted to face his teammate and best bud, Brock, who approached where he stood near the window.
“What?” Brock joined him and tracked his gaze.
“Maybe that’s not her.” Chance pulled his sweat-dampened shirt away from his chest and leaned in. Yep. The woman—and the hairy thing dragging her—were definitely headed up the long driveway of the house Chance had rented for himself and his dad, who was recovering from a stroke he suffered following the death of Chance’s mom. “What kinda person brings her pet to work?”
Brock pressed his face against the window. “A cute one.” He shouldered himself closer and elbowed Chance out of the way, presumably to get a better look. “Very cute.”
Chance had noticed that too. But the fact that the pretty, young occupational therapist was lugging toward them the biggest, blackest Labrador retriever he’d ever seen was taking his attention away from how cute she was.
For the moment.
“Surely she’s not thinking of bringing that animal in here.” Brock tracked the odd pair’s approach.
“She c-can’t. If Dad sees that th-thing in the house, his blood pressure w-w-will hit the roof.” Chance scowled at the stutter and eyed the bedroom door where Dad had retreated to watch midday game shows.
The TV blared through the thick walls, which meant Dad probably didn’t have his hearing aid in.
When the woman stepped onto the landing with dogzilla rather than secure him to the lamppost, Chance’s faith that Dad would comply with his new therapist and his regimen of home therapy