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.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Although, Wolf wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
“It would be a chance for you to give back. And who knows, serving others might help you with your guilt.”
Wolf’s shoulders stiffened. “Who said anything about guilt?”
J.T. simply blinked at him, his gaze saying, It’s right there, soldier. In your eyes.
Wolf looked away from all that wisdom and understanding. He didn’t want an ally. Or a friend. His friends were dead.
And Wolf’s guilt was something he had to bear alone, every day, over and over. No amount of churchgoing or talking or serving others would erase his failure on that Iraqi roadside.
But maybe—just maybe—teaching a survival class to a room full of out-of-touch idealists could serve the one goal Wolf might actually be able to achieve.
If he did his job correctly, with just the right spin, he could prove to Hailey how unprepared she was for a trip to the Sandpit.
“All right, J.T. I’ll teach your class on basic survival skills, but only if Hailey signs up.”
“She will. I guarantee it.” J.T.’s grin turned smug. “All I have to do is use my influence on her.”
Yeah, that’s what Wolf was afraid of.
Hailey glanced over her shoulder, craning her neck in the direction of the door Wolf had disappeared through. He’d been gone a long time. J.T., too.
What were they doing? What were they discussing?
Her?
And wasn’t that the most self-centered thought she’d had all day?
Shaking her head, she concentrated once more on the pictures in front of her. The image of a young boy caught her attention. According to Patty Mulligan, he’d been blown up by an IED. And had lost both his legs.
Hailey squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to see her own brother similarly wounded. Or worse, broken and dying on a lonely desert road.
Oh, Clay.
She didn’t hear Wolf return until he slipped into the seat next to her and whispered, “What did I miss?”
Her eyes flew open, but she couldn’t allow herself to look at the man who had been with her dying brother. What must he have seen? How bad had it been?
Did she really want to know?
“You missed more pictures, a few stories,” she mumbled, not quite looking at him, but not quite ignoring him, either. “Ah.”
She started to shift her gaze back to the screen, but something in Wolf’s tone had her turning her full attention back to him.
Her heart skipped a beat. And then another.
Wolf looked…he looked…happy? No, not happy. Pleased. Captain Wolfson was pleased with himself.
Uh-oh.
He smiled, then. A big, carefree grin that made him appear more than a little dangerous. She quickly looked away from all that charm, highly disappointed at the effort it took her to do so.
At last the Mulligans’ presentation came to an end.
Again, Wolf leaned over and spoke in her ear. “Well, that was certainly interesting.”
Again she didn’t like his tone. Nor was she overly fond of the way her body instinctively leaned toward his.
She snapped her shoulders back and sat up straighter. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“What?” One of his eyebrows traveled slowly toward his hairline. “I can’t remark on the speech?”
Funny how his answer put her further on edge. “You know you didn’t mean that as a compliment.”
He shrugged, neither denying nor confirming her accusation.
Enigma. That’s what the man was turning out to be. Brooding one