The Colonels' Texas Promise Read online

  Along with the promotion lists, Juliet had read that Evan Stephens was a battalion commander now, a position of great responsibility. Evan had been a reliable friend back in the day, and now the US Army clearly depended on him as one of their most reliable officers. The battalion Evan had been entrusted with was headquartered right here at Fort Hood. As of two weeks ago, so was she.

  It was time to let Lieutenant Colonel Stephens know that she was now Lieutenant Colonel Grayson.

  And single.

  Just like he was.

  * * *

  Evan sat at his desk, busy with paperwork, bored out of his mind.

  He flipped to the last page of the police blotter and initialed it. He was the commander of a military police battalion, a unit nearly 600 soldiers strong. The buck stopped here, on his desk. So did the police blotter.

  Actually, the battalion had 589 personnel today. Evan always knew exactly how many lives he was responsible for.

  He tossed the blotter into the outbox on his desk. Reading the blotter wasn’t strictly one of his duties. The MP station sent it directly to Evan’s commander, who was the Provost Marshal of Fort Hood and the commander of the 89th Military Police Brigade. Colonel Oscar Reed signed off on it, and then his boss—the commanding general of III Corps—was sent a copy. But if Evan’s boss and his boss’s boss read the blotter, then Evan read the blotter. He was never surprised, never blindsided, not when he could prevent it.

  It was rare for one of his MPs to make the blotter as either a perpetrator or victim, but it happened. If the brigade commander called him for more details, Evan always knew to whom and what he was referring, and he’d already taken corrective action. No surprises. No blindsides.

  Being proactive had made him a good platoon leader. A better company commander. A great operations officer. His file was full of glowing evaluations from superiors who appreciated an officer who stayed ahead of problems and stopped them before they started. Evan had been promoted below the zone because of it, not only selected for lieutenant colonel, but promoted earlier than 90 percent of the other officers who had also made the cut. That had not been a surprise, either.

  Evan sat back from his executive desk, a piece of burnished wood furniture that the army only provided for its upper echelon of officers. His career to this point had been conducted from sturdier, uglier, government-issued desks of metal and Formica. He turned his chair so he could look out the second-story window at the Texas landscape outside. Even his chair was executive-level now. This was it: the big time. Battalion commander. One of the most-prized, high-speed, low-drag positions in the US Army.

  He was bored as hell.

  If he were a platoon leader fresh out of school or even a company commander in his midtwenties, he would leave his office and go check on his soldiers. Like practically every soldier in the army, he wore his camouflage uniform with his coyote-brown leather combat boots daily, so he was always ready to jump into a situation. Boots on the ground: that was the best way to gauge a unit’s preparedness. He’d go to the motor pool and walk the lines of the hundreds of vehicles that were his responsibility.

  But he was a battalion commander now. The only difference between his uniform and everyone else’s was the embroidered oak leaf cluster at the center of his chest, but that was a big difference. If he showed up at the chain-link gate to the motor pool, there’d be a flurry of activity. His motor pool officer would drop what she was doing and come out to escort him, a matter of military courtesy as well as her pride. The motor pool was Chief Braman’s domain. Nobody, not even her commander, roamed around her turf without her knowing what was going on.

  The first sergeants of every company would appear within minutes, jogging over from their company headquarters. If Evan spotted anything out of line, the NCOs would get it fixed immediately—and chew out the soldier who had let it slip in the first place.

  A simple walk through the motor pool might make Evan feel less restless, but it would pull too many people away from their day unnecessarily. He should and did conduct inspections of the battalion’s equipment without notice, but he didn’t jerk his people around just to alleviate his own boredom.

  Evan turned his chair back around and continued doing paperwork in his combat uniform.

  Three short knocks on the open office door were followed by Sergeant Hadithi entering silently to collect everything from the outbox. He deposited more papers in the inbox. Evan nodded; the sergeant briskly left to go back to his desk, the metal-and-Formica kind, one of several in the administrative office that acted as a buffer to Evan’s inner, more executive office.

  A few minutes later, he heard the sudden creaks of chairs and the squeaks of wheels that meant his administrative staff had all come to their feet. Someone of a fairly high rank must have walked in. How ironic—maybe his brigade commander was pulling a pop inspection on him. He’d wanted something to relieve the tedium of this day, hadn’t he?

  Evan checked his watch. Still not quite three o’clock. Would this day never end? He tossed his pen on his desk and waited.

  Sergeant Hadithi reappeared. Three more knocks—but this time, the sergeant didn’t cross the threshold. “Sir, there is a Lieutenant Colonel Grayson here to see you.”

  Evan drew a blank. “Colonel who?”

  “Grayson, sir.”

  Grayson. Good God, Juliet Grayson from college? It had to be. Just like that, out of the blue, Evan’s day rocketed from mind-numbing to adrenaline-inducing.

  The sergeant pushed the door open wide and flattened himself against it.

  Juliet Grayson walked in.

  She was wearing the blue service uniform with its knee-length skirt and black pumps, her hair smoothed back into a military bun. The medals and ribbons and badges she’d earned were displayed in precise rows on her dark blue jacket, attesting to a career in the profession of arms that had been as demanding as his. She was no longer a carefree college student with golden-brown hair that fell freely to the middle of her back.

  He still would have recognized her in an instant. She was still tall, still energetic, still full of purpose—

  Still beautiful.

  Still another man’s wife.

  “Hello, Evan.” She turned to the sergeant and dismissed him with a nod. “Thank you.”

  Sergeant Hadithi backed out of the room, closing the door behind himself. It shut with a quiet snick, the only sound in the room as Juliet crossed the carpet to Evan’s desk. He’d never seen her walk in high heels before, had he? Sharp as hell. Sexy as hell.

  She set her hat on the corner of his desk as he began to stand, but then she leaned forward and planted her fist squarely in the center of his desk. She opened her hand and stepped back, leaving a shiny pin on his desk, a silver oak leaf insignia.

  He sat back down.

  “I was promoted today.”

  That was all she said.

  It was all she needed to say. The memories he’d spent so many years deliberately repressing broke free. The fountain, the moonlight, the promise—and now here she was.

  He’d never been more surprised in his life.

  Chapter Two

  Evan kept his eyes on the silver oak leaf insignia.

  The memories came crashing to the forefront of his mind for the first time in...seven years?

  Yes, seven years since he’d last seen her. Seven years since he’d buried his emotions for the last time. It had been a chance meeting, a crossing of paths at an airfield in Afghanistan. He’d been arriving; she’d been leaving. They’d almost walked past one another, both captains at the time, both loaded down with combat gear. A passing glance, a double take, a step away from his unit to shake hands, to grip her shoulder—only a minute available to ask an intense question.

  How have you been?

  Better now, she’d said, and he’d had a moment of insane happiness thinking she me
ant she was better now that she’d run into him. But she’d nodded toward the waiting jet and the long line of soldiers boarding it. That’s my ride home. I’ll see my son in twenty hours. Twenty! I can’t wait.

  Her son. Of course. When Evan had last seen her at a tailgate party at their alma mater’s football stadium, she’d been carrying a toddler on her hip. She’d looked crazy in love with her child, laughing at his determined little face when his chubby hand made a grab for her hamburger. It was the moment Evan had realized what he wanted in life.

  It was the moment he’d realized he was too late.

  After the game, her husband—also an alumnus of their college, a guy who’d played baseball with Evan—had chosen to leave his wife and baby at the class reunion hotel while he went out with the single men in their group. No surprise there; Evan had known that guy’s habits too well after a couple of seasons traveling from university to university together on the varsity baseball team. That night, Evan had watched Juliet’s husband have one too many drinks, have one too many dances with women who weren’t Juliet, and he’d stepped in. Go home and appreciate what you’ve got—or another man will.

  Evan had spent the two years between the alumni tailgate and Afghanistan doing his best to forget Juliet and her husband and her baby, but as he’d faced her on that airfield, he’d wanted to know if her husband had grown up and settled down. If they were still married.

  He’d had to shout over the idling jet engines to ask a more socially acceptable question that would still give him the information he wanted. Is your husband still on active duty?

  A quick shake of her head. No, he got out of the army last year. Good timing. He’s been able to stay home with the baby. Actually, my son is four now, not a baby. Crazy how time flies, isn’t it?

  They’d looked at one another from under the brims of their Kevlar helmets. Evan had told himself he was happy for her. She was married with a child—exactly the life she’d once been afraid she’d never have because of her military commitment.

  Evan had squeezed her shoulder one last time and let go. See? I told you not to worry. I knew you’d marry a guy who would take care of your children while you were deployed.

  Evan had spent the rest of his year in Afghanistan pummeling his emotions into submission. Juliet, his college buddy, was happy. She was married, and there was nothing he could do about it. He wouldn’t lust after a married woman. He wouldn’t pine for a woman who was building a life with someone else. He hadn’t been smart enough to pursue her while he’d had the chance. It was over and done. She was the one who’d gotten away. End of story.

  Except now she was standing here in his office at Fort Hood, telling him she’d been promoted to lieutenant colonel.

  Her voice broke the silence as he continued to stare at the pin. “Don’t you remember dancing with me the night before graduation?”

  Of course he remembered. Every word. Pinkie promise, or it doesn’t count.

  “We’re both lieutenant colonels now,” she said. Her voice had not changed in seven years, not in sixteen. “Crazy how time flies, isn’t it?”

  Their eyes met.

  He felt something like anger. The seal on his memories had been broken. The emotions she was resurrecting were both painfully fresh and achingly familiar.

  “I’m single,” he said, “but you’re not.”

  “Divorced. He moved out for the last time three years ago. We’ve been divorced for two.”

  Good God. All these years...trying to forget her, determined not to think about her. He hadn’t heard about the divorce because he hadn’t kept in touch with anyone from their old circle. It was easier to move on that way.

  Except he hadn’t really moved on to anything. To anyone.

  “Is divorced not the same thing as single?” she asked, and for the first time, her voice wavered. She dropped her gaze. Now she was the one staring at the silver rank of a lieutenant colonel. Her eyelashes were dark, feminine, alluring even as they hid her eyes from him.

  After another moment of silence, she reached for the silver pin.

  Evan closed his hand over the pin first. “That’s not the important question, Juliet. The real question is, shall we do this in the courthouse or a church?”

  * * *

  He couldn’t be serious.

  Evan Stephens couldn’t be agreeing to honor their pact so easily. Why should he?

  Suddenly, Juliet felt foolish for coming here to challenge him to keep it. It was a ridiculous promise. They’d practically been children at the time. They’d even sealed it by linking their pinkie fingers together.

  Evan came to his feet. He was a battalion commander, and he looked every inch the military warrior. He couldn’t have gotten taller, but he seemed taller anyway. He was a little bigger, a little broader in the shoulders, and a lot more fierce in his camouflage than he’d been in shorts and flip-flops on a college green.

  Her mouth felt dry.

  She had things to say to him. To explain to him. The reason she wanted to gauge his willingness to honor their college pact. The gut feeling she had that he was the father her son needed.

  Instead, she was mute as she watched him walk around his desk to stand before her, right before her, just close enough that she felt alarmed, and she took an involuntary step backward.

  “Courthouse,” she said, her voice husky but still the voice of an officer. Decisive.

  “You’ve already thought this through.” He took a step forward. “I’m fine with a judge instead of a minister, but what’s your reasoning?”

  This is happening. This is really happening. And he was so very...real. Not a memory. Definitely not a senior in college. She’d grown into herself over the years, physically, losing the last of that lingering teen lankiness—but she hadn’t thought about the fact that Evan would have, too. He was all grown up, fully an adult, and damn, but a man in his midthirties was a man in his prime.

  She cleared her dry throat. “The courthouse would be quicker.”

  She was in high heels, but he still had to bend his head down an inch to bring his mouth to her ear. They might have been slow dancing, as close as he was to her, but he didn’t touch her with anything but his voice.

  “Are we in a rush? How many children are we going to have before we retire?”

  He remembered. He’d chosen the rank of lieutenant colonel because she would still be young enough...

  She remembered, and he did, too, and it made something in her chest feel suddenly weightless.

  But that wasn’t why she was here. Weightlessness wasn’t welcome. It only made her feel wobbly. This was supposed to be about Matthew.

  “I already did that part,” she said. “I have a child.”

  Evan touched her then, setting his hands on her waist lightly, but it gave her a little stability, a little strength. His eyes were really as blue as she’d remembered, a pure shade of blue that had left dozens of girls sighing in the bleachers at their college’s baseball stadium. She’d teased him for it, time and again.

  Now those blue eyes were looking at her with something like...tenderness? Affection? Like he knew her. It had been so long since a man had looked at her so personally. Not as a subordinate or a superior. Not as a daughter or mother or commander or staff officer.

  “I have—”

  “A little boy named Matthew. I remember. Cute child.” The corners of Evan’s eyes crinkled just the slightest bit, a small smile at whatever he remembered about Matthew. “Did you have any more children after him?”

  “No.” She supposed that was a reasonable question. It had been, gosh, seven years since that chance meeting in Afghanistan, when she’d mentioned going home to her son. But the question unnerved her, exposing how little Evan knew about her life. How could he have accepted her proposal as if he’d marry her no matter what, when he didn’t know anything about her? He hadn’t
known she was divorced until two minutes ago. He didn’t know how many children she had. He hadn’t kept tabs on her.

  She didn’t feel so weightless now. “Just Matthew. But I have full custody.”

  “Rob never sees him?”

  It was startling to hear her ex-husband’s name said so casually by someone else. For the past three years, if Rob had come up in conversation at all, it had been only as “Matthew’s father.” Polite, careful questions from new teachers: And will Matthew’s father be coming to the school play?

  “He has visitation rights,” she told Evan. “He just doesn’t use them.”

  Her polite smile was automatic. Matthew’s father lives out of state. However, my neighbor has agreed to be my designated caregiver if I’m unreachable in an emergency. For three years, her answers had been so polite, so practical.

  “I’m sorry,” Evan said.

  The teachers never said that. Sorry for her son? Sorry for her? For Rob? Evan didn’t explain himself further.

  She explained herself instead, calmly—but her heart was pounding so hard, he ought to be able to hear it. “That means you’d be living with a child if we...if we went to the courthouse.”

  “You still don’t scare me, Juliet.” He touched her face with the back of his hand, a light run of his knuckles from her cheek to just above her ear, before he leaned in again to speak softly into the ear he’d just barely caressed. “Children don’t scare me, either.”

  “That’s because you’ve never lived with one.” But she couldn’t keep carrying off this calm conversation. She couldn’t pretend it was normal to be in Evan Stephens’s office on a Friday in February, discussing living together as a couple.

  She moved away from his hand on her waist and paced a step or two before turning to face him. She let go of her dignity and her military bearing, threw her hands up and huffed out a sigh. “This is insanity. I can’t believe we’re even talking about following up on an old promise right now.”