Joel pivoted to observe Miss Stanton watching students interact with his teammates. The kindness in her face captivated him. That must be the appeal, he figured as she regarded each child with a tender smile. He shouldn’t stare. His good manners whispered, look away, and he would in a second…or two.
Hairs on the back of Amber’s neck stood at attention. She tilted her face upward. The intensity of the soldier’s gaze siphoned breath from her lungs. The sparks in his eyes were more electrifying than the fireworks.
Fireworks. She summoned strength to rip her eyes from the man and return them to the sky. Three muffled pops birthed sparkling red, white and blue alternating starbursts that sprinkled themselves across the sky before raining dozens of miniature plastic parachutes toward earth.
Children scrambled to grab them. As Joel turned to watch them, an eye-sized tattoo peeked at her from the back of his neck, just below the horizontal buzz of inky black hair. Her heart warmed at the sight of the Christian fish symbol with the Greek letters IXOYE in the middle of it.
But if he was a Christian, why would he harbor unforgiveness against someone, especially a blood relative?
Amber determined to pray for this soldier. If he was as stubborn as he looked, it would take someone bigger than her to convince him that reconciling was best. She knew firsthand what postponing forgiveness could do. She didn’t want this softhearted soldier to fall prey to bitterness. When he’d smiled, she’d been shocked just how much his cheeky grin resembled his uncle’s. Dean had mentioned Joel fondly in prayer requests at church.
She felt bad for assuming Joel was Dean’s son. She guessed now was not the time to tell Joel that Dean had been the one to stuff her pockets with gobs of licorice last Sunday. “For those special students,” he’d said. But she didn’t have to deal with the soldier on a sugar high the way she did her class and was glad to have someone else to give the red twists to.
When he rocked back on his heels, Amber shunted her stare back to the display. What was wrong with her today? She hadn’t even realized she’d been gawking until he’d turned and nearly caught her. She had no business scolding Bradley when she couldn’t keep her own manners in check.
Still, she couldn’t help wondering about this man who’d mentioned his mother in past tense with a twinge of sadness in his eyes.
And what had he meant by saying that God didn’t have children in his future?
She couldn’t fathom a person feeling that way. She couldn’t remember a time when she didn’t look forward to being a mother more than anything. But a California quake had shaken her life, leaving that dream in ruins.
Had it not happened, though, she might not have considered adopting a child. She could do that without a man and spare herself from heartbreak.
A concussive thump broke into her thoughts and ear-piercing whistles accompanied by dozens of gold and silver shooting stars that completed the show caught her attention.
When frenzied cheers and clapping subsided, a cocoa-skinned girl with dark, curly tresses whom Amber had seen around school stepped boldly to the microphone.
Palms to hearts and hats in hand, servicemen and parents stood to honor three students as they marched respectfully across the lawn with homemade flags bearing the words, Freedom, Liberty, and Just Us Four All, in glittery paint.
A laugh flew from Amber’s throat.
Joel, hands pocketed, leaned over and bumped her shoulder with his. “The children mean well.” Baritone laughter rumbled from his chest.
From an open side door, fifty students emerged, each waving a small American flag. T-shirts choreographed in order—one red, then white, the next blue, and so on all the way to the end. Well, almost to the end. Amber giggled. Two children must have gotten out of order, disrupting the color sequence.
Her heart melted as Joel and his rough-and-tumble cohorts’ expressions turned tender as they watched two students run back to help a lagging third with Down syndrome catch up. So the sequence went red, white, blue, red, white, blue, darting red, tugging blue…toddling white.
In a soulful alto, the little girl sang, and every voice became her chorus. On her ending note, the principal stepped to the podium and adjusted the microphone back to his level. He patted the little girl’s back as she stepped into the lawn of applause amid a standing ovation.
Just then, a dozen different beepers went off like cicadas all over the school yard. Silence dropped like a bomb.
A platoon of quiet murmurs and confused glances rippled as students, parents and teachers studied the serviceman closest to them. Palpable tension swarmed the air as each uniformed man pulled beepers from various places and peered at numbers.
Concern floated across faces one by one as numbers and codes registered, before they quickly recovered, controlling facial reactions. She doubted anyone else noticed. She probably wouldn’t have, either, had she not known sign language which attuned her to lipreading and nonverbal communication.
The military personnel met each other’s eyes, passing invisible signals like some sort of ominous code. Dread slithered up Amber’s spine. Thoughts spun like the twin chopper blades. Reason scrambled like the spotted men.
This many beepers. Not one silent. Every branch of the military. Every available soldier. All Special Forces. This is no coincidence. Fear entrenched itself in her chest and burrowed deep. Something major. Something global. Something terrible had just happened in the world.
What? Her mind screamed.
What?
Chapter Three
“Yo, Montgomery!”
Amber stepped aside as a man in desert camouflage sprinted over with a cell phone in hand. “CO Petrowski’s callin’ you back on this phone in twenty.”
A flurry of activity erupted as military personnel packed up display items and loaded gear into the choppers, which roared to life. Their blades swooshed her hair like monstrous fans, and ended conversation. Despite that, Amber picked up on a few words passed between Joel and the other officer. Unprecedented magnitude. Tragic destruction. Thousands trapped.
Something about a large rescue, relief and recovery operation, and their team being on standby for deployment.
“Let’s be ready to roll just in case.” Joel bent as Bradley neared—to hear over the thwumping helicopters, she supposed. Clay-colored dust clouds turned the air into a sandstorm.
Bradley looked like a poster child for despair. “Am I ever gonna see you again?”
Amber wanted to ask the same thing.
“I sure hope so, lil’buddy.” Joel circled Bradley’s waist with one arm.
“I sure hope so, too.” Bradley’s chin quivered. Amber drew closer, hand to Bradley’s back.
“You promised I could be a hairy PJ for the day.” Bradley fingered an emblem on Joel’s uniform.
Honorary, Amber corrected mentally.
Joel tilted his face and coughed into his hand and pulled Bradley closer. Amber wasn’t fooled. Moisture sheened Joel’s eyes before he’d blinked it away.
Hands sidling Joel’s face, Bradley leaned nose to nose. “You promised, and PJs don’t break promises, right? That means you’ll be back. You only rescue people. No one really ever shoots at you, right?”
Joel’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he regarded Bradley. “Let’s make a pact. You promise to fight this cancer as hard as you can and hang on till I get back, and I promise to be the best rescuer and bullet-dodger in the world. Deal?”
Bradley’s smile reached