A Man of His Word Read online

  Bringing peace to his best friend’s widow

  soon becomes a battle of emotions...

  Soldier Cole Cavanaugh is on a mission: build a dream addition for the widow of his best friend, who sacrificed his life to save Cole. Right away, with April Avery and her twin girls, it’s like coming home—familiar, warm and then, with Avery’s impromptu kiss, too intimate. Suddenly, it feels like betrayal—but is this the second chance they need to heal?

  From out of the blue she kissed him.

  Her lips touched his lightly, little more than a brush of air, so soft the sweetness of it made it impossible for him to pull away. Cole’s eyes slammed shut and his breath caught.

  He hadn’t expected this, hadn’t been prepared for it. He’d dreamed of it, though, of kissing her and holding her and learning her by heart. His dreams hadn’t done this justice.

  That thought took root inside his skull, unfurling until it broke through the clouds in his mind.

  He’d dreamed of this.

  The realization had him stiffening and dragging his mouth from hers. Feeling guilty.

  Desire and honor warred within him. He wanted to kiss her again, to breathe her in, to draw her up and lay her down.

  “April.”

  “I know. I shouldn’t have done that.”

  He shouldn’t have done that. He’d told himself just this afternoon he wouldn’t. He’d promised. And not just himself.

  Dear Reader,

  When I begin a book, somehow I already know the first words of my story. Although it’s completely unexplainable, it feels like a gentle current from an invisible source, and it’s one of the things I love most about writing. I also love the music that plays through my mind throughout a story’s telling. In A Man of His Word, the song I kept humming was “Life Is a Highway.” I’m pretty sure it’s the favorite song of Cole Cavanaugh, the man of his word in A Man of His Word.

  See what I mean? Completely unexplainable.

  As I was writing the first words in the first story I set in Orchard Hill, Michigan, I had no idea there would be others. I simply felt the current and started down that highway. I’m so pleased you opened A Man of His Word, dear reader, and are about to share a little part of this hilly and winding highway with me.

  In everything you do, safe travels.

  Until next time and always,

  Sandra Steffen

  A Man of His Word

  Sandra Steffen

  Sandra Steffen is an award-winning, bestselling author of more than thirty-seven novels. Honored to have won a RITA® Award, a National Readers’ Choice Award and a Wish Award, her most cherished regards come from readers around the world. She married her high school sweetheart and raised four sons while simultaneously pursuing her dream of publication. She loves to laugh, read, take long walks and have long talks with friends, and write, write, write.

  Books by Sandra Steffen

  Harlequin Special Edition

  Round-the-Clock Brides

  A Bride Until Midnight

  A Bride Before Dawn

  A Bride by Summer

  A Man of His Word

  The Wedding Gift

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  In loving memory of my sister, Deanna.

  I miss you every day, Dee,

  and I hope your paths are lined with daisies

  that are as beautiful as you are.

  For Kinsley, my eighth wonder,

  and for the first seven, Anora, Leah,

  Landen, Anna, Erin, Dalton and Brynn—

  God’s blessings, each and every one of you.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from The Maverick’s Secret Baby by Teri Wilson

  Chapter One

  Go see her.

  In the beginning, the thought had been little more than a whisper on Cole Cavanaugh’s pillow, but lately it had grown more insistent. Like a mosquito, it was a nuisance when it was buzzing in his ear, disconcerting when it wasn’t.

  Go see her.

  He’d grown accustomed to the notion. And adept at pushing it back. For eight months, he’d been pushing it back. And still the idea persisted.

  Go see her. Go see her. Go see her.

  It had thundered in the night, but instead of rain, morning had dawned to a ceiling of fog that hung above the Genesee River, stretching out over the gradual rises along its banks. Standing in the thick of it, it was easy for Cole to imagine that the hazy white dome encompassed all of upstate New York, stretching throughout all of New England, even inching to the Great Lakes and into Michigan.

  Where she lived.

  Here on the hillside just outside Rochester, the fog shrouded the peaks of the rafters of the mansion Cole and his business partner, Grant Maloney, were constructing on this expansive piece of riverfront property. Former roommates, they’d come a long way from the decks, garages, family room additions and bungalows they’d built fresh out of college twelve years ago. This beauty would be a notch in their tool belts for sure.

  Cole and Grant stood together this morning, watching as their clients, a wealthy middle-aged couple with a mile-long list of must-haves and a grown daughter, meandered away from them to their Tesla SUV, deep in excited conversation about their future home. Cole had already given his skilled carpenters the signal to get back to work. Power saws screeched and nail guns fired. Around back a skid steer rumbled as it lifted another pallet of stone from the bed of a lowboy trailer.

  Go see her. Go see her.

  When he’d first had the thought, he’d been in the recovery room in the VA hospital, delirious from pain medication. Go see her. He hadn’t, of course. It would be months before he walked again. Besides, it was too soon. Jay had been gone only six months then. Surely April was still reeling. God knew Cole was.

  That hadn’t kept him from thinking about what he would say. If he ever did say anything. Go see her.

  Through the months of grueling physical therapy that had followed, the thought came unbidden, again and again. He’d been pushed and bullied by the meanest therapist that ever lived, but no one pushed him harder than he pushed himself. Adeline, his therapist, cried the first time Cole made it to the top of the stairs on his own. That landing represented the fruit of his labor, his determination and hard work.

  Go see her. Go see her. Go see her.

  For the first time, he’d considered it. But the timing still wasn’t right. Nothing felt quite right since Jay had died on the battlefield. So instead of going to see Jay’s widow, Cole finished rehab, then returned to Rochester where he delved back into the booming business he and Grant had started.

  Go see her go see her go see her go see her go see—

  “See her?” The deep timbre of Grant Maloney’s voice cut into Cole’s reverie. With sound carrying uncommonly far in this fog, Grant kept his voice intentionally low. “She looks just as good coming as she does going.”

  Cole glanced askance at his friend, who was watching the leggy beauty climb into her father’s Tesla right now. “I know. She just spoke to me.”

  “My
point, pal. You saw her, but you didn’t see her. If you had, you would have written your cell number on the back of that business card she just asked you for. By the end of the day she would be calling you, probably to invite you over for a drink, among other things.”

  Cole shook his head lightly. “Not even you would mix this kind of business with that kind of pleasure.”

  Grant smiled, for his blue eyes, ripped body and outgoing personality left him with no shortage of women asking for his phone number. “True,” he said. “But I would have thought about it, fantasized about it long and hard first.”

  Cole’s fantasies ran in another direction. Go see her. Go see her. GO SEE HER.

  They each took a call, Cole from their electrician and Grant from their office manager. They both had building projects to quote and papers littering their desks and emails to answer and schedules to adjust and solutions to find. In other words, they had work to do. With that in mind, they started toward Cole’s company truck.

  On the way, Cole said, “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

  Grant eyed his friend. “You look serious. Dead serious. I hope that means what I think it means. If you’re finally going to see her, it’s about damn time is all I can say.”

  A month ago Cole had made the mistake of telling Grant about Jay, and about the dream Cole had had of April when he’d been wounded the second time. “That’s the price I pay for telling you anything. But yes. I am. I’m going to see her.”

  “When do you leave?” Grant matched his stride to the friend he admired more than he said aloud.

  Cole appreciated that. Admiration made him uneasy. “As soon as I tie up loose ends here.”

  “Tomorrow then,” Grant said, opening the passenger door.

  “You’re impossible,” Cole declared.

  Grant chuckled. “I couldn’t have landed this deal without you.”

  Cole drove slowly through the fog, and Grant’s tone grew more serious. “We’re well into construction now. I’ll take it from here for as long as I need to, like I did when you were overseas. Keep your phone and your laptop close. I’m glad you’re going, Cole. It might just be the only way you’re going to find peace. Maybe it’ll bring her a little peace, too.”

  In his mind, Cole pictured long curling hair, full lips and golden brown eyes. He hadn’t actually met April Avery, but he felt as if he had, for he swore he remembered her face, her eyes especially, and the glimmer in them that was hope. That glimmer of hope had reached thousands of miles to the other side of the world eight months ago when he’d been on the precipice of death.

  What would he say to her? What did a man say to the widow of his battlefield brother?

  Would making this trip bring either of them peace? The notion lodged in Cole’s mind, in his throat, in the middle of his chest. He drove with the windows down. And took what felt like the first deep breath he’d drawn in a very long time.

  * * *

  Cole stopped at the curb at 404 Baldwin Street in Orchard Hill, Michigan, then sat for interminable seconds, his foot on the brake and his mouth suddenly bone-dry.

  He knew he could do an about-face and follow the route he’d taken back to Rochester, or he could fire up his GPS, or open the road map lying on the seat next to him or just wing it and head someplace else. Anyplace else. But he also knew, even as thoughts of retreat formed, that he wasn’t going anywhere.

  He didn’t know how long he would be here, but it was possible his stay would be extended. It hadn’t taken him long to tie up those loose ends back in New York. The moment he had, he’d stuffed some clothes into two duffel bags, tossed everything next to his tools in the back of his truck, put his laptop on the seat next to him and drove to Michigan.

  The flowers growing in wild disarray beside the sidewalk seemed as familiar to him as the orchards he’d passed north of town and the old stone church just inside the city limit sign. Everything looked exactly as Jay had described. He half expected Jay to meet him halfway down the driveway. But Jay couldn’t, of course, and the knowledge cut like a knife.

  Getting out at the curb, Cole made sure both feet were firmly underneath him before he took his first step, something he did almost without conscious thought now. His legs carried him unfalteringly up the sidewalk only to stop for no good reason, his feet planting themselves on the concrete in front of the stoop.

  He knew what bravery was, how it felt and what it meant. And yet he stood in the dappled shade of an enormous maple tree, his insides quaking. Releasing a deep breath, he went over potential scenarios again.

  As he felt in his back pocket for the sheet of paper he’d brought with him, his ears picked up sounds of children’s giggles and a gentle, melodious voice coming from inside the house. The next thing he knew, he was at the door. If not for the twinge in his left thigh, he might have believed he’d willed himself up onto the stoop where a sturdy screen door was all that separated him from the family inside.

  His rap on the door silenced the giggles and started a stampede of small feet. Closer now, that melodious voice firmly called, “Girls, wait for me.”

  An instant later April Avery was looking at him through the screen, a little girl on either side of her. Her light brown hair was long and curly, her nose pert, her eyes—he stopped there, halted by the expression in their depths.

  “It’s you,” she said, her voice quavering.

  So she recognized him, too.

  The warm August breeze rustled the leaves overhead. Someone on the block was mowing a lawn. A car drove by, voices called, a dog barked. To everyone else in the neighborhood, this was probably an ordinary summer day.

  “I should have called, ma’am,” he said, feeling more like a soldier again than a civilian, his back ramrod straight, shoulders squared, gaze direct. “But I thought... That is...” He swallowed and mentally gave himself a swift kick. “I’m Cole Cavanaugh,” he said, because whether she recognized him or not, and vice versa, this was the first time they’d actually met. “Hello, April. Or would you prefer I call you Mrs. Avery?”

  “Gosh, no. April’s fine.”

  “You know him, Mama?” one of the twins asked. Cole realized it was Violet. Jay had told all the guys in their unit about his little girls, and told countless stories. This one was definitely Violet.

  Since April seemed to be having trouble speaking, too, Cole glanced down at the little girl who’d asked the question. Violet Avery’s curly brown hair was held away from her cherubic face with a plastic tiara, her eyes golden brown, like her mother’s. The child was staring at him now.

  Before the silence became any more uncomfortable, he told her, “I’m a friend of your dad’s.”

  He tried swallowing. Failing that, he managed to take a deep breath, for more than a year had passed and he still found himself speaking of Jay in the present tense.

  “Our daddy’s dead,” the other little girl said in a voice softer than her sister’s. Despite the pink feather boa she wore, Gracie Avery looked so much like her father Cole couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  “He’s in heaven, with the angels,” she added reverently, her face heart-shaped, her hair blond and her gray eyes serious.

  “Yes, I know.”

  “You believe in heaven?” Violet cut in. “’Cuz Maddie next door is seven and says there’s no such thing.”

  Almost five now, both girls waited with rapt attention for Cole’s reply. Hoping his smile appeared more natural than it felt, he nodded at them before once again training his gaze on their mother. At almost thirty, she was a stunner wrapped in a wholesome girl-next-door persona. It was those eyes, that smile, that trim, curvy body.

  “I do,” he said. “Believe, I mean, in heaven. I’ve seen a lot of, er, things—” He’d almost told a four-year-old he’d seen hell up close. “There must be a heaven, I mean. I think there is.”

  He clamped
his mouth shut. For goodness’ sake, he co-owned a successful business, had a Purple Heart, an invitation to ride in more parades than he could shake a stick at and an inbox full of propositions from women he hadn’t even met. Since when did he have trouble conversing in complete sentences?

  “He’s a friend of Daddy’s,” Violet said loudly. “Let ’im in, Mama.”

  “Yes, Mama, you should let him in.”

  Violet’s bossiness and Grace’s practically were both wasted. April Avery was already opening the door.

  * * *

  April happened to breathe in as Cole Cavanaugh walked through the door she held. His scent wasn’t pronounced, carrying only a faint trace of spruce and peppermint. Jay had smelled like spring, like brisk breezes and sprouts of green grass peeking through the last patch of snow. Which had nothing to do with anything. She needed to gather her wits, stop sniffing strangers and say something intelligent.

  Nothing came to mind.

  She continued to stare up at her visitor, trying to wrap her mind around a simple, stark fact: the tall rugged man now standing in her living room had been on the battlefield with her husband the day he died. Calling upon her good manners, she drew the twins closer and said, “These are my daughters, Gracie and Violet. Girls, this is Mr. Cavanaugh.”

  “Cole,” he said abruptly. And then, as if he hadn’t intended to be so forceful, his eyes went from April’s to each of the girls’. “Not even my father answered to Mr. Cavanaugh. If it’s all right with the three of you, I prefer to be called Cole.”

  She noticed he didn’t smile.

  Bits and pieces of descriptions Jay had mentioned in his video calls, emails and letters filtered across April’s mind. One night early into his tour of duty he’d told her not to worry too much because there was a guy in his unit named Cole Cavanaugh who had his back.

  “C.C. has listening down to an art form,” Jay had said, his handsome face slightly blurry on the computer screen. “Picture Clint Eastwood’s piercing stare in those old Dirty Harry movies my dad loves to this day. When he wants to, C.C. can duplicate the raspy voice. But he’s a dreamer at heart. At first he took a lot of ribbing from the guys in our unit over it, but the second time a dream he had helped us avoid a deadly ambush, the ribbing turned into some serious respect.”