For over an hour, she’d been out here alone. Blue Moon had called to cancel their order, because the roads had become too slick. Snow fell in thick white flakes beneath the yellow glare of the utility pole in her yard.
Curling her legs to one side, she balanced her elbow on the arm of the chair and leaned her jaw into her hand. She sighed, thick and loud enough for him to hear, but Joaquin remained in the guestroom. She’d offered to fix him something to eat, but he had declined through the door. God forbid he actually open it and talk to her.
Although she couldn’t exactly blame him for not wanting to come out.
There had been no excuse for what she’d done. She’d never been a violent person in her life; never striking out at anyone with pure spite. The only reason she’d missed hitting Joaquin in the head was her last second hesitation. The only reason she’d thrown the wallet was because what he had said pissed her off. Instead of using her words, like she would have scolded her students for not doing, she resorted to throwing things.
But there was so much water under the bridge, and he’d broken her heart once before.
Rising to her feet, she moved to her bedroom and pulled out the stack of letters she’d left on her dresser. Briefly, she contemplated throwing them in the fireplace.
Her fingers traced the thin yellow ribbon holding the letters in one tight bundle. It could not have been true what he had written. She must have imagined the emotions in his letters, the heartbeats in his words and the love in every paragraph.
Determined to prove him a liar, she pulled out the third letter from the bottom and removed it from the envelope, then sat down on the bed and began to read.
Dear Sage,
There are times when words cease to matter. When words cease to be able to describe the horrors I’ve seen, the people I couldn’t help and the rage I had to keep in check.
Today was one of those days.
But if I don’t get it out, if I don’t tell someone—I’m going to go out of my mind. If you want to stop reading now, I won’t hold it against you; just the thought that you’ve got my back and won’t give up on me gives me comfort and keeps me sane.
It’s a razor thin edge, sweetheart, but I’ll keep walking the line for you.
Our mission was nothing unusual—taking wheat and water to the locals, and keeping our eyes and ears open for any insurgent talk. I guess you could say we’d gotten a little cocky, a little too used to ordinary days of war (if ever such a thing existed).
Sanford was moaning about having to relieve himself every five minutes. Pretty soon the rest of the guys were joining in and I was the only adult. It reminded me of this trip I took to Miami with my cousins. What should have taken thirteen hours, ending up being almost twenty. I thought my dad and Uncle Cesar were going to lose it and kick us all out of the van before we hit Las Palmas.
Finally, growing so sick of their bitching and moaning, I ordered the convoy to stop and for everyone to get out. So we’re all standing around, stretching our legs, but keeping an eye on things, when I see a local heading our way. He’s walking all determined and I notice Sanford gets this funny look in his eye, before he starts heading for the local.
Everything inside of me is screaming that something wrong. I start shouting at him to get back, but that hardheaded ass doesn’t listen. The local starts running away from us, I start running and so do three of my men. Next thing I know, Sanford tackles the bastard and there's a loud noise; moon dust starts flying everywhere and my ears are ringing. I’m on the ground, sprawled on my stomach and coughing up sand. The whole situation is FUBAR.
Visibility is nonexistent, but I scramble to my feet and start shouting Sanford’s name. My ears are still ringing and I start stepping on things, only those things turn out to be hands and feet and, well, you get the picture.
I found Sanford only a couple feet away, his mouth open and staring at the sky. He starts blinking, and so do I, because half his body is missing and he’s bleeding out. The rest of our brothers join us, keeping watch and trying to get Sanford as comfortable as possible.
What I am supposed to tell his wife? His little girls?
Jesus Christ, I want to scream. I want to rip the bastard that blew up my brother into pieces, but he’s dead. And the worse part, the biggest fuck you of all, was his death was instantaneous while Sanford held on while we waited for Medevac. All I could do was grip Sanford’s hand and lie to him. Give him bullshit lines that everything was going to be okay.
Tell me, Sage. Write to me and tell me that what I feel for you is real—that what you feel for me isn’t a fucking dream. That I haven’t been reading between the lines you’ve written.
If I’m wrong, then feed me bullshit lines. Maybe that will fill up the hallow parts of my soul.
All my love,
JGage
So she had, but she hadn’t fed him lines.
Dear Gage,
I love you.
No matter where you go, or what you have to do in this hateful war, I won’t stop. You are a good man, an honorable one and I wish I could be with you.
I’d hold you tight, so tight that you could feel my heart as it beats for you. Keep walking the line for me, but just know that I’ll catch you if you fall and help you get right back on.
Since I can’t be with you, I’ve sent my emissary. She’s soft and fluffy. There are some spots on the ears that are missing fur, but it only means she’s been well loved.
A long time ago, there was a boy who loved a girl, and she loved him right back. Well, this girl wanted the ugliest looking bear you’d ever seen. But to her, it was so ugly it was cute. Anyway, that boy, despite his grumblings, spent fifty dollars playing a rigged county fair game and won that bear. (A bear that they would later find out cost five dollars at Wal-Mart.)
Unfortunately, the boy and girl couldn’t stay together forever—no matter how much the girl wished they could have, so she took that ugly bear and slept with it every night, instead of the boy she loved.
Now that ugly bear’s ready to give you sweet dreams, but only on one condition You have to deliver my bear in person when you get back. And you will come back. Come home to me. Spend Christmas with me…maybe even longer.
All my love,
Sage
There was only one person she would have sent that ugly bear to and that was Joaquin, only she’d been too much of a coward to admit it. He’d all but shouted who he was in his last letter.....In every letter.
She owed him the chance to tell his side—and she owed him an apology.
The house was quiet, only the hum of the refrigerator and warm air blowing through the vents made any noise. If the auxiliary heat came on, she’d have to start using the wood-burning fireplace.
Taking a deep, shaky breath, she made her way out of her room and down the hallway. He didn’t answer on the first knock so she tried again. She tried turning the knob, but it was locked; however, the key was sticking out on top of the frame and she made use of it.
Light from the hallway illuminated her way as she tiptoed to the side of the bed. She found him bare-chested, with the covers riding low on his hips as he slept. The St. Christopher medal she’d sent him, hung on a thin gold chain around his neck.
“Oh my God,” she gasped and smacked her hand over her mouth.
A guilty flush heated her cheeks. She really shouldn’t be ogling the man in his sleep, but his body fascinated her. It was different than what she remembered, but parts of him remained the same. He was still lean, but new muscles from hard work defined his chest and arms, his abs and the dents on the side of his hips.
He mumbled, then moaned. His hands unclenched and clenched into fists. His moans turned into shouts as he tossed and turned in the bed.
Sage reached out, murmuring his name over and over as she lightly touched his face. Joaquin began to settle down and finally his breaths became less labored. She smoothed away the damp hair from the top of his brow. It had always grown fast. He had told her in his letters that he didn’t have to keep it in a buzz cut anymore, because the Army had slightly relaxed its rules in order to attract new recruits.
She began to rise from the bed, but he grabbed her hand and held it to his chest. His skin was smooth and hot to the touch. “Don’t go.” His eyes slitted open. “Nightmares.”
“I’ll stay for as long as you need me, okay?” She sat down beside him and he scooted over, making room for her. However, her hand stayed firmly in place. “Do you wear that often?” She touched the gold chain with her free hand, then placed her hand back on the bed.
“All the time.” As his eyes drifted shut, she thought he whispered, “Thank you.” Or had it been, “Love you.”
Her heart flipped in her chest and tears tightened her throat.
It didn’t matter what he said, she knew what he meant. She slid down into the bed, lying beside him with his heart beating steadily under her palm as she breathed him in.
Chapter Six
He woke up with the unmistakable shape of a woman’s breast in his hand and her ass tucked in his groin. Automatically, he pressed closer and pulled her tighter against him. The scent of vanilla invaded his senses as silky hair tickled his mouth.
“Sage,” he mumbled.
“Hmm?” came her sleepy answer.
His eyes snapped open. Holy shit. He was in bed with Sage, and he was feeling her up. He let go of her breast like it was burning piece of coal . Which might not be far from the truth, because he was seriously hot, seriously overheated and in need of a cold shower.
Rolling away from her, he grimaced.
He scrubbed at his face, then rubbed his eyes. What a way to repay the woman who’d helped get him through the night. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d woken up sweating and grasping for his sanity. Sage had been there every time, whispering words of comfort and tenderly wiping his face with a cool cloth.
Not one time had she tried to get him to talk about what was keeping him up. There was the very real possibility that he might never share those nightmares with her, even if she knew the underlying cause—Sanford’s death.
After pulling the comforter over her, he slid out of bed and headed to the bathroom. A quick shower and shave, along with minty fresh breath, made him feel human again.
Glancing at the clock on his cell, he made up his mind to go for a run. He ducked into the guest room to grab his shoes. Sage mumbled in her sleep and he quietly padded over to her, placing his cell on the nightstand beside her glasses.
Waves of auburn hair spilled over her shoulder and along her face. He lightly touched her cheek, moving the bright strands to reveal smooth skin, highlighted with gold freckles. She stirred and he tucked the blankets around her, the way he had on their wedding night. “Go back to sleep.”
They’d been so young, so convinced that their love would overcome any obstacle thrown their way. Except they hadn’t counted on him acting like a spoiled child, then joining the Army as a big fuck you to his parents.
He hadn’t counted on her to be a coward and stay in Holland Springs. He hadn’t counted on her falling for her mother’s full-press guilt. Hell, she hadn’t bothered to even tell her family that they were married. And she was still afraid to rock the boat. .
Pressing his lips together in a flat line, he let his gaze linger on her, then walked out of the room, softly closing the door behind him.
The smell of the snow hit him first. Fresh and clean, not the acrid stench of death. Sparkling white and untainted, tempting him to plunge in headfirst, to see if it could do the same for him. If it could make him the man he was before he’d kicked up the first cloud of moon dust, without blood and death on his hands. But like the Army shrink had said, Joaquin had to move past this, but not by forgetting. He needed to honor those who didn’t make it out by living life fully.
Easier said than done, he thought with a grimace. But he would try with everything inside of him.
He stretched his calf muscles and arms.
Snow gave away easily as he began to run, his sneakers sinking deeper with each depression. Sweat trickled down his back and gathered on his brow. He ran until he couldn’t, then he simply walked, hands low on his hips taking in great gulps of cleansing air.
Passing a Christmas Tree farm, he watched a family pick out the perfect tree. Little squeals and shouts as healthy children with rosy, plump cheeks ran around the place. Everyone had a Christmas cheer glowing about them as they wandered in and out of the rows of trees.
The mental container he’d packaged those memories in tipped over, images spilling out and merging with the present. Scrawny arms and legs, stomachs distended from hunger, and brilliantly colored eyes rendered dull and ancient. Men and women’s bodies riddled with tumors, with defeat and despair—the most he’d been able to offer them were words of kindness in another language, wheat and fresh water.
In less than a week he had to convince Sage that they made sense. That they still belonged together. Despite their past, they had a future.
If he failed, he wouldn’t last a day.
Turning from the happy families, he began the long trek back.
Sage appeared in the kitchen as he flipped the last pancake, the comforter wrapped around her and her hair all tangled around her shoulders. Her rumpled appearance and cute black glasses made him want to take her back to bed and spend the rest of the day in it with her.
“Good Morning.” He looked at the clock on the microwave, then back at her and smiled. “Make that ‘Good Afternoon’.”
Her lips curled up at the corners as she sat down at the bar. “Hi.” The comforter slipped down around her shoulders, unfortunately for him she still had her shirt on from the day before.
Grabbing a plate, he filled it up with her favorites.“Blueberry pancakes, cheese eggs and apple juice.” Astonished eyes flew to his. “It’s the least I can do after last night.” He set the plate in front of her, then handed her a container of syrup before joining her. There was no use in being embarrassed about what had happened. She had seen him at his most vulnerable and stayed.