Mallory took it and gave it a gentle squeeze, but instead of letting go, she blessed him with a smile. “Would you mind if I gave you a hug, Joey? You have no idea how happy your brother is to have you back in his life—and how excited I am to have you home in time for Christmas.”
As weird and awkward as it might have once seemed to be reunited with people he’d once thought he’d never want to see again, the sincerity in Mallory’s gaze made it pretty darn easy to...well, to lower his guard and step into her embrace.
“Thanks, Mallory. I appreciate...having a home where I can...spend the holiday.”
“Where’s Lucas?” Rick asked.
“He’s at Jimmy’s,” Mallory said. “He’ll be back at four. Do you want me to call and ask him to come home now?”
“No, let him play. There’s plenty of time to introduce him to his uncle.” Rick turned to Joe. “Why don’t I show you to your room so you can put that stuff away?”
“Sure.” Joe followed his brother upstairs and to the guest room.
“Would you like a soda or iced tea?” Rick asked.
“Maybe later. If you don’t mind, I’d like to go through my bag and see what’s inside.”
“Take your time. I’ll be downstairs.” When Rick stepped back into the hall, he paused and glanced over his shoulder. “Want me to close the door and give you some privacy?”
“That’s not necessary.”
Rick had no more than left the room when Joe began to rummage through his bag. When he found a couple of photographs, he paused to look at them.
One was a picture of him, Rick and Clay shooting baskets at the park. That photo must have been taken right before he and Rick had been separated and placed in different foster homes.
The anger that had exploded inside him back at the ranch began to make sense. Only now, it was targeted at the people who’d hurt him the most—his uncle for being a mean drunk, his aunt for allowing her husband to abuse her and the system that had taken him away from the one person who’d always taken care of him.
But he was no longer angry at Rick, as he’d been when he’d first run away. Looking back, as an adult, Joe couldn’t blame his brother for wanting to escape their childhood. Or for wanting to create a home with Mallory.
His thoughts drifted to Chloe, to the night he’d held her in his arms after making love. At the time, he’d wanted to create a home for himself, too, a place where he felt like decorating Christmas trees, eating scones and sipping hot cocoa.
But Joe had pretty much ruined any chance of a dream like that happening, especially with Chloe. It hadn’t seemed to matter an hour ago, but he wasn’t so sure about that now.
Was it Chloe who’d made him yearn for home and hearth? Or was it just being at the Rocking C itself?
When things had escalated at his foster home and then again at school, Joe had made up his mind to run away for good. He’d had enough and wanted to put it all behind him—the embarrassment following his uncle’s arrest for domestic violence, the trouble with the principal, the perceived abandonment of his brother.
He had a little money from working on the Rocking C that summer and, instead of purchasing a ticket all the way to L.A., where someone might find him—if anyone cared to look—he purchased tickets for the trek in segments. He traveled first to San Antonio, then to El Paso and on to Albuquerque. He’d intended to end up in Los Angeles.
The only person who knew of his plan—and the only one he’d told goodbye—was Dave, who’d kept his secret as promised.
So at sixteen, Joe left town—and his past—behind him. And he never—well, he rarely—looked back.
He set the photo aside and picked up another, this one taken somewhere in Arizona with the marines who’d become his friends and family.
There’d been a bad accident on the interstate on the final leg of his trip. The marines had been on leave and were returning to their duty assignment in Yuma when they’d pulled up alongside his bus and immediately jumped out and became heroes that day.
Joe had always helped the underdogs, like Dave Cummings and Clay Jenkins, when they’d been bullied in high school. He’d also tried to protect his aunt, only to get battered for his efforts. But when Red Conway, an older marine, actually asked for Joe’s assistance, he’d stepped up, of course, gaining respect and hero status in the process.
After the accident, the sergeants were in a hurry to get back to Yuma so they wouldn’t be AWOL. But instead of riding with the other passengers on a different bus to Los Angeles, Joe hitched a ride with his new friends. Red offered him a place to stay, and they all took him under wing, each one replacing the big brother he’d once had.
The day he turned eighteen, in an attempt to embrace his future by shedding his past and everything that reminded him of the lost boy he’d once been, Joe began the process to legally change his name. His marine buddies encouraged him to get his GED and to join the corps, helping him set a goal and find a purpose.
Joe set the picture aside and picked up one of him and Dave outfitted in matching camouflage. Dave had followed in Joe’s footsteps and enlisted a few years ago.
But in spite of getting through boot camp, Dave had a tough time making the transition from the coddled only son of an overbearing rancher to a marine. So like his buddies had done for him, Joe took Dave under his wing, doing his best to coach him and help when he could.
When he found out that Dave had been assigned to his battalion, he asked Red to pull a few strings, and they managed to get him transferred to the same squad, where Joe could look out for him.
But Dave had never been cut out to be a devil dog. Or a grunt. Chloe had been right when she’d said he was too sensitive.
Joe had always liked the guy, but he could become needy and emotional when things got tough. In fact, Joe remembered wondering what a pretty girl like Chloe saw in Dave. He’d figured money or property had interested her more. And that might have been where his angry, suspicious vibes had originated.
Sure, Dave’s family owned a ranch, but if a woman who looked like Chloe had wanted to get her hands on some quick cash, she certainly could have set her sights a lot higher than Dave.
Joe’s stomach flopped and his face heated as he thought of the insults he’d flung at her. Had he been so angry at Dave’s senseless death, the loss of his career and his promise to return to the one place on earth he’d vowed to never step foot in again that he’d lashed out at the only person he could find to blame?
It seemed that way.
As he recalled how his words had hurt her, his gut twisted hard and tight.
Chloe had taken him in when he was a complete stranger. She’d befriended the elderly patients in the nursing home. And, from what he’d gathered after listening to her side of a telephone conversation, she’d just sped off to become a voice for them.
How had he forgotten all she’d done? How she’d made it fun to trim the tree, decorate the house, eat scones and drink hot cocoa?
And then, when he’d been caught in the throes of a nightmare that had been more real than imagined, she’d sat on the bed, whispered soothing words, stroked his arm...
He’d fallen for her that night—for the woman she really was and not the woman he’d imagined her to be.
What a heartless fool he’d been.
Joe put his stuff back in his duffel and proceeded to empty out Dave’s bag on the guest room bed. Uniforms and street clothes toppled out, as well as a few pieces of mail and a folder. He recognized Chloe’s handwriting on one envelope. Joe had seen that letter when he’d packed up Dave’s effects and set out on his Brighton Valley trip. But he hadn’t wanted to read it then.
He pulled out the folded stationery to see what she’d had to say.
Dear Dave,
I’m sorry that you’re far away from home and feeling so lon
ely. And while I appreciate your kind words, I have no idea where you got the idea that we were even dating, let alone engaged. You’re a good man, and I pray each night for your safe return home.
I’ve taken a break from nursing school so that I can look after the ranch until you get here. I’d promised your mother that I’d do that, and when I make a commitment to someone I care about, I keep it.
But that’s the only commitment I’ve made—to your mother. Once you get home, I’ll move into a studio apartment near the junior college in Wexler. I considered waiting to tell you these things to your face, but it seemed that with each letter you wrote, your dream of a future with me grew. And I don’t want to give you false hope.
Someday you’ll find a woman who truly loves you—and one who deserves you and all you have to offer her.
I hope you understand. In the meantime, please take care of yourself.
Your friend, Chloe
She’d been right. Her letter had been direct, but gentle and kind. And Dave had made a reckless choice.
What had Joe done?
Chloe hadn’t wanted the ranch. Or anything from Dave—certainly not the guilt from his suicide, if that’s what he’d actually done. Yet, Joe had accused her of all of that and so much worse.
He needed to see her, talk to her and apologize. How could he have been such an ass?
Before he could shove Dave’s stuff back into the bag and head downstairs, Mallory knocked on the doorjamb and poked her head in. “There’s a call for you. It’s a Mr. McDougall.”
She handed him the cordless phone, and he took the call.
“Is this Joe Wilcox?” the man asked.
Joe wondered how he knew where to find him. “Yes, it is.”
“I’m the attorney handling David Cummings’s estate. I’m not sure if Chloe Dawson mentioned me or told you I would call, but she gave me your contact number.”
Chloe had said something about talking to an attorney. At the time, he’d thought that she’d been trying to stake her claim. But in reality, she’d probably been as overwhelmed with the situation as he’d been. And she’d merely wanted to hand over the reins to the ranch and get on with her life.
“She mentioned it,” Joe said, “but I don’t really know the details.”
The attorney spoke of the probate process and filing paperwork as Joe’s mind drifted to how he could apologize to Chloe for all of the horrible things he’d said.
What would he do if she refused to forgive him?
“So,” McDougall said, “as dual beneficiaries, you might want to consider working together to make a go of the ranch.”
“Excuse me?” Joe didn’t want to admit that he hadn’t been paying attention, but it was the truth. “I missed the last part.”
“I said, if the will you told Chloe about holds up, she’ll inherit the ranch. It’s in debt, but it has a lot of potential, and I know that the Cummings family would have wanted Dave’s legacy to continue on. So you might want to consider using a portion of the life insurance benefits you’re going to receive and offer her a loan so she can make a go of it.”
“I’m sorry. Did you say benefits I would receive?”
“Yes, Mr. Wilcox. You’re the sole beneficiary of Dave Cummings’s five-hundred-thousand-dollar life insurance policy.”
Joe almost collapsed on top of the stuff littering the bed. “But his death was... I mean, won’t you need a death certificate?”
“I’ve already checked into that. The coroner ruled it an accidental overdose, which is a real shame.” McDougall went on to explain that it would take some time to file everything properly and again suggested Joe work with Chloe to get the ranch back up and running.
“But does she even want the ranch?” Joe asked.
“Who’s to say? I don’t know many people who would take on that kind of responsibility even if it was forced on them. But Chloe Dawson is a sweet girl, and Teresa thought the world of her. It’ll be hard for her to keep it, though. You definitely got the better end of the deal.”
After the call ended, Joe’s mind reeled with everything the attorney had disclosed. He reached for the picture of him and Dave, a somewhat goofy-looking guy who’d never stood a chance with Chloe.
Yet just hours ago, Joe had stood a damn good chance with the most kindhearted and beautiful woman in the world, and he’d thrown it away.
But he wasn’t about to let her go without a fight. And he wasn’t going to waste another minute in preparing for battle.
* * *
After checking on Ethel at the Brighton Valley Medical Center and having a chat with Dr. Nielson, Chloe had pulled into the parking lot of the Sheltering Arms and braced herself for a confrontation with the administrator. She was done hiding from arguments and was going to give him a piece of her mind.
So she marched right into Anthony J. Peabody’s office and demanded to speak to him.
The slightly balding man looked up from his desk, rolled back his chair and crossed his arms. “Is this about losing your job?”
“No, it’s about yours, Mr. Peabody—and Sarah Poston’s. I warned you about her unprofessional behavior and her disregard for most of the patients, but you wouldn’t listen to me. Instead, you got rid of me for being a squeaky wheel. But you won’t get rid of me so easily this time.”
“Is that a threat?”
“No, it’s a promise. Ethel Furman is in the ICU right now, and it’s all Sarah’s fault.”
“That’s a pretty strong accusation. Ethel has pneumonia.”
“Yes, and she also had a severe allergic reaction to the penicillin they gave her in the E.R. I warned Sarah about Ethel’s allergy on several occasions and insisted that she order a new medical alert bracelet and that she note it in the chart.”
“What did she say?” Mr. Peabody asked.
“That the bracelet was on order. And that her allergy was already noted in her chart. But rather than double-check to make sure, she refused to do so.”
“Maybe someone in the E.R. didn’t look at the chart that accompanied her in the ambulance.”
Chloe crossed her arms. “I’m not sure what relationship you have with Sarah—familial or romantic—but you’d better stop trying to defend her without checking the facts. I spoke to Dr. Betsy Nielson just a few minutes ago, and she told me her allergy to penicillin definitely wasn’t noted in the chart. Then she showed me herself. Sarah is guilty of lying or negligence. I suggest you figure out which one it is and deal with it—before Ethel’s attorney contacts you about a lawsuit.”
Mr. Peabody blanched, then swallowed—hard. “Ms. Poston and I aren’t related in any way, shape or form. And I assure you that I’ll check into your allegation.”
“See that you do.” Then Chloe turned on her heel and strode out of the admin office. Her steps didn’t slow until she reached the lobby and spotted Joe chatting with several of the elderly patients who’d gathered near the Christmas tree in their wheelchairs or seated with their canes and walkers nearby.
She had no idea what Joe was doing here, but he’d better duck for cover because she was feeling pretty cocky after her last confrontation. And she wasn’t the least bit concerned about having another blowup—even here in the lobby.
As she neared the older men, all of whom were military vets, she realized Joe was holding court and sharing war stories. Or so it seemed.
Sam Darnell was one of them, and while he looked especially lively seated with the other vets, she couldn’t help her snippy tone when she addressed Joe. “What are you doing here?”
He got to his feet, but not with any of the bluster he’d had earlier. “I came to find you and apologize.”
The wind should have died in her sails, but she was too angry and primed for battle to back down now. No simple apology would be enough to assuage the hurt
she’d felt at being called a gold digger and being blamed for Dave’s suicide.
“You’re going to need to do a lot more than hang out with some of my friends, trading battlefield gossip to make up for the things you said.”
“Battlefield gossip?” Sam swore under his breath. “I’ll have you know that a war zone is no beauty parlor, missy.”
She turned to the old cowboy, arms crossed. “I realize that. But Sergeant Wilcox shot a bazooka through my heart. Did he tell you about that?”
Sam aimed a furrowed gaze at Joe. “That true, son?”
Oh, how the tide was shifting. While these silver-haired vets might want to support a fellow marine, Chloe was the one who brought them their magazines and their favorite bakery treats.
Semper fi or not, if Joe didn’t watch his step, he’d be facing a possible mutiny from his new cohorts.
“Yes,” he admitted. “It’s true. I said things out of misplaced anger and an emotion I’d never had to deal with before.”
Ralph Mason, who refused to wash his WWII hat or replace it with a new one, leaned toward Joe. “You know, son, they have those PTSD programs over at the VA clinic. My nephew runs one of the support groups. You’d probably get a lot out of it.”
“Thanks,” Joe told him. “But I’m not talking about PTSD emotions, Ralph. I’m talking about love.”
Chloe sucked in her breath. Did he just say what she thought he did?
Cliff Hawkins, a Korean War vet, chimed in. “My daughter joined one of those dating websites when her cheating ex-husband left her for that waitress over at that new cafeteria in Wexler. I’ll bet they could help you find the right match.”
Joe patted the wheelchair-bound vet on the knee. “That won’t be necessary, Cliff. I already found the woman I love, although I have a whole lot of apologizing to do.”
As he made his way toward Chloe, those amazing blue eyes zeroing in on her, turning her spine to mush and setting her heart on end, her anger dissolved. Only her wobbly knees supported her now.
Harlequin Special Edition November 2014 - Box Set 1 of 2: A Weaver Christmas GiftThe Soldier's Holiday HomecomingSanta's Playbook Page 38