by Cindy Dees
More Than Words: Bestselling authors
& Real-life heroines
Each year, the Harlequin More Than Words award is given to three women who have worked hard to change people’s lives for the better. Inspired by their accomplishments, three bestselling authors have written stories to honor these real-life heroines.
In Light This Candle, Major Mitch McConnell has arrived home after serving overseas for nearly two years. Now he can finally give his condolences to Cassidy Frazier, whose husband died under his command. But when he tracks down the single mother, he finds out that Cassidy is about to be evicted and her son, Cody, is in the hospital.
At first, Cassidy tells Mitch she doesn’t want his help. The military wasn’t there for her when it mattered most, so she certainly doesn’t need them now. But Mitch is more than a soldier: he’s a caring, gentle man who’s determined to ease Cassidy’s burdens. And if she lets him into her family, perhaps she can give Mitch something worth fighting for…
Look for all three ebooks inspired by real-life heroines: Good Neighbors by Sheila Roberts, Just Joe by Carla Cassidy and Light This Candle by Cindy Dees. Visit the Harlequin More Than Words website at www.HarlequinMoreThanWords.com or your favorite ebook retailer to download these free novellas today.
Dear Reader,
For many years Harlequin has been a leader in supporting and promoting women’s charitable efforts. Through Harlequin More Than Words, each year we celebrate three women who make extraordinary differences in the lives of others, and Harlequin donates $15,000 each to their chosen causes.
We are proud to highlight the current Harlequin More Than Words recipients with the help of some of the biggest names in women’s fiction, Harlequin authors, who have created fictional stories inspired by these women and the charities they support. Within the following pages you will find Light This Candle, a touching story written by Cindy Dees—one of three ebooks available at www.HarlequinMoreThanWords.com. Be sure to look for Sheila Roberts’s Good Neighbors, and Carla Cassidy’s Just Joe—also available online. A book with three additional stories, written by Sherryl Woods, Christina Skye and Pamela Morsi, can be found on the shelves of your favorite bookstore in More Than Words, Where Dreams Begin. All six of these stories are beautiful tributes to the Harlequin More Than Words recipients and we hope they will ignite the heroine in you.
For more information on how you can get involved, please visit our website at www.HarlequinMoreThanWords.com.
Together we can make a difference!
Sincerely,
Donna Hayes
Publisher and CEO
Harlequin
Patches of Light
Name: Mindy Atwood
Hometown: Hilliard, Ohio
Recipient’s Related Charity: Patches of Light
Website: http://patchesoflight.org/
How Mindy inspires others:
Imagine how hard it must be for a family with a critically ill child to also have to worry about financial difficulties. Now imagine how bad it was for Mindy Atwood and her family trying to cope with two sons in critical condition, and no respite from the financial gloom pressing down on them. Yet even in the darkest of times, Mindy could occasionally feel relief, perhaps stemming from good news or a kind gesture, as if a patch of light had somehow managed to penetrate the black cloud in the air.
With a desire to have something positive emerge from her family’s difficult journey, Mindy founded Patches of Light, a nonprofit organization seeking to aid families with critically ill children by offering financial aid for nonmedical items such as utility bills, rent, groceries and gas. Mindy purposely avoids ever meeting the families they assist to prevent any feelings of obligation. “We want them to go and take care of their children,” Mindy says, “while we help them with the means to do that.”
While fund-raising remains the greatest challenge facing the organization, especially when competing against other NPOs with far greater resources, on a personal level Mindy has to balance duties as the CEO with full-time work and life as a mother and grandmother.
While Mindy gets the most credit for the success of Patches of Light, which she regards as one of her own children, she acknowledges the great support the organization has received from her entire family, especially her husband, Rodney. “We started off running Patches as a family effort and everything in our lives continues to revolve around it.”
Cindy Dees
More Than Words
Light This Candle
About the Author
Cindy Dees started flying airplanes while sitting in her dad’s lap at the age of three and got a pilot’s license before she got a driver’s license. At age fifteen, she dropped out of high school and left the horse farm in Michigan where she grew up to attend the University of Michigan.
After earning a degree in Russian and East European Studies, she joined the U.S. Air Force and became the youngest female pilot in its history. She flew supersonic jets, VIP airlift, and the C-5 Galaxy, one of the world’s largest cargo airplanes. She also worked part-time gathering intelligence. During her military career, she traveled to forty-two countries on five continents, was detained by the KGB and East German secret police, got shot at, flew in the first Gulf War, met her husband, and amassed a lifetime’s worth of war stories that she uses to create her stories of romantic suspense.
Her hobbies include medieval reenacting, professional Middle Eastern dancing, and Japanese gardening. This 2-time RITA winner has published forty novels and counting. She loves to hear from readers and can be contacted at her website: www.cindydees.com
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
More Than Words BPA
Copyright
CHAPTER ONE
Mitch McConnell paused in the doorway of the C-17 transport plane and gazed around the ramp at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base in Dayton, Ohio. It smelled deliciously like fall—burning leaves, cold nights. Man, even the greasy ramp smelled good right now.
It was great to finally be home. Six months of down-range training followed by fifteen months deployed in one of the world’s most terrorist-ridden danger zones had really taken its toll on him and his men.
Families squealed and hugged and laughed in clusters on the tarmac below him, and he couldn’t help but grin at the joyous homecoming reunions.
He didn’t have any family of his own to greet him. The military had always been his family, and that was enough for him. Most of the time. But at a moment like this, part of him wished for a soft, sweet woman to wrap her arms around him and cry a little because he was home, safe and sound. Heck, even a rug rat or two clinging to his neck like a monkey wouldn’t be so bad. He shook off the melancholy. He was a soldier, not a family man.
He spent the next hour making sure everyone caught up with their duffel bags. When his was the only one left sitting on the baggage pallet, he hefted it and headed for the unit. It was common practice for the bachelors to leave their vehicles in the care of someone they trusted in their absence. On homecoming days, the cars were all brought on base and parked in the parking lot for them. It was one less hassle to face after a long, jet-lag-inducing flight.
The guys who’d been filling in for him while he’d been deployed had done a credible job of keeping crises off his desk, and only one piece of paper waited for him, front and center on his desk pad. His heart fell when he read it. Listed were the names and current addresses of the three young widows who’d lost husbands on this tour overseas.<
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He could wait until tomorrow to make the condolence visits, but he’d slept for most of the flight, and he’d only sit at home tonight dreading the task if he didn’t just get it over with now. It was far and away the most difficult part of his job. He’d rather get shot at than have to face the grief of bereaved family members. He was damned proud of losing only three men in over a year’s worth of dangerous missions, but that didn’t make it any less of a tragedy for their families.
According to his list, one of the widows had already moved back to California to be with her parents. He’d write her a letter expressing his sympathy and praising her husband’s valor.
He drove to the first local address on his list and pulled up in front of a ratty house with a bunch of Harleys parked in the driveway. Great. And he was in uniform, his gray-and-beige combat dress as establishment as it was possible to be.
His conversation through a screen door with the widow was short and uncomfortable. She was apparently some biker’s old lady now, and told him in no uncertain terms what the military could do with itself and its condolences.
Man, these visits usually took hours. At this rate, he’d be done in time to head home, grab a cold brewsky, prop his feet up and watch his first Monday Night Football game in nearly two years.
He’d never met Jimmy Frazier’s wife, but she had to be young. Jimmy had been in his mid-twenties. Died the very first day the unit was deployed. He’d been hit by a training missile gone awry—one of those freak accidents that no one could have foreseen or prevented. Mitch pulled into the widow’s apartment complex and parked his Jeep at the front office, since the address he had didn’t include a unit number. He stepped inside the office and a perky young blonde looked up from a gossip magazine.
“Can you tell me which apartment Cassidy Frazier lives in?” he asked.
“You here to repossess her car or something?” the girl replied.
The widow was in financial trouble? It wasn’t uncommon for young wives left abruptly on their own to have no idea how to manage money. “No, I’m from her late husband’s military unit. Thought I’d check up on her and see how she’s doing.”
“About homeless is how she’s doing. The management company’s fixing to evict her at the end of this week. Too bad, what with her kid and all. But if you can’t pay your rent, there’s nothing we can do about it, you know?”
“What about her kid?”
“He’s in the hospital. Dying or something. I think he needs a heart transplant.”
Mitch jolted. Dying? “Where can I find Mrs. Frazier?”
“Spends most of her time at the hospital. I hope they’ll let her live there when my boss boots her out.”
“Do you have your boss’s card, by any chance?” he asked smoothly.
“Sure.” The girl rooted around in a drawer. “It’s in here somewhere...hah. Here it is. A little bent up, but that’s it.”
“Thanks.” Mitch pocketed the card, spun smartly on his booted heel and strode to his truck. The woman had lost her husband and now her child was dying? Talk about rotten luck.
Worse, he smelled a bureaucratic screwup. As a widow, her survivor’s gratuity and her husband’s insurance payout should have added up to hundreds of thousands of dollars. Plus, her son should qualify for full health care benefits. She shouldn’t be in dire financial straits less than two years after her husband died. What was up with that?
He pointed his truck out of the parking lot, but paused as he reached the street. Which hospital would the child be at? He chose the nearest one, which also happened to be the largest in the region. He parked in the garage and navigated a bewildering maze of hallways before he finally came to an information desk with a volunteer.
“I’m looking for a patient. A child. Last name Frazier. Mom’s first name is Cassidy.”
“Are you related to the family?” the gray-haired woman asked.
“The child’s deceased father worked for me. I’m trying to find Mrs. Frazier to make a condolence call.”
The woman hesitated for a moment, then said quietly, eyeing his uniform and major’s oak leaves, “I’m not supposed to release that information, but if you go up to Intensive Care Unit *2, you might find who you’re looking for. Goodness knows,” she added in a rush, “Cassidy could use a friendly face right about now.” She indicated the corridor behind her. “ICU’s on the fifth floor. Elevators are to your left about a hundred feel down that hall.”
“Thanks.” Intensive care, huh? That didn’t sound good.
* * *
Cassidy Frazier slumped on a high stool next to her son’s bed. He looked so small and fragile. At least he was resting quietly. His breathing was closer to normal now that they had him on oxygen full-time. Normally they would have to sedate a five-year old boy on respiratory support to keep him still, but Cody was so weak it wasn’t necessary. Eight months they’d been waiting for a new heart for him. She didn’t know how much longer her baby could hang on. Frankly, she was nearing the end of her rope, too.
She bent and rested her forehead on the bed rail beside Cody’s frail little hand. A hand that should be throwing baseballs and picking up toads and finger painting. But instead, it lay there on top of the white sheet, limp and lifeless.
A silent sob shook her slender frame. She couldn’t lose him. He was the last piece of Jimmy that she had. She’d promised her husband when he’d left to go overseas that she’d take care of Cody for him. But she’d never dreamed it would mean enduring this unending nightmare of false hope and heartbreak, months on end in and out of the hospital...now mostly in.
She couldn’t do it anymore. She couldn’t hold her life together. Couldn’t find the energy to scrape together any more money to pay for experimental treatments not covered by Jimmy’s military health insurance. Couldn’t paste one more smile over her tears for Cody’s sake.
This was it. She’d reached the end of the road.
Please, Jimmy. Come back to me. Take this nightmare away and make everything okay again. I just want things to go back to the way they were.
The sobs became too much to hold back. She slapped a hand over her mouth and raced out into the hall so she wouldn’t disturb Cody. She sagged against the wall outside his room and finally gave vent to the grief, fear and loneliness that were always there, threatening to crash over her like a massive wave.
The agony in her chest was too much to bear and she slid to the floor, curled in on herself and cried her heart out. The hell of it was she didn’t feel one bit better afterward. And now her nose was runny and her eyes red. For months, to cover up the aftermath of her tears, she’d been lying to Cody about having allergies.
As her sobs wound down, the elevator at the end of the curving hall dinged and she started. Visiting hours were almost over and the hospital staff used another elevator most of the time.
She glimpsed a man, blurred by her tears, stepping out of the elevator. He was dressed in speckled gray. Beige suede combat boots. A soldier. Tall and strong like Jimmy. Dark haired like him. Same confident stride. Surely not...they’d been certain he died, even though his body hadn’t been recovered...
Her heart took a mighty leap in her chest. Jimmy had come back to her! Her prayer had been answered—but then the insanity of that idea slammed into her so hard it nearly finished her off.
She scrubbed at her eyes, dashing away tears to see more clearly. As he drew closer, she saw the differences between this man and Jimmy. This man was a half dozen years older. A few inches taller. Leaner than Jimmy, who’d always carried a little baby fat around his middle. This man’s eyes were light and piercing, where Jimmy’s had been dark and soft and warm. And—oh, dear—he wore officer’s insignia on his collar instead of Jimmy’s enlisted stripes.
She scrambled to her feet as he approached her and asked tentatively, “Mrs. Frazier?”
She blinked up at him, feeling like an owl. “Who are you?” she finally managed to mumble.
“I’m Mitch McConnell. Are yo
u Cassidy Frazier?”
She nodded, puzzled by this man’s presence here and now.
He let out a relieved breath. “Good. I’ve been looking for you.”
“Why?” What on earth did the military want with her? They’d been doing their darnedest to ignore her ever since Jimmy died. When Cody got sick, it had become imperative to get Jimmy’s messed-up benefits straightened out so he could receive medical care. But the confusing tangle of government paperwork and bureaucracy was ongoing. At least she’d gotten Cody’s health insurance mostly ironed out with the help of the hospital’s insurance staff.
“I’m the executive officer from Jimmy’s unit. I wanted to give you my personal condolences. Your husband was a fine man and a credit to his country.” He exhaled hard. “I also wanted to see if there’s anything I can do to help you. Our unit looks after its own, and you’re part of our family.”
“What did you have in mind?” she asked blankly. A few wives from the unit had kept in touch with her for the first couple of months after that awful day when the chaplain had shown up at her front door. But eventually they’d tired of her grief and drifted away. Not that she could blame them.
All of Jimmy’s buddies had been deployed at the time of his death, and even later none of them had come by the apartment. Maybe they’d been too tied up with their own families when they’d rotated home on brief vacations, or maybe it had hurt too much to see her and be reminded of Jimmy. Or maybe they just hadn’t known what to say. But not one of them had come over.
He shrugged. “I can take care of whatever you need. Jimmy gave his life for his country. It’s the least I can do to lend you a hand.”
It was a fine thing for the military to suddenly give a darn, fifteen months after Jimmy died. Where had this guy been when she’d had to bury her husband alone? When she’d had to learn how to repair toilets and balance a checkbook? When she’d received the horrendous news that her son’s heart was failing and he would die if he didn’t receive a new one?