Harlequin Superromance November 2014 - Box Set 2 of 2: Christmas at the CoveNavy ChristmasUntil She Met Daniel

by Rachel Brimble

  But where was Henry? Her Henry? The man she’d fallen in love with? Made a baby with?

  All her fantasies about a romantic reunion with her beloved were crushed under the reality of what they faced. They’d barely touched each other since he’d returned. He never rejected her, but he didn’t invite her, either.

  She wiped at her tears with the smelly old dishcloth. Her tears fell so easily these days. So far she’d managed to keep them hidden from Dottie, but for how long?

  Dottie’s confident steps sounded in the hallway and when she skipped back into the kitchen Sarah smiled.

  “Did he like the toast?”

  “He told me to leave the tray on the bureau.”

  “But your daddy can’t reach it there, honey.”

  “He said he’s getting up today and he’ll eat in the chair you usually sit in.”

  Dottie spoke matter-of-factly, her eyes intent and her posture certain. Was there anything this child wasn’t afraid of? Her daddy had come back from war, years after she’d last seen him. Dottie didn’t even remember Henry, not really. But she’d gone right up to him and hugged him tight, giving him her love, the love of a nine-year-old, without any limitations.

  What Dottie didn’t realize was that this was a big step for Henry. He’d decided to get out of bed.

  “That’s a good thing, honey. Now let’s get you ready for school.” Sarah might actually have a man to have a conversation with after she dropped Dottie off at the one-room schoolhouse.

  * * *

  “IT’S BEEN HARD, too hard, on you.” Henry’s words were deliberate, his actions slow but steady, as he drank the milk from the glass she’d filled earlier. Sarah sat on their bed and he sat in the extra kitchen chair she’d dragged into the bedroom.

  “War’s not easy for anyone, Henry.”

  “It was selfish of me to leave you here with no help, no means of support.”

  “We got every paycheck, just as you’d arranged.”

  “I mean, I didn’t tell my brothers to come out and look after you.”

  “All the way from Texas, Henry? That’s too far away to make a trip here. Besides, all but one of them went to war, too.” Henry had five brothers, one of whom hadn’t made it back. His parents had feared they’d lost Henry, too.

  “I still can’t believe Jimmy’s gone.” His voice was even, not revealing the emotion she knew he must feel.

  “You can’t hang on to it, honey.” She stood up and knelt at his feet. “If you need to talk about whatever happened over there, you know you can tell me, sweetheart.”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  It was the strongest word he said since his return. Tears stung her eyes, but Sarah wasn’t going to let this man see he’d hurt her. He didn’t mean to, and he’d lived through hell to get back to her and Dottie. She’d read the papers and the reports of how terrible the prison camps had been. She suspected Henry might have been in the Bataan Death March but was afraid to ask him. Afraid to trigger memories best forgotten.

  “You’re here now, Henry. You’re home, safe. No one is going to hurt you again.” She kissed his hands, which remained limp in his lap.

  Come back to me, Henry.

  December 1945

  One week before Christmas

  SARAH IDLED THE engine on her father’s truck for a few moments after she’d driven up the drive to the farmhouse. A nice big Christmas tree was in its bed, chopped down by her father from their back stretch.

  She made a mental note to plant some trees for future Christmases. Because they would have more here on Whidbey.

  “Henry!”

  She walked down the hallway toward their bedroom when she didn’t find him in the kitchen. Her heart started to pound and she fought against the anxiety that had plagued her since his return.

  Had he decided that getting better was too hard? She knew of a friend’s husband who’d killed himself after he returned. It wasn’t public knowledge, and the cause of death had been listed as “heart troubles.” But they all knew—it was because of the war memories.

  They’d called it shell shock in the last World War. Now they called it combat exhaustion. Sarah didn’t give a damn what the doctors labeled it; she wanted Henry whole again.

  Relief flooded her when she didn’t find him in the bedroom or the bathroom. Her fear of finding him dead was like a constant unwanted companion. Like a wet sweater in the rain that she needed for warmth but was going to make her feel chilled in the end.

  “Henry!”

  Panic set in once she determined that he wasn’t in the house. She ran out back, toward the shed. Before the war he’d built it and found escape at the workbench, whether repairing the toaster or sanding the wood on Dottie’s cradle.

  There were so many tools in the shed. So many ways— No!

  “Henry!”

  As she approached the shed her awareness slowed and it was as if she saw everything in Technicolor. The green of the grass, grown long with the fall rains, the crisp cold air that promised snow, the weathered gray of the shed she’d never gotten around to giving a fresh coat of paint while Henry was gone.

  The shed door was ajar and she couldn’t call his name—her throat constricted with fear.

  Henry sat at the workbench, hunched over his task. When he heard her enter he turned toward her and Sarah saw the blood on his hands, his fingers.

  “Henry.” The whisper was all she managed before she collapsed.

  * * *

  “I WAS MAKING Dottie this. The darn blade was duller than wax and I cut myself so many times.”

  Sarah was sitting on a blanket on the shed floor, her back against the wall of the building. Henry sat next to her, his expression expectant.

  She looked at the small object he’d placed in her hands. “This is your airplane, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. It was. It took me on many missions, until the last one when I got shot down.”

  “Where did you get shot down?”

  “Southern Thailand.” A faint smile appeared on his whiskered face and Sarah wanted to sob with relief. Instead, she listened.

  “Sarah, I constantly wished you were with me and there wasn’t a war. It was a paradise. Beautiful white sand, clear blue waters. I survived on coconuts and other fruits for a few weeks.”

  “And then?”

  A dark shadow crossed his face. “Then they caught me. I was in the Philippines after that, and then they shipped us to Japan.”

  “How did they send you?”

  The dark cloud in his eyes threatened to eclipse the spark of life she’d seen.

  “Boat. We got fired on, by the Allies. They didn’t know we were aboard. Almost didn’t make it to Japan.”

  “But you did.”

  “Yes.”

  She knew most of the rest of the story. He’d survived internment at one of the notorious Japanese prison camps, where he’d watched friend after friend die. Charles Dempsey had warned her that Henry would need time. He’d been right. She really needed to write Charles a letter and let him know they were okay. That Henry was home, and they’d make it.

  Somehow.

  “I hope we hear from Charles. I don’t have his address.”

  “We will. He’s that kind of a man—with a solid-gold heart.”

  “I’m sorry I fainted. It’s just that when I saw the blood...”

  “I know, Sarah. It’s been hard on you and Dottie. That’s why I made the ornament. We can put it on the tree. I want this first Christmas to be special.”

  “It can’t be anything but, Henry.”

  She looked up from the ornament and into his eyes. He was exhausted and had aged decades in the few years he’d been gone, but he was coming back. Henry was home.

  * * *

  �
��YOU’VE COLLECTED SOME nice decorations since I left.” Henry’s voice startled her out of her baking reverie. She smiled up from the pie dough she was rolling out for the marionberry pie she planned for Christmas Eve. She’d canned the berries in August, hoping against hope that she’d be able to use them for this pie. Henry’s pie.

  “Dottie gets one each year. The ornament is the only gift she can open on Christmas Eve. She hangs it on the tree before she goes to bed.”

  “Does she still believe in Santa Claus?” Henry’s voice was lower and she couldn’t ignore the trill of excitement in her belly.

  Yes, he was coming back to them. This was the Henry she’d fallen in love with.

  “She does. Well, let me rephrase that. She acts as if she does. She’s not stupid—she knows the source of her gifts. But let’s face it—she’s nine, she has to know the truth by now, although she’s never admitted it to me.” She took a sip of water.

  Henry didn’t need reminders of how much he’d missed.

  “I hope a part of her always believes,” she whispered.

  Henry didn’t dwell on her comment and she wanted to throw her arms around him and kiss him for being such a dear.

  Not yet. He had to make the first move there. They were sleeping in the same bed again and while they’d started to snuggle for warmth in the middle of the night, lovemaking hadn’t happened. His nightmares still came, but he snapped out of them more quickly.

  Henry was healing.

  “Do you want me to make you a pot of coffee?” One thing he couldn’t get enough of since his return was hot coffee. Black and strong, no sugar, no milk.

  She imagined it tasted sweet to him just as it was.

  “No, I thought I’d drive out to the cottage and talk to your father about what needs doing around here.” Henry looked out through the window over the kitchen sink.

  “Oh.”

  She tried to swallow her disappointment.

  He turned his gaze on her, his eyes on fire. “Are you upset for the reason I think you are, Sarah?”

  A blush crept up her face and she averted her eyes. “I’m fine. Just trying to get everything done in time for Christmas.”

  “I miss you in that way, too.”

  Without thought she found herself seeking his gaze again. Were those flickers of desire in her husband’s eyes?

  “Oh.”

  Henry laughed. The lines around his eyes deepened and he threw his head back. His old laugh hadn’t entirely returned but this was close enough.

  “Is that all you can say, sweetheart—‘oh’?”

  “No. I mean, you’ve been through so much...”

  He approached her, never taking his eyes off her face.

  “How long until we have to get Dottie from school?” He took the rolling pin from her shaking hands and placed it on the floured butcher block.

  “Not till three.”

  “It’s only ten. What on earth could we do until then?”

  “You said you’re going to meet Papa.”

  “I never made plans with him. I can easily go see him later.”

  He untied her apron and removed it, his fingers on the front buttons of her dress before she had a chance to register that Henry wanted her.

  Now.

  “Henry, are you ready for this?”

  “Oh, I’ve been ready, Sarah. I wanted to make sure you were happy to have me back. That Dottie wasn’t scared by me.”

  “I’ve missed you so much.” There they were again, those dratted tears.

  “It’s been a long while. I can’t promise to go slow these first few times, my love.” He wiped her tears before he leaned his forehead against hers and closed his eyes, breathing her in.

  Afraid he’d change his mind, she slipped her arms around his waist. He was still too skinny, but he was starting to fill out. Christmas would help.

  “Thank you for waiting for me, Sarah.”

  “Henry, I’d have waited for you until the day I died.”

  “I know.” He kissed her then, and it was the most erotic kiss of Sarah’s life. His lips were at once familiar and new. Her Henry knew how to please her, how to coax her into full passion. Yet the man he’d become was more demanding, strong, thrilling, than the man who’d left her to fly for their country.

  For the world, really.

  Like him, she wasn’t the person he’d left, either. She’d come into her womanhood and her need was an unabashed sexual longing that had gone unsatisfied too long.

  This wasn’t a time for sweet sentiments or longing caresses.

  They’d survived four years apart—with her sleeping alone in their wedding bed and him sleeping through God only knew what.

  His tongue wasted no time in reclaiming its prize as he kissed her with complete absorption. Sarah opened her mouth to him and threw open the protective shutters she’d closed over her heart.

  “Sarah.” Henry’s movements became efficient, demanding, needy. Her dress fell to the floor, the air cool on her skin despite the hot oven.

  “Here’s okay.” She knelt down and brought him with her, lying on the kitchen floor. His weight on her, between her legs, almost made her climax right on the dough crumbs. It’d been too, too long.

  “Sarah, honey, I don’t want to hurt you.” But he was already pushing down her panties, his fingers greedy for her. She was starving, too, and angled her hips so that he could better reach her. “You’re so wet, so ready for me, so sweet and sexy. I’ve dreamed of this.”

  “Hurry, Henry.”

  Their joining was quick and intense and life-altering. They’d survived the war; they’d waited for each other for four long tortuous years. Their patience was rewarded.

  Whidbey Island

  Christmas Eve, 1945

  “CAREFUL, DOTTIE. YOU know the ornaments shouldn’t get too close to the lights.” Dottie had exclaimed “ouch” several times as her fingers hit the brightly colored bulbs that were strung on the tree. She knew they were hot, but Sarah wasn’t so sure she understood the need for care with the paper chain.

  “I’m careful, Momma. Can I hang the angel Daddy made us?”

  “Sure.” Henry and Sarah replied in unison, and Sarah reveled in the sound. They were Dottie’s parents again—together.

  “Do we have tinsel?” Henry stood in the middle of the living room, at a loss as to where he fit into the routine that his wife and daughter had established over the past several Christmases.

  “I’m sorry, honey.” Sarah walked over and hugged him. He kissed the top of her head and she nestled her cheek against his rough flannel shirt. Since their kitchen adventure, they’d made love at every possible opportunity, and gave each other meaningful glances when they weren’t alone. It was the honeymoon they’d never had, the exploration many couples would be bored with by now.

  The few remaining couples who hadn’t gone through a war...

  “What are you sorry about?” He stroked her hair as they watched Dottie bounce between the ornament box and the tree, hanging each decoration with care.

  “You need your Christmas job, too. I put the lights on the tree, and Dottie hangs the ornaments. You want to do the tinsel, which I have right here.” She pulled away and rustled through the seemingly empty box on the sofa, filled with crumpled newspapers that held their glass, paper and tin ornaments the other eleven months of the year.

  She felt the sharp edges of the aluminum strips and she pulled her hand out, laughing. “Found it!”

  “I suppose there’s a special way to put the tinsel on.” Sarah smiled at Henry’s observation. She did have her own way of doing things and it was a definite adjustment to allow him back into her carefully ordered life.

  It was silly. But if she let Henry all the way in, let him take some of the chores off her should
ers, it made her afraid. Afraid he’d have to leave her again, and that she’d never get back to normal.

  “Where did you go, Sarah?” His hands were on her shoulders. Usually it was Henry who drifted off.

  “Nowhere important. Are you ready to hang the tinsel?”

  “Not yet. Tell me, sweetheart. Tell me everything.”

  “Oh, dear. It’s not very Christmassy of me, but I keep thinking I’m going to lose you again. That the minute I believe you’re back—really back, here, and safe—the Army’s going to call you up for another mission.”

  “Come here.” He wrapped his arms around her and murmured sweet reassurances in her ear. “I’m staying right here, darling. I’m not going anywhere.”

  * * *

  “ARE YOU GOING to have to go back to the war, Daddy?”

  He looked down at his daughter—his daughter!—whose eyes matched his own and whose expression was straightforward like Sarah’s was when he’d first met her.

  “No, pumpkin. I’m here to stay. I’m not going anywhere. The war’s over, remember?”

  Dottie nodded. “Good. Mrs. Albrecht says that we are lucky children to grow up when the war is over.”

  “Mrs. Albrecht’s partially right.” Her fourth-grade teacher couldn’t possibly understand the number of children who weren’t as lucky as Dottie. Who’d lost their fathers, brothers and uncles to the war. He’d even heard of nurses who’d died in the war, right next to the men they served.

  His jaw muscles tightened. A distraction was in order. “I made you something, Dottie.”

  “What, Daddy?”

  “Let’s see.” He made a big show of pulling the tiny plane out of his front pocket where he’d placed it last night when he’d been in the shed.

  “Here you go!”

  “It’s a little airplane! With Santa Claus flying it!”

  “Yes, that’s right. It’s a P-40, the plane I flew. Do you see the name written on its side?”

  “D-O-T-T-I-E. It’s my name, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “I thought Santa Claus flew his sleigh with the reindeer.” The twinkle in her eyes let him know that she was well aware of who Santa was and exactly how her gifts found their way under her tree.