by Jillian Hart
The lights kept flashing. Dark. Bright. Dark. Like the flash of rockets across the Iraqi night sky, the flash of bright light and color seized him and yanked him back into memory. Into the scouring sand against his face as he lay stretched out, belly down in his ranger grave with the comfort of his M16, locked and loaded and ready to go. Ready to protect and defend.
Jonah felt the first concussion of the migraine and leaned forward to pull the plug on the Christmas lights. The lights died; darkness reigned. He knew these memories, newly triggered, would haunt him in his dreams tonight, where he would fight with all his strength to change the outcome and save lives; things that not even God could do.
It was going to be a long night.
Chapter Twelve
Douglas slammed shut the front door so hard, it rang like a bullet crack in the quiet house. Pain shot through his head—he’d had too much fun last night. It wasn’t fair. He hadn’t even dressed for the day yet and already it sucked. For the second time this week, he’d been served legal papers. First the divorce documents and now the restraining order.
Rage roared through him as he tore the envelope and hurled it at the wall. He felt like hitting something, but his head hurt too much. He needed a couple of aspirin and plenty of coffee first. Then he’d deal with Lynda.
He grabbed the carafe of coffee from the station and poured a big cup. Who did she think she was, refusing his flowers? Blocking his phone calls and betraying him like this? She was his wife. She had no right denying him anything. A restraining order! No paper was going to tell him what to do with his own wife! He stormed through the house to the kitchen. This was all her fault. If she didn’t make him so mad, he wouldn’t lose his temper with her.
He angrily jabbed the carafe back on the burner. The morning news droned on the television in the family room. The words Tiny Blessings caught his attention. He carried his cup around the island so he could see the TV. A man with dark hair and a bit of stubble filled the screen. It was that investigator. Ross Van Zandt.
“—a major development in the adoption scandals has been discovered at the Tiny Blessings offices. A prominent Chestnut Grove family is involved. We will be handing over important evidence to the police after the holiday—”
What evidence? The cup slipped from Douglas’s hand and crashed to the tile. Hot coffee splashed across his slippers. He was so angry the image on the plasma screen blurred. That nosy private eye! They must have found some documentation about Wendy. Douglas felt sure of it. He started to tremble. The pain in his skull ratcheted up a notch.
If the truth came out, he’d be ruined. Everything he’d worked for. All his plans. It would be over. He’d lose his national show, his local show, his cars, his house—everything. Fury roared through him like hot lava.
No woman was going to destroy his chances. He went in search of the aspirin bottle, banging through kitchen cabinets as he went. He had to get rid of this headache so he could work out a plan.
He could fix this. It wasn’t too late. He refused to fail. He would make sure there was no evidence. And without evidence that private eye and the cops couldn’t link him to Wendy. He’d be free. He’d have everything he wanted.
Douglas grabbed the bottle of aspirin from the cabinet above the stove and popped two onto his palm. He would outsmart Ross Van Zandt tonight. No scruffy private eye was going to be the downfall of The Douglas Matthews.
Possibilities. Debra felt the lightness of it as she impulsively pulled her SUV into an empty parking spot—a miraculous event in itself—in front of the little bookshop. She checked the clock—she had a few moments to spare before delivering the surprise lunch basket to Jonah, which she had packed and ready to go on the seat beside her.
As she buttoned up and stepped out into the glittering winter day, something Mia had said came back to her. Two busy days had passed by in a pleasant blur packed with Christmas shopping and baking with Leah. But even so, Debra could still hear her daughter’s words as clearly as they’d been spoken on the wonderful day spent with Jonah. You could buy the bookstore and a house on that street where we could live happily ever after. You could even get married. I wouldn’t mind a baby sister, you know.
I wouldn’t mind those things either, Debra thought. Those things were, in fact, the most precious dreams she could imagine. So precious she could only let herself hope for them a little. To shield herself from getting hurt, she realized as she picked her way through the snow and onto the sidewalk. Isn’t that how she’d been living her life ever since she’d taken Jeff’s abandonment and her mother’s criticism so hard?
A lightbulb moment. She would give that some thought later, she decided as she held open the front door for a young mother pushing a baby stroller, allowing herself to study the adorable baby boy with hope. There was so much she wanted for her life and for Mia’s and that hope buoyed her as she stepped into the shop and looked at it with new eyes.
It really was perfect. She took in the luster of the polished, beautifully crafted bookshelves stretching in neat rows, the children’s book section in the corner so colorful and inviting. She felt those buried dreams fill with optimism—and, yes, with faith.
“Oh, welcome back,” Pamela greeted from behind the register as she bagged up a customer’s purchase. “Please let me know if you need any help.”
“I do, when you get a chance.”
“Be right with you.”
Debra stayed close by but couldn’t resist browsing while the shop owner finished ringing up her sale. Pamela chatted away, she seemed to know everyone by their first names and many details about their lives. Debra supposed it would be a nice thing, not just to own a bookstore but to know the people who were regular customers. It was friendlier, somehow, a business with heart.
Could I really make a change like this? Debra wondered as she noticed a small rack of movies set out in the holiday section. Could she quit her job and give up a very comfortable living for something less secure but, oh, so much more fulfilling?
She spotted a single copy of It’s a Wonderful Life and plucked it out of the little wire holder. This was the movie Jonah said was a holiday tradition for his family. She hadn’t watched it in years. The story had always touched her, a man who always worked hard to do the right thing for his family and for others, deferring his own dreams.
“Whew, we have a lot of last-minute shoppers.” Pamela broke into her thoughts. “What can I do for you?”
Her heart kicked into a staccato beat, and she felt as if she were standing on the edge of a bridge, looking down, afraid. She realized how very much she wanted this dream. “I was wondering about the For Sale sign in the window. How much does a business like this cost?”
“It’s not a business, but more.” Pamela’s kind eyes silvered with emotion. “I’m considering an offer right now, but I’m not happy with it. Are you interested in buying my store?”
“I don’t know, truthfully. I’m just asking on impulse.” A serious impulse. “I was hoping you could give me a ballpark figure. Are you looking for a cash offer? Or would you rather sell and carry the contract for tax reasons?”
“I’d like to carry the contract.” Pamela blinked hard to hold back her emotions. “My husband and I built this business side by side. I don’t want to sell the place to someone who wants the property and not the bookstore.”
The other offer, Debra imagined. “I’ve always wanted to own a shop like this. Full of love and care and personal touches.”
“Yes, that’s exactly the kind of offer I’m looking for.” Pamela lifted her glasses to swipe at her eyes. “I’m sorry, you must excuse me. As much as I’m looking forward to retirement with my dear husband, it means letting go of this place I’ve also loved so many years.”
“Believe me, I understand.” Debra saw a lifetime’s work in this place. A lifetime of helping friends, not customers. Of helping others find just the right gift or book to inspire them. She saw her dearest dream deferred, given up for her daughter’s sa
ke. Was it something that she could have now, for Mia’s sake, too?
“I hear your family are book people.” Pamela pulled a tissue from her cardigan sweater’s pocket. “Christian publishers?”
“Yes. You carry our books.”
“Then make me an offer, if you’d like. I can give you my attorney’s card?”
“Please.” Debra was touched by the woman’s friendliness and followed her to the front desk. “I’d like to get this, too.”
“Oh, you got our last copy.” Pamela stepped behind the desk to work the register. “A last-minute Christmas gift?”
“Yes, it is.” Debra fished her credit card out of her purse and slid it onto the counter. “The perfect gift, too, I think.”
“Oh, isn’t that a good feeling? To give someone what you know is just right for them.” Pamela swiped the card and handed it back. “Can I ask who it’s for?”
“Jonah Fraser.” Debra wasn’t surprised when Pamela smiled as if she knew the man well.
“Such a nice one, that Jonah. He’ll appreciate this.” Pamela added a folded sheet of wrapping paper into the bag with the book. “I noticed you two together when you were in last. You make a nice couple.”
“Oh, we’re not—” Debra felt her face heat and knew she was blushing. “We’re just—”
“Oh, I know how it is.” Pamela’s eyes twinkled with understanding as she handed over the bag and a pen. “Please sign here and you’re ready to go.”
“Thank you.” Her signature was a little shaky on the credit slip, but other than that, she felt good, as if the pieces of her life were starting to fall into the right place. As if the past was no longer hurting her.
After tucking the gift out of sight, she drove the few blocks to the carpentry shop. She felt so light and free, that she sent a tentative prayer heavenward. Please, let this dream come true.
She pulled into the parking lot and saw the window where she’d first set eyes on Jonah and added one more request. Please, let the bigger dream for him come true, too.
A peace washed over her with such power she knew without a doubt that she’d been heard.
The crack of rifles and the burst of machine-gun fire peppered the desert night. Jonah froze and knelt as the missile traced overhead. In the dark of the moon his team waited as tooth-rattling explosions from the marine artillery hit like powerful blasts of thunder. The earth quaked beneath his boots hard enough to make his bones hurt, but he didn’t let the discomfort register. His attention was on the field ahead, a deceptive stretch of dried mudflats and shadowed patches of dried grass and stunted palms that looked silent and vacant.
He knew better. Just as he knew the nearly imperceptible pad behind him was his team member approaching like a shadow in the dark.
Benton knelt beside him, weapon ready, watching, too. They were always watching. Their search and rescue mission had turned into something tougher: the battle was coming their way. No explosives boys to clear the way. They had to move fast. They were running blind. He didn’t like it, but it wasn’t his call. He felt the telltale sharp increase of air pressure and called out, betraying his position. “Incoming!”
There was no time to do more than duck before the mortar hit. There was the boom as it struck. The blast of black smoke blotted out everything. It rained rock and sand. Adrenaline kicked through his veins as he felt every hair on his arms shiver and his teeth went numb. Just for a heartbeat. Then the next bang of mortar.
In the dark ahead, Jonah caught the sign from his XO. Their commanding officer was giving the go-ahead. He’d made it a meter into the field and held his position, ready to cover them. The whiz in the sky above warned of an incoming artillery shell, but he was already moving forward. With every tense step, he listened for any enemy movement in the bush and the near-silent pad of Benton at his side.
Mortar exploded closer, cratering the earth, blasting them with rock fragments. Burning sensations bit his left side. His mind told him he was hit, but he ignored it. He fought to stay on his feet. He heard the click, but realized it a second too late. One horrible second too late. Land mine, his brain rationalized, knowing it was Benton who’d triggered it. Then the white heat of light, the percussion blast and horror—
“Jonah?”
He heard his name, but the dream claimed him, holding him captive in time with death and brokenness all around him and Benton—
No, it can’t be true, his mind thought even as he knew Benton was gone. His best buddy since boot, his brother-in-arms.
“Jonah?”
It was Debra’s voice pulling out of the nightmare of war, of the failures he could not endure. Her voice guided him out of his shadows of grief and into the light of day. When his eyes opened, he found himself in the shop sitting up in the corner. The first thing he saw was the overwhelming love for him in her eyes.
Love. Unmistakable and real. She’d knelt onto the cement floor in her upscale jeans and the soft pink color of her sweater made her look as innocent and as sweet as a rose. Her fingertips brushed at the hair falling into his eyes. “Are you all right? Is there something I can do?”
“No.” He realized he must have drifted off. He felt groggy and nauseous. Looking around he realized he was holding the plans for Mia’s desk in his hands. He’d taken a break before starting on the next piece of furniture, now that the bed was finished, and that was the last thing he remembered.
“You were dreaming, Jonah. It looked like a terrible nightmare.”
He was too shaky to stand so he inched away from her and swiped his hand through his hair, undoing what she’d done. He was too embarrassed, ashamed and dull with grief to answer her. He needed fresh air. He needed to feel the icy winter’s wind against his face. He hated the sticky feel of failure and of regret big enough to land a jet on.
He stumbled to his nerveless feet. Disgrace. Dishonor. Both weighed on his heart. The shrapnel had struck more than flesh and bone. It was still wedged in his soul.
“Jonah?” She was coming after him.
He threw open the back door, breathed in the cold air and let the snow numb him until he could feel nothing—no guilt, no grief, no shame. Until he could no longer hear the silence that came after the rocks finished falling with no survivors directly around him. Until he could no longer remember the vibration of another mortar strike and the rat-tat-tat of a firefight across the dry riverbed.
“Jonah?” She was behind him. Her hand settled on his shoulder.
He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, but he could not shut out the comfort of her touch or the peace she threatened to bring him. The love and life and future he wanted so much with her tormented him. He would give anything for the chance.
But it was a chance he did not, could not, deserve. He saw the faces of the dead—his own team members, his best friend. His heart broke all over again.
“Jonah, you’re hurting so much. Let me help you.”
Her soothing touch and her concerned words burned through his pain. He tensed every muscle and made everything within him as cold and still as steel, trying to resist the need to give in to the comfort she offered.
He could feel the longing for peace tempt him into shrugging off this shame, in silencing these feelings of dishonor and guilt and to go on living anyway. But he was a man of honor, a marine with a soul-deep moral code and he could not turn his back on the past. He could not forget the men he’d fought beside any more than he could stop time and trade their lives—Benton’s life—for his own.
“There’s nothing you can do,” he bit out. It was only the truth. No one could save him from this. No one. “Just leave it alone, Debra.”
“I heard a little bit.” Her voice trembled. “You were murmuring in your sleep—”
“I shouldn’t have drifted off, but I was tired. Last night—” He stopped midsentence. He could not talk about last night and the dreams. Of Benton dying over and over again. Every time he closed his eyes.
“You must have dreams like this every night.
” Debra didn’t give up or move away, but lay her other hand on the flat of his back. “No wonder you’re tired. Whatever happened, it’s obviously a heavy burden to carry.”
“You have no idea what went on. What I’ve done.” His throat choked on the words, making them impossible to say. He did not have the strength, the courage or the right.
“You are a strong, noble man with a big heart.” Debra spoke quietly but with absolute unwavering confidence. “What could you have done but your best?”
“You don’t understand. You can’t understand.”
“Because I’m a woman? A woman who’s never been in combat? I have a heart, Jonah. I can sympathize. I’ve read enough to understand. A soldier can be haunted later by what he had to do on the battlefield. The mind waits to process what happened until you are out of danger. Maybe if you talked about it—”
“No.” He tore away from her touch. “I can’t do that. I won’t.”
It was plain to see how deeply he was hurting. Perhaps he just needed to know he was safe. She took a step closer, lay her hand on his and gazed into his shadowed eyes. “You can trust me with your truth. I promise to understand.”
“You can’t understand. You think—” He grimaced, the image of perfect agony. “This isn’t something I can talk about.”
She felt his muscles tighten like iron beneath her fingertips. He radiated the kind of pain that she’d never known. It was a risk to tell him how she felt, but he needed her. She could not let him hurt like this alone. Her heart filled with the most tender, unconditional love for him. “I—I care about you so much, Jonah. Please, let me help you.”
“I said no.” He shoved away, breaking the moment, rejecting her comfort and, worst of all, putting the space of the shop between them. The distance seemed cavernous as he faced her but it could not diminish his pure male fury—not frightening, no, never that—but he looked every inch the tough, steadfast and hurting warrior he was.