A Heartwarming Thanksgiving

by Amy Vastine

  He answered on the second ring. “Hey, Jess.”

  “Hey. Um…” she began. “I’m worried about Ryder.” She realized how ridiculous that must sound so she charged on, “These two guys in uniform showed up today. I saw them talking to him when they got here and I know that whatever they told him was bad and—”

  “I know.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes, I do. They did bring him some bad news. One of his best friends died. He was injured on a mission with Ryder and he’d been in the hospital ever since.”

  “How could they do that? Give him that kind of news and then leave? They shouldn’t have left him alone.” Jessie could hear the shrillness of her tone that matched her barely-contained panic.

  “They didn’t leave, Jess.”

  “I saw them leave. I—”

  “They’re there. They’re keeping a discrete eye on him. They won’t leave until they know Ryder is okay.”

  “Oh… Tell me what happened to him. I have bits and pieces. I know he lost his dog and his grandmother, and now his friend. But I need to know the rest.”

  Tag let out a loud sigh. “I’ll tell you some of it. What I think I can get away with telling you without Ryder wanting to hurt me. And I’m only going to do that because I know your story, too.”

  She stayed silent, waiting.

  After a few seconds he asked, “You really care about him, huh?”

  “I do, Tag. We’re sort of… I can’t let anything happen to him.”

  By the time the call ended, she had a firmer understanding of the circumstances. But even with the knowledge that his friends were positioned around the cabin, she didn’t feel any better. What would make her feel better would be to see him with her own eyes, alive and whole.

  Jessie checked the fire and sat down on the sofa to think. Pia joined her while Colfax and Fife settled at her feet. She stroked Pia’s coarse fur and thought about how the dog had been a tiny puppy when Craig had died. She’d contracted distemper and nursing her through it had been what kept Jessie moving. She remembered thinking that if only Craig had something like that maybe things would have been different. Of course, he had never shared her depth of love for animals.

  Not like Ryder did.

  * * *

  Ryder stared at the wall. The pain was constant now, like a tide that only moved in one direction. Unrelenting, crashing waves of anguish broke over him one after another. He hadn’t realized how much he’d hoped that Dell would somehow pull through. Images of a happy smiling Dell playing racquetball, working on his old mustang, or just joking around intermingled with a barely-breathing, blood soaked Dell.

  His phone buzzed on the table beside him. He reached over and shut it off. He wished it was that easy to shut off this aching pain in his soul. His skin felt itchy, like he’d been lying in sand for hours. He needed to do something. That’s when he saw the envelope Cody had handed him earlier. He opened it and began to read: Dear Ryder, Dell is dead. My world is black. Words can’t explain this kind of pain but I want you to know how sorry I am…

  Tears rolled down his face as he read the missive from his friend, the widow of his best friend. When he finished, he set the letter down and inhaled a deep breath. Then he stood up and walked to the bedroom where he kept his guns.

  * * *

  Very early the next morning Jessie called Tag again.

  “Morning’ Jess,” Tag answered. It didn’t sound as if she’d woken him. “I don’t have any information for you. He hasn’t come out of the cabin. Reece said—”

  “I know,” she interrupted. “I’m watching, too.”

  “Somehow I knew you were.”

  “Tell them I’m going in, okay? Tell them not to stop me.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Just tell them, Tag. Okay?”

  The sun had yet to show it’s lazy winter glow when Jessie and Fife walked toward Ryder’s. She half-expected one of Ryder’s friends to still stop her as she passed the porch and continued around behind the house.

  Vera and Stan, the last residents of the cabin, had been friends. They’d kept a key hidden under a rock so Jessie could feed their cats when they were gone. She made her way to the rock and lifted it, a rush of satisfaction filling her when she saw the dull brass of the key.

  She looked at Fife. “Let’s go, girl.”

  Fife let out a low woof and trotted around the house toward the front porch.

  * * *

  Jessie blew out a breath of relief as she followed Fife into the bedroom where Ryder was sprawled across the bed in yesterday’s clothes. He was sleeping. His features bathed in soft light from the lamp he’d left on. Fife jumped up beside him and sniffed his ear.

  He groaned and sat up. “Fife? How did you..?”

  His gaze turned toward Jessie and that’s when she saw the gun on the nightstand. Lifting her hands, she covered her face and burst into tears. She backed up until she hit the wall behind her and slowly slid to the floor. Ryder was by her side in an instant.

  “Jessie? What’s the matter? Are you hurt? Are you okay?”

  She reached out and fisted her hands into his t-shirt. Pulling him toward her, she wrapped her arms around him. He shifted, easily lifting her into his lap, cradling her in his arms.

  “Please, Jessie, talk to me. Are you okay?”

  She nodded, pulling up the neck of her shirt to wipe at her tears. Pointing at the nightstand she finally whispered, “I’m sorry. I saw the gun.”

  “Guns make you cry?”

  Reaching into the vee of her shirt, she removed the dog tags she wore on a chain around her neck. She handed them to Ryder.

  He read the name aloud, “Craig Benton? Your fiancé?”

  She nodded.

  “He was killed in combat?”

  “No,” she choked out. “He survived combat. It was the after combat he couldn’t handle.”

  Ryder studied her with narrowed eyes, until understanding dawned in his eyes. “No, Jessie. No. I was just cleaning it. When I’m stressed I clean my guns. Lots of guys do it. I would never… Do you want to tell me what happened?”

  “He committed suicide seven months after he got home. You’re not the only soldier to have a tough time, Ryder.”

  “I realize that. I do. And I’m so, so sorry. Someone I went to boot camp with. He was deployed, but when he got back he couldn’t cope.”

  “Yeah, try watching someone you love fade away before your eyes until you barely recognize him anymore.” She placed an open palm across her chest. “I was there and I couldn’t help him. I couldn’t save him. Sometimes things happen and there’s nothing you can do. But meanwhile you do whatever you can. That’s how you get better. You keep going back to Dell’s death being your fault, when really you know in your heart it was the enemy who killed him. You couldn’t be in a hundred places at once and that’s unfortunate. It is. It’s horrible. But you’re not a superhero.”

  “Jessie…”

  “But you are a hero.”

  “I was only doing my duty.”

  “I’m not taking about your mission. I’m talking about your life right now. Here, in Rankins. You’re a hero to Fife. You’re a hero to me for getting past your grief enough to help her.”

  Fife pranced and let out a bark as if she knew she was being discussed. She nudged Ryder’s hand. Jessie marveled at the dog’s innate instinct to comfort. Ryder reached a hand out to the dog.

  “Okay.”

  “Okay?”

  “Yes, I’m going to be okay.” He smiled and tucked some stray strands of hair behind her ear.

  “You are?”

  “Eventually, yes, I’m going to be okay. Brianna, Dell’s wife, she wrote me a letter. For a long time she blamed me for what happened to Dell. And I let her. I see that now. It somehow seemed easier to spend time second-guessing myself rather than accepting that I couldn’t control what happened. The guys brought me the letter and I finally got around to reading it. She seems to have figur
ed out some of her issues, too. She apologized and I… I know I have to let him go. And Zoe, too.”

  “There is a lot you can do. A lot of things you can try that might help.”

  “I think the way to start is to let someone else in.” There was a lightness in his smile now that Jessie had only seen a couple times. New tears threatened; grateful, joy-filled ones this time.

  He reached over and scratched Fife under the chin. “Maybe even get another dog.”

  She threw her arms around his neck, holding onto him for a long hug. Eventually, he took a step back and she could feel a flush heat her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she started to explain. “There’s no point in trying to hide the fact that I like you. And since it’s almost Thanksgiving I should just appreciate that you’re okay. But I—”

  Ryder pulled her in close for a kiss.

  “Hey,” he said after a long, lovely moment. “Speaking of Thanksgiving… If you’re not busy, I was invited to this really cool Thanksgiving dinner for people who don’t have anywhere else to go.”

  * * * * *

  If you enjoyed this story, Carol Ross has a wonderful Harlequin Heartwarming romance, Christmas in the Cove, coming out in December 2016. Available in paperback and digitally for order online at Harlequin.com and through online retailers everywhere.

  Pecan Mini Tarts by Carol Ross

  These flaky-crust pecan pie bites are a favorite on the dessert table at Thanksgiving, Christmas and pretty much any gathering of Carol’s family. Be sure to grab a handful—they go fast!

  Ingredients

  Crust:

  4 ounces cream cheese, softened

  ½ cup butter

  1 cup all-purpose flour

  Pinch of salt

  Filling:

  1 egg

  ¾ cup brown sugar

  1 tablespoon butter

  Pinch of salt

  1 tablespoon maple syrup (optional)

  1 teaspoon vanilla

  ¾ cup chopped pecans

  Directions

  1. Preheat oven to 350°F.

  For shells:

  2. Mix cream cheese and butter until fluffy. Stir in flour and salt. Chill for 1 hour. Shape into 1-inch balls and press into mini-muffin cups (being sure dough reaches all the way up the sides).

  For filling:

  3. In a small bowl, beat the egg. Add brown sugar, butter, salt, maple syrup and vanilla, mixing well. Stir in pecans.

  4. Pour filling into shells. Bake for 15 minutes or until lightly browned. Cool before removing from pans.

  The Firefighter’s Promise

  By Kate James

  CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Recipe: Crab & Cream Cheese Appetizer

  CHAPTER ONE

  Jax wished that just once she could leave her stepmother’s house—the house she’d grown up in—without stomach spasms and a raging headache. She geared down her Harley Davidson Low Rider and took the turn onto Golden Valley County Road 15 more slowly than normal.

  Emotionally she was a mess, and there was no room for error when you rode a motorcycle. Accelerating again along the quiet country road, she felt her eyes sting.

  It wasn’t tears. They served no purpose. She never cried.

  It was the powerful crosswind forcing its way behind her sunglasses, she tried to convince herself.

  If not for Kyle, she wouldn’t go back. But her six-year-old half-brother mattered to her, and she wouldn’t let him down. She’d learned years ago not to allow people into her life. That way, they couldn’t hurt her.

  Kyle was the exception. He owned her heart, and she’d do anything for him. Including going back to the house that now belonged to her stepmother, Olivia.

  Jax adjusted her speed to keep a safe distance between her and the car ahead. Relaxing her grip on the left handlebar, she rolled her shoulder. The dull ache in her back and the anger that accompanied it forestalled the threatening tears.

  She thought of Kyle standing at the living room window, staring out at her as she was leaving. He was barely tall enough to see over the sill. His face had been solemn. He’d raised his small hand to wave before Olivia had pulled him away.

  Jax knew she’d keep going back again and again to the house she detested, for Kyle’s sake.

  Approaching an intersection, Jax noticed a silver compact barreling along the crossroad.

  No. No, you’re not…she implored the driver when the car showed no signs of slowing for the stop sign. She didn’t know if she’d actually spoken the words or if they’d simply reverberated in her mind. Either way, they were futile.

  Jax heard the deafening thud as the car slammed into the side of the dark blue Chevy in front of her. Already decelerating, she swerved to the right to avoid a bumper that sailed toward her. If she collided with either of the vehicles spinning out of control or was hit by one of them, it was game over for her.

  She didn’t have a chance to think. Instinct took over.

  Cutting her speed as quickly as she could, she maneuvered around the cars and debris. She’d expected the lurch when the motorcycle transitioned from the paved roadway onto the soft shoulder at forty-five miles an hour. But expecting it didn’t help her maintain her seat when her wheels plowed into the loose gravel. Kyle’s grave face flashed through her mind as she squeezed her eyes shut, raised her arms to shield her head and went flying.

  * * *

  “She’s breathing. She’s alive.” Jax heard the distressed whisper from a great distance.

  “Keep her still. Don’t let her move.” Another insistent voice floated to her through the gloom. Then all sound and thought faded out.

  Time passed. She had no idea how she knew that. An anguished scream jolted her to consciousness. It soared around her and ebbed. When it came again, she was shocked to realize that it tore out of her, since she could hardly breathe. Her right side—head, shoulder, ribs and ankle—felt as if a vise was clamped to her and was ruthlessly tightening, crushing her bones…

  The pain was excruciating.

  She had to roll over. She had to, or she’d die.

  She tried to move despite the crescendo of pain but couldn’t. Something was preventing her. She tried again.

  Hands. Someone was holding her down.

  “She’s trying to turn.” The whispers were back. “What should I do?”

  “Don’t let her move. We don’t know the extent of her injuries.”

  Breathing was nearly impossible. Every inhalation was like a knife stabbing into her chest. She was hovering in a world filled with pain. She had to get off her right side. She jabbed the heel of her boot into the soft ground. With another scream, she forced herself over.

  “Oh, my God! I couldn’t keep…” was the last thing Jax heard before she was enveloped in a soothing blanket of darkness.

  A harsh cry woke her. No. Not a cry. A siren.

  “Oh, finally. The fire department…” a disembodied voice said, followed by a scrabbling sound.

  “Can you hear me?” A different voice. Nearer than the others. Deeper. It was luring her back into the world of pain. She wanted to block out the voice and retreat to her cocoon of darkness. But the voice was persistent. Every word seemed closer, more pronounced. This voice was somehow compelling. She fought free of the darkness that beckoned her.

  “The…pain…” she managed before she gasped for air.

  “We’re giving you meds to ease the pain,” he said. A hand grasped her arm, rotated it gently. The contact was reassuring and gentle. “This’ll help,” he added.

  Jax forced her eyelids open. She needed to put a face to the voice.

  Amidst the scorching bursts of light, she saw him. Dark hair. Strong features. Blue eyes. She felt the prick of a needle in her forearm and an odd taste in her mouth.

  She trusted those eyes and believed the voice that promised her he’d take care of her. Then e
verything went black.

  * * *

  “Ms. Warren? Jacqueline, are you awake?” a female voice called to her.

  Jax didn’t want to wake up. She was comfortable and warm…and exhausted. She tried to snuggle deeper under the covers, but the slightest movement caused pain. She heard a scraping sound to her left, like a chair being pushed back and, coming from the other side, the voice again. “Can you hear me, Jacqueline?”

  A warm touch fluttered across the top of her hand.

  “It’s Jax,” she said. Her own voice, scratchy and hoarse, sounded unfamiliar. “It’s just Jax.” She struggled to open her eyes but her lids were too heavy. Why were the voices determined to stop her from sleeping, when that was all she wanted to do?

  “Good. That’s good.” Another voice, male and vaguely familiar. “She can hear us.”

  This voice was different. When she searched her memory, vivid blue eyes came to mind. She twisted her head toward the male voice, swallowing a groan at the ache caused by the minor shift. At least she was able to open her eyes.

  Dark hair. Dark complexion. Blue eyes. Eyes she recognized. Then everything blurred.

  She felt as if she was trapped in a dense fog, obscuring her vision, hindering her mobility. Her eyelids were too heavy to hold open.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The next time Jax woke, the man with the blue eyes was sitting beside her bed. He was leaning forward in his chair, an arm resting across the bed rail. She’d seen him before—before she was brought to the hospital—and tried to place him. The fog seemed to be inside her head now, not merely swirling around her.

  “Do I know you?” she murmured.

  “No. Not personally.”

  The compassion in his eyes tugged at something inside her.

  “Ryan Hudson,” he said. “I’m a firefighter. I responded to the 911 call about your accident.”

  Jax’s mind wasn’t working properly. She remembered an accident, vaguely. But why would a firefighter be in her room at the hospital? She fixated on the part she could process. “The accident? You were there?”