A Piece of Texas Trilogy

by Peggy Moreland

  PEGGY MORELAND

  A Piece of Texas Trilogy

  Published by Silhouette Books

  America’s Publisher of Contemporary Romance

  Contents

  The Texan’s Forbidden Affair

  The Texan’s Convenient Marriage

  The Texan’s Honor-Bound Promise

  About the Author

  Coming Next Month

  Dear Reader,

  A PIECE OF TEXAS is a new series and one that is very close to my heart. Each book is linked by a group of fictional soldiers, who served together during the Vietnam War, and a piece of a deed to a ranch each was given before going off to war. Although the focus of each story is on the next generation of one of the soldiers’ family members, I did quite a bit of research on the Vietnam War. Most of the research wasn’t necessary, as each story takes place in the present time, but I was determined to learn as much about the experiences and the lives of the soldiers who served there.

  Although I grew up on the fringes of the Vietnam War—it was being fought during my high school and college years—I knew very little about the war and was, for the most part, untouched by it…until I married a Vietnam vet. My husband was a Green Beret in the United States Army and was a part of the MACV-SOG (Military Assistance Command, Vietnam—Studies and Observation Group), an unconventional warfare task force engaged in highly classified operations throughout Southeast Asia. Throughout our marriage, he talked very little about the time he spent in Vietnam, and only recently began sharing more and more of his experiences there. I never understood his reluctance to discuss his experiences and I’m not sure that he could, either, if he were asked, but I have a feeling it was a means of self-preservation.

  It’s been thirty-five years since my husband returned from Vietnam and it was only this past year that he was willing to visit the Vietnam Memorial in Washington, D.C. It was a very emotional experience for him, as names of many of the men he served with are carved on the wall. David “Babysan” Davidson, the soldier whom this book is dedicated to, is one of those names.

  I hope you enjoy reading this series, and I hope, too, that through the small peeks I’ve offered of the soldiers’ experiences, you might gain a better appreciation for the men in the armed forces who put their lives on the line for our country each and every day.

  Peggy Moreland

  PEGGY MORELAND

  The Texan’s Forbidden Affair

  Published by Silhouette Books

  America’s Publisher of Contemporary Romance

  Dedicated to the memory of

  David Arthur Davidson

  “Babysan”

  Staff Sergeant

  Special Forces

  United States Army

  March 8, 1947–October 6, 1971

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  Older men declare war. But it is the youth that must fight and die.

  —Herbert Hoover

  June 14, 1971

  It was a hell of a way for a man to spend his last night in the States. Given a choice, Larry Blair would have preferred to be curled up in bed with his wife rather than sitting in a smoke-filled bar watching his buddies get drunk.

  But the Army wasn’t into choices. Larry’s orders were to report to San Francisco International Airport, 15 June at 0500. Five new soldiers assigned to his platoon—all Texas boys—had agreed to meet on Monday in Austin, Texas, to catch a late flight to San Francisco. There they would board yet another plane for the last leg of their journey.

  Destination: Vietnam.

  Larry looked around at the guys seated at the table. Fast Eddie. T.J. Preacher. Poncho. Romeo. Those weren’t their real names, of course. Real names were all but forgotten two days after hitting boot camp and replaced with one better suited to the guy’s personality. Since meeting up with the soldiers, Larry had lost one handle—Tex—and received another—Pops. He supposed the new one was a better fit, since he was the oldest member of the group.

  He shook his head sadly. Twenty-one and the oldest. Proof enough of the youth and inexperience of the soldiers fighting this damn war.

  He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully as he studied the soldiers sitting at the table, wondering if a one of them had a clue what he would be in for once he reached ’Nam.

  He sure as hell did. Unlike the others, this was his second tour of duty in ’Nam. When he’d completed his first assignment, he’d re-upped for another six months. At the time it had seemed like the thing to do. In many ways Vietnam was a young man’s wet dream. Whores, booze and drugs for the taking, plus the adrenaline high that came with engaging in combat and the thrill of cheating death one more day. With no family waiting for him back home, no job to return to, he’d thought, Why not roll the dice and stay another six months?

  But during the thirty-day leave he’d received as a bonus for re-upping, he’d met and fallen in love with Janine Porter and married her two weeks later. Now he’d give his right arm to be able to erase his name from that dotted line. He had a wife, and that was a damn good reason to stay alive.

  But like they say, he thought, lifting his beer in acknowledgment of the old adage, hindsight is twenty-twenty.

  Before he could take a sip, Romeo scraped back his chair and headed for the bar and a woman seated there. The soldiers remaining at the table immediately began laying bets as to whether or not he would score. Larry didn’t bother to reach for his wallet. If what he’d heard about Romeo’s reputation was true, the lady didn’t stand a chance. According to the guys who’d gone through basic training with him, Romeo could charm the panties off a nun and receive them as a souvenir afterward.

  A shadow fell across the table, and Larry glanced over his shoulder to find a man standing behind him.

  “You soldiers headed for Vietnam?” the stranger asked.

  Larry hesitated a moment, unsure of the man’s purpose in approaching him. Americans ’view of the Vietnam war varied, and he’d been called everything from a hero to a murderer. But he wasn’t ashamed of the uniform he wore or the job he was doing for his country. And he sure as hell wasn’t one to back down from a fight, if pushed.

  Scraping back his chair, he stood, his head high, his shoulders square. “Yes, sir. We’re catching a plane for San Francisco tonight, then shipping out for ’Nam tomorrow.”

  The man nodded, his expression turning grave. “Thought so. My son served in ’Nam.”

  Relieved that the man didn’t appear to be looking for trouble, Larry asked, “What branch of the service was he in?”

  “Army. Didn’t wait for the draft to get him. Volunteered fresh out of high school.”

  “What’s his name? Maybe I know him. This’ll be my second tour.”

  “Walt Webber,” the man replied, then shook his head sadly. “But I doubt you’d know him. He was killed in ’68. Stepped on a mine four days before he was supposed to leave for home.”

  Larry nodded soberly, having heard similar stories. “I’m sorry for your loss, sir. A lot of good men didn’t make it home.”

  The man nodded, then forced a smile and offered his hand. “I’m Walt Sr., though I reckon the senior’s no longer necessary.”

  Larry gripped the man’s hand firmly in his own. “I’m pleased to meet you, sir. Larry Blair.”

  Walt shifted his gaze and nodded toward the others gathered around the table. “I’d consider it an honor if you’d let me buy you and your friends a drink.”

&nb
sp; Larry dragged up another chair. “Only if you’ll join us.”

  The man’s face lit with pleasure at the invitation. “Why, thank you, son. It’s been a while since I’ve had the opportunity to spend time with any young folks.”

  After they were seated, Larry introduced Walt to the others, then gestured to the bar where Romeo was still sweet-talking the lady. “And that’s Romeo,” he explained. “He’s with us, too.”

  “Romeo,” Walt repeated, then chuckled. “Looks like the name fits.”

  Smiling, Larry nodded his agreement. “Yes, sir, it does.”

  Walt bought a round of drinks for everyone, then bought another round when Romeo returned, after losing his chance of scoring with his lady friend when her husband showed up. He received a good razzing from those who had lost money on the bet, then conversation at the table dwindled.

  Walt studied the soldiers as they nursed their drinks. “You boys scared?” he asked bluntly.

  Preacher, the meekest of the bunch and probably the most honest, was the first to respond. “Yes, sir,” he admitted. “I’ve never shot a man before. Not sure I can.”

  “I ’magine you’ll find it easy enough once those Vietcong start shooting at you,” Walt assured him.

  “Maybe,” Preacher replied, though his expression remained doubtful.

  Walt took a sip of his drink, then set it down and sighed. “Hell of a war. From what my son told me, it’s like fighting ghosts. The Vietcong hit hard, then slip back over the border into the safe zone where the Americans can’t touch them.”

  “True enough,” Larry agreed. “To make matters worse, it’s hard to tell who’s the enemy. Old men. Women. Children. They all pose a threat, as they’re just as likely to be carrying a gun or grenade as the Vietcong soldiers.”

  Walt nodded. “My son said the same thing. Claimed the number of casualties reported is nothing compared to the number of soldiers who’ve been maimed by booby traps or mines.” He set his mouth in a grim line. “That’s what got Walt Jr. After he stepped on that mine, there was nothing left of him but pieces to ship home.”

  Larry saw the shadow of sadness in the man’s eyes and knew Walt was still grieving for his son. But there was nothing he could say to ease the man’s sorrow. All he could do was listen.

  “He was my only son,” Walt went on. “Only child, for that matter. We lost his mother to cancer when he was in grade school, and with her all hope of having any more children. Walt Jr. was planning to work the ranch with me when he got out of the service. We were going to be partners.” He dragged a sleeve across the moisture that filled his eyes. “Won’t be doing that now.”

  Every soldier at the table ducked his head, obviously uncomfortable with witnessing a grown man’s tears. But Larry couldn’t look away. He understood Walt’s grief. He may not have lost a son to the war, but he’d lost friends. Good friends. Friends whose memories he’d carry with him until the day he died.

  He clasped a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Your son was fortunate to have a father who cared so much for him.”

  Walt glanced at Larry and their eyes met, held a long moment. “Thank you, son,” he said quietly, then swallowed hard. “My only hope is he knew how much I loved him. I never was one for expressing my feelings much.”

  Larry gave Walt’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze before releasing it. “He knew,” he assured him. “Words aren’t always necessary.”

  Firming his mouth, Walt nodded as if comforted by the assurance, then forced a smile and looked around the table. “So. What do you boys plan to do when you get back home?”

  Romeo shrugged. “Beats me. Haven’t thought that far ahead.”

  “Same here,” T.J. said, and the others nodded their agreement.

  Walt glanced at Larry. “What about you?”

  Larry frowned thoughtfully. “I’m not sure. I’ve never done anything but soldiering. Signed up right out of high school, intending to make a career of it.” He smiled sheepishly. “But I got married a couple of weeks ago and that’s changed things considerably. Army life is hard on a family. Once I finish up this tour, I’m hoping to find myself a new career, one that’ll allow me to stay closer to home.”

  “Ever done any ranching?” Walt asked.

  Larry choked a laugh. “Uh, no, sir, can’t say that I have.”

  Walt glanced at the others. “How about y’all?”

  Romeo smoothed a hand down his chest and preened. “I have. One summer, my old man cut a deal with a buddy of his for me to work on a ranch. Figured it would keep me out of trouble.”

  “Did it?” Walt asked.

  Romeo shot him a sly look. “Depends on what you call trouble.”

  His reply drew a laugh from the soldiers at the table, as well as from Walt.

  “Tell you what,” Walt said. “Since my son can’t be my partner on the ranch, why don’t the six of you take his place? Everybody gets an equal share, and when I pass on, the ranch will be yours.”

  For a moment Larry could only stare. Was the man drunk? Crazy? Nobody just up and gave a ranch to total strangers. “Uh, that’s awfully nice of you,” he said hesitantly, “but we couldn’t accept a gift like that.”

  “Why not?” Walt asked indignantly. “It’s mine to give to whoever I want, and it just so happens I want you boys to have it.”

  Larry glanced at the others at the table, reluctant to voice his concerns out loud. “With all due respect, sir, there’s no guarantee we’ll make it home either.”

  Walt shot him a confident wink. “I’m bettin’ you will.” He slipped a hand into his shirt pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper and a pen. After spreading the paper open on the table, he began to write.

  “This here is a bill of sale,” he explained as he wrote. “I’m naming each one of you as part owner in the Cedar Ridge Ranch.”

  “But we don’t know anything about ranching,” Larry reminded him.

  Walt waved away his concern. “Doesn’t matter. I can teach you boys everything you need to know.”

  When he’d completed the document, he stood and shouted to the occupants of the bar, “Anybody here a notary public?”

  A woman seated at a table on the far side of the room lifted her hand. “I am.”

  “Have you got your seal on you?” he asked.

  She picked up her purse and gave it a pat. “Just like American Express. Never leave home without it.”

  He waved her over. “Come on, then. I need you to notarize something for me.”

  When she reached the table, Walt explained that he wanted her to witness the soldiers signing the document, then make it official by applying her seal. After she nodded her assent, he passed the piece of paper to T.J., who sat at his left. “Sign your name right here,” he instructed, pointing.

  T.J. hesitated a moment, then shrugged and scrawled his name. The piece of paper passed from man to man until it reached Larry.

  Larry looked at Walt doubtfully. “Are you sure about this?”

  “Never more sure of anything in my life,” Walt replied. He shot Larry another wink. “I’ll share a little secret with you. On the last tax appraisal the Cedar Ridge Ranch was valued at three million. Y’all knowing that you’re part owners in a place like that is going to give you boys a reason to stay alive.”

  Three million dollars? Larry thought in amazement. He’d never seen that kind of money in his life! He puffed his cheeks and blew out a long breath, then thought, What the hell, and added his name to the bottom of the page.

  After verifying that all appeared legal, Walt took the document and tore it into six pieces. He lined them up on the table. “Now it’s your turn,” he informed the notary public. “Sign your name on each and stamp ’em with your seal.”

  Though Larry could tell the woman was as stunned by Walt’s generosity as he was, she dutifully signed her name on each slip of paper, then pulled her embosser from her purse and applied the official seal.

  When she was done, Walt gathered up the pieces. �
��Keep this someplace safe,” he instructed the soldiers as he handed each a section of the torn document. “When your tour of duty is up, you boys put the bill of sale back together and come to the Cedar Ridge and claim your ranch.”

  Larry stared at the scrap of paper a moment, unable to believe this was really happening. Giving his head a shake, he slipped the paper into his shirt pocket, then extended his hand to Walt. “Thank you, sir.”

  Smiling, Walt grasped his hand. “The pleasure’s all mine.” He stood and tucked the pen into his shirt pocket. “I reckon I better head for home. It’s too late for an old man like me to be out.” He leveled a finger that encompassed all the soldiers. “Now you boys be careful, you hear?” he warned, then grinned. “Y’all’ve got yourselves a ranch to run when you get home.”

  One

  Stephanie Calloway had always prided herself on her ability to handle even the most complex situations with both efficiency and calm. As one of the most sought-after photo stylists in Dallas, Texas, those two traits were crucial to her success. On any given day she juggled six-figure budgets, kept track of prop inventories valued sometimes in the millions, and coordinated the schedules of the photographers, models and assistant stylists assigned to a particular shoot. If requested, she could transform an empty corner of a photographer’s studio into a beach on the Caribbean, outfit a dozen models in swimwear to populate the space, then tear it all down and create an entirely different setting on the whim of a hard-to-please client.

  So why, when faced with the task of disassembling and disposing of the houseful of items her parents had accumulated during their thirty years of marriage, did she feel so overwhelmed, so inadequate, so utterly helpless?