Christmas at Peleliu Cove

by M. L. Buchman

  Clear, no noteworthy activity. A few groups seated at tables. Finished meals pushed aside.

  Choosing the cover of a distant clatter of sound, he slipped past the doorway and continued down the passageway. A brief commotion ahead masked any sound of his footsteps and he used the distraction to travel more rapidly to the next doorway.

  Just shy of the frame, he once against became still. A burst of laughter punctuated by a sharp bang of steel.

  He knew that the human eye was more alert to motion at normal head level, so he squatted and did a roll-in, roll-out one-eyed check through this door at knee height.

  One, two, three, four…five in a close group, exactly as expected. Beyond them, others in the motion.

  One seated. Back to the door. A back he would know anywhere whether in a tight Navy blue t-shirt as it presently was, naked before him as it had sometimes been, or wrapped in full service gear while flying a hovercraft. And if he’d needed further proof, she had a Santa hat sticking out of her back pocket.

  That he would take as an encouraging sign.

  He continued squatting in the corridor outside the Peleliu’s main galley, his back resting against the steel bulkhead and listened. No distinguishable words, but a tone of light banter and easy laughs. Women’s voices overlapped rapidly in multiple cascading conversations that were impossible to follow. How did they do that?

  Then a voice stood out, the excited tones of Trisha O’Malley.

  “Just stretch him out on the table here and we’ll cut him down to size for you,” followed by the sharp whack of a knife landing hard against a cutting board.

  That didn’t sound good.

  A round of laughter following.

  Really not good. His instincts, as confirmed by Michael, were right; things were getting out of hand.

  He closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. He needed a new plan and he needed it fast.

  “Try it, you’ll like it,” Trisha’s voice again cutting through the general noise from inside the galley.

  Try what? Oh. His mind sorted out the rest of the image that his quick glance had captured. He’d been overwhelmed by the sight of Nika. But now he could see what she’d been doing, what all of the women had been doing.

  Making Christmas cookies.

  Well, if he ever needed a new plan of attack, that was one holiday custom made to his liking.

  He twisted back to his feet and hurried back up a ladderway. If the gods of Christmas cheer were still with him, he’d catch Sly and Michael before they cleared out of the mess.

  Chapter 14

  Trisha had handed her a baked gingerbread man on which she’d piped a particularly large bulge of icing between his legs.

  “Tried it already,” Nika said back to her. “Like it just fine.” She bit the head off the cookie and mimicked Trisha’s earlier “Yum” sound to make her point, evoking another round of laughter. Nika couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed so much.

  “Den wha’ be de problem, gel?” Lola asked in a New Orleans Creole accent so thick it might have been spoken by some ancient voodoo-priestess crone.

  That sobered Nika. There were things she’d explained to Clint, that she still couldn’t believe that she’d told him, but she definitely wasn’t going to be explaining to anyone else. However, her new friends deserved an answer.

  Friends. Impossibly, in just a few hours of making cookies, she knew they were. Nika hadn’t collected many friends over the years. People she served with, respected, liked, even hung out with. But this circle of women was different. They were…friends. No other word fit.

  As the rest of the kitchen staff had come off meal duty, they’d shifted over to cookie prep, rolling out the big sheets of light sugar dough and dark gingerbread, and then punching down the cookie cutouts and doing the baking. Their table had switched over to focusing completely on the decorating. Piping bags of royal icing in a half dozen colors lay about the table. Bowls of cinnamon hearts, bright sprinkles, and nonpareil balls. There was even a supply of those white and silver sugar pearls that were harder than jacketed bullets.

  Trisha, for all the chaos that seemed to surround her, had the finest hand for decoration other than Gail. Claudia was also neat and precise. Lola was somewhat more chaotic, but her imagination made for fantastic, if unexpected results. Nika had been relegated to piping a neat line around the edges of cookies and then filling in the inside space with a lighter float of royal icing, leaving it for others to create the details. The few that she had done to completion on her own had been deemed acceptable only for immediate consumption.

  “I didn’t realize that cookie decoration was such a learned skill.” She’d never decorated a Christmas cookie in her life. Mom didn’t believe in baking; she believed in store-bought and, when there was an important social event, catering.

  “Stick with us,” Gail decorated another half-dozen cookies with an effortless flourish. “You’ll get the hang of it.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” she did her best to imitate Lola’s earlier crone. “Whatever youse says, ma’am,” which earned her the laugh she’d been seeking.

  Except from Claudia. Claudia Gibson set down her piping bag and turned to look at her.

  In that moment Nika knew she was screwed. She could fend off Trisha with a tease and Lola with a laugh. She’d found she could even dodge Gail because she had too much Southern politeness to push. But Claudia’s frank gaze wasn’t going to let her squirm aside or deny who she was.

  “I—” Nika tried to answer her, but couldn’t find the words. The rest of the activity around the table eased to a halt. The others in the kitchen blurred into the background until she could barely see them.

  Somehow the four women had all been waiting for this. Had simply been waiting for her to reach a point where…where she couldn’t speak.

  Not a one of them, not even Trisha, had a laugh for her, or even a smile.

  It was Claudia who broke the silence. “There’s a moment, isn’t there? A moment when the way forward is as clouded as the way back.”

  Nika could only nod. They’d teased her about Clint with an easy way, with a fair dose of lewd jokes. They’d regaled her and each other with tales of their own husbands—both the good and the bad—but there was no denying their deep love for their men. It was a sound that had pulled and tugged at her until now she sat in the midst of their quiet circle and didn’t know what to say.

  “He’s the best man I’ve ever met.” The others nodded soberly.

  “In or out of bed?” Trisha teased and Lola just rolled her eyes at her friend’s back.

  “Both.” And Nika knew it was true as soon as she’d said it. Her body ached with its need for him. But that wasn’t the best of him. It was the man who cared for his troops, for the women he’d rescued, and for herself that had been literally swept her off her feet.

  She had abused him and dumped him, and he hadn’t thrown it back in her face as any other man would have. What had he done instead? He’d recruited Gail to find some way to win her back. An interesting choice, one of blind faith. He’d have no control over how his tactic fared, but he had taken the risk anyway. That’s when she understood even more of him. He wasn’t going to give up; he didn’t know the meaning of the word.

  Instead he’d said that he loved her. Even more, he’d said it after she’d told him that it wasn’t her life she was living. He saw her as stronger for having followed the path she had walked, not weaker.

  And she was the one who had walked it, not her best friend. She was an LCAC Loadmaster on a ship that catered to the most elite Special Operations team she’d ever seen or heard of: Night Stalkers, Delta’s senior warrior, and Clint’s Rangers combined.

  She was a Craftmaster-in-training. Not Keila. All the things she’d done in her best friend’s name were also hers.

  Nika hadn’t seen that. But…


  But Clint had. And she’d…Oh god, she’d cast him aside.

  “Think she’s ready for it?” Trisha asked.

  Nika couldn’t look up, just stared down at the table in front of her. She wasn’t ready for anything.

  Claudia slipped a cookie in front of her. For a moment Nika wondered why, because it was already finished.

  And it was awful.

  Not even up to her own lame standard. The edges were all crooked, the piping wiggled in ridiculous fashion, and the icing was battleship gray and black—no one in their right mind would eat this cookie.

  Then she focused on it.

  It was an LCAC.

  The edges weren’t made with a cookie cutter; this was a knife-cookie, carved out of a sheet of dough by an inexpert hand. The profile was head-on and two large fans humped the top of the cookie. The rubber spray skirt was a smear of black across the bottom and the rest a smudgy version of Navy-gray icing. A control station and Loadmaster’s station had been piped into place with some care and an unpracticed hand. Red and green nonpareils had been very carefully placed between the two stations, like a drooping line of Christmas lights.

  In the center of the cookie, roughly mid-deck, had been placed a pair of cinnamon hearts.

  Only one hand could have made this and the thoughtfulness behind it had her wiping at her eyes. Clint had chosen her place to make the cookie. He knew where she belonged, even if she didn’t. Hadn’t.

  “Oh god,” she blinked hard and had to wipe her eyes again before she could see the women standing with her. She could see that they were in on it. Could now recall Claudia leaving at odd moments, perhaps meeting with Clint out in the hall.

  But she could also see that they weren’t plotting against her. There wasn’t a dry eye among them, they were all four…all five counting herself…a complete mess.

  Gail handed her a paper napkin that she used to daub her eyes and then blow her nose.

  “Where is he?”

  But she knew even before she asked.

  Careful not to break it, she placed Clint’s butt-ugly beautiful LCAC cookie on a fresh napkin and headed out to find him.

  Chapter 15

  Nika knew where she was going, but still wasn’t prepared for what she found there.

  The Peleliu’s Well Deck was deserted. The LCAC sat there with its bow ramp raised, still looking like a murdered steel shoebox. The only light in the whole cavernous space came from red-and-green Christmas lights that had indeed been strung between the two control stations. It looked just like the cookie she still cradled carefully in both of her hands.

  With a sharp hiss that made her jump, the bow ramp released and then folded open before her. She had started to look up toward the shadowed control station. Instead her eyes were riveted to what was revealed as the ramp lowered.

  Sitting in the center of the deck stood a two-foot tall Christmas tree. When she boarded and moved closer, she could see its details. The tree was formed from two plates of eighth-inch steel hastily cut with a welding torch, rejoined in tree shape, and painted bright green. It too had been draped with lights—white ones that twinkled on and off. Ornaments had been stuck on all over its surfaces—the many incarnations of Rudolph’s nose, each saved as if for this moment. Even her “Girl reindeer lead the way” button blinked on and off from its place of honor near the very top. The tree had been crowned with a steel star—a six-pointed Star of David. He’d made her a Hanukkah bush.

  A blanket had been spread before the tree. At the center stood an ammo can for 7.62mm rounds with the lid flopped open and a bouquet of roses cut from the red cloth warning covers used to protect missiles prior to loading onto aircraft. A small picnic had been set up before it: a small basket of some of Gail’s finest cookies, a bottle of cider, two glasses. She set Clint’s cookie in the basket.

  She felt rather than heard the man moving toward her out of the hatch from the control station ladder. Nika rose to her feet, but didn’t turn as she waited for him.

  He stopped a mere step behind her.

  Nika tried to speak, but completely failed past the tightness in her throat.

  Clint finally saved her, “I see you got my cookie.”

  She nodded quickly, “Most beautiful one I ever saw.” And she looked back down at it, knowing she’d start crying again if she turned to look at him. And that’s when the two hearts registered. Really registered. Clint had placed them as closely together as the two of them now stood. “Truly Clint, you’re the best man I’ve ever known.”

  “Despite leveling me on the dirt?”

  “I wish we could go back there, to that cove. Redo the past and make it our cove. Redo so much of the past.” But would she? The cove, yes. But somehow, as if it was woman’s magic, the circle of incredible, cookie-baking women, had made her see that whatever road she might have traveled, it had led her, Nika Maier, here. In the present tense, here seemed like a good place to be—a very good place.

  “How about redoing the future?” Clint’s voice was light, but she could hear the weight behind it. She knew his every tone and the question was desperately important to him.

  She turned to look up at him, his dark features lit by the blinking Hanukkah bush lights behind her. “Can’t redo something that hasn’t been done yet, Ranger.”

  His smile reflected some of his relief. “I don’t know, sailor. I was picturing a future without you and it wasn’t working so good in my brain.”

  “Well, it is just an Army brain, soldier. I wouldn’t expect too much of it.”

  Clint’s smile remained, but it turned serious despite the lightness he kept in his tone, “This man’s Army brain knows what it wants, Navy. Does yours?”

  Nika thought about it. Did she? She’d lived someone else’s dreams for the last eight years of her life. It was a surprise gift that they had become her own without her noticing. But maybe it was time to start living dreams that were completely her own. More than maybe.

  “It might, Army. My brain has some definite ideas.”

  He brushed a finger down her cheek and she could see that Clint knew what it had cost her, both the past and owning the present. He knew her like no one else ever had, not even herself. No more doubts remained of what she wanted for the future. His question was so in sync with her feelings that it came as no surprise when he asked it.

  “So, what do you think, Maier? In the mood to make a promise?”

  “Nope,” she couldn’t make it that easy on him. “Sorry to disappoint you, Lieutenant.”

  She saw him take it in. It was a bitter pill, but he swallowed it down quickly and the look of absolute determination came once more into his eyes. Nika had been right; there was no stopping a Ranger once he’d set his sights on something. And with a heart like Clint’s behind that determination, a woman couldn’t ask for more.

  “However,” she moved a half step closer and rested a hand on his chest. She could feel the shiver of relief that rippled up his frame. “I might be in the mood to break one.”

  “I think you’ll have to explain that, Petty Officer. Remember, I’m just a simple Army Ranger. We like to have things spelled out for us, especially when they don’t make any damned sense at all.”

  “I made a promise to myself. I have never once broken such a promise. For you I just might make this one time exception.”

  “Be okay if I ask what that promise is?” He slid his hands onto her waist and she allowed him to drag her slowly in until they were pressed together and her nose once more rested against the center of his chest.

  “I promised myself I would never fall in love.”

  “Huh. Well, I wouldn’t want you to be breaking any promises on my account.” He kissed her on top of her head and it warmed her all the way through.

  She tilted her head back to smile up at him, “I think we’re too late for that, Ranger.” She pulled the
Santa hat out of her back pocket and tugged it on his head. Then she let her hands rest on his shoulders. “But I’ll tell you what.”

  “What?” He twisted his head to flip the pom-pom to the back. “You’ve only got a moment before the man in the Santa hat kisses you, woman. So speak quick.”

  “When we find an aisle to walk down, I’ll let you lead the way.”

  He said only one thing before he leaned down to seal his promise with a kiss.

  “Hoo-ah!”

  About the Author

  M. L. Buchman has over 40 novels in print. His military romantic suspense books have been named Barnes & Noble and NPR “Top 5 of the Year,” nominated for the Reviewer’s Choice Award for “Top 10 Romantic Suspense of 2014” by RT Book Reviews, and twice Booklist “Top 10 of the Year” placing two of his titles on their “The 101 Best Romance Novels of the Last 10 Years.” In addition to romance, he also writes thrillers, fantasy, and science fiction.

  In among his career as a corporate project manager he has: rebuilt and single-handed a fifty-foot sailboat, both flown and jumped out of airplanes, designed and built two houses, and bicycled solo around the world.

  He is now making his living as a full-time writer on the Oregon Coast with his beloved wife. He is constantly amazed at what you can do with a degree in Geophysics. You may keep up with his writing by subscribing to his newsletter at www.mlbuchman.com.

  Target of the Heart

  (excerpt)

  —a Night Stalkers 5E Novel—

  Major Pete Napier hovered his MH-47G Chinook helicopter ten kilometers outside of Lhasa, Tibet and a mere two inches off the tundra. A mixed action team of Delta Force and The Activity—the slipperiest intel group on the planet—flung themselves aboard.

  The additional load sent an infinitesimal shift in the cyclic control in his right hand. The hydraulics to close the rear loading ramp hummed through the entire frame of the massive helicopter. By the time his crew chief could reach forward to slap an “all secure” signal against his shoulder, they were already ten feet up and fifty out. That was enough altitude. He kept the nose down as he clawed for speed in the thin air at eleven thousand feet.