by Janice Lynn
Ben smiled at the mention of his twin. “Living the lawyer high life in Louisville as she fights for justice for all.” Visibly proud, Ben told of his latest phone conversation with his sister.
Sophie tried to keep her attention on him, but her mind kept straying to Cole. Maybe Ben wouldn’t notice how many times she said Mm-hmm and Oh, really?
When Cole came back into the festively decorated firehall, he glanced around at the others who were watching them intently, then frowned. “We can go outside. It’s not private, but it’s better than being the main event in here for these jokers.”
“Yes. Going outside sounds like a great idea.”
Maybe she would be able to breathe better outdoors.
Sophie waved goodbye to Ben and Andrew, then smiled at Cole, grateful that she’d be able to give him the journal privately so he could tuck it away if he didn’t want the others to see.
His coworkers might already know about his time in the military, but if not, he should be the one to decide who knew about the things he’d gone through. No one else.
Which made her feel a smidge guilty at having read his journal in the first place, but there had been no name. She’d only meant to read enough to try to figure out whose diary it was, but once she’d started, the pages had beckoned to her with a call she hadn’t been able to resist.
Even after reading it completely, she’d still not found a name. All she’d known was that the author was a male Marine who’d seen and endured too much, just as her father had. Not having a name or a face to assign to the journal meant that the connection between the two men had blurred.
For a week, the intense journal had haunted her. Nightly, she’d picked it up to reread passages that had left her chilled and aching for the man who’d written the heart-wrenching words. Who was he? Where was he? Had he pieced his life back together or…or had the darkness overtaken him as it had her father?
Only when she’d found the Christmas card tucked into a crossword puzzle book that had also been in the donated box had she realized the writer’s identity. Discovering that the quiet, stoic man she’d briefly met at Ruby Jenkin’s Fourth of July party was the wounded warrior monopolizing her every waking thought had been a surprise.
Apparently, Cole was full of surprises. She certainly wouldn’t have expected to find the man whose journal she’d read wearing a Santa suit and teasing his coworkers.
Maybe she should have insisted that he keep wearing the suit. Talking to Santa Cole had to be easier than talking to Gorgeous Fireman with a Tormented Past Cole.
Her stomach was a fluttery tangle of nerves.
She shouldn’t be nervous at all. Her palms shouldn’t be clammy. Her heart shouldn’t be racing. She snuck a glance toward Cole and gulped.
He made her feel giddy and feminine and a whole lot nervous. He’d had that effect on her even before she’d read his journal, and now that she’d read it, she wanted to help him.
Needed to help him.
Not that he looked as if he needed help. Now that he was out of his Santa suit, he looked tough, handsome—a bit dangerous, even, as if he could take on the world and win.
He wore the standard black uniform pants and a polo shirt with the firehall emblem over his heart and short sleeves that accentuated his muscles. His dark brown hair was cut in a no-nonsense short style. His eyes—a Siberian Husky pale blue with a darker, deep blue rim—flashed with intelligence, curiosity, and annoyance.
On the outside, Cole was a good-looking, well-put-together firefighter who had probably started more than a few fires in the hearts of Pine Hill’s female population. Hadn’t she noticed him at the picnic and every time their paths had crossed since?
But now, Sophie knew the heartache his handsome exterior hid.
Catching her not-so-sneaky peek in his direction, Cole’s brow rose. “Did I misunderstand you a minute ago? Are you here to pick something up from me rather than give something back? I told the lady on the phone I’d drop the money for the poinsettias by the nursing home. Did they need the check right away?”
Poinsettias? He was the one who had donated the money to buy the poinsettias for the nursing home residents? She’d heard someone had, but—
Sophie half-tripped over her own feet and almost face-planted on the concrete firehall floor. She steadied herself in time that she didn’t think he noticed her lapse as they stepped outside into the sunshine. Or if he did notice, he didn’t let on.
A soft mid-November breeze blew, tickling her face with her hair.
“I’m not here about the poinsettias or money,” she began, tucking the stray strands behind her ears in hopes of keeping them at bay. “And you didn’t misunderstand me. I found something that belongs to you, and I’m here to return it.”
She reached into her bag and pulled out his journal that had the Christmas card tucked inside it.
“This is yours, isn’t it?”
Cole’s gaze dropped to what Sophie held. A sucker punch rammed into his stomach, knocking his breath out of him and leaving him going-to-retch-his-insides-out nauseated.
He could stare down an enemy holding an AK-47 and not flinch, but the book that Sophie held made his knees weak.
“Where did you get that?” he growled, barely managing not to snatch the book from her hands to hurl it aside, like a grenade that needed to be thrown as far away as possible for everyone’s safety.
For his safety.
Sophie winced. He felt a pang of regret over the harsh tone he’d used, but he couldn’t formulate words to apologize. The beauty from the BBQ had his journal.
“I found it at Pine Hill Church in a box of books.”
The sinking sickness pitched back and forth in his stomach, making him wish he’d forgone his protein shake that morning. His journal had been in the stuff he’d dropped off at the church?
“I, well, when I realized whose it was…” Her nervousness was palpable as she sank her teeth into her lower lip and looked up at him with hesitation. “I knew you’d want it back.” She gave a little shrug of both shoulders. “So here I am.”
“You were wrong.” Bile rising in his throat, he gestured to the abomination she held. “I don’t want that.”
Further confusion darkened her eyes. “But…”
“Look.” He ran his fingers through his hair, still not completely used to having anything more than stubble after years of keeping his dark hair buzzed. “I’m sorry you wasted your time. You should’ve just thrown it out. That book’s nothing but garbage.”
Lots and lots of scribbled garbage a chaplain had suggested he get out of his head by pouring it into the journal the man had gifted to Cole. Not for the first time, Cole regretted giving in to that advice. Seeing everything written out just made him more disgusted with himself, causing the memories to hang even heavier on his shoulders.
Why hadn’t he burned the book rather than packing it with the things he’d brought with him to Pine Hill? The mere act of destroying the journal might have gone further in annihilating his memories than putting them onto paper ever had.
“But,” Sophie began again, her eyes wide and her voice a little trembly. “But it’s…I mean, well, it’s—”
“Garbage,” he repeated, cramming his hands into his pants pockets and clenching his short nails into his palms as deeply as they’d go. He just wanted away from their conversation, away from the book that felt like his personal Achilles’ heel—the weak spot in his defenses that could ruin everything good he’d patched his broken life with. “Throw it away.”
“I…”
At her indecision, understanding dawned.
“You read it, didn’t you?” Cole felt like a fool for not immediately realizing. A new wave of nausea spread through him, popping sweat beads out over his skin despite the crisp November air.
Wide-eyed, her lips parted but no sound came out. N
o matter. She didn’t need to say the words. The truth was written all over her face.
One of the things Cole most enjoyed about being in Pine Hill was that no one knew of his past. Chief had some idea, and the guys had picked up on a little thanks to Cole’s occasional nightmares, but none of them were in on the nitty-gritty details.
In Pine Hill, he was seen as a man who volunteered his time and energy to everything the firehall was asked to participate in; a man who put his life on the line to save others.
If, while out battling those fires, he fought inner demons, trying to quench them the way he and his crew squelched nearly uncontrollable blazes from time to time, well, no one needed to know that but him.
Only, Sophie had read about his bleakest moments—and his biggest mistake. She knew the truth.
“I’m sorry,” she said, looking truly remorseful that she’d pried between the pages of his private hell. “I opened it thinking I might find a name so I could return it, but there wasn’t one.” Grimacing, she continued. “And, well, the truth is that once I started reading, I couldn’t stop.”
She’d read it all. Of course, she’d read it all. She probably thought him a monster.
As much as he wanted to look away, he didn’t. Jaw locked tight, he kept his gaze unyielding as it met hers. He could handle whatever judgement she placed on him.
Lord knew she couldn’t judge him any more harshly than he judged himself.
“How did you figure out it was mine?”
“There was a Christmas card addressed to you inside a crossword puzzle book that came from the same box. I stuck the card there, inside your journal.”
Without looking at the book, he knew the one she meant. Why had he kept the photo card his mother had sent?
“Toss it as well.”
“But…” she paused, “You’re sure?”
“Positive.” He didn’t want the sentimental reminder of the family he’d never felt a part of any more than he wanted the journal. His mother had her new life, as did his father, complete with new families. There wasn’t a place for him in that picture—but at least they were happy. That was enough for Cole.
“I’m so sorry for what you went through,” Sophie said softly, hugging the journal to her as if she was clinging to the book in effort to keep her hands to herself. As if she wanted to reach out to him.
He didn’t need or want her pity. He’d rather she screamed and yelled at him for his failures. Feeling sorry for him? That, he couldn’t take. He wasn’t some emotional charity case needing her Christmastime goodwill.
He was fine.
Frustration and anger that she’d read his journal burned, taking hold and quickly consuming him. The rational part of him knew it was his fault for not realizing the journal was in the donated box, but in this moment, rational thinking didn’t matter. That book had never been meant for anyone to read, and especially not the bubbly, full-of-goodness woman he’d met over the summer. She never should have been exposed to the pure ugliness marring the pages. Marring him.
When he spoke again, he kept his voice low and steady. “I get that you didn’t know who the journal belonged to, so you read it. Fine. Go back to your life-is-a-bed-of-roses existence and forget everything you read.”
Wincing a little, she shook her head. “I can’t do that.”
Surprised at how her gaze hadn’t wavered from his when he’d expected her to walk away and never waste another breath on him again, Cole frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Her chock-full-of-emotion gaze studied his. “I won’t forget what you wrote as long as I live.”
“Then I’m the one who’s sorry.” No one should be subjected to his failings. Not in real life. Not in writing. “But that doesn’t mean I want the book back. Thanks, but no thanks.” He couldn’t bring himself to look at the journal clutched to her chest, much less to touch the worn leather book.
“Do the world a favor and throw the thing in the trash. Or better yet, burn it.” Even Superman has his Kryptonite, he reminded himself, determined he would not let this drag him down into a place he never wanted to return to. “I don’t care so long as you get rid of it because I never want to see that book, or you, again.”
Chapter Two
“Can you believe he didn’t want the journal back?” Sophie mused later that day as she unpacked a shipment of holiday fabric at The Threaded Needle. She and her sister worked hard to keep fresh supplies available to their clients at their boutique-style quilt shop located on Pine Hill’s town square.
From the far end of the checkout counter, Isabelle said, “What I can’t believe is that you’re still talking about him and that journal you found.”
Sophie paused from pulling out a bolt of candy cane–print material to stare at her sister. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’ve been talking about him all morning,” Isabelle pointed out. She tucked a strand of her shoulder-length pale blond hair behind her ear, then shrugged. “So what if the guy didn’t want his journal back? It’s his choice, right? Do as he asked and get rid of it.”
Horrified, Sophie gasped. “Absolutely not!”
Isabelle didn’t know what the journal contained, as Sophie had glossed over the details when her sister had asked. Even before she’d met Cole, Sophie had felt protective of the book and its contents.
Isabelle arched a brow, frowning in that older sister way she had. “You’ve got no right to keep his journal, not when he told you to get rid of it.”
Purposely not looking at Isabelle, Sophie went back to pulling Christmas-printed fabric bolts from the box and ignored the smidge of guilt she felt at disregarding Cole’s wishes.
“I do have the right,” she said after a few minutes of mental gymnastics. “He donated it to the church holiday rummage sale, and I bought it.”
Even though she’d assumed Cole had donated it by mistake, she’d still insisted on paying for it before taking it away from the church. The event helped raise money to give families with limited means grocery gift cards for them to purchase food for Christmas.
“I tried to return it,” she continued. “He didn’t want it back.” Maybe he truly wanted to just forget. She supposed she could understand that. Still, she couldn’t imagine tossing out something that contained so much of him on the pages.
She couldn’t do it.
“It’s mine now.”
“Fine.” Sighing, her sister shook her head. “It’s bought and paid for.” Isabelle’s eyes crinkled with curiosity. “Tell me, though, what did this guy look like? Was he cute?”
Cute? That was like calling Mount Everest a mound of dirt.
Cole was…feeling her face flush, Sophie averted her gaze and shrugged. “Um, you’ve met him. At Ruby’s this summer. He’s…okay.”
“Okay” was a worse description than “cute,” but she wasn’t telling her nosy sister how disturbingly attractive she found Cole.
“Oh my goodness.” Isabelle’s voice took on a higher pitch as she came around the corner under the guise of helping with the fabric. “I don’t remember him, but he really must be cute. I can tell by your face.”
Sophie focused on unpacking the brightly patterned material as if she were unveiling delicate prized possessions that required her utmost attention and care. She kind of did feel that way about fabric, especially this shipment as they prepped for the Christmas season.
“Okay,” Isabelle picked up a snowman-printed bolt, “now, I want to know more. Tell me all.”
Sophie shoved a cardinal-red bolt of fabric at her sister. “Not much to say. Here, go put this on the shelf. With the upcoming holidays, we’re going through this shade like crazy. I bet we use even more after I teach my class on do-it-yourself stockings in December.”
Isabelle laughed. “I haven’t seen you this flustered over a guy since Jimmy Allbad in the seventh grade.”
“His name was Jimmy Algood,” she corrected, unable to stop herself even though she knew Isabelle was just teasing her with the mistake. “And thank goodness that didn’t work out.”
For real, Sophie was thankful for that miss.
Sure, someday she’d like to meet the right guy, marry, and have a few kids, but Prince Charming needed to hold off a few years until Sophie had the time to think about anything other than making sure they could pay the bank note on the quilt shop.
Cole was no Prince Charming. More like a surly brute who’d snapped at her, then walked away, leaving her slack-jawed as she watched him disappear inside the fire station.
Only…no, no, no. Sophie needed to quit thinking about him.
“Yeah, you two didn’t make it past eighth grade,” Isabelle teased about Jimmy. “So, what was it about this Marine that has you in such a teenage-girl tizzy?”
Was that why Sophie couldn’t stop thinking about him? Because she was schoolgirl crushing? She didn’t think so since she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the journal’s owner even before she’d known it was Cole. His words had reached in and put her heart through the ringer. That he had the most intriguing eyes of anyone she’d ever met had just added to the fascination.
Sophie fought fanning her face.
Okay, so maybe she was schoolgirl crushing.
Not that it would do her any good, if the anger in his eyes had been any indication. She’d read his journal and that apparently made her enemy number one.
He never wants to see me again.
Sophie’s face heated as she realized she was still distracted. No wonder Isabelle thought she was in a schoolgirl tizzy.
Rolling her shoulders back to stretch the tension in her neck, Sophie sighed. “I’m just disappointed he didn’t want his journal.”
“Not everyone cherishes journaling the way you do,” Isabella pointed out.
“You keep the birthday dairies Aunt Claudia gives us every year, too,” she reminded.