Cards of Love: Knight of Wands
Claudia Burgoa
Copyright © 2018 by Claudia Burgoa
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic, photocopying, mechanical or otherwise, without express permission of the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, brands, media, places, story lines and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, or any events or occurrences, is purely coincidental.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products, brands, and-or restaurants referenced in this work of fiction, of which have been used without permission. The use of these trademarks is not authorized with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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Contents
Title
Dedicated to
Epigraph
Knight of Wands
Prologue
1. Oliver
2. Oliver
3. Kaitlynn
4. Kaitlynn
5. Oliver
6. Kaitlynn
7. Kaitlynn
8. Oliver
9. Kaitlynn
10. Kaitlynn
11. Kaitlynn
12. Letters
13. Oliver
14. Kaitlynn
15. Oliver
16. Kaitlynn
Epilogue
Cards of Love
Until I Fall
My One Regret
Dear reader,
Acknowledgments
Also By Claudia Burgoa
About the Author
Dedicated to
Lara, thank you for being part of my tribe. The Paige to my Kaitlynn
Epigraph
“Above all, be the heroine of your life, not the victim.”
― Nora Ephron
Knight of Wands
Knights are the action men of the tarot. They go, they get. They have missions, causes and challenges.
The knight of wands can be very loud and difficult to ignore, with a smirk he’ll melt your heart. He's courageous and kind. He's the fiercest warrior and the kindest servant. He takes command, battling demons and thieves for the ones she holds dear. The Knight of Wands is as loyal as he is charming. He'll leave you trembling and weak, begging for a sweet embrace. Some would say he's even magical.
Prologue
Twelve years ago
Ollie,
I’m praying for your safety. Let me know if you need anything else.
Love,
Kaitlynn
P.S. Share the goodies with your friends.
Kit Kat,
Thank you for taking the time to mail me so many wonderful things. I put most of them to good use and shared them as well. Receiving this made my day. It reminded me of home. Thank you for your prayers.
God bless,
Oliver
Ollie,
Next time, let me know what you’d like from home. After everything that you’re doing for our country, the least I should do is keep you happy—or at least try. Sorry if I sound selfish or insensitive. I’m trying not to be either. Writing you is kind of hard because I have no idea what you’re going through.
Every time I watch the news, I’m terrified for our troops—and you. It makes me want to fly to Afghanistan and bring you home. I’d love to hear more about you, how things are going—within reason.
Let me catch you up on my life. I’m off to Los Angeles. UCLA accepted me. Can you believe it? I’m going to be pursuing a media and television degree. My parents aren’t happy about it since my sister moved to New York. (I heard that you guys broke up. I’m sorry. What a selfish bitch ... I hope we can still be friends.) The ‘rents are unhappy because they don’t have anyone to boss around at their restaurant. But it is what it is, you know? My dreams don’t include staying in Knox Ridge, tending to the family restaurant.
Please, don’t get me wrong, I love Blythe’s and my parents who co-own the restaurant. Well ... love the parents and like Blythe’s. But if I want to host my own cooking show, I have to find my own way. Just like you did. I admire and respect how you took charge of your life and knew all along what you wanted to do.
Be safe.
Love,
Kaitlynn
Kit Kat,
Your package and letter not only brightened my day, but I’m relieved to know that I’m not losing my best friend after what happened with Kelsey. Actually, I have no idea what happened with your sister. Do you? Her last email only said that we were over, and that was the end of it. I can’t wrap my head around it.
Things around here are fucking insane. We have to watch our backs every second. Your packages and letters are the highlights of my day. Please keep sending them. Things are too dark here and receiving a little sunshine from you makes it bearable.
Good luck in LA.
OT
Six years ago
Ollie,
How are you, soldier? I hope the cookies made it in one piece, along with everything else. Let me know what you think of them. If everything goes as planned, I might start marketing them. There’s so much I have to tell you, but the SparkNotes are as follows:
1) Kelsey finally graduated. She’s a teacher—who knew she’d want to shape young minds.
2) I got a job in Atlanta—the Food Network hired me!
3) I moved out of LA.
4) I broke up with Esteban—my first long-term relationship. *insert a broken heart*
Now you’re caught up with my life. There’s more, but let’s save the drama for later. When you come back home, we can share a meal and talk. When are you coming back?
Love,
Kaitlynn
Kaitlynn,
I was beginning to wonder about your whereabouts. It’s been months since I’ve heard from you. The cookies were incredible. Send as many as you want. I’ll be happy to taste test them for you. The next time I’m in the US, I promise I’ll contact you. Your SparkNotes are too condensed to understand what’s really going on with your life.
What happened to those long letters you used to send?
I miss them, along with the little drawings you’d make next to your notes. In any case, let me respond to your comments.
1) I rather not comment on your sister.
2) Congratulations on the new job, and I wish I were home to help you move.
3) Sorry about LA. I know you loved living there.
4) I never liked Esteban. Who changes his name from Steve to Esteban to make it big in the comedy world?
OT
Ollie,
I remember having more time to write to you back in college than I have now. Adulting isn’t easy. You can’t judge Esteban. You never met the man. I have to confess that I liked him better when he was just Steve. Good riddance. When you say the next time I visit the US, you sound as if you’ve been here to visit and never notified me. I confess that I’m a little hurt. Let me know how the new batch of cookies tastes.
Love,
Kaitlynn
Oliver,
I forgot to mention during our call that Mr. and Mrs. Blythe passed away last month. I know you’re on a mission and can’t reach me, but call me when you can.
Love,
Mom
1
Oliver
At eighteen I had no clue what I wanted to be. My mother encouraged me to go to college, but even if I wanted to, we couldn�
�t afford it. I grew up in a place where there weren’t many opportunities. At least, not for a guy without a college degree and a single mother who struggled her entire life. I figured that joining the army was my only viable option—my free ticket out of the despair that waited for me.
The military life offered me more than staying behind to work as a construction worker, or a waiter, like my mother. Joining the army was a no-brainer. They had financial aid, free healthcare, and job security. Those weren’t my only motivators, but they were the strongest. By becoming a soldier, I could serve my country and prove that I could be a part of something bigger than myself. During my twelve years of service, I got all these benefits, financial and more. I made lifelong friends, achieved an education, and fulfilled a career. I also learned to appreciate the simple things in life.
Twelve years later, however, I retired without a plan. Leaving the army wasn’t the end of the world, but I still can’t seem to find my place. So, I’m a civilian. Big deal. I’m no longer “Captain Oliver H. Tanner.” Just Oliver Hugh Tanner. A man who only has military qualifications, an unused business degree, and is fucking lost in the Georgia heat.
As I walk out of the plane, I feel the high temperature reflecting off the tarmac. It’s as hard to breathe here as it was in Iraq. For a second, I’m back in a half-buried tent in the desert, fearing for my life.
The dense air smells like diesel. I’m sweating before I even reach the bottom of the steps. It’s not just the heat or the godforsaken humidity—it’s the people. I can feel it. The panic begins like a cluster of sparks in my abdomen. Tension grows in my face and limbs while my mind replays the last attack. My breathing becomes shallower.
My personal hurricane is about to start. The air-conditioning at the gate offers no relief. I’m trapped in a large shed covered with glass. I scan the area.
Where the fuck are you, Striker?
“Hey, Tanner!” A loud voice and a pat on my back draw me back into reality.
“Frimston,” I found him, a full mop of dark blonde hair, towering above the crowd.
I relax only for a few seconds, but I still have to get out of this place.
“Are you okay, Cap?” He shakes my hand, giving me a brotherly hug.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” I suggest. “The heat is killing me.”
We walk through the hallways of the airport. My breathing comes easier once we’re away from the sea of people. The flight wasn’t an issue.
What was it about the arrival that made me anxious?
My mind isn’t what it used to be. As we reach the parking lot, Striker opens the trunk of a black Suburban. I put my backpack in and walk toward the passenger door.
“I don’t remember Knox Ridge being this hot,” I complain, taking off my jacket and climbing into the truck.
“When was the last time you visited?” Striker asks.
“More than a decade ago,” I recall.
Between deployments and my mother moving back to Alabama, I haven’t been in Georgia since the end of basic training.
“That long?” He whistles. “Your mom must miss you.”
“I’ve seen her. She got married a couple of years after my first deployment, and moved to Montgomery,” I remind him.
“Right, to that guy she met at Blythe’s. How’s that going?”
“Toby’s alright. He treats her like a queen and swears it was love at first sight. Mom moved in with him without hesitation.”
He nods with a stupid grin. “Love will make you change your entire life.”
“For some, it works that way.” I look out the window. “Thank you for the lift. I appreciate it.”
Striker’s the greatest friend a guy could ask for. He and I met during my first tour in Iraq. We quickly went from bunkmates to brothers, but what truly bonds us is Knox Ridge. It's not just a town, it's a part of who we are. A part that we both gave up in order to seek out a different life.
“It’s the least I could do. Plus, I want to run a couple of things by you. What are your plans?” Striker asks as he takes the highway toward downtown.
“I have no idea,” I say honestly. “Mom left me her house to do whatever I want with it. That’s why I decided to move here ... for now.”
“Any job offers yet?”
I scratch the back of my neck. “A couple. One of them entails going back to Iraq to do private security, but I’m not interested.”
As Striker’s car speeds past the sidewalks and houses, I admire the old Knox Ridge oak trees, steady and grounded.
“I’m in no hurry, but I don’t think I’ll be able to sit on my ass for long,” I convey.
“If you want something to keep you busy, HIB securities wants to build a team down in the south.”
“Are you offering me a job?” I crook an eyebrow.
“Not me, but they can always use a guy like you, Tanner. Put your training to work, and at the same time help ease you back into the civilian life.”
“How hard was it for you?” I ask.
“It wasn’t as hard as I imagined, but it took me some time to adapt. The guys at work helped me a lot. A couple of the owners are former Rangers. They not only gave me a job, but also support.”
“I’ll think about it,” I say absently.
The Victorian house is desperately in need of improvements. The dingy brick walls are drenched in dried up sludge from the leaky tin gutter that ran along the outer edge of the crumbling roof. The bricks belong to another era, they’re not a solid red, but swirled with hues of muted brown and sickly pink, giving the two-story dwelling a blotchy look.
“I guess there’s a lot to be done in this house too,” I groan opening the passenger door.
“If you need a place to stay, I have enough room,” Striker offers.
“Thank you, man, but this is a palace compared to some of the places I’ve stayed in.”
“True ...” he agrees. “Still, text me if you decide to take me up on the offer, or if you need anything.”
“I will, Frimston.” I shake his hand, shut the car door, and pick up my backpack from the trunk.
My mother’s home is a mausoleum. It belonged to her parents. Everything is original, like the house itself. The floral wallpaper has a yellow undertone. The furniture is sparse and simple. In the foyer sits a gray rotary telephone, with its large dialing disk and curled cable dangling from the receiver. It’s been there since my grandparents lived here.
Mom said I could either renovate or just sell. If I did the latter, the new owner would likely tear it down and build something new. Somehow, the idea of someone else living in this house, didn’t sit well in the pit of my stomach. This house has a history. Every inch of it witnessed the lives of the Tanners.
I climb up the stairs. Entering my room, I see that it’s precisely the way I left it. A picture of the Blythe sisters lays on top of the bookcase. I study it, pushing the bitter taste away. Kelsey, my former girlfriend, poses for the camera like a professional model. Her long, brown hair cascading down her shoulders. Her bright smile is wide and as brilliant as her expressive eyes. Next to her is little Kaitlynn, her sister, and my best friend. She’s eating ice cream in the photograph, unaware that I was taking a picture of them.
That’s Kit Kat, a little oblivious to her surroundings whenever there’s food around, especially ice cream. As I recall the amount of sweets we used to eat together, my stomach grumbles.
Thankfully, my old 1969 Mustang is still in the garage. I pick up the keys from the hook where Mom left them and open the garage door. I slide in the driver’s seat, turn on the engine and push the gas pedal twice. It purrs the same way it used to. I should be grateful it’s even running. There’s no way it should sound this healthy considering how little it’s been used in the last decade.
I drive toward the grocery store. But instead of turning left, I continue onto Main Street and search for a parking spot close to Blythe’s Dining Room.
The restaurant is as opulent as ever. The Geor
gian manor that houses it has a majestic exterior that features broad columned beams that soar upward, reaching beyond the double stacked front porches to frame the home beautifully. A walk up front entrance boasts a brick exterior staircase. Nothing has changed, not even the open sign.
Mom worked here for as long as I can remember. The Blythes were always good to us. They let me hang out at the restaurant when Mom didn’t have anyone to watch me. Their Christmas bonuses were generous, just like them. They always had a present for us underneath their tree. When I was old enough, Mrs. Blythe gave me a job as a busboy, and then later promoted me to waiter. I learned how to cook in their kitchen, just like Kaitlynn did.
I should check on her. It’s been so long since she contacted me and years since I last saw her. I lock my car, walking toward the entrance. I come to a complete stop when I see Kelsey. She’s still as beautiful as when we were dating. Her tall frame and slender body is like that of a Victoria’s Secret model. Her blue eyes, like the midnight sea, are still and emotionless. Wavy blonde hair cascades smoothly down her back. The man next to her is tall and blond too, but not quite up to my six foot two.
The way he rests his hand on her waist with his face is so close to her makes my stomach churn.
“Oliver,” she gasps, her hand touching her sternum. “This is a big surprise.”
Cards of Love: Knight of Wands Page 1
