A Holiday to Remember

by Helen R. Myers

  In the end the entire platoon was removed from the field of battle. Mack pulled out four of his men himself. Not one of them escaped without being wounded, but only Mack survived those injuries.

  Mack stood at attention for the reading of the names of the fallen.

  Then the medal was presented and pinned on him.

  Alana’s heart wrenched repeatedly for him. She understood entirely why this was a psychological, as well as an emotional, injustice, if not an assault. Nevertheless, she schooled her emotions and kept her gaze on him to mentally will him to get through it. That was all that mattered, although from her new perspective, he’d entirely earned this recognition.

  At the same time, she thought it was a farce to speak of “closure.” The two others besides Mack, who had still been alive when rescued, only lived long enough to know family members were with them. Alana could accept that those were precious gifts in a way, and yet they were nothing close to what she knew Mack believed he’d owed his men. His friends.

  After the ceremony was over, she waited as he was embraced, and his back slapped, and his hand was grasped by too many to count—dignitaries, military personnel, families of the fallen.

  Finally, he came to her and just wrapped his arms around her. She almost wept at the subtle trembling coming from deep inside his strong body.

  “I’m here. What do you want to do?” she asked him. “I’ll get you to the car right now if you want me to.”

  He hugged her tighter. “If only. But we have to do the rest. There’s a little luncheon reception.”

  Alana all but gasped. “How do they expect you to swallow one bite after all that?”

  He uttered a low sound of agreement. “But I would like to introduce you to a few people.”

  Determined to do him proud, Alana took his arm and lifted her chin. “It would be a privilege.”

  * * *

  It was only as they exited the base that Mack finally felt the strain leave his body. It hadn’t been the worst experience in his life; that had happened on that gray day a half world away, and more recently in a small Texas town during a waning moon when he thought newfound love would be stolen from him. But he certainly didn’t intend to put himself or Ally through anything like it again.

  “So now we get to go change and pack up this pretty stagecoach?” she asked, breaking into his thoughts.

  Mack knew what she was doing as she teased and placed her hand on his thigh. She was also gauging his tension level.

  “We do,” he replied, taking comfort in feeling her ring press against his palm as he covered her hand with his. He’d never been more grateful or proud of her demeanor throughout that whole stressful event. She had marine qualities herself—even the secretary of the navy shared his admiration and approval after being introduced to her.

  “How far do you think we can get from here by sunset?” Alana asked.

  His humor returning, Mack drawled, “Well, I thought we could make D.C. before evening traffic creates one big parking lot.”

  Gasping, Alana straightened in her seat. “Mack, no! We have to go there?”

  He couldn’t do it. Shaking his head, he reassured her. “I take it that you don’t want a tour of the White House?”

  “Maybe another time.”

  She’d all but said those words through gritted teeth. He was going to marry a homebody, and that was exactly what he wanted. “I did have one idea. Why don’t we detour a bit and head back home through Kentucky, so you can see their horse country?”

  “What do you know about Kentucky horse country?”

  “I didn’t always stay in that ugly apartment.” Glancing over to intercept her look of surprise, he added, “Maybe we’ll even pick up some house ideas.”

  “That sounds...interesting,” Alana allowed, starting to look bemused. “Especially if we could also find a hotel that has a balcony.”

  “Because?”

  “We’re about to have our one month anniversary.”

  “I knew that. I was wondering if you remembered.” Of course Mack knew she did.

  “We may not have another blue moon to celebrate for a while, but an almost-full moon seems perfect in its own way, doesn’t it?”

  “You and moonlight definitely go together.”

  Epilogue

  Thanksgiving Day

  “It’s time for a toast.”

  Alana watched her uncle rise with his wineglass in hand. As always, his presence had its effect on things, and everyone around the table grew respectfully silent. They’d just said grace, and Sam Carlyle had carved the turkey with Bunny serving the succulent slices to everyone else. In between, Mack was answering Bunny’s son’s questions about the aircraft carriers he’d sailed on, and Eberardo was looking very much in love and proud as his fiancée, Maria, assisted getting the side dishes passed around the table.

  It was Mack and Alana’s first Thanksgiving as a married couple. A week after returning to Texas, they’d collected Duke and Bunny and had married in a judge’s chambers in Quitman, Texas, Wood County’s county seat. Neither of them had wanted anything more complicated or fussy. They were beginning their life together on their terms, and today was another step in that direction.

  Wanting to start their own traditions, they’d decided to bring together the people they loved, and the people finding their own love. That was a challenge considering that they were also building a new house just about where the gate was that divided Last Call from Pretty Pines—one day to be removed as both properties joined, just as Mack and Alana were joining their lives.

  Duke tapped his dessert spoon against his glass of red wine, even though everyone waited expectantly. “I always wanted to do that,” he said with an impish smile.

  Alana patted his back as the others laughed. “You have the floor, Chief. Go!”

  With his chest thrusting, he beamed at her. “Well, isn’t this something? This time last year, Ally and I were popping frozen dinners into the microwave, and today we have a scene straight out of Eat, Pray, Love.”

  Alana exchanged shocked looks with Bunny. “What do you know about Eat, Pray, Love?”

  “I hate to tell you this, my girl, but you didn’t invent insomnia.”

  “Especially if the best you could do was TV dinners,” Sam piped in.

  Duke gave him a sheepish look. “You may have something there.” Then he raised his glass higher. “So then, Sam...thank you for this excellent wine and for keeping the ladies straight in the kitchen. Barbara, may you and Sam here continue to stir up magic—not all of it in the kitchen. Thank you, and welcome, lovely Maria, for agreeing to put up with Eberardo, here. Thank you, Chris, because I’ve never seen you in my station,” he added to Bunny’s son. “And most of all to the newlyweds—” Duke teared up. “I may have lost a fine officer, but my niece has gained a man truly worthy of her. That is what I’m grateful for this Thanksgiving.”

  Applause and cheers filled the crowded room, and Alana kissed her uncle’s cheek as soon as he resumed his seat. Then the serious eating commenced. Sam had, indeed, been integral in helping to create their feast. He was gifted in more than gardening, and while Barbara’s son, Chris, seemed more intrigued with Mack than Sam, the two got along well enough. As for Barbara Jayne, she was positively glowing. She, too, was giving up her night-shift-dispatcher job at Sam’s request. She wasn’t yet sold on gardening as much as he was, but when they were in the kitchen together, the results were worthy of heavenly choruses.

  As for Eberardo and Maria, things looked promising. Alana thought there was no doubt that Maria was in love with Eberardo. But having worked so hard to make something of herself to where she was a respected nurse at the local hospital, she hadn’t been willing to sell herself short. However, after Mack told Eberardo that when they moved into the new house, he could purchase this house and make it the foreman’s residence in an owner-financed agreement, Maria finally let her head yield to what her heart wanted, and she accepted Eberardo’s proposal.

&n
bsp; Antonio had been invited as well, but he was in a relationship, too, and he had been expected at his girlfriend’s family home. It would appear that the new house would be done just in time for Eberardo’s and Antonio’s expanding families.

  “You’re quiet,” Mack said, reaching under the table to touch her thigh. “Everything okay?”

  “Wonderful. I’m just taking in all of this.”

  “It was a good idea you had.” When she slid his hand into his, he squeezed it gently. “The Peabody would be hard-pressed to top Sam’s turkey.”

  “Have you tasted this yet?” Alana fed him a bite of the stuffing that was a feast of its own, being a mixture of sausage, fruit, herbs and wild rice.

  Moaning his appreciation, Mack glanced across the table. “Where’s the bowl with the stuffing? Eberardo, I see you hiding it behind the biscuit basket. Hand it over, buddy.”

  The conversation stayed lighthearted. Even so, Chris vanished first to get to the TV for the traditional Thanksgiving Day Cowboys football game, while everyone else decided clearing the table and taking a walk would be smarter before dessert was served. Alana used that opportunity to excuse herself and Mack to head to the cemetery for a few minutes.

  She wrapped three white roses and one red from the centerpiece she’d had made for their table and held them as Mack drove them the short distance into town.

  She was grateful that Mack had been agreeable to her idea, and Alana watched him with a new sense of serenity.

  “What?” he asked, catching on to her preoccupation.

  “Just living in the moment.”

  “It’s a good day,” he said. “It’ll be a better one when everyone goes home.”

  Alana reached over to caress his cheek. “I lucked out in the romantic man department.”

  “You make it easy, my love.”

  Once Mack parked, he came around to open Alana’s door and kept her hand resting on his arm as they crossed to the gravesite where her parents and Chase were buried. As always, Alana gazed at the gray marble and felt the wave of emotion that was as endless as an ocean’s tides. But today there was also new joy.

  As she placed the white roses on the monuments, she said, “Hi Mom, Dad, Chase. It’s us. We couldn’t leave you out on Thanksgiving. Won’t miss the kickoff, Chase. But I wanted you to be part of this as I tell Mack something.”

  She turned to her husband. “What was in my glass wasn’t wine, it was cranberry juice. Hiding that from the girls and you was an accomplishment, let me tell you.” At his perplexed look, she asked, “Are you the last man on the planet who doesn’t know why a woman does that? I’m pregnant, darling.”

  Without a word, Mack folded her into his arms. “I should have known. You do nothing like anyone else does. Ally...sweetheart.” He took a sustaining breath. “When?”

  “Probably some hours after the ceremony in the justice of the peace’s office.”

  Mack looked at the sky and laughed. Then, touching his forehead to hers, he gazed into her eyes and asked, “When will the baby get here?”

  “Okay, smarty. Have your fun,” she purred. “June. You know the day.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I do. It was the best out of the other 365.” He followed that with a kiss that left her unable to walk. Fortunately Mack’s strong arm was now determinedly wrapped around her waist.

  Moving over to Fred’s grave, Mack placed the red rose there. “Well, sir, did you hear that?” He immediately drew Alana into his arms again and buried his face in her hair. “How can I tell you how happy and blessed I feel?”

  “It’s the same for me. I love you so, Mack.”

  “I’m going to take my time absorbing that—and you—like the world’s most decadent dessert, and maybe in thirty or forty years, I’ll figure out why.”

  Of course he knew why. She knew why. It was that simple, and that complicated and wonderful. Alana took hold of his hand and drew it to her still-flat tummy. “Take me home, Daddy. Mama needs dessert.”

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt of Real Vintage Maverick by Marie Ferrarella!

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  Chapter One

  It happened too quickly for him to even think about it.

  One minute, in a moment of exasperated desperation—because he hadn’t yet bought a gift for Caroline’s birthday—Cody found himself walking into the refurbished antique store that had, up until a few months ago, been called The Tattered Saddle.

  The next minute, he was hurrying across the room and managed—just in time—to catch the young woman who was tumbling off a ladder.

  Before he knew it, his arms were filled with the soft curves of the same young woman.

  She smelled of lavender and vanilla, nudging forth a sliver of a memory he couldn’t quite catch hold of.

  That was the way Cody remembered it when he later looked back on the way his life had taken a dramatic turn toward the better that fateful morning.

  When he’d initially walked by the store’s show window, Cody had automatically looked in. The shop appeared to be in a state of semi-chaos, but it still looked a great deal more promising than when that crazy old coot Jasper Fowler ran it.

  Cody vaguely recalled hearing that the man hadn’t really been interested in making any sort of a go of the shop. The whole place had actually just been a front for a money-laundering enterprise. At any rate, the antique shop had been shut down and boarded up in January, relegated to collecting even more dust than it had displayed when its doors had been open to the public.

  What had caught his eye was the notice Under new ownership in the window and the store’s name—The Tattered Saddle—had been crossed out. But at the moment, there was no new name to take its place. He had wondered if that was an oversight or a ploy to draw curious customers into the shop.

  Well, if it was under new ownership, maybe that meant that there was new old merchandise to choose from. And that, in turn, might enable him to find something for his sister here. As he recalled, Caroline was into old things. Things that other people thought of as junk and wanted to discard, his sister saw potential and promise in.

  At least it was worth a shot, Cody told himself. He had tried the doorknob and found that it gave under his hand. Turning it, he had walked in.

  Glancing around, his eyes were instantly drawn to the tall, willowy figure on the other side of the room. She was wearing a long, denim-colored skirt and her shirt was more or less the same color. The young woman was precariously perched on the top step of a ladder that appeared to be none too steady.

  What actually caught his attention was not that she looked like an accident waiting to happen as she stretched her taut frame out, trying to reach something that was on a higher shelf, but that with her long, straight brown hair hanging loose about her back and shoulders, for just an instant, she reminded him of Renee.

  A feeling of déjà vu seized him and for a moment, his breath caught in his throat.

  Balancing herself on tiptoes, Catherine Clifton, the former Tattered Saddle’s determined new owner, automatically turned around when she heard the little bell over the front door ring. She hadn’t anticipated any customers coming in until the store’s grand reopening. That wasn’t for a couple more days at the very least. Most likely a couple of weeks. And only if she could come up with a new name for the place.

  “We’re not ope
n for business yet,” Catherine called out.

  The next thing out of her mouth was an involuntary shriek because she’d lost her footing on the ladder and both she and the ladder were heading for a collision with the wooden floor.

  The ladder landed with a clatter.

  Catherine, fortunately, did not.

  She was saved from what could have been a very bruising fate by the very person she’d just politely banished from the premises.

  Landing in the cowboy’s strong, capable arms knocked the air out of her and, along with it, anything else she might have said at that moment.

  Which was just as well because she would have hated coming across like some blithering idiot. But right now, not a single coherent thought completed itself in her head. It was filled with just scattered words and a myriad of sensations.

  Hot sensations.

  Everything had faded into the background and Catherine was instantly and acutely aware of the man whose arms she’d landed in. The broad-shouldered, green-eyed, sandy-haired cowboy held her as if she weighed no more than a small child. The muscles on his bare arms didn’t even appear to be straining.

  A tingling sensation danced through Catherine’s entire body, which was stubbornly heating up despite all of her attempts to bank the sensation—and her reaction to the man—down.

  Her valiant efforts to the contrary, for just a moment, it felt as if time had stood still, freezing this moment as it simultaneously bathed her in a heretofore never experienced, all but debilitating, feeling of desire. For two cents proper, using the excuse that this rugged-looking cowboy had saved her, she would have kissed him. With feeling.

  Catherine could absolutely visualize herself kissing him.

  The fact that he was a complete stranger was neither here nor there as far as she was concerned. Desire, she discovered at that moment, didn’t have to make sense. It could thrive very well without even so much as a lick of sense to it.