by Amy Lamont
Holding Her Hero
Amy Lamont
Copyright © 2018 by Amy Lamont
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover Design by Talina Perkins, Bookin’ It Designs
For all the military families who keep the home fires burning. Thank you for your sacrifices.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Epilogue
Excerpt: Summer with the Soldier
A Note from Amy
Also by Amy Lamont
Prologue
Captain Mitch Taylor stepped out of the base’s makeshift gym and squinted against the harsh sunlight. Raising a hand to shield his eyes, he took in the men jockeying for space around the mail truck. He strode forward as he used the edge of the towel around his neck to mop sweat from his face, detouring around the cluster of Marines.
He lifted his chin to acknowledge Caleb, one his buddies who was planted on the edge of the crowd, but felt no need to fight his way through the mail call mob. His family was here—the guys who fought alongside him day in and day out. There was no one back home waiting. No one sending him letters. No one who made it worthwhile to stand in the oppressive heat and sweltering sun in hopes he’d hear from them.
And that was just fine by him. He had his unit, he had the Corps, he had everything he needed right here.
“Yo, Captain Taylor.” A lanky kid in desert camo detached himself from the group and jogged over carrying a package. “This one’s got your name on it.”
Mitch accepted the white Priority Mail box with a sharp nod. He double-checked the address label to make sure the package was meant for him. Seemed in order, but the name on the return address—Abigail Palmer—wasn’t ringing any bells. He hefted it under his arm and headed over to drop it in his barracks. A package from a stranger could wait until after he showered. The sand and heat inflicted enough damage. The last thing he needed was to get called out for a mission before washing off the sweat and grime from his workout.
As he stepped into his barracks hours later, Mitch’s eyes caught on the package waiting on his cot. He peeled off his uniform shirt and then the olive green T-shirt underneath, grimacing as it stuck to his skin. Felt like days rather than hours since his last shower, but his bone-deep fatigue pushed him to seek out his bed. The same weariness almost pushed him to toss the package to the floor until after he’d caught a couple hours of shut-eye. But curiosity prickled along his scalp and he put sleep off for a little while longer.
Using the knife from his utility belt, he cut into the thick layers of clear tape that held the box together. Three items sat inside—a letter, a big tin box and a blanket. He started with the letter.
Dear Captain Taylor,
My name is Abigail Palmer, and I’m a member of a group that offers support to deployed heroes like you. I was given your name, and I’ve decided to “adopt” you for the duration of your deployment. My husband was a soldier and my son followed in his footsteps.
In fact, I guess you could say my whole family is military. My twin grandsons are enlisting the moment they graduate college next June, and my granddaughter, Mandy, is planning to marry her Army fiancé as soon as he returns from Iraq. So I know a little something about how tough it is to be so far from home.
I just wanted you to know someone back home is grateful for your service and your sacrifice. I hope you like the goodies I’ve included. You’ll be in my thoughts and prayers.
Sincerely,
Abigail Palmer
Mitch read the words three more times, his finger tracing over the word “adopted” with each pass. For reasons he didn’t want to think too much about, having a total stranger voice her appreciation hit him hard. He sat on his bed, his head hanging low between his shoulders, dog tags glued to his chest with sweat, eyes closed. He took a couple deep breaths before he put the letter aside carefully and pulled the remaining items out of the box.
Inside the red, white, and blue tin, he found homemade chocolate chip cookies. The woman had taken a lot of care in packaging them. They were stacked together in several layers of plastic wrap and then tucked into a vacuum-sealed bag. Tissue paper and bubble wrap lined the inside of the tin, giving the cookies an extra layer of protection.
He shook his head and couldn’t fight a small grin when he found them intact. His buddies got cookies from home sometimes, but they’d usually been pummeled to dust before they reached their base in Afghanistan. Of course, the guys never mentioned it to their wives or mothers. Hell, a few of them tossed the crumbled pieces in a bowl, poured milk over them, and ate them with a spoon. He’d laughed at the time, but suddenly understood why they didn’t want to waste so much as a crumb.
He pulled out the fleece blanket. Only it wasn’t just a blanket. He unfolded a handmade quilt with soft, red fleece backing. The top of the quilt was a patchwork of patriotic colors, and a number of the squares had messages sewn inside them. It was very personal and had obviously taken someone a long time to make.
Mitch had spent the last ten years—all of his adult life—surrounded by men, by Marines, and didn’t think there was much in the world that could touch his heart. He’d seen too much, become too battle weary. But as he spread the quilt over his lap, the back of his eyes stung. He blinked to clear them as he examined every square and stitch, knowing someone had cared enough to make it just for him. He sat there for a long time, running his hand over the soft material, tracing the hand-sewn words of love and support until he couldn’t keep his eyes open another moment.
He slid down onto the unforgiving mattress and despite the heat, pulled the soft quilt over him as he fell into sleep.
1
Mandy Palmer slid her compact rental car to the curb in front of her grandmother’s house. Double-checking the house number, her hand flew to her mouth as she compared the cottage in front of her with the vision from her memories. The house she remembered had the same yellow paint, but it wasn’t peeling and fading in spots as it was now. The whitewashed front porch hadn’t had this sagging middle that made it seem just slightly off kilter. And the flowerbeds…. The bottom dropped out of Mandy’s stomach as her eyes stayed glued to the flowerbeds her grandmother had always called her pride and joy.
These untended beds didn’t look like Grandma’s gardens. Instead of even-edged rows of plants bursting with colorful blossoms and flashes of greenery, there were only a few sad blooms trying to poke their way out between snarls of weeds and drying leaves.
Clearly, her grandmother had needed help for longer than Mandy suspected. No way would Grandma Abigail allow those gardens to become so overrun unless she wasn’t feeling like herself. Mandy’s chest constricted. She’d been so preoccupied with her own life and problems for the last few years. It hadn’t occurred to her that her grandmother might need her.
She bit down on her lower lip as she tried to recall the last time she’d seen her grandmother. Was it possible it had been at her younger brothers’ graduation?
“Well, I’m here now,” she reminded herself, determined to make up for lost time.
She took one last look in the rearview mirror, finger combing her hair away from her face and wiping a small smudge of mascara from un
der one eye. She swiped some pink gloss over her lips, grabbed her bag, and marched to the front door. She rang the bell with one hand, using the other to smooth down her dress.
She sighed. No amount of smoothing could push out the wrinkles across her front. Why did she think linen was a good idea for traveling?
As the door swung open, Mandy gave up on the wrinkles and looked up with a wide smile. She couldn’t wait to see her grandmother.
Her smile froze when, instead of steel gray hair pulled back into a no-nonsense bun, she was met with a broad chest covered in a snug white T-shirt. Her gaze traveled up over even broader shoulders to a squared chin, firm mouth, and finally up enough to meet a pair of blue-gray eyes firmly fixed on her.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
No words came to her. She gaped at him for several long seconds before she turned and checked behind her. No, it may have been a few years since her last visit, but she definitely had the right house.
“I’m looking for my grandmother?” She hadn’t meant the words to come out as a question, but she couldn’t come up with one good reason for this man answering her grandmother’s door. The page of one of her favorite storybooks from childhood flashed in her mind—the one where Little Red walked in to find Big Bad dressed in her grandmother’s clothes.
“Mandy, is that you?” Her grandmother’s voice came from inside the house a moment before the woman herself appeared in the hall. “You’re here!”
With a frown at the dark-haired stranger holding the door, Mandy brushed by him and slipped inside.
“Hi, Grandma!” In a few short steps, she had her grandmother’s arms wrapped around her. Mandy’s joy dimmed slightly as she held on. She’d inherited her own petite stature from her grandmother, but Grandma Abigail had never felt so delicate. The frail bones beneath the paper-thin skin made her seem as fragile as a sparrow. Mandy was only somewhat reassured by the strength of the arms wrapped around her.
They gripped each other fiercely, neither willing to let go too soon. Tears pooled in Mandy’s eyes, blurring her vision. She blinked them away only to meet the cold stare of the man filling the hallway. The reminder they weren’t alone helped Mandy toss off the emotions that pulsed through her as she stood in the circle of Abigail’s arms. She pulled back a bit.
“I’m so happy to be here, Grandma. I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed you.” A quiet grunt drew her attention once again to the man.
Not that she could ignore him. The sheer size of him in the narrow front entryway made it impossible to disregard him, but it seemed as though he had something to say. Mandy raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize you would have a guest.”
“Oh, where are my manners? I’m sorry. I’m just so happy to have you here.” The older woman patted Mandy’s hand affectionately. “This is Mitch. He stopped by to help out with the hot water heater. I would hate to have you travel all this way and not even be able to offer you a hot shower at the end of the day.”
“Oh, well....” Mandy was at a loss for words. The explanation didn’t really clear up this stranger’s presence. “That was very nice of you. Mitch? Are you a handyman?”
“No, no. He isn’t a handyman,” Grandma Abigail answered for him, and then chuckled. “Well, I guess that’s not entirely true, is it, Mitch?”
The man threw a charming grin at the elderly woman, showing off a row of even, white teeth, reinforcing the image of the big bad wolf in Mandy’s mind. “That’s right, Miss Abigail. I like to think I’m handy to have around.”
Okay. If Mandy didn’t know better, she’d say the man, who couldn’t be more than thirty, was flirting with her seventy-four-year-old grandmother.
“Oh, you.” Abigail laughed and grabbed Mitch’s arm. “Come meet my granddaughter. You must feel like you know her already, the way I’ve been talking up a storm about her.”
Mitch flashed an indulgent grin at Abigail before turning to face Mandy. The shift in his expression almost made Mandy take a step back. The warmth and good humor he’d shown Abigail faded, and Mandy now peered up into a polite, tight-lipped smile set in a hard face. Not a hint of warmth remained in his eyes. If she didn’t know better, she’d say he seemed a little…hostile? Why would he be hostile toward her?
“Hi, Mitch. It’s nice to meet you.” She graced him with the same too-polite smile he’d laid on her and offered her hand.
And waited.
Just as she was about to drop her hand, he reached out. “Ma’am. Your grandmother has told me a lot about you. I know she’s been anxious for you to get here.”
The large hand engulfed hers, warm and slightly rough. Definitely not a man who spent his days behind a desk.
“Why don’t we all go into the kitchen?” Mandy’s grandmother suggested. “I made some lunch. It’ll be lovely if we can all sit down and chat. We can bring your things in later, Mandy.” As she spoke, she moved down the hall to the back of house.
With a sardonic arch to his eyebrow and a tilt of his head, Mitch indicated that Mandy should precede him into the kitchen. Before now, Mandy didn’t think it was possible for someone to be both sarcastic and polite in the same instant, all without saying a word, but Mitch managed it just fine. The man definitely had something against her. Since she’d never heard so much as a whisper about him before she’d walked through the door, she couldn’t imagine why he’d have a problem with her. Unless she was interrupting some nefarious plot of his to get something from her grandmother. Was he some kind of con artist? That would certainly explain the hunky man’s interest in the elderly woman.
Well, if he thought he was going to take advantage of her grandmother, he had another think coming. She was here now and she’d make sure this man wouldn’t get a chance to carry out any plan he had in mind.
* * *
“Mandy, dear, can you get the pitcher of lemonade out of the refrigerator?”
Mandy did as she was asked as Abigail bustled around the kitchen. The table was set with a tablecloth and pretty plates with small, pink flowers winding around their edges. Her grandmother had already placed a platter of sandwiches out next to a heaping bowl of homemade potato salad.
“I can’t believe you made your potato salad,” Mandy said, as she filled three glasses.
“Of course.” Abigail patted Mandy’s cheek as she stepped past her. “It was always your favorite.”
“Can I do anything to help?” Mitch leaned on the kitchen doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, very much at ease here.
Abigail scanned the table. “No, I think we’ve got it all. Sit, eat.”
Mandy wanted to giggle as Mitch joined them at the table. Right now, he reminded her of her brothers. They always looked out of place in her grandmother’s kitchens. Abigail’s home, no matter where she was making that home, was always perfectly suited to the military men she was surrounded by—overstuffed sofas, long dining room table, comfortable and well-worn furniture—but she’d always insisted the kitchen was her domain. Here there were chintz curtains, frilly tablecloths, a whistling teakettle and delicate china dishes. Her grandmother had unpacked and decorated the kitchen first whenever they moved to a new base. She always said it made it feel like home no matter what shape the rest of the house was in.
Mitch had that same fish-out-of-water look her brothers and father always had in her grandmother’s kitchen. But it didn’t appear to faze him as he tucked his long legs under the lace edge of the tablecloth.
“Everything looks delicious, Miss Abigail.” Mitch helped himself to a sandwich from the platter in the center of the table.
“Thank you. I do have to keep up my end of our bargain, you know.” A mischievous sparkle lit the elderly woman’s blue eyes.
Mandy sat up straighter in her chair as she waited to hear more about this bargain. Did this have anything to do with Mitch’s presence?
“I think the pot roast you made me for dinner last week still has me in your debt,” he teased back.
“Sounds like you’re h
ere pretty often, Mitch.”
He turned hard eyes and that thin-lipped smile on Mandy. “I come as often as I can. Someone has to look in on Miss Abigail.”
Again with the just-short-of-hostile tone. What was this guy’s problem? “I’m sure Grandma appreciates it. Do you live in Kismet Beach?”
“Oh, no,” Abigail answered for him. “Mitch lives about an hour from here. I can’t imagine him living here in our little town.”
“Really? Driving through I was reminded how charming it is.” Mandy had always been impressed by the wide streets lined with cottages and the appealing shops along Main Street, all set against the backdrop of the Pacific Ocean. She’d always thought Kismet Beach was one of the prettiest little towns in Southern California.
“It is. It’s a lovely place to live. But not much excitement to offer a single man.”
Okay, so Mitch didn’t live here and the town had little to offer him. So what brought this man to her grandmother’s doorstep?
“So how did you find Mitch?” Turning to Mitch she asked, “Did you have an ad in the local paper or something?”
“No.”
She waited, but nothing followed that one terse word.
Okay then. This was beginning to feel like pulling teeth. If the man was on the up and up, surely he’d be less evasive. She turned to her grandmother, hoping she’d get a straight answer there.
Before Mandy could question her further, Grandma Abigail hopped up from the table. “I almost forgot the green salad.”
Mandy huffed out a breath and stabbed her fork into her potato salad. When she lifted it to her mouth she found the man seated across from her regarding her with an amused smirk. His stormy eyes remained cold, but he was definitely on to her.
