Cherished Wings (Return to the Home Front Book 1)

by Tracey L. Dragon

  Sara groaned. “There always are. Just one of the perks of owning a company where I get to wear multiple hats. I’ll be glad when Maggie returns from maternity leave, and I can get back to doing just my job.”

  “Well, I’m off then. Danny and I are having dinner at The Landing and then catching a show. You got any plans?”

  “Nah. I’m just going to glance through this stack of mail and see if there is anything urgent, then head on home.”

  “Boring.” Abby rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Why don’t you join Danny and me for dinner or at least a drink? It wouldn’t hurt for you to get out more.”

  “Thanks for the offer, but not tonight. I’m dog-tired. I don’t think I’d make for sterling company.”

  “Okay, but if you change your mind, call me and I’ll let you know where we’ve settled for dinner.”

  Sara watched Abby leave then turned back to the container on her desk and sighed. She really should require only email submissions, but reading them on paper caused her less eye strain. There appeared to be a dozen manuscripts with equally as many envelopes, most likely query letters, mixed in. Nothing that couldn’t wait until Monday. She tossed the envelopes into her inbox and was about to dump the remainder of the mail bin in her slush pile when she noticed an odd-sized package. Reaching down, she removed it from the pile and frowned. Clearly not a manuscript. She flipped it over and sucked in her breath. The name Lieutenant Paul Anderson, USN, jumped out from the return address.

  She turned the package over in her hands, slowly. What on earth could he have sent her? Getting it open proved to be a challenge, the gray duct tape refused to give up its hold forcing her to get her scissors. Enclosed, carefully wrapped in newspaper, she found the black and white photo of her grandmother Jack had kept beside his bed, a folded letter addressed to her, and an old faded envelope addressed to her grandmother.

  Puzzled, she opened the one with her name on it first. It read:

  Dear Sara,

  I hope this letter finds you well and in better spirits than when I last saw you. I found this envelope addressed to your grandmother in an old trunk of my uncle’s that I had shipped to my apartment here in Jacksonville. It must have slid inside the torn lining and come lose during shipping. I thought you should have it.

  I realize you have an aversion to those of us wearing a uniform, but should you change your mind and be interested in having a cup of coffee, a drink, or dinner with a lonely sailor, I am at your convenience. My card is enclosed, so you can tuck me into your Rolodex should you change your mind and take pity on a lonely pilot.

  With Kind Regards,

  Lt. Paul Anderson

  She chuckled at the last line. Like father like son, or in this case, like uncle like nephew.

  Paul had a wee bit of Jack’s charm. She picked up the envelope, now yellow with age, and slid out the USN stationery.

  May 30, 1944

  My Dearest Frannie Girl,

  If you are reading this letter, then I know the worst has happened, and I am no longer on this earth. I am watching over you instead. That, my love, you can bet on.I am so sorry for the pain this will cause you, and you are probably cursing me about now for coming into your life, but please know, you were the love of mine. You made the last few months of it the best any man could hope for, and for that, I will love you eternally. Keep your chin up, my girl. Don’t let this clip your wings.

  Frannie Girl, you made me a better man for knowing you. After my mother left I never truly let anyone get close. I never believed anyone could love me beyond the superficial. These last few months with you gave me the courage to love and be loved. Knowing you would be there for me to come back to gave me the strength to face the upcoming mission. I’m so sorry for the outcome. I will make it my sole purpose in heaven, hopefully that’s where I am, to keep you safe and send you some nice bloke to love even if it kills me. Well, I guess that will be a moot point, won’t it? I want you to be happy and have a normal life. Do all those things you long to do.

  Don’t let you fears hold you back. You can brave them my dear girl if you just believe.

  All my love for eternity and beyond,

  Your Jack

  It was painfully sad, Sara couldn’t help but think that Jack had spent the remainder of his life separated from the woman he loved, and that same woman spent her life pining for a man she thought dead. Sara reached for a tissue from the box sitting on the bookcase behind her and cried as if there were no tomorrow. She cried for Jack and Grams and even for her grandfather, but mostly she cried for herself as Jack’s words to her grandmother resonated deep within her, for she had done exactly what Grams had after she thought Jack dead. She returned to her safe little world and never ventured from it again. After her divorce, she’d been too damaged to reach out and take a chance at love again. Instead, she poured herself into her company to fill the void. And it worked, until now, when it felt as though her whole world was crumbling. She refused to spread her wings for so long in fear of falling flat on her face that she was afraid she no longer knew how.

  Chapter 27

  The morning brought a feeling of peace. The catharsis Fran experienced the night before left her with a sense of renewal, as though she went to bed one person and woke up another. For once she felt truly rested and ready to face the day. She slipped into her running gear, set her MP3 player to her favorite music, and started out on a three-mile run. She ran as if there were wings on her feet. The rain from the night before left everything green and fresh. It was going to be a great day. She could feel it in her bones.

  After her shower she made some decadent carrot muffins with sinfully rich, cream cheese icing and then proceeded to enjoy every single bite of not only one but two. Some serious retail therapy was next on the agenda—time for some fun and frivolous outfits. She hadn’t realized until this morning how drab and plain most of her clothes were. She had opted to be a sparrow rather than draw attention to herself. Enthusiasm consumed her. The title of a song her grandmother played, “I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar,” flittered through her mind, and she laughed lightly.

  Sara hadn’t had so much fun shopping in a long time. She usually bought what she needed and as quickly as possible. Today she drove to the Town Center Mall, and starting at one end, made it to the other before closing, doing considerable damage to her bank account along the way. Barring lunch at the Cheesecake Factory, and a pit stop at Starbucks to boost her flagging energy, it was a nonstop shop-a-thon.

  After putting away the trunk load of newly bought items, Sara grabbed a bottle of her favorite vino and made a white wine spritzer which she took outside to the back deck. The evening had grown quiet and Sara sat back pondering the day and how good she felt. If she weren’t exhausted, she’d take one of her new outfits for a spin on the town.

  The sky was clear and the stars sparkled brilliantly. Although the night was peaceful, Sara having decided to fully engage in life again, felt a sense of impatience. She thought about Paul and wondered whether she could open her heart to him. She retrieved his business card from her purse and turned it over and over with her fingers. Once she worked up enough courage, she reached for her phone and dialed his number.

  “Hello,” Paul answered.

  She hesitated and took a deep breath.

  “Hello,” he said again then added with humor, “If you called to breathe into my ear, you might try a little harder, I can barely hear you.”

  Sara gripped the receiver tighter and struggled to contain a snort of humor at his remark. Yes, this man just might do.

  “It’s Sara. Sara Kennedy.”

  “Ah,” he said, the tenor of his voice turning warm. “Then it’s coffee, tea, or me?”

  She chuckled. God, the man had character. “How about a glass of wine, my front porch tomorrow evening at seven?”

  He
countered, “What do you say to your front porch, one hour, and I bring the wine?”

  “Deal.” After giving him directions to her place, she sprinted up the stairs with wings on her feet and a grin on her face. Life was about to get interesting.

  Epilogue

  Sara touched the cherished Navy wings she wore on a chain around her neck and thought fondly of the night Paul had given them to her. It was the first night he’d come to her home toting a bottle of wine and his sparkling good humor. They had sat and laughed on her front porch and talked half the night away. Before he left, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a pair of aviator wings, and tucked them in her hand. They were still warm from being close to his body and as she studied them a tingly feeling began to move from her hand to engulf her whole being. Love, she thought with wonder. It was the beginnings of love. “Just a reminder that I will be back,” he’d said, then kissed her soundly. He left the next day for a brief deployment. They were married shortly after his return.

  Now two years later, Paul was once again returning from almost seven months at sea, and she had an unexpected gift for him this time. She hadn’t realized she was pregnant until he’d left, and rather than have him worry the whole time he was gone, she’d kept the news to herself expecting to have plenty of time to tell him upon his return. Unfortunately, his orders had gotten extended and now her surprise had become noticeable evident. She hoped he would be as excited as she was.

  At last, she spied Paul walking toward her. One minute she was waving her arms at him, the next he’d swept her off her feet and kissed her passionately. When he put her down his gaze fell to her stomach then lifted to hers.

  “Did you perhaps swallow a watermelon while I was at sea and forget to chew?” His cobalt-blue eyes crinkled with amusement and a wide grin split his face.

  “Honestly, it was only one seed.” She held up one index finger. “But who would have thought . . .?” She shrugged, her smile matching his.

  He pulled her close again, his voice husky with emotion. “God, I love you, Sara Girl.”

  “Same here, Sailor Boy. Same here.”

  Two weeks later, Jackson Francis was born. They called him Jack for short.

  Dear Reader:

  Thank you for taking the time to read Cherished Wings, the first book in the Return to the Home Front Series. I hope you enjoyed Fran and Jack’s story as much as I did writing it. I’m afraid I fell a little in love with Jack myself.

  Cherished Wings was inspired by my own mother’s story. Although she never talked about it, my sisters and I all knew about the World War II wings she kept hidden in her dresser. The wings belonged to a beau who was killed on a mission. Upon my mother’s death I did not find the wings; but I did, however, find a small envelope containing his photos, one which was cut to fit the size of one of her lockets. She also kept the glass top of a bottle of French perfume called Bamboo. It was from these items that the idea for Cherished Wings was sparked and Fran and Jack were created. This time I believed a happy ending was in order.

  Often when I write, a secondary character takes on a life of his or her own; and thus, I decide they deserve their own story. Such is the case with Amy Lake in Cherished Wings. Please watch for the second book in the Return to the Home Front series—When the Geese Fly North (Amy’s Story) to be released November 14, 2018. by Soul Mate Publishing. As a sneak peek, the first chapter has been included at the end of this book. I hope you enjoy it.

  Come visit me at TraceyDragon.com or email me if you would like to receive my newsletter. I would love to hear from you.

  Tracey L. Dragon

  Romance – Where the Past & Present Meet

  www.traceyldragon.com

  Tracey L. Dragon @ Facebook.com

  Preview of the upcoming book When the Geese Fly North from Tracey L. Dragon and Soul Mate Publishing.

  Chapter 1

  March 2013

  “Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out,” Callie Baldwin muttered under her breath as Amy’s six-foot pain in the behind, know-it-all grandson stalked out the front door of the farmhouse irritation evident in every step he took on the way to his fancy BMW—no ordinary good-old, American-made vehicle for that arrogant prig. Lord the man got under her skin. Thank goodness he only felt obligated to visit his grandparents once a week. After her last tour in Afghanistan, she found it unbearably hard to suffer stuffed-shirts, smug idiots, and shallow fools. In her mind, Michael Henderson, M.D., classified as all three.

  “Callie dear, are you all right?”

  Wiping the annoyed expression from her face, she turned to the shriveled figure of her grandmother’s dearest friend. “I’m fine. I was just walking Michael out.”

  Amy’s wrinkled cheek quivered as laughter slipped from her lips. “More likely showing him out by the seat of his pants would be my guess.”

  Callie could feel her cheeks heat and shrugged her shoulders guiltily. “How you and Will, who are as sweet as cherry pie, ended up with a grandson as tart as gooseberries is beyond me.”

  Amy chuckled then hunched heavily over her cane. “Blame it on my daughter-in-law. She puts great stock in appearances, and I’m afraid she passed it onto her son. He is very successful, you know. Some consider him quite a catch, and once you get better acquainted, I think you might just like him.”

  Callie snorted then slapped her hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she said then finally thought to ask, “Did you need something? Is Will okay?”

  “Oh, yes, dear. He just dozed off, and I thought perhaps I would like a cup of tea. Do you mind joining me?”

  “Not at all. You take a seat and I’ll fix us a pot.” Callie gently took Amy’s fragile arm and helped her to her favorite rocker by the window. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Callie put the kettle on to boil, fixed a tray with sugar and milk, and added a plate of cookies. This had become their afternoon ritual while Will took his nap. Now that Will and Amy were in their 90’s they needed daily assistance. Will was pretty much bedridden and required a level of care that Amy was not able to provide on a daily basis, thus Callie’s presence on the scene. After two tours serving as a nurse at an Army field hospital in Afghanistan, being wounded by a roadside bomb, and suffering from PTSD, a low-key medical assignment was just what she needed. She jumped at the opportunity when her mother suggested it after her discharge from the military.

  “Here you are.” Callie set the tray on the table next to Amy and poured two cups of tea. She added a dab of milk to Amy’s tea and handed it to her. “Just what the doctored ordered.”

  Amy grasped the delicate, bone china with both hands to keep it steady as she took a sip then sighed. “I do so enjoy this time in the afternoon when we get to have our girl’s chat. Now that your grandmother is gone, I’m so thankful you’ve come to stay with us. I’ve missed female companionship. There’s nothing like a good gab session to pick up one’s spirit.”

  Callie laughed then reached over and squeezed the elderly woman’s arm lightly. “And what, pray tell, are we gabbing about today? I can see the wheels turning in your head. What gives?”

  A soft light flickered in Amy’s eyes then faded. “Oh my dear, how you do remind me of your grandmother. I’ve so many lovely stories I can tell you about her, but that’s for another day. My concern today is how are you feeling? You’re a little pale, and I heard you up again pacing the floor in the wee hours of the night. More bad dreams?”

  Callie took a sip of her tea then pursed her lips. “I’m fine. Really. I’m sorry if I disturbed you.”

  “Not at all. At my age, I can nod off at the drop of a hat. But what I was wondering is if perhaps you would like to talk about it?”

  “No.” Callie clamped her lips shut, jumped up, and stared out the window at the V of geese flying overhead on their trek north, her en
tire body trembling inwardly at the thought of recalling her last few days in Afghanistan. “Some things are better left in the dark, too ugly for the light.”

  “Sounds like something my Will would have said many years ago. You know he was injured in World War II?”

  Callie turned from the window. “Yes, my mother told me before I took the job.”

  Amy gazed over at her with a tender expression in her eyes. “Did she mention how Will and I met?”

  “No, I’m not sure she knows the fine details. She just said he had been wounded in the war.”

  “Why don’t you take a seat and let me tell you a story. It just might do you some good.”

  Not bloody likely, Callie thought, but was too polite to say as she sat down again.

  Amy locked eyes with her then stared into the distance as if she were recalling another time and place. Her voice faded as she became lost in a long-gone era. “The war had left behind a debris field an ocean wide. Times were tough for those of us who had survived, but not unscathed. We should have been happy that the war had finally ended, and we were, but the inflicted emotional and physical wounds were still raw. It was March 1948 and I remember it like it was yesterday . . .”

  Author Bio

  Tracey L. Dragon is a relocated New Yorker, former Navy Wife, and retired educator who lives in Yulee, Florida, with her husband, Bill, and Mickey, their black and white Miniature Goldendoodle.

  Her first publication came at the age of twelve when the short poem she wrote about the Apollo moon landing was published in her hometown newspaper. After seven military moves, raising two Navy brats, and twenty years teaching troubled youth, she is now able to put her full attention to publishing the children’s stories and historic romance novels she’s written over the years as a hobby.