Romancing the Holidays Bundle 2009

by Susan Wiggs et al

  When the tinkling of a bell sounded, everyone stopped talking and the room grew hushed.

  “Come on, everyone!” Laura called excitedly from the living room. “Time to trim the tree!”

  Abbie clapped her hands. “I love decorating the tree!” she confided excitedly to Colt.

  He grinned lopsidedly. “You’re a child in a woman’s body, Abbie.” He followed the rest of the merry crowd back to the living room. A number of mercs had helped Laura move the tables out of the center of the room, and they were now against the walls, the dishes and flatwear removed. Abbie’s orchids remained, the silver and gold ribbons still on the tables to accent their color and beauty. Boxes of decorations, tinsel and lights had been set out for those who wanted to take part in the decorating.

  Laughing liltingly, Abbie hurried ahead of him and went to a box of lights that would have to be strung first. How handsome Colt looked in his black slacks and pale pink shirt. He had shrugged off the charcoal jacket he wore, unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up the sleeves to his elbows.

  “Here,” she said breathlessly as she looked over his shoulder at the huge, twenty-foot evergreen, “we need all you tall guys to get up on those ladders and string these lights.”

  Caught up in her infectious enthusiasm for the tree trimming, Colt took the box from her and headed over to one of three ladders that had been placed around the proud tree standing in the living room. Up on the other ladders were Mike Houston and Morgan. Colt climbed nimbly up as other men positioned themselves below to help. Teamwork. Yes, that was what it was all about. As Colt sat perched on the ladder, he gazed across the cheerful crowd of onlookers. His gaze fell on Abbie, who stood near the back of the gathered crowd with Jason. Her eyes sparkled with such life that Colt found himself taking a deep breath. Happiness threaded through him, strong and clean. It helped wash away the darkness still inhabiting him.

  Much later, after the tree had been trimmed and the children had put on the final touches of silver tinsel, Colt stood back with his arm around Abbie’s shoulders to view their handiwork.

  “What a beautiful tree!” Abbie sighed softly, giving him a warm look. The night had been magical for her…and him. Every hour that passed, Abbie saw Colt easing more and more out of his self-imposed shell. By the end of the evening, he was a different man. She absorbed his laughter, enjoyed his easy play with the kids, his joking with the other mercs. This was a side of Colt she had not known existed and she loved him fiercely for sharing it with her. This was the healthy side of him; the part that had not been wounded by those deadly missions. Abbie’s heart still ached for him. Hope bounded through her for Colt, and for the two of them. All night, whenever possible, he’d had his arm around her waist or shoulders. Or he’d reached out to touch her in some small, but meaningful way. She appreciated his reaching out to her, and she knew Colt was entrusting himself to her…especially his raw emotions and his carefully guarded vulnerability. Abbie ached to love him, ached to be one with him and find herself waking up with him on some cold winter morning, warm and well-loved in his powerful arms.

  Was she dreaming? Was it folly? How could she fall so hard for someone so quickly? It frightened her in some ways, but in others, being around Colt felt so natural, as if he were a simple extension of herself. Was this the magic of the five days of Christmas that Laura had always talked about? Christmas was such a healing time of year, anyway, to Abbie. For the last two years, she’d spent them alone, remembering the past. Now, this year, she was fully in the present and looking forward to a future—with Colt. Was she foolish? Crazy? Abbie wasn’t sure, but she was going to take that risk and pursue whatever it was that they had. There was no guarantee of a happy outcome, she knew. Colt was wounded. And although he was showing her in so many small ways that he liked her, she knew it probably didn’t match the power of her own emotions toward him. No, only time would tell, and she trusted herself enough to grant herself that gift.

  “Come here,” Colt whispered dangerously near her ear.

  Abbie grinned and looked up at him as he gently grasped her arm and led her out of the living room, where everyone was singing Christmas carols. “Colt! Where are we going?” She laughed breathlessly as he led her into the den, now empty of people.

  Giving her a wicked look, he placed her beneath the copper lamp that hung suspended in the center of the den. “Right here,” he said, his smile widening.

  Loving his unexpected spontaneity, Abbie looked up. There, suspended beneath the lamp on a bright crimson ribbon, was a huge sprig of mistletoe.

  “Uh-oh,” she murmured. “I’m in trouble.”

  “Are you ever, sweetheart. Come here….” Colt stepped up to her, slid his massive arms around her slender form and brought her fully against him. As he leaned down, he saw joy, like gold flecks of sunlight, in her eyes. She lifted her arms and slid them over his shoulders. Her lips parted. Groaning, he leaned down and captured them, a man starving for light instead of darkness.

  The tune of “Oh Come All Ye Faithful” floated into the room and surrounded them as Katy Trayhern, an accomplished musician, took to the piano. Abbie moaned softly as Colt’s lips grazed hers. How glad she was that he had stolen her away! Had he read her mind? Known that she was desperately hungry and craving another kiss from him? Abbie sighed and fell against him, allowing Colt to take her full weight. With him, she was safe, and she knew it.

  Colt quivered as she brazenly met and returned the fire of his aching kiss. Abbie was bold. She set him ablaze with her lips, caressing his with wantonness. Feeling the soft press of her breasts against his chest, he slid his hands downward across her small, strong spine and wide hips—hips roomy enough to carry a baby someday.

  In those molten moments, with the Christmas music surrounding them and their bodies melting against one another, Colt could only feel desire, happiness and a deep, aching longing in his soul to make Abbie his forever. As he threaded his fingers through her ponytail and eased her away from him, her eyes were slumberous with desire—for him. Her lips were wet and well kissed. He saw her smile drowsily.

  “Wow…” she whispered unsteadily.

  With this woman in his arms who he considered more magical than real, a woman who held his heart so tenderly that he didn’t know what to do or say, Colt could only stand there, grinning. All he knew was that he was looking forward to the fourth day of Christmas with Abbie, tomorrow. His life, his heart, his soul were inexplicably tied to her. And although Colt still tasted the fear of his dark, wounded side, for at least this moment he wanted to pretend it wasn’t there and that Abbie was all that existed in his miserable life. She was light to his eternal darkness. Light.

  Chapter 5

  Christmas Eve, December 24

  There was no way to gird himself for this Christmas Eve ahead of him. As Colt entered the second floor of the Veterans Hospital, which was located in Anaconda, Montana, his hands full of gifts for those who were bedridden, he was grateful for Abbie’s nearness. She would help him get through this visit.

  Every year, Morgan and Laura, along with the Perseus employees and spouses, took a bus to Anaconda, Montana, a large city southeast of Philipsburg, to visit the Veterans Hospital. The vets there came from all the U.S. military services. Anyone who had served could take advantage of VA hospitals for wounds gained in combat, or if they had no medical insurance of their own, to receive medical help during their civilian years. Veterans hospitals were spread across the states to care for those who had given so much to their country.

  As members of Perseus split up to cover the five floors, Colt and Abbie took the second one, where most of the vets were from the Korean and Vietnam eras. Swallowing hard, he felt his gut tightening with a lot of suppressed emotions as they stepped onto the green-and-white tiled floor. On either side of the huge ward, white-haired men lay in white beds, their faces aged, but their expressions alert and expectant looking. Few of these vets had visitors, and he knew how much they looked forward to anyone who would spend
a few minutes with them. Families could be hundreds, even thousands of miles away, so most vets languished alone, without support from loved ones or friends. That’s why visits such as this were so important. It helped their morale and let them know that others appreciated their patriotic gift.

  Colt carried two huge wicker baskets containing Christmas sacks for each vet. Abbie and the other women of Perseus had tucked many thoughtful and useful items into gaily decorated sacks to give to each patient in the ward. There was a slice of thick fruitcake in a plastic box, vanilla sauce in another, plus plastic flatware and a bright red napkin. A twenty-dollar phone card was included so that a veteran who was bed-bound could call his family over the Christmas holiday, along with a gold envelope that contained a hundred dollars in cash. Most vets earned meager government stipends and lived below the poverty level, so the money would come in handy.

  His mouth growing dry as they walked past the swinging doors, Colt spotted a number of orderlies, men and women, dressed in white uniforms. One woman, a registered nurse with short black hair and dancing blue eyes, hurried over to them.

  “Hey, were glad you came! The guys here have been waiting for you.” She smiled and gestured toward the ward. “The only one you can’t give fruitcake to is down there at the end—Mr. Charles Langford. Charlie’s blind and has diabetes, so he can’t have sugar products.” The nurse looked up at Colt. “Why don’t you visit with him, sir? He just got a letter from his son, who’s over in Kosovo serving in the army? I don’t have time to read it to him. I’m sure he’d like you to do that for him. That’s a Christmas gift in itself.”

  Nodding, Colt said, “Yeah, be happy to.” Liar. He was scared. Kosovo. He glanced over at the old man named Charlie, who was sitting up in bed, clothed in wrinkled blue pajamas that seemed too large for him. Great. Talking with a man who had a son in Kosovo was the last thing Colt wanted to do, but the nurse had already taken the wicker basket from him and set it on a nearby gurney. Then she gripped Colt by the arm and propelled him down the highly polished aisle to the last bed on the right.

  “Hey, Charlie! You’ve got a visitor….” She looked up at Colt as she steered him to the man’s bedside and drew out a chair for him to sit on. “Your name, sir?”

  “Colt,” he told her uncomfortably as he sat down.

  “Charlie, meet Colt.” The nurse leaned over and patted the sixty-year-old vet’s stooped shoulders.

  Charlie gave her a slight smile. He lifted his long, thin arm, his large-knuckled fingers extended outward. “Hey, Colt…where are you, son? Nurse Jones here was promising me that someone would read my boy’s letter to me.” He gripped the badly wrinkled letter in his other hand. “I’d be mighty appreciative if you could do that.”

  “Of course,” he murmured. Charlie had obviously hung on to that letter like life itself; it was wrinkled and worn from the old vet handling it so much. Colt felt panicked when Nurse Jones hurried away. Turning his full attention to the vet, he saw that Charlie’s eyes were a milky, opaque color. He was totally blind, Colt realized. Mouth tightening, he lifted his hand and met Charlie’s outstretched one. The old man’s fingers wrapped strongly around his.

  “Good to meet you, Colt. They said Morgan Trayhern’s people were comin’ in this morning. We’ve been pretty excited all week. We don’t get many visitors, you know? I’ve been here for five years now.” He grimaced. “This diabetes is killin’ me inches at a time.” He managed a sour smile, trying to make a joke despite the serious nature of his illness.

  Squeezing Charlie’s hand, Colt released it as if it was a hot poker burning him. He looked up to see Abbie chatting excitedly with vets on the other side of the ward. Each man lit up like a lightbulb beneath her effusive warmth and care. Uneasily, he returned his attention to Charlie. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he murmured. When he realized that Charlie had one leg missing up to his knee beneath the mass of blankets, Colt winced. When diabetes was serious, gangrene would set in, and then that part of the body had to be amputated or the person would die. The man’s skin was washed out and he was gaunt looking. His hair hung in a semicircle, like a halo, around his bald, shining head. Silvery hairs stuck out like a hen’s nest, in need of a combing. Despite the old soldier’s medical condition, Colt couldn’t resist the smile on his nearly toothless mouth. It was clear the man had been through hell, and yet he was still in good spirits.

  “What war did you serve in, sir?” Colt asked.

  Charlie sobered. “I was in Korea with the marines at the Frozen Chosin.”

  “Helluva place.”

  “Helluva place,” Charlie agreed grimly. “Got my legs shot up there. Nearly froze to death. One of my buddies paid with his life to get me help.” His smile dissolved. “I’ve been in and out of VA hospitals since then. About twenty years ago, I got diabetes. My son, who’s serving in the Army M.P.s—military police—over in Kosovo, is real worried about me. My wife, Wanda, died five years ago, and now—” he sighed “—I’m a full-time resident here.” He brightened and held up the badly worn white envelope. “This is from Stephen, my son. It would be a heck of a Christmas gift if you could read it to me. I’d be forever grateful. Nurse Jones usually reads his mail to me, but they’ve had emergencies going on for the last two days and no one has had time to spend with me to read it. Maybe you could?”

  He held out the envelope to Colt. His hand was trembling badly.

  Colt hesitantly took the crinkled letter. It was still sealed. He saw hope burning in Charlie’s heavily lined face. “Sure,” he rasped, “I’ll do that for you….” And he slowly opened it as if it were going to bite him. He didn’t want to know what was inside that envelope. A frisson of fear ran through him.

  “I’m so proud of my son,” Charlie said. “He’s an officer, you know. A captain. A chip off the old block here.” He managed a strained laugh. “Well, I wasn’t too happy at first that he chose the Army over the Marine Corps. I’d have liked him to have been a marine, but it was his choice.” Opening his hands, he added, “I worry atrociously about him. He’s up there on the front lines tryin’ to keep peace between the Serbs and the Kosovars. The people hate each other over there. And over what? Religion, of all things! Whatever happened to ‘love thy neighbor’? Where is tolerance? They’re a crazy bunch over there, if you ask me.”

  His conscience eating at him, Colt felt his mouth drying up. He longed for a glass of water, anything to ease the pain forming like a fist in his chest region as he slowly opened the typed letter. “It’s bad over there,” he managed to say in a strained tone.

  Charlie sat forward, attentive, his face glowing with expectation at having the letter read.

  Taking a deep, ragged breath, Colt began to read out loud to him.

  “Hi Dad…I hope this reaches you by Christmas. I’m sorry I can’t be there. I know Frannie is sending you a box of goodies, so let me know if it arrives in time? She said she was making you some sugar-free cookies that you could eat a little of once a day. Just be sure and clear it with your doc first, okay?”

  “Frannie is his wife,” Charlie said excitedly. He rubbed his hand together in anticipation. “Ain’t got the box yet. Bet it will arrive today…I hope….”

  Colt heard the excitement in his voice. There were tears glimmering in Charlie’s eyes. Shutting his own eyes tightly, Colt dragged in another breath of air. He felt like he was suffocating. Forcing his eyes open once more, he went on.

  “I don’t know what to do, Dad. This place is hell on earth. The people hate one another. I never knew what hate was till me and my company came over here. They keep telling us to keep the peace, but Dad, it’s worse than any nightmare I could concoct. I survived the Gulf War and felt lucky, but this place is worse….”

  Colt hesitated. His voice became choked. Glancing up, he saw Charlie’s face go slack and heavy with concern. Colt’s heart began to pound in earnest as he forced himself to go on.

  “Yesterday, we found the body of a dead Kosovar girl. She’d wandered into
a Serb part of town, chasing her little puppy, which had gotten loose. They’d stoned her to death before we could reach her because she was on their property. She was just fourteen, so pretty…what a waste of life.”

  “My poor son,” Charlie whispered. He ran his hands across his face and sniffed. “Oh, my poor boy…how awful. And that little girl…I just can’t believe it…I just can’t. An innocent child…”

  Colt fought his own reaction. The words blurred on the paper. The letter trembled in his hand. Flashes of what he’d seen—the blood, the screams, the terror—avalanched through him. Sweat popped out on his deeply furrowed brow as he sat there trying to get a handle on his escaping emotions. In an effort to avoid feeling, he looked up at old Charlie. The man was sitting there, his hands tightly clasped in his lap, tears streaming down his face.

  “Finish it,” he told Colt in an unsteady tone. “I need to hear the rest. My son…he’s hurting, and I know that hurt. Damn war…”

  Colt stood up and sat down on the side of Charlie’s bed, his back to the rest of the ward. He didn’t want anyone to see his face or the tears glittering dangerously in his own eyes. His hip grazed Charlie’s. The old man reached out, found his hand and squeezed it—hard. He continued to hold on to Colt’s hand with a clinging grip.

  “Please…read the rest?” he quavered.

  Shaking his head, Colt forced himself to read the rest of the letter in a low, ragged tone that only Charlie could hear. Colt wasn’t sure he could finish it; each word ripped more scar tissue off that bleeding wound within him from his own experiences in Kosovo.