Table of Contents
Blurb
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
About the Author
By Deanna Wadsworth
Visit Dreamspinner Press
Copyright
Welcome Home, Soldier
By Deanna Wadsworth
Clay and Daniel fell in love as enlisted men during Desert Shield, but Don’t Ask Don’t Tell meant they had to keep it secret. After Clay’s convoy was ambushed, PTSD changed him, and their relationship ended in a horrible fight on Christmas Eve.
Twenty-five years later, they’ve reconnected on Facebook, and Clay finds out Daniel will be alone on Christmas Eve. Impulsively, he sets out for Daniel’s hometown of Gilead, Ohio—where Daniel is now the mayor—to surprise him with a visit. But a blizzard strikes and Clay wrecks his car. All hope of seeing Daniel is lost—until a mysterious old man named Nick offers Clay a ride.
The weight of past wounds and the scars of war might make their reunion awkward, but Clay is willing to take the risk to win back his lost love. Despite a lifetime of disappointing holidays, Clay hopes that this soldier is finally coming home for Christmas.
Chapter One
I’M GONNA freeze to death.
That’s what Clay Fisher got for being an idiot.
A lovesick, stupid idiot.
Outside his Chevy Malibu, white swirls of snow whisked across open farm fields, making visibility impossible. Clay cursed and slammed his fists on the steering wheel, sending a sharp pain up his elbows. Wincing, he rubbed his fingers together.
How did I forget gloves?
“What were you thinking, coming out to the boonies at this hour?” he asked himself.
It’d been a fool’s mission, a reckless, impulsive decision.
And apparently one that would end his life.
Clay pursed his cold lips together, his breath already frosting in front of his face.
No!
Stuck in a snowbank on a backwoods country road in the middle of a damn blizzard would not be how this soldier went down. He’d survived the Gulf War, cancer, addiction, and the death of pretty much everyone he’d ever loved.
Unsure if he believed in God, miracles, happily-ever-afters, or any of that bullshit in storybooks, Clay sent a last-ditch prayer heavenward. “Please, help me get out of this alive. This can’t be how it ends. Not before I see him one more time.”
Daniel Millhouse.
His very name was like a prayer, a call home.
Hope filled Clay despite the perilous situation.
Clay had joined the Army straight out of high school and met Daniel at Fort Benning, Georgia. Wet behind the ears but full of bravado, both Clay and Daniel had enlisted to be all they could be. Coming from humble beginnings—Daniel, a country boy from Ohio with a single mom barely scraping by to make ends meet, and Clay, a product of the foster system, broken and unwanted for most of his childhood—enlisting was their opportunity to be something. To go to college.
While there had always been tension in the Middle East—probably always would be—they hadn’t signed up for a real war. But then that Saddam Hussein fucker invaded Kuwait and bam! Their regiment was off to Saudi Arabia.
In less than one calendar year, their lives had changed forever.
Something good had come of it, though. One perfect, beautiful thing.
Daniel.
Clay rubbed his arms vigorously and wiggled his toes in his boots. Wanting to impress Daniel, he’d worn his best outfit—a snug pair of Levi’s and a black button-up that showed off the muscles he’d spent years developing in the gym. Underneath his jacket, however, he might as well be wearing nothing, he was so cold. If only he had gloves and…. My bag!
Kicking himself mentally for forgetting he’d packed an overnight bag in case the evening went well, Clay reached behind the seat and grabbed it. He’d planned to leave it in the car once he got to Daniel’s. Didn’t want to be presumptuous. Hopeful, yes, presumptuous, no.
Shivering, he quickly removed his jacket and slid on the T-shirt. When he took off his boots, his baggy pajama bottoms slipped over his jeans easily. One extra layer meant one extra minute before hypothermia set in.
Boots and jacket back on, he took his underwear—three pairs because you always packed extra—and put them all on his head. Yes, he looked like an asshole, but heat escaped from the head first. Everyone knew that. Then he tucked his hands inside his jacket, under his armpits. After a moment, he felt a little warmer.
It all started a week ago when Clay had searched for Daniel on Facebook—something he had done often with no success.
But suddenly there Daniel was.
With bated breath, Clay had sent a friend request. Daniel accepted almost immediately. Clay’s stomach had fallen out when he saw Daniel’s relationship status: single. Last Clay had heard, Daniel was happily rusticating back in his hometown of Gilead with a woman and a kid.
His heart had skipped, and his hands trembled as he typed two letters. Hi.
Daniel didn’t respond for an hour. Actually, it was fifty-three minutes—not that Clay had been counting.
Hi, yourself.
They’d chatted about nothing in particular, and the conversations faded in and out organically over the course of the week. When they weren’t chatting and even when Clay had been at work, he scoured Daniel’s page. Not wanting his old lover to think Clay was a stalker, Clay reminded himself not to Like all the pics showing how amazing Daniel still looked—water-skiing in his beloved Shiloh River, arm around his son at a college graduation, fishing off the back of a sparkly blue bass boat. Daniel’s sandy-blond hair appeared as thick as it had been in the days Clay had stolen every chance to run his fingers through it when no one saw. And that smile….
Clay shivered.
But not even the dream of being in Daniel’s arms could warm him on this bitter night. He trembled once more as the swirling mass of white howled outside the car.
Who knew it could be this damn cold in Ohio!
Despite the fact they hadn’t seen each other face-to-face in over two decades, when Clay learned Daniel would be alone on Christmas Eve, he hadn’t hesitated. He packed a bag, grabbed a Coke, filled up his gas tank, and headed to Gilead, a little village in Ohio well away from any other signs of civilization. Daniel used to talk about his hometown so much that Clay felt like he’d been there before. But driving through Gilead in this whiteout, Clay hadn’t found the quaint Mayberryesque town he’d always envisioned. Buttoned up tight due to the holiday and the storm, Gilead looked like a Christmas village in an unshaken snow globe.
Clay made the three-hour trip from Cleveland to Gilead easily enough, but the closer he got to his destination, the worse the storm became, as if he was driving right into it. He hadn’t seen another car since he left the highway and got on State Route 5, but Clay trusted his GPS, knowing Daniel lived several miles from the village itself.
Then he lost cell service.
In the wide-open country, the wind caused big drifts, and he hadn’t been sure if he was even on the right road, let alone on a road at all. He’d been fucking with his phone, trying to get GPS back, when he crashed into a pine tree.
The accident had busted something inside the engine, and now the damn car wouldn’t even start. So with no cell service and no heat, here Clay sat, freezing, stranded, and wearing underwear on his head.
Add tonight to a long list of stupid ideas I’ve had in my life.
Clay had always been impetuous, and it had gotten him in
trouble more often than not. Hell, if he’d shown a little more caution, he might not have been on that convoy to Basra, saving himself a lot of heartache and pain.
At forty-nine years old, however, Clay was just as stupid as he’d always been.
He could almost hear Daniel saying, “Come on, Fisher. Use your head.”
Clay had been using his head.
Just the one in his underwear, not the one attached to his neck.
It had to be getting late, but he didn’t want to pull his hand out to check his watch. He could walk the several miles back to Gilead, but he’d only seen one house since he’d left the village, and in all honesty, he couldn’t remember if he’d gone left or right on that last road. And it was so damn cold. So cold his toes burned as the blood left them for more vital organs and frostbite prepared to set in.
I’m going to die on an abandoned road in the middle of BFE.
And for what?
A pipe dream that the man he’d loved—never stopped loving—might want to see him after Clay left him twenty-five years ago? And on Christmas no less, the very day everything fell apart.
Such a fool!
Trying to decide if he should brave the elements or stay in the car, Clay studied the snow once more. He could barely make out the road because of all the white…. Wait! Did he see a light?
He blinked a few times.
Are those headlights?
“Yes!” Clay let out a whoop of excitement.
The two lights were like beacons of hope to this stranded soldier.
Struggling inside his jacket, he tore the fabric on the side in his urgency to get a hand free. Then he fumbled for the door handle, his fingers tight and cold. Snow had piled against the side of the car, and he used all his strength to shove the door open with his feet. The effort strained his bad knee, but he couldn’t give up, not now. Once the door opened enough, he squirmed out into the storm and sank shin-deep in the snow. He threw a look over his shoulder. The headlights were bigger.
No hallucination. He wasn’t losing his mind.
It was a goddamn Christmas miracle!
Stumbling over himself and ignoring the pain in his knee, he plowed through the snow and onto the road, waving his arms. His jacket flapped open, and snow pelted his face with flakes so big they could’ve been snowballs.
A thought crossed his mind—what if the driver didn’t see him and hit him?
Doesn’t matter, he supposed. He’d be a dead man if he stayed in the car. At least this way he had a chance.
The lights were almost on top of him by now. Over the howl of the wind, Clay heard the brakes catching. The big truck stopped in front of him.
Clay had never been more grateful in his entire life.
A window rolled down and a man called, “You need some help?”
He could barely make out his rescuer’s face. “I had an accident. Car won’t start.”
“Get in,” the man said, rolling up the window. Inside the truck, the cab lit up. An old man leaned over to push open the passenger door.
Clay hastened forward, leapt up the steps, and climbed inside. He slammed the door shut behind him, the feeble warmth of the cab as decadent as a sauna. The radio played a version of “The Little Drummer Boy” Clay had never heard before.
“Oh man, I thought I was a goner,” Clay declared.
“How long you been stuck here?”
“I don’t know, twenty minutes? It was long enough. I’m freezing.”
The wizened old man with a white beard studied him with a peculiar look on his face. “That why you got them skivvies on your head?”
As cold as Clay was, the heat of a blush surprised him. Snatching the underwear off his head, he stuffed them into his pocket. “You lose your body heat through your head, ya know?”
“You’re right, you do.” Chuckling, the old man reached over, adjusted the vents to blow on Clay, and then cranked up the heater.
Clay rubbed his hands vigorously in front of the heat. “Thanks, I thought I was gonna die out here.”
“I heard your call for help,” the man said. “Good thing I was listening.”
“Yeah. Good thing.”
The man held out a hand. “I’m Nick.”
He shook it. “Clay. Clay Fisher.”
“Nice to make your acquaintance, Clay. Where are you headed?”
“I got a friend who lives a few miles down this road. At least I think he does. Is this County Road 3-4? I lost my GPS signal.”
Nick rubbed his white beard in thought. “Yeah, it’s 3-4 all right. A couple miles you say? Well, this road dead ends after the bridge over Swan Creek. Only one house down there. You must mean the mayor, right?”
“Yes, that’s him. Daniel Millhouse.” For an instant, he thought about asking Nick to take him to Daniel’s house, but after the events of the day, maybe a hotel would be a better idea. “Do you think you could take me back to Gilead? Is there a hotel?”
Nick shook his head. “No hotel. The Carriage House is being remodeled into a B and B, but it’s months away from opening. You want me to drop you off at Mayor Millhouse’s?”
“Um, yeah, I guess. You sure you don’t mind?”
“Don’t mind at all.”
“Oh, okay.”
Nick put his truck into drive, and it rumbled and chugged off into the storm, slow but steady toward the mayor’s house.
Mayor Daniel Millhouse.
It had surprised Clay that Daniel went into small-town politics after the Army, but it shouldn’t have. A natural-born leader and as honest as they came, Daniel was always looking out for others. And he loved his hometown. The hardworking man had quickly moved up in the Army ranks, the last Clay heard, all the way to the highest rank for an enlisted soldier—Sergeant Major. Clay had been so proud of him, never resenting his success, though Daniel outranking him did make their relationship difficult at times. Daniel had never left Clay behind though—well, not until the end anyway. While they’d been together, he’d cared for and protected Clay in every way imaginable.
That’s why Clay had expected so much more—unfairly, he knew that now. But that was Clay’s MO. Always wanting the world when he didn’t deserve it. Of course, Daniel shouldn’t have reenlisted and taken that transfer. That had never been part of their plan. He was supposed to go with Clay, stay with him.
He’d needed Daniel.
Disliking the old memories, Clay cleared his throat and studied Nick. The chubby old man’s pleasant face was framed with white hair and half buried in a white bushy beard. There was something inviting about him, trustworthy even. “I’m glad you were driving by,” Clay said. “I didn’t think I’d see another car at this hour.”
“Well, it’s Christmas Eve, and I’ve got lots of deliveries to make.” He smiled at Clay, a twinkle in his eyes. “I can’t think of a better package to deliver than an old friend.”
“Yeah, I guess not.” Maybe he should send Daniel a message, warn him about his arrival and soften the surprise. Clay reached for his phone and cursed.
“No phone?” Nick said. The wind pushed the truck, but he kept it between the ditches.
“Yeah, I left it in my car.”
“Better you than a phone that got rescued,” Nick said as the truck ambled over the road and the wind howled, visibility a near zero. “It’s not too often that Gilead gets hit with a December storm like this. Did you know it was coming?”
Driving in snow always reminded Clay of warp speed on Star Trek. If one stared into it too long, it could hypnotize. He blinked a few times to shake the sensation, then glanced at Nick. “Actually, no, I didn’t check the weather. I was just anxious to see Daniel. You know, for Christmas and everything.”
“Is he expecting you?”
Clay swallowed hard, rubbing his hands in front of the vent again. He glanced at his watch. Quarter to nine. Damn, it’s late. “No, he isn’t.”
“Then this is going to be a great Christmas surprise, isn’t it?”
“I ho
pe so.”
Would Daniel agree?
Online, Clay had suggested meeting for coffee, but they’d made no definite plans due to the holiday and distance. While Daniel hadn’t extended an invitation, he hadn’t shot down Clay’s idea of meeting up either.
Chatting with Daniel had felt like old times before everything between them went to shit. As if hours had passed since they were last together, not a couple of decades. His cheeks had hurt from grinning every time he saw “someone is typing” in the message feed.
He was talking to his Danny.
The only man he’d ever loved.
Clay ran his hand over his heart, the longing ache so painfully real.
Abandoned in a church on Christmas Eve by his crack-addicted mother and named after a man he’d never seen, Clay had spent the majority of his life searching for the one thing he wanted most.
Somewhere to call home.
When the Fishers adopted him at age fourteen, he’d been too jaded to believe he’d actually get to stay, so he hadn’t appreciated that first Christmas with them. Life had turned around afterward, and Clay allowed himself to believe that good things did happen to ordinary people. Especially when he joined the Army and met Daniel.
Christmas became something to look forward to, a joyful time of year.
Until he lost Daniel.
His parents had been elderly when they adopted him, and they’d died years ago. If he stopped to think about it, he would know the exact amount of years, but his memory was about as good as his knees.
Once more an abandoned kid, Clay was all alone. He hadn’t found a home since, though he’d spent a lot of time searching for it at the bottom of a bottle.
Would Clay ever find where he belonged?
“Don’t worry,” Nick said, startling Clay with his calming tone. “You just warm up. I’ll get you where you need to go.”
Slowly, as they drove a steady ten miles an hour through the storm, Clay began to feel a little warmer, calmer too. He wiggled his toes, still not sure he could feel his pinky ones.
“Why did you decide to surprise the mayor?” Nick asked.
“I knew he was gonna be by himself.”
Welcome Home, Soldier Page 1
