by Leanne Banks
After she finished, she met him at the door and pushed her hands in her pockets. “Ready.”
He nodded and opened the door. The brisk air hit them in the face.
“Nothing like Montana in November,” she said. “Or January or February.”
“Better than Iraq anytime,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets. “It got up to 138 degrees during one of my tours.”
“138?” she echoed, gaping at him. “That’s horrible.”
“Gives new meaning to hell on earth,” he said with a dry chuckle. “We fried an egg on the top of a Humvee.”
“If you hated it, why didn’t you just quit?” she asked. “I mean, at the end of your tour or whatever.”
“It was what I was supposed to do. I never doubted it. It felt right even when it felt like crap,” he said.
“Even when you did the dirty work,” she murmured.
He glanced at her and held her gaze for a long moment. “Yeah, I guess.”
“Told you that you’re a hero,” she said.
He rolled his eyes. “I’m no G.I. Joe doll,” he said.
“You look pretty darn good to me,” she said and saw him tilt his head in warning. “But we’re going to talk about the ROOTS for Soldiers program. And the diner is calling us,” she said pointing to the building down the block.
“True,” he said and held open the door for her as they entered the cozy place.
The waitress waved them toward an empty booth.
“I love this place,” she said, pulling her scarf from around her neck and unbuttoning her coat. “They make the best grilled cheese sandwiches in the world.”
“Is that what you’re going to order?”
“Absolutely. And hot chocolate loaded with marshmallows. I want my sugar high,” she said, grinning at him as she sat across from him in a red booth. “Are you going to order something sensible?”
“I don’t know. I may order meat loaf and pie,” he said.
“Oooh,” she said, shaking her finger at him. “Bad boy.”
He laughed. “I’ll pay for it, but their pie is worth it.”
“It is,” she said.
The waitress delivered menus and ice water.
“So what’s the next step with the ROOTS for Soldiers program?” he asked.
“I’d like to set up a couple times for you to talk to the kids. The reason I would like you to speak more than once is because not all the kids come each time. I’d like to choose the peak times,” she said.
“What do you want me to tell them?” he asked, his hands forming a tent as he leaned toward her.
His intensity just got to her. She felt her belly do a crazy little dance and looked away from him to hide it. “I just want you to talk about what it was like to be there. To get mail from people you didn’t know. How much it meant to you.” She glanced up again. “Did you ever spend the holidays in Iraq?”
He nodded. “Many times. It was hard,” he confessed. “It felt like the rest of the world was celebrating without us.”
“I know that feeling,” she said, the feeling of loss from years ago echoing inside her. “Right after my mom died, the last thing I wanted to do was celebrate the holidays. Everyone else seemed so happy, but all I could think about was what was missing.”
Forrest met her gaze. “What changed? You’re all about Christmas now. Sheesh, you could be Santa’s elf.”
She smiled. “I don’t know when it happened, but eventually I realized that the best way to honor my mom was by remembering the good times. My mom had always loved Christmas and so had I. Celebrating Christmas is a way I can keep her close to me. Plus there was the matter of my brother and my sister. They tried desperately to make the holidays special, and I think my excitement helped them with their grief. Strange how it all ties together, isn’t it?” she asked.
“I never thought about it from that perspective. It’s similar to folks wishing their soldiers were home with them,” he murmured. “It must be hard for the families at home to keep up their spirits.”
The waitress arrived to take their orders.
Angie took a deep breath and the silence between them felt companionable, connected. She didn’t feel the sudden need to fill it with idle conversation. What a novel experience for her, she thought, savoring the moment.
The waitress delivered their hot chocolate.
“I wonder if there’s something that could be done for the families,” he mused.
“That’s a great idea,” Angie said, her mind spinning with ideas. “I’m glad we’re doing the ROOTS for Soldiers program, but we could try to do something for the families of GIs who can’t be home. Maybe a meal or something. Thanksgiving or Christmas Eve?”
He nodded. “Hey, maybe DJ could help. He is my cousin and he runs the Rib Shack.”
“And did you know he gave turkeys to people who otherwise wouldn’t have a hot meal last year? He’s always been generous with the community,” she said.
“So, maybe the Rib Shack could hold a party for military families,” he suggested as the waitress delivered their meal.
Angie moved her head from side to side in half agreement. “Maybe,” she said.
“Maybe?” he said, wrinkling his eyebrows in confusion.
“The Rib Shack would be very nice,” she said, her mind brimming with other ideas. “But wouldn’t it be even nicer if the families could be treated like royalty?”
“Does this mean we’ll be contacting Buckingham Palace?” he asked in a wry voice as he dug into his meat loaf and mashed potatoes.
Angie laughed. “I was thinking of something a little closer to home. Say, dinner at the Gallatin Room.”
Forrest nearly choked on his meat loaf. He coughed and swallowed hard. “The Gallatin Room. Can’t say I’ve been there, but I’ve heard it’s the fanciest place in Thunder Canyon. What makes you think Thunder Canyon Resort would be interested in this kind of gig?”
“You never know until you ask,” she said. “I’m going to talk to Grant Clifton. He’s the manager of the resort. I’ll see what he can do,” she said and took a bite of her grilled cheese sandwich.
“I guess this means Grant’s going to be holding a Thanksgiving dinner for families of soldiers,” Forrest said.
“I’m hopeful,” she said. “But what makes you so sure?”
“You seem to know how to get people to do what you want them to do,” he said as he continued to eat. “I’m trying to remember when I met someone better at twisting arms than you.”
“You could have said no,” she told him.
“Yeah, if I’d wanted to end up with coal in my stocking. Once you started in about how wonderful Christmas is, I would have felt like I was kicking a puppy if I’d turned you down.”
“So, you’re saying your decision to help me was based on pity,” she said, putting as much indignation into her voice as possible.
“Well, part of it,” he admitted with a cautious expression on his face.
“Okay,” she said, smiling at him. “I’ll remember that for next time.”
Forrest groaned. “Help,” he said in a croaky voice.
Angie couldn’t help laughing. Forrest was such a strong man, all man, as she knew from getting so close to him during that kiss they’d shared. “How could a woman like me scare a soldier like you?”
He looked at her with a perplexed expression on his face. “I can’t explain it. Maybe you have some secret superpowers you haven’t told me about.”
Angie met his gaze. Was he flirting with her? She quickly denied the possibility. Not Forrest. He was still holding her at arm’s length. She would have to lure him in, and it wasn’t going to be easy.
* * *
A couple days later, after a little more arm-twisting, Forrest joined Angie for her visit with Grant Clifton. “We have a fantastic idea,” she said to Grant as they sat in his office.
Grant leaned back in his chair and folded his hands. “Tell me about it,” he said. Sell me, his body languag
e said.
“Major Forrest Traub and I have found an unmet need in our community. We’ve begun a program where the ROOTS teens are corresponding with soldiers out of the country, sending them letters and small gifts. What Forrest and I realized is that we haven’t addressed the stateside families of soldiers who can’t come home for the holidays. There’s no way we can compensate for that, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try,” she said.
Grant grinned. “Okay, what’s your idea?”
“We want the families to feel like royalty. We want them to have the chance to dine in the Gallatin Room on Thanksgiving Day Eve.”
Silence followed, and Angie resisted the urge to grab Forrest’s hand. He’d endured her hours of practice before this meeting and reluctantly agreed to join her.
Grant leaned forward and drummed his fingers on his desk. “That’s actually not a bad idea,” he finally said. “Thanksgiving is a big day for us, but the night before Thanksgiving isn’t that big. We could give you a lot of attention that night. We could give you the attention you deserve.”
Angie slumped in relief. “Really?”
Grant nodded. “Really,” he said. “It doesn’t hurt that you brought a soldier with you.”
Forrest lifted his hand. “Didn’t say a word.”
“You didn’t have to,” Grant said with a solemn face. “Thank you for your service and sacrifice.”
Surprised by the man’s words, Forrest nodded. “Thank you, but I was just doing my job.”
“Then, thank you for doing your job. It’s a helluva lot more hazardous than mine is,” Grant said.
Forrest grinned. “I dunno. If you put me in the kitchen, it could get dangerous.”
Grant laughed. “Then we won’t let you near it,” he said, turning to Angie. “We can work out a menu with our new chef. I’m sure he will be more than willing to participate.”
Angie jumped to her feet. “This is fabulous. Thank you so much.”
Forrest rose beside her. “The veterans thank you,” he said. “The community thanks you.”
“Nothing I can do will match what you’ve given for our country,” Grant said and lifted his hand. “No debates please.” He extended his hand to Forrest.
Forrest strongly clasped the man’s hand and nodded.
“We’ll be in touch,” Angie said and gave a little salute.
She walked out the door of the manager’s office and she grabbed Forrest’s hand. They walked down a hall, a set of stairs and another hall. When they stepped outside, she squealed at the top of her lungs.
“We did it!”
He laughed. “You did,” he corrected, enjoying her exuberance.
“With your help,” she said, jumping up and down.
“I just sat there,” he said. “You did the persuading. You used your superpowers.”
“Yeah, right,” she said. “You made a huge difference. Don’t argue with me. Thank you for coming.”
“It wasn’t a tough job. Like I said, all I had to do was sit there,” he said.
“And be yourself. Being yourself is pretty awesome,” she said.
He shrugged, thinking about how much he still needed to accomplish to gain back his former self. “I’m working at it.”
“Well, can I buy you a cup of hot chocolate?” she asked, tilting her head to the side.
She made it hard for him to refuse. “I’ll take a rain check,” he said. “No sugar for me. I want to sleep tonight.”
“No problem,” she said as they walked to his truck. “Do you have a hard time sleeping at night?”
He felt his gut twist. “Depends on the night. I have some leftovers from the war.”
She looked at him. “That makes perfect sense,” she said. “Anyone who experienced the kind of trauma you did would have a hard time sometimes.”
He felt an easing inside him. How could she begin to know what he’d been through? Yet, her words felt like cool water over an aching wound.
Forrest helped her into the passenger seat of his truck and rounded the vehicle to the driver’s side. He got inside, pulled on his safety belt and started the car. Driving to her home, he thought about how much Angie contributed to the community. She looked like a cute flighty fairy, but he was learning that she was far more than that.
He pulled his truck to a stop and turned to her. “You did a good thing tonight,” he said. “Thanks.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “Thanks to you. You inspired me.”
Everything inside him wanted to pull her to him and take her lips in a kiss. But he resisted. He had to. He sighed and nodded. “I’ll see you soon.”
Chapter Four
The next night, Forrest gave a brief presentation to the ROOTS group.
“The desert in Iraq is cruel. It can reach temperatures of 138 degrees Fahrenheit in the summer and below freezing in winter. Some of us saw snow, but not sleigh-riding snow. And there are no Christmas lights or Christmas trees in Iraq unless we keep them undercover. We don’t want to call attention to ourselves.” Forrest took a breath. “The great thing is you can do something to help. Your cards and letters, cookies and small gifts, make us feel like we’re not all alone.”
One of the ROOTS teens raised his hand. “How can a card from me make a difference?”
“It’s like a vacation away from Iraq. Especially if you tell us what you’re doing, or even what you want to be doing. Your letter takes us away from where we are for just a few minutes. And sometimes that’s all we need,” Forrest said.
“But are the cookies we send to you stale by the time you receive them?” a girl asked.
Forrest shook his head. “No, but even if they were, we’d eat them all. There’s nothing like cookies from home.”
The girl smiled.
“Did you ever worry about dying?” a male teen asked.
Forrest sat back in his chair, wanting to give the best answer. “I wouldn’t say we worry about that because we didn’t have enough time. But the possibility was always there. And we always had to be ready.”
“And what about when you got injured?” the same teen asked.
Angie stood. “I think that’s enough for tonight. We don’t want to wear out our guest—”
Forrest lifted his hand. “It’s okay. I can take this. I never planned for this injury. I thought about the possibility of death, but not this, so I’ve got a different battle now. It’s not easy. Hey, I bet your life isn’t always easy.”
The youths muttered in response.
“So, I’m just doing the best I can. I’m lucky to have people around me who want to help me succeed. You’re in the same situation. You’ve got people around you who want you to succeed, so you know what I’m talking about.”
Silence followed, then the teens began to applaud. The applause grew to a roar and Forrest met Angie’s gaze. He hadn’t been crazy about giving this talk, but now he knew it had been necessary. It was good for the ROOTS teens to see that he was struggling. It made them feel less alone. And hopefully inspired.
Thank you, Angie mouthed to him.
She stood. “If you want to get involved in ROOTS for Soldiers, you can sign up at the table on the other side of the room. We will also be sending long-distance phone cards and we need elfs to help bake cookies for soldiers.”
A couple of the kids came toward him. “Thanks for coming, Major Traub. I’m sorry you got hurt,” a teen girl said.
Forrest shrugged. “I came out alive. I just need to make the best of it.”
The teen girl leaned toward him. “Well, you look really buff for an older guy,” she whispered.
Forrest was both flattered and amused. “Thanks,” he said. “I work at it.”
A teen guy frowned at the girl. “What’d you say to him? Were you flirting with him?” he asked.
“Pity compliment,” Forrest quickly said, pointing to his leg. “My injury.”
The guy nodded. “Sorry,” he said and lifted his hand for a fist bump. “You’re the man,” he said
.
Moments later, he felt Angie at his side. “Sorry if that was a little rough,” she said.
“Not rough at all,” Forrest said. “Nothing close to what I would have expected during an interrogation. No one says you’re buff during an interrogation.”
Angie lifted her eyebrows in surprise. “Who said that?”
“One of your girls,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Well, hello, I already told you that,” she said. “And I’m past puberty.”
He jerked his head to meet her gaze. “You wouldn’t know that by looking at you.”
“Well, maybe your vision isn’t too good, old man,” she teased him, sending him a sly, sideways glance.
He gave a low growl.
She smiled at him. “I like that. You want some hot chocolate at the diner?”
“Light on the marshmallows,” he said.
Angie sighed. “One of these days you’re not going to be able to resist me,” she said. “I’m going to persuade you to dump a ton of marshmallows in your hot chocolate.”
His gut twisted. She wasn’t seducing him or pushing herself on him. In fact, she had barely touched him lately, and he told himself that was a good thing. He had no business even thinking about touching her or kissing her let alone actually doing it. When he was around Angie, though, his temperature seemed to rise on its own, and his mind wandered to that kiss they’d shared and how she’d felt in his arms. Somehow he always managed to pull himself under control. Thank God for his self-discipline. Otherwise, he would have to avoid her, and Forrest was reluctant to deprive himself of her presence. Despite his pain and gloominess, being around her just made him feel better.
They walked to the diner and got the “usual.”
“Well, Miss Christmas, have you decorated your house yet?” Forrest asked Angie as they sipped their hot chocolate.
“No, I’m behind this year because of the ROOTS projects and my college courses. I’m only taking two, but both require a paper, and I’ve learned the sad truth that they won’t write themselves. Darn it,” she said with a soft chuckle.
“Do you know what you want to do when you finish your degree?”
