The Soldier's Holiday Homecoming. Judy Duarte
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“I love Christmas,” Chloe said, drawing his thoughts back to reality.
“All we’re missing is a little mistletoe to hang over the doorway.”
She flushed, and he was tempted to draw her to him anyway, to kiss her senseless. In fact, as she lifted her eyes to his, as their gazes locked, desire flared.
He had no business following through on it, though. He didn’t even know where he’d been, let alone where he was going. But if she didn’t stop looking at him like that …
Oh, what the hell.
“Something tells me I’ve never needed any prompts.” Then he stepped forward, placed his hands on her cheeks. He waited a moment, taking the time to study her eyes, her expression, checking for any sign of protest.
Instead, her chin lifted and her lips parted.
That was all the invitation he needed.
* * *
The Soldier’s Holiday Homecoming
Judy Duarte
JUDY DUARTE always knew there was a book inside her, but since English was her least favorite subject in school, she never considered herself a writer. An avid reader who enjoys a happy ending, Judy couldn’t shake the dream of creating a book of her own.
Her dream became a reality in March 2002, when Mills & Boon® Cherish™ released her first book, Cowboy Courage. Since then she has published more than twenty novels. Her stories have touched the hearts of readers around the world. And in July 2005 Judy won a prestigious Readers’ Choice Award for The Rich Man’s Son.
Judy makes her home near the beach in Southern California. When she’s not cooped up in her writing cave, she’s spending time with her somewhat enormous but delightfully close family.
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In memory of Lydia Bustos, who was called home sooner than any of us expected.
I’m rejoicing for you, Tia—but missing you, especially during the holidays.
Contents
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
Brighton Valley, Texas, was the last place in the world Joe Wilcox had ever expected to step foot in again.
Well, not when it came to the good ol’ U.S.A. He sure as hell wouldn’t look forward to another deployment to Afghanistan. But he’d made a promise to deliver a letter for a friend, and if there was one thing that could be said about Joe—he always kept his word.
So he’d packed a few belongings, rented a car just outside of Camp Pendleton and left California. He’d stopped in El Paso long enough to spend the night with Red Conway, a retired marine he’d met on a bus ten years ago. Red had taken Joe in when he’d been a down-and-out teenage runaway, hell-bent on leaving everyone and everything he’d once known behind.
The two men had shared a couple of beers, a pizza and a few stories. The next day, Joe had continued on for another nine hundred miles, finally arriving in Brighton Valley exhausted and hungry.
The first thing Joe did after checking in to a cheap but clean room at the Night Owl, a motor lodge that catered to travelers who were low on funds and just passing through, was to shove his duffle bags under the bed. There was a closet he could have used, but that had never felt like a safe place when he’d been a kid determined to protect his valuables from an uncle who might not have enough cash to buy a pack of cigarettes and a pint of Jack Daniels.
He probably should have shaken the habit years ago, but being back in town brought back all kinds of weird memories, leaving him a bit unbalanced.
Next he took a long, hot shower, slipped into a comfortable pair of worn jeans and a black sweatshirt and hoofed it across the highway to the Stagecoach Inn.
In spite of the seasonal chill in the air, a cold beer would really hit the spot right about now, but he wasn’t looking for a drink or any entertainment. He was on a mission. He had a letter to deliver to a blonde cocktail waitress named Chloe Dawson.
Once he found the coldhearted woman who’d broken Dave Cummings’s heart, he’d give her the letter Dave had asked him to deliver.
Now, as he stood on the side of the busy highway, waiting for a lull in the traffic so he could cross, he pulled out Chloe’s photograph, the one Dave had always carried. He studied the photo in the flickering streetlight overhead. The snapshot was a little grainy, so her facial features weren’t especially clear, but it was easy to see that the platinum blonde had long, wavy hair and a dynamite shape.
To be honest, when he and Dave had been stationed