Christmas Eve Delivery. Connie Cox
Emotion had him sounding gruffer than he had intended.
Deseré didn’t seem to mind. “You’re welcome. Now go.”
Ignoring the shocked expressions on Sissy’s and Plato’s faces, Jordan took long, quick strides toward his truck as the helicopter lifted off, strobing bright light into the darkening sky.
As he climbed into his truck, he thought he should have nagging guilt about deserting his post. Instead, he felt comfort, deep down from the place where his instincts were born.
He was no longer alone.
For the first time in a very long time he could feel the tight, invisible bands around his chest loosen enough to let him draw in a deep breath.
The feeling of relief was seductive and he wanted to breathe in more.
But he couldn’t forget—wouldn’t forget—that letting down his guard created a sure-fire path to disappointment and bone-crushing pain.
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