Heart of a Soldier. Belle Calhoune

      The letter slipped from Holly’s fingers, floating down to the ground like a leaf falling from a tree. Its graceful descent belied the turmoil raging inside her. Dylan Hart, the pen pal she’d been corresponding with for a little over a year while he was stationed in Afghanistan, was coming to West Falls, all the way from Oklahoma to see her. And according to his letter, he’d be arriving sometime today. With mail scattered all over her lap, Holly adroitly maneuvered her wheelchair up the ramp leading to the front porch. She barreled her way inside the house and double locked the front door behind her. Once she was safely inside, she concentrated on breathing normally. She was taking in huge gulps of air, but she still felt as if she couldn’t breathe. Her palms were sweaty, and beads of moisture had broken out on her forehead. The sound of her labored breathing thundered in her ears.

       Dear Lord, help me. I don’t know what to do. Please don’t let Dylan come here!

      Bingo, her chocolate Lab, padded his way to her side. Sensing her frantic mood, he cocked his head to the side, then began to gently lick her hand. Reaching out, she patted his head, looking deeply into his russet-colored eyes.

      “Bingo, what am I going to do?” she asked as panic skittered through her.

      She wanted to hide! She wanted to get in her van and drive as fast and far from Horseshoe Bend Ranch as possible. There was no way in the world she could face Dylan. Because as much as she adored him, as much as she ached to see those brilliant green eyes in person, she didn’t have the courage to deal with this situation she’d created. She couldn’t face the secret she’d kept from him. Somehow, in all the letters they’d exchanged, she’d failed to tell him the single most important fact about herself.

      She was a paraplegic. She’d lost the use of her legs in an accident, and she’d never walk again. Not in this lifetime. Brave, handsome Dylan, who’d proudly served his country in Afghanistan, had no clue that the woman he’d been writing to—the woman he was traveling all this way to see—was not the woman he believed her to be.

      * * *

      Dylan Hart let out a low whistle as he pulled up in front of the Horseshoe Bend Ranch. In all his life he’d never seen anything finer. It made the Bar M back home seem like chopped liver. The massive entrance dwarfed him, making him feel insignificant in the scheme of things. As he drove past the gates, all he could see stretched out before him was lush green grass—acres upon acres of the purest horse land in the entire state.

      Although Holly had told him her family owned a ranch and it had been in her family for generations, he hadn’t been expecting anything this impressive. For a man who’d been just getting by for most of his life, it left him a little unsettled. Here he was, fresh from a combat zone, with nothing to offer Holly but his sincerity and the special friendship they’d both nurtured. He swallowed past the huge lump in his throat, hoping it was enough to land him the woman of his dreams.

      He knew he was getting ahead of himself, but he couldn’t help it. He had such a good feeling about Holly—she aroused emotions in him that he hadn’t felt in a long time. It wasn’t love—he wasn’t that deep in—but something in his gut told him she could be the one. While he’d been over in Afghanistan, there had been endless amounts of time to think about his future. When the bottom fell out of his world, everything had become crystal clear. A place to call home, a good woman by his side and a strong sense of community. More than anything else in the world, that was what he wanted.

      And here he was in West Falls, Texas, taking a huge leap of faith. It wasn’t like him, not even remotely, but here he stood, ready to embrace his future. Even though he didn’t have a job lined up and this could all blow up in his face, he was willing to reach for the brass ring. He was prepared to put his painful past firmly in his rearview mirror. He was giving it his best shot.

      Holly could be the one to make him forget about roadside bombs and friends who would never make it back home. She could be the one to make him believe that there were true, honest women out there in the world. And today he would be seeing her for the first time, since he didn’t own a single picture of her. How he wanted to see those baby-blue eyes she’d described in person! He’d dreamed about meeting Holly for months now. Although excitement was building inside him, there was also a slight feeling of doubt. Was he doing the right thing?

       Lord, please let this rash decision to come all the way to West Falls be right! Let Holly be the woman You’ve picked for me to fall in love with, something lasting and real. I’m so tired of doing this alone. I’m so afraid of ending up by myself.

      After driving for about a half mile, he reached a fork in the road. He saw a grand home looming in the distance. As someone who loved architecture, he appreciated its beauty. It was the type of house that made a person sit up and take notice. It was an impressive two-story white structure with a long wraparound porch and shiny black shutters. It looked like the type of house he would have loved to have grown up in. This place, Dylan thought with amazement, was a far cry from the small trailer where he’d spent the first eighteen years of his life.

      He parked his truck and got out, then made his way to the porch steps in a few easy strides. To the left of the stairs was a wheelchair-accessible ramp leading to the front porch. The sight of the bright red door had him grinning. It made the grand house look warm and inviting—the same way Holly had seemed in all her letters. Blue and red rocking chairs sat facing each other, just waiting, he imagined, for someone to plop down and sit for a spell.

      He looked down at himself, hoping his favorite blue shirt and well-worn jeans made him look presentable. With a hint of impatience, he rang the doorbell, itching to meet his pen pal after all these days, weeks and months. Seconds later he rang it again, then knocked on the door for good measure. When no one answered after a few tense minutes, he rapped again on the door, this time with a little more force.

      He heard something—or someone—inside the house. A rattling noise sounded by the door, and he heard a whirring sound. Every instinct he possessed told him that someone was in there. “Afternoon. I’m looking for Holly Lynch,” he called out.

      The heavy click of a lock being turned echoed in the stillness of the fall afternoon. With a slow creak, the door opened. A woman was there, sitting in a wheelchair, her blue eyes as wide as saucers. She had dirty-blond hair and a pretty face