After ten minutes of tugging and applying every slippery concoction to her ring finger, she gave up and plopped down on her bed. Tomorrow she’d go down to Nelson’s and get Henry to cut the thing off. Then she’d take the stack of letters from Joaquin and cut them into tiny pieces, just like he’d done to her heart.

Just like she’d done today. The sweet revenge of seeing the shock on his face had made her want to cheer. Heck, it had made her want to tear up three more of his letters and lead the town’s parade.

Flopping back on the bed, she let out a soft snort.

Who was she kidding? That “letter” she’d torn up in front of him had been her yesterday’s grocery list. Her stupid heart had told her to hold on to the sweet memories of them for just a little bit longer. To give him a chance to explain why he had deceived her. Why he had made her fall in love with a fictional character, because it couldn’t be him she was actually in love with.

Like always her heart had been wrong.

When she’d first spotted him, sitting on the back of one of his dad’s shiny convertibles, her heart had gone into overdrive, beating so hard she had been shocked it hadn’t flown out of her chest. For the briefest of moments, she felt nothing but pure joy at seeing him. Pure joy that he was home safe and sound from danger.

It was all she could do to keep herself from running out there and jumping into the car with him. To put her arms around him and kiss his face.

Then his smug grin and strong arm around a perky brunette with pouty red lips had dashed all that away and made her want to lob mugs of hot chocolate at his head.

One thing she needed to remember and keep close was that Joaquin had always liked a challenge and loved to do the exact opposite of what was expected of him. It was the reason they’d gotten together in the first place. She had been forbidden, the enemy’s only daughter.

Turning on her side, she faced the nightstand and the very first letter he’d ever written her. Had it been only twenty-four hours since she’d figured out that Gage Huntstone didn’t exist? That Joaquin had gone so far as to disguise his handwriting, or worse, gotten someone else to do his dirty work. Had he and his buddies laughed and talked about her? About how naïve she was? About how much of a fool she was?

For the life of her she couldn’t figure out why Joaquin had done this, nor could she stop the tears from falling as she picked up the letter and began to read the words she knew by heart.

Dear Ms. Caswell,

I wanted to thank you for your letter. It was really nice of you to think of someone like me. I haven’t gotten a lot of mail since I deployed, mostly because my family isn’t exactly what I’d call supportive of my decision. Anyway, everyone in my unit enjoyed the pictures your class drew and the letters y’all wrote. Guess our unit should thank the powers that be that ours was the winner of your class’s writing assignment. Nothing beats getting letters from home.

We’ve put them up on a makeshift bulletin board. Every time we’re sent out on a mission, we touch one of the drawings or letters for luck. So far, so good. (Except for Sanford smacking his head on the door of an M-WRAP, but he doesn’t count, because he couldn’t find his way out a room with one door and no windows.)

I know you sent this to ‘any soldier’, but I could really use someone like you in my life right now. Would it be too weird to ask you to me write again?

Sincerely,

Gage Huntstone

She should have replied with a firm but polite no. Actually, she shouldn’t have replied at all, but all she had been able to think about was Gage being lonely.

What if he died without a letter from her? What if the only thing that kept him going in a war-torn country was a little piece of home? Couldn’t she make that ice cold sliver of distrust that pierced her heart melt for someone like him? A man who was doing something noble, going against his family’s wishes and putting his entire life on hold to protect people like her. It really was the least she could do for a soldier serving in a war.

Dear Mr. Huntstone (or should I say 1st. Lt. Huntstone?),

Writing to you would be an honor.

I’m sorry your family doesn’t support you, but maybe they’ll come around one day. I know a little bit of how you’re feeling—there have been times that my family hated the choices I made. But you can’t live your life for them, otherwise it would be their life and not yours.

And that sage (ha!) piece of advice only took me four years to put into practice. You do, however, have my support. Although, I’m not sure how much a small town girl like me could help you feel better.

We’ve been getting ready for the statewide writing test in class, and my students love practicing their skills with letters to your unit. After that test is over, we have end of grade testing for reading and math. Summer vacation can’t come fast enough for my class.

It’s been really windy here and we’re anxiously awaiting March to go out like a lamb. Last week’s storm ripped off the roof of Carter’s Repair Shop and it ended up twelve miles away in Narron County. According to the local news, the farmer whose field it landed in and John Carter are arguing over who now owns it. The cows taking shelter under it have no opinion on the matter.

What’s it really like in Afghanistan? My class looked it up on Google Maps, and I’ve been doing mini-lessons in Social Studies, but you can’t substitute a book for actual experience.

I hope my letter finds you safe.

Your friend,

Sage

“So stupid,” she whispered through her tears. She should have signed it ‘the biggest fool in five counties’.

There was a knock on her door, then another.

“Just a minute,” she called out. Rising from bed, Sage wiped away her useless tears and glanced at her clock. It was too early for Mandy.

Frowning, she let out a big sigh.

It had to be her momma. That woman couldn’t leave well enough alone, and to be sure, Sage’s dad had told Virginia about the great stomp off. Or her mother was here for their monthly “pep talk” to encourage Sage sell this house.

She could hear mother’s voice in her head, noting all the reasons why Sage should follow her advice: A single woman didn’t need something so big. Why, what if a man was interested in her and already had his own house? Better to live in apartment and not risk scaring him away. And why didn’t Sage just move back home, like God intended?

Heck, if Virginia had her way, Sage would be working full-time at the dealership and heading up projects for the Holland Springs Town Improvement Committee.

Sage opened the door, prepared to give her mother a piece of her mind for telling her dad about the letters, and to defend herself for acting like a three year old.

Instead she found the most gorgeous man on the planet staring back at her, his smoldering brown eyes searched her face, then slowly traveled the lines of her body. A thick blanket of heat covered her, making her palms wet and her body tingle—in all the unfortunate places.

Joaquin looked pointedly at her left hand and her face heated.

Their eyes met again, and she shoved her arm behind her back, fixing him with her best teacher glare.

A grin broke out on his face as he said, “Missed me, Mrs. Morales?” He held out a bouquet of flowers.

“What do you think?” Then Sage did exactly what her heart and brain agreed was a good idea. Something that the old Sage would never have done in a million years.

She slammed the door in his face.

Chapter Three

“That went well,” Joaquin muttered to the flowers, then knelt down to set them beside her door. He flipped up the doormat, raising an eyebrow as he found the spare key. His safety girl was really living on the edge these days.

“That’s the old one. I had the locks changed,” she yelled through the door. The deadbolt clicked and he rose to his feet.

Okay, so maybe she was still a couple feet shy of the edge. Laughing, he shook his head. “Wouldn’t expect nothing less, sweetheart.”

“I’m not your sweetheart.”

“But you are Mrs. Morales.” And she was wearing his ring. That had been a shot of pure lust. Forget skimpy outfits. That tiny diamond declared before the world that Sage Caswell was his. No greater aphrodisiac had existed in that moment.

“Be quiet before someone hears you.”

His lips flattened. “You’ve kept our marriage a secret?”

“Haven’t you?” she shot back. “And there is no ‘us’. There hasn’t been an ‘us’ since you went for a drive and never came back.”

He hadn’t merely gone for a drive. Eight weeks he had given her to tell her family. Eight damn weeks he’d given her before he expected her to join him in Texas at Ft. Hood. He had picked out an apartment off-base for them to live in. Nothing fancy, but nice. The familiar stirrings of anger and resentment threatened to derail their reunion.

Determination to set things right made him try again. “Well, I’m back, and we’re still married.”

“Not for much longer,” she said. “This time there won’t be any unsigned paperwork mistake.”

A large part of him had hoped she had purposefully not signed the annulment papers. Yeah, hope was a four letter word that could suck it. He placed his palm on the blue door, wishing he could sweep the lacy curtains aside and look in the small window at the top. “What did you do, Sage?”

The door flew open, dislodging his palm and making him take a step back. She stood in the doorway, her grey eyes stormy behind her glasses and her cheeks flushed. “What did I do?” She poked him sharply in the chest with her finger. “Do you really want to go there, Joaquin?”

“What I want is for us to talk,” he said, keeping his voice calm. The old him would have stomped off and not talked to her for a couple of days while he brooded. What an ass he’d been.

She tilted her chin and raised her brows at him. “You’ve got five minutes.”

“That’s not long enough,” he protested. He took off his cap and wiped his forehead with his arm.

“Four minutes and thirty seconds.”

“Now wait just a—”

“Three,” she said, her grey eyes like steel.

“You can’t—”

“I can do whatever I want. This is my house.”

“Don’t give me that teacher voice. I’m not one of your students.” He’d forgotten how damned bossy she could be.

God, he missed her.

“Two.” It sounded as though she relished taking away his time.

He had this whole speech rehearsed. He knew every word by heart and thought it would melt hers, but there was no way it would work. She’d slam the door in his face before he would be able to get to the best part—the down-on-his-knees-apology.

Instead he blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Spend Christmas with me, like we—”her eyes narrowed “—planned. Then I’ll head back to Texas.”

“We planned?”

He sliced his gaze to the side, then back at her. “Fine. Like you and Gage planned.”

“You’re such an ass, and you’re not going back to Texas. Do you really think I’d miss the ginormous U-Haul trailer hitched to your truck?” She punched him in the arm, just like she’d done when they were in high school whenever he’d done something stupid to get her attention. He was pretty sure pretending to be someone else was ranked way up there on the stupidity scale. “Besides, in what reality would I spend even an hour with you?”

“Dammit, Sage, I don’t want to be alone.”

“If you’re so darn lonely, then ask the Snow Queen to spend time with you.”

She was jealous? This was a good sign. A very good sign. “I don’t want her. I want you.” There. The truth all laid out.

Sage fisted her hands on her hips. “Well, you can’t have me, so learn to deal with disappointment!” Then she shut the door in his face again.

Time for Plan C. “If you don’t come with me, Sage, I’m gonna tell everyone that we’re married. I’ll go to church on Sunday and make an announcement in front of God and your momma. I’ll even announce that we ah, consummated our marriage in the back of your daddy’s Cadillac.”

The door flew open again. “You wouldn’t!” Bright spots of color highlighted her cheeks and her eyes flashed.

He placed a palm on the doorframe and leaned in, his mouth inches from hers. Good God, he wanted to kiss those sweet lips. They’d be soft and supple, and she’d taste like heaven. Like his Sage. His wife. “Try me.”

There was a wariness in her eyes, but wariness gave way to fury. “I’m calling bull on you. There’s no way you’d embarrass your parents like that.”

He threw up his hands in defeat. She was right. “Fine!”

“Have fun with the Snow Queen,” she said in her sweetest voice, one that made him want to choke something—mostly himself for goading her.

Shoving his hat back on his head, he gave her a long hard look that made her squirm. Good. “See you Sunday.” Then he stomped off to his truck and drove off.

He really was full of bull. There was no way he’d embarrass anyone like that, especially Sage. But maybe it would make her think a little about what he’d said. Then again, maybe he should have told her how proud he was of all she had accomplished. Like her sunny little cottage she’d bought, or how she’d graduated at the top of her class in college, and that she’d done all of it without help from anyone.

Sure he had told her in the letters he’d written her, but that had been Gage talking, not him. He patted his uniform, searching for the pocket over his heart and pulled out a creased piece of paper. It was one of the many he had kept stowed away in his pockets. They were his ties to a world he’d used to live in, one full of sunny days, starry nights and no bombs. One without helpless families being starved and abused by evil, powerful men that used religion and ignorance to keep them in line.