And then she went to bed and dreamed of Nick. The next morning, the ache of missing him was so strong she almost convinced herself to stay home and wallow in her misery.But she did go to work. Whatever had brought on the good mood of the night before had deserted her, but with grim determination, she kept her misery to herself. She would be fine, dammit. She would be terrific.No more putting off that chapter in her manuscript. That night when she got home, she changed into her sweats and settled down on the sofa, with all her writing materials spread out around her. And she sat there and stared.It was one thing to say she was going to write about Nick, but it wasanother actually to do it. Writing about him would be like bringing him into her home with her. Wouldn’t he then haunt her every day and night after that?Someone knocked on her door. They must have played the keeppressing buttons until someone lets you in game because she hadn’t buzzed anyone up. Frowning, she went to th
Saturday Morning, Early December, Tribute, Texas;Amy Galloway parked her eight-year-old car at the curb on the tree-lined street and got out. Her stomach was dancing in her gut as if a volley of rocket-propelled grenades was being lobbed over her head. The house, a ranch-style in pale-gray brick, was as beautiful and welcoming as she’d known it would be. There was no reason to be nervous.From inside the house came what sounded like a female wail of distress.Maybe she had come at a bad time. Maybe she should wait—no. She was here, and she had a purpose. She owed Brenda more than she could ever pay.That wail came from the house again. Someone definitely seemed more than a little upset.Inside the house, someone was more than a little upset.“Daddy, Cindy keeps untying my ribbon,” Jasmine whined at the top of her lungs.Riley Sinclair gave his jaw one final swipe with the razor, then rinsed off the blade before grabbing his shirt and slipping it on. “Cindy,” he called on his way to t
Amy shook her head. “Call me Amy. I’m a civilian now.” “No kidding?” His smile widened. “Is it congratulations or condolences?”While most people assumed she should be ecstatic to be out of the army, this man understood that she might feel otherwise. She appreciated that. “A little of both,” she said honestly.She followed him past the living room on the right, the formal dining room on the left, and into what Brenda had called the great room. Kitchen at one end, television, sofas, a wingback chair and a pair of recliners, along with bookshelves and a full entertainment center at the other.Amy breathed a sigh of relief. Brenda had been such a perfectionist and had talked about how she worked so hard to keep everything in her home neat and tidy and clean, or as much so as possible with three children and a husband. Amy had halfway expected the place to have that look-but-don’t touch appearance to it, like a room right out of a magazine or something.But this was a room a person could
With a storm of emotions rioting through him, Riley listened as Amy told how trucks in front of them exploded and the HumVee Brenda, Amyand others in their unit were riding in had taken so many hits that it quit on them. Bullets were flying at them fast and furious. They were forced toabandon the vehicle and seek cover behind a burned-out tank on the roadside left over from a day or so earlier. One of the guys from the truck behind them ran to join them.“But there was too much open ground. He took a hit and went down ten yards short of cover.”Riley’s stomach rose to his throat. The only reason for Amy to be telling him this was if Brenda…“Brenda laid down cover fire while Johnson and Cohen went after the wounded private from the other truck. Meeker. Don Meeker. Halfway there, Johnson took one in the leg. Brenda and I left cover and went to help.”Riley forced himself to keep his eyes open, rather than squeezing them shut and covering his ears with his hands to deny what he was he
Amy sagged onto the bed in her motel room. She was used to going without food, without sleep. She was used to killing heat, sand ineverything including her toothpaste, and total lack of privacy. She’d seen people die. She had shot at men who were shooting at her.But today, she hadn’t done anything that even began to compare to the things she’d been exposed to during the past few years. It was the emotional strain of having to describe Brenda’s death to Riley that had drained Amy’s reserves. Only the middle of the afternoon, yet all she wanted was to curl into a tight ball and sleep. Seeing no reason why she shouldn’t do that very thing, she stripped off her clothes, crawled between the crisp, clean sheets —never again would she take crisp, clean sheets for granted—and was out before she could finish the thought of how lucky Brenda had been to have those three beautiful daughters and that gorgeous hunk of a husband.Amy slept sixteen hours and woke feeling both ravenous and grungy. A
“I’ve been thinking about it. I didn’t lie, I just haven’t decided yet.” “You lied when you said I’d like brussels sprouts,” Jasmine claimed.For the second day in a row, Amy stood at the Sinclair door and rang the bell, only this time she came bearing a half gallon of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream.“You may regret this,” Riley said as he let her in and took the ice cream from her.“How so?”“When the girls see this ice cream, they’ll be your slaves for life. This is their favorite flavor.”“Good,” Amy said. “Where are they?”“They’re on their way home from their grandparents’. Should be here any minute.”As if on cue, a car pulled up behind Amy’s at the curb. The man behind the wheel honked the horn and three little girls came squealing out of the backseat.Riley and the man waved at each other, the man gave another toot of his horn, then he drove off.“Brenda’s father?”“Frank Green. He and Marva will be over after dinner.”If Riley said anything else, Amy didn’t hear it ove
“My God,” Frank said, stunned by the news Amy delivered. “She should have received the Bronze Star for what she did.”“Yessir,” Amy said. “She was nominated. I’m putting in an inquiry to find out the status.”Marva’s mouth couldn’t have been any tighter. “She’s still dead,” she said darkly.“Yes, ma’am,” Amy said. “But she’s a hero, Mrs. Green.”“Who should have been home tending her babies,” Marva spat. “Mother,” Frank growled.“I know, I know,” she said with a sigh. “We are grateful for this information, Miss Galloway, but if you knew her, you had to know how unsuited she was to army life and combat zones and all that dust.”“Forgive me,” Amy said. “I know this is upsetting to you, bringing up her death all over again. But you’re wrong about Brenda being unsuited. I know you didn’t want her there, but she was good at her job. She was a good soldier. She hated being away from her family and her home, but she decided early on that if she was sent to Iraq she would do the best job she
Amy could have finished the Christmas presents for the three little girls in a matter of hours and delivered them to Riley Sinclair. Her task would becomplete.But she knew in her heart that she wouldn’t. She was going to drag it out as long as possible, because she needed to stay in town long enough to find out if Tribute could become the home she’d never had. She settled into her room at the motel and made herself comfortable.During the next few days she familiarized herself with the town of Tribute, exploring the shops and city facilities such as the library and courthouse on Main Street. She had sampled the offerings at every restaurant in town and already had a list of two or three favorite meals at each place.Amy had also done a little research and found out how to go about getting Brenda’s name added to the Tribute Wall in the park. She had to write a letter to the city council explaining why Brenda should be added. The mayor’s secretary warned her it wouldn’t be easy to con