His Christmas Wish (2 page)

Waving at Eddie and Fred as they washed inventory, she ducked through the open side door, and made her way to the back office.

Pressing trembling hands to her cheeks, she tried to get a grip on her volatile emotions. Emotions that hadn’t gotten the best of her in years. And it was all
his
fault. Joaquin Morales, looking all irresistible with his muscles and soulful brown eyes. And hands. Good Lord, his hands….and mouth. That kissable mouth that could form the sexiest of smiles.

She unwound her scarf from her neck and pulled off her knit hat, hanging both on a hook near the door. Breathe and get back to work, she told herself.

“
Thought you were going to the parade,” a voice boomed, making Sage almost jump out of her skin.

“
It’s over.” She moved to the file cabinet and began sorting through the manila folders on top. “I’m yours until closing.” Her dad made a noise and she turned around. “Something you need?”

“
Morales has a Twelve Days of Christmas deal going on and we’re gonna price match.” Charles Caswell grimaced, then gulped down his coffee and threw the paper cup in the trash. “I’m sick of losing business to that underhanded son of a bitch.”

Sage turned back to her work and bit back a sigh. Same story, different day. Caswell versus Morales. Morales versus Caswell. It had been that way for the past fifteen years and would most likely be that way for fifteen more. Usually, she made a quick exit when her dad got all riled up, but today, she needed the distraction he could provide.

“
He’s getting all the construction crews from Jacksonville, and the soldiers coming home,” Charles complained.

“
Maybe because Mr. Morales has the cars they want,” Sage said, but she knew he wasn’t listening. Their family’s car business depended on repeat customers, but they were ageing, and a young veteran returning from war didn’t want a Cadillac. Neither did those constructions crews. They wanted minivans, trucks or sports cars.

“
I got in two minivans and three SUVs last month.” He pointed to the lot in front of the store. “And they’re still sitting there.”

“
You put them on the left side, toward the back. No one can see them, and you didn’t tell Fred to push them,” she pointed out, then opened the second file drawer.

The desk chair creaked as her dad sat down and back. “Fine, I’ll have Eddie drive them to the front and put some balloons on the antenna. People love balloons.”

Sage turned as Eddie entered the office and said, “Hey, boss. Morales is cooking and giving away hotdogs and hamburgers—just started.”

“
What the hell for?” Charles asked, brow creasing.

“
Joaquin is home from Afghanistan, for good, I heard,” Eddie said. “It’s a celebration.”

Sage mentally braced herself for her dad’s reaction.

Charles’s face turned red, but remarkably he held his temper. “Go put the minivans up front and tie on some balloons, add some garland. Make it look festive.”

“
Yes, sir,” Eddie said, then left.

Charles turned to her. “You know about this?”

Her heart was in her throat but she managed to speak around it. “Why would I?”

“
With all those letters he wrote you, I figured you might have some insider information.”

She blinked. “Momma told you?”

“
Said she was worried, is all.” He pulled at his collared shirt. “So was I.”

Face flaming, she started to give her dad a smile. “I’m fine.”

“
Well?” He pulled out a pen and a yellow legal pad. “What did the Morales boy tell you?”
“That’s all that concerns you? Not my feelings, not…” She hit the file cabinet drawer with her hip, closing it.

“
You just said you were fine.”

She grabbed her purse and fished her keys out of it, fury and disappointment making her hands shake as she yelled over her shoulder, “This is the south: it’s what you’re supposed to say.”

***

Three hours and a pint of Cherry Garcia later, Sage texted her best friend, Mandy Little, to let her know that she would not be going to the Lighting of the Christmas Tree Ceremony tonight.

Of course Mandy texted her right back to let Sage know that she would be over in a couple of hours for them to talk. And by talk Mandy meant drink margaritas until they couldn’t form coherent sentences and passed out laughing—or crying.

Which was fine with her, because there was no way in hell she’d chance another encounter with Joaquin. In the meantime, she could work on lesson plans.

Sage threw the empty ice cream container in the trash and washed her hands.

Although she would miss the change of pace that working at her parents’ dealership had been providing over winter break, she was ready to get back to what she loved—teaching fourth graders. But she wasn’t too proud to admit she would miss the extra cash once school started in January. This past summer, she had insisted on getting paid and her dad had agreed without too much fussing.

Usually, she didn’t rock the boat, and did what everyone expected of her, no matter what her heart was telling her. Her heart couldn’t be depended upon anyway. It made her think and do things that her brain would have logically concluded were extremely bad for her well-being.

Like get romantically involved with a man like Joaquin Morales.

After drying off her hands, she moved into her bedroom. On the dresser she kept a small jewelry box, the top engraved with her initials. Opening it, some silly love song played. She picked up the diamond ring hidden in a side chamber.

Sliding it on, she held it up and splayed her fingers to examine the tiny jewel in the center. This was dumb. They had been dumb. Shaking her head, she pulled at the ring, but it wouldn’t budge.

“
Oh, come on,” she muttered, then walked to the bathroom.

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 1
^st
. 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,