Savage Cinderella (31 page)

In the short term, she made plans with the
National Park Service to patrol the High Country through the summer
as part of an internship program in the Environmental Sciences
department at the University. That way, she could keep an eye on
Kitty, who had fully recovered, and her cubs, which were now full
grown.

Her parents had apparently worked through
whatever difficulties they’d had and Brinn was over-the-moon happy
that her mother was expecting a baby boy any day. The thought of
being a big sister brought another layer of joy into her life that
she couldn’t have thought possible.

If she had learned anything good from Roy
Stockman, it was about promises. Despite his evil intent, a promise
in itself wasn’t bad. Being a person of your word was a quality to
be admired, not feared. It was the integrity and nature of the
person making the promise that mattered.

Brinn promised Kitty she would continue to
visit the meadow, promised Sunday dinners with her parents,
shopping trips with Abby, and frequent e-mails and letters to Cody,
who had returned to active duty. She promised herself that she
would always trust her instincts, be honest with Justin, and never
run away from her fears again. And finally, she and Justin promised
each other that no matter how much they loved each other, they
would always maintain their individuality, giving each other the
freedom they both needed for healthy growth.

Brinn found that she didn't need Justin's
love or a sexual relationship to heal her wounds, although she’d
found a peaceful bliss in both. He had been true to his word about
that, too. It was beautiful and gentle and when they made love, all
she felt was Justin’s love for her, washing the memories away like
stones being drawn out to sea from the shore before her. Tears of
joy welled in her eyes, stinging against the bright sun as she
watched the tide retreat.

She finally understood that love was not
about owning another person or even belonging to them, but it was
about belonging with someone—someone who accepts you for who you
are, scars and all. Justin showed her that love is selfless,
patient, and kind. Through awkward moments of intimacy, they found
laughter to be a potent healer, communication a necessity.
Together, they learned to love each other in a hundred small ways
every day.

She gazed down again at the young man next to
her. The sun highlighted the golden tones in the chestnut waves
that blew wildly in the salty breeze. Brinn loved the ocean and the
freedom it signified. She and Justin visited often, today being an
occasion he referred to as a special day. She hated to wake him,
but he had promised her a surprise.

"Justin," Brinn called softly, waiting for
him to stir beside her. "Are you ever going to tell me why we came
here today? I mean, it's beautiful, but you said there was a
special reason for coming.” She waited, a bit impatient with him as
he yawned and stretched. He looked at his watch, and then finally
met her expectant gaze. A smile spread across his face.

"Could you please grab me a drink out of the
cooler?" He sat up and waited for her to comply. Her impatience was
growing, but she opened the ice chest and reached in for a bottle.
She came to a halt.

A small smile quickly grew into a wide grin.
Inside, on the top of the ice was a tiny square box. Brinn lifted
it out and sent a questioning flick of her eyes toward Justin, now
snuggled at her side propped on one elbow and smiling as broadly as
she was.

"Go ahead, open it."

Brinn caught her lower lip, and carefully
removed the ribbon and paper. Opening the box slowly, she gaped at
the contents. The object inside brought an expression of confusion
to the surface. She’d half feared it would be a ring. Instead, a
key ring lay on a square of cotton, Justin’s Saint Christopher’s
medal at one end and a key at the other. "It's a key," she
said.

"Yes, it is." Justin laughed, taking the key
from the box and placing it in Brinn's hand. He curled her fingers
around it and held her hands in his. His face lit with amusement
and his deep brown eyes carried a tenderness that always brought a
warm, fuzzy, haze around her heart.

"I thought you might need your own key to the
Beemer.” Her look of astonishment was clearly ample reward. He
added with flushed cheeks, “I know it’s not much, but since you
didn’t want a ring, I hoped this might be a good substitute.
Besides, I couldn't ask you to spend your life with me unless I was
ready to share all of me with you.”

She didn’t know what the future held, but
with the past behind her, Brinn smiled down into Justin’s hopeful
gaze, seeing the promise of possibility before her. She held the
key tightly in her hand. The solid sharp edges rested in her palm
and the small oval medal of protection on the key ring filled her
heart with gratitude and certainty.

Brinn looked from her hand into his eyes. “I
will never ask for more than you can give, Justin. And this...” She
dangled the key between them, “this is more than enough. It shows
your belief in me. And that means more to me than anything.”

He leaned forward and kissed her lips gently
and her heart fluttered and floated upward on the breeze, free and
at peace in the bright blue sky of a perfect day in May.

Bonus Content

Heaven Is For Heroes

Chapter 1

The crack of gunfire exploded in the
air…once…twice…three times. I flinched with each pop, the smell of
gunpowder thick in the warm mist raining down over the cemetery.
The crowd around me faded into a mass of black suits, women in dark
coats with their high heels sinking into the sodden grass,
umbrellas overhead, and a sea of Marines in dress blue uniforms. I
clung to my mother in the folding chair beside me.

The military report must be mistaken. Or
maybe someone was covering up—lying. But why? My insides shifted
and tightened. If Levi’s death was anything other than an accident,
Mom would never be able to live with the truth. I wasn’t sure if I
could either.

An eerie silence fell and then was broken by
the sound of a bugle blaring out the soulful notes of Taps, the
signal for the end of a long day for a Marine…or the end of his
life. My grandfather saluted his comrades, his face stony and
expressionless, deep lines etched between his brows and around his
mouth the only evidence of his sorrow.

The canopy overhead protected us from the
rain, but tears soaked my skin. Two Marines lifted the American
flag from my brother’s coffin, moving with mechanical precision. In
their shiny black shoes and perfectly starched uniforms, they
stretched the edges taut and began folding and creasing, folding
and creasing, until the stripes disappeared into a compact triangle
with just the white stars showing against the navy background. One
of the folders and creasers, nearly faceless beneath his round
white hat with its polished black visor, presented the triangle of
flag to my mother, who clutched it to her chest and released
another shuddering sob. I gripped her shoulders tighter as she
collapsed against me.

I scanned the crowd, tuning out the final
words of Father O’Keefe as he committed Levi’s soul to God and his
body to the earth. Friends, family, neighbors, and military
personnel surrounded the scene, rows deep. I recognized my friends
from school, half of next year’s senior class turning out to show
their support. Katie, Samantha and Penny from Somerville all stood
up front, crying openly and holding hands. The pain in their eyes
reflected what my heart refused to let in. I felt hollow and cold,
almost dead inside. A terrible numbness resided in my limbs, as if
I’d fallen asleep in a snow bank and my body had frozen there.
Except that I was here and there was no escaping the reality. My
eyes darted through the faces, each expression as painful as the
last.

So much love, so much sadness, so much
grief. Whether they knew him or not, people turned out to mourn the
death of a young hometown soldier. A Connecticut boy killed in
combat. My brother…my brother Levi was dead. My mind let the
thought in, trying it on as if maybe I could send it back if it
didn’t fit. The casket, the scent of roses—it all made my stomach
curl into a tight knot. What Daddy would have called “angel tears”
falling from the heavens, gently caressed the broken hearts of the
mourners—it felt surreal. I wanted to believe it was a bad dream, a
made for TV movie that me and my family were playing in as extras.
My mother shook in my arms, the scent of her strawberry shampoo
waking me to the reality. This wasn’t a dream or a movie. This was
real life—and real death. But I couldn’t let myself believe it,
because then everything would be different.

The faces blurred. I closed my eyes, my ears
disconnected from the words of the priest, and I gasped for breath.
Tears spilled down my cheeks, hot and heavy. Then my lungs
expanded. I was still alive, still breathing. My heart resumed
beating. I opened my eyes and swiped at my cheeks, sniffling to
gain control. I searched deeper into the crowd, wanting only to see
one person.

Then I spotted him, standing shoulder to
shoulder with several other Marines in the third row. He was the
only man in uniform who stood round shouldered and slouched,
leaning on the crutches that held him upright. I couldn’t see his
eyes beneath his hat, but his face was pale and his lips were drawn
in a straight, tight line. I shivered in spite of the balmy June
air, the dampness seeping into my bones and chilling me to the
core.

The service ended. The crowd slowly
dispersed, each person laying a single white rose on the casket as
they said a final good-bye. One by one, they turned away, faces sad
and tear stained. I waited for Alex to approach, but he didn’t. He
just disappeared into the crowd. I stood and looked through the sea
of umbrellas, catching sight of him flanked by two Marines who were
assisting him to a nearby black sedan. Awkwardly negotiating his
crutches, he hopped on one foot, his right pant leg drawn up and
pinned neatly below his knee, the lower part of his leg no longer
there to stand on. My stomach twisted and salty tears burned my
throat.

“Jordan, I’m so sorry for your loss.” Alex’s
mother stood in front of me. Her hand rested gently on my shoulder.
“Levi was…he’ll be missed.” I looked back to the casket where my
mother was standing with her back to me, my grandfather’s arm tight
around her waist as she broke down again and cried
inconsolably.

“Thank you, Mrs. Cooper. It means a lot to
us that you and Alex were here today.” My eyes followed the black
sedan as it pulled away from the curb. “This must be terrible for
him.”

“The doctors didn’t want him to leave the
hospital, but you know Alex….” She pushed a stray wet hair off my
cheek, her eyes filled with emotion. “They’re taking him back now.”
She glanced at the Government Issue vehicle working its way along
the narrow drive of the cemetery, crawling along in the parade of
cars. “I’d like to follow and see him get settled in his room
again. Tell your mother I’ll stop by soon.” By this time, my
grandfather was leading my mother away from the casket, nearly
carrying her toward the limousine that awaited us.

“I’ll tell her.” My eyes felt hot and puffy
like big caterpillars ready to burst. Everyone had gone and Mrs.
Cooper turned to leave. A part of me wanted her to stay. She looked
so put together, her blond hair neatly pulled up in a twist, an
umbrella protecting her from the rain. I envied the calm
professionalism that rolled off of her, the black business suit
with pin-striped pants and sensible flats that said she was in
control. My own hair hung in long strands, wet on my face, darkened
by the rain—not its usual sun- streaked red and gold pulled into a
ponytail. The last thing I felt was put together. I called after
her. “Tell Alex I’ll be by to see him at the hospital as soon as I
can.”

“I’m sure he’d like that,” Mrs. Cooper
stopped and turned, her eyes moving to the coffin one more time.
The entire surface of the dark mahogany was covered in white roses,
not fully in bloom. The scent clung in the damp air as if they knew
the box they lay upon would soon be buried under six feet of dirt.
Before Alex’s mother walked away, she said, “Again…my deepest
sympathies, Jordan.” She cleared her throat, hesitating a moment
longer. “I know it’s hard to imagine, but a year from now,
everything will feel different.” Then she was gone.

I stood by the casket alone, my own flower
in hand. A moment of crushing silence gripped me—nothing except for
the drizzling rain and the distant caw of a crow. Mrs. Cooper was
right. It was difficult to imagine how I might feel a year from
now. I understood that time faded the pain of loss, but I also knew
that grief had a way of scarring a person. I glanced over at my
father’s headstone, his funeral so far back in my memory, the
images were all but lost. A year from now, things might feel
different, but they wouldn’t be different. Levi would still be
gone, Alex would never have his leg back, and I was pretty certain
the scars on my heart would remain raw and painful for a very long
time.

I imagined the deep hole beneath the thin
layer of green carpet, an abyss about to swallow my brother. He
wouldn’t have liked this at all. He told me he would rather be
cremated, an idea my mother had immediately dismissed.
“
Catholics bury their dead so on the last day, they have a body
to rise up into when Christ returns,”
she’d said
.
I knew
Levi well enough to know he wasn’t concerned about the “last day”
as much as he was about being buried in a box in a deep hole where
his body would decay and his flesh would be eaten by worms.

I shivered again, my sweater growing heavy
as the drizzle turned to a full-on rain. Long strands of hair had
fallen from my barrette and stuck to my cheeks. I brushed them off
my face and tucked them behind my ears.