The Long Road Home (3 page)

"Nice place. I like the windows."

"That's what my parents loved when they bought it decades ago. The large windows on the east wall. Allows the morning sun to stream in."

"Very pretty." She slid off her shoes, leaving festive red socks covering her feet.

He grinned at her choice of footwear. "Thanks."

"I'm sure they'll be thrilled you're home and kick themselves for not being here to give you a big hug."

"They don't care for the cold of winter anymore. Hang out in toasty Florida all winter with some old friends. I was going to try to make it down to see them, but the weather changed those plans." He sighed heavily. Though they knew about his condition, they had yet to see the results of a roadside bomb. He wasn't sure how they would react. Secure in the belief they wouldn't reject or think less of him, he didn't worry so much except for the expression on his mother's face. If she showed pity…

"I'm from Hardy, Nebraska. Mom says the snow is over a foot deep there."

Gwen's words pulled him from his worries. "Blizzard country for sure."

"You've been there?"

"To the state, yeah. Good people. Hard workers."

"Yep."

"Where are my manners?" He shook his head. Too long since he'd been alone with a pretty lady. His brain sputtered in her presence. Annoying and inexcusable. "Make yourself at home. Let me show you around. Or would you rather me show you Maria's apartment and let you get settled in?"

"Maybe her apartment. I want to get changed."

She was soaking wet despite her heavy coat. Damn. Why didn't he realize it before instead of yapping away while she shivered? "I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me tonight." He ambled over to the kitchen, pulling a spare key from a cookie jar. "Let's get you over there. Take a hot shower, too. It'll warm you fast. There may not be much to eat over there, but surely, we can scrounge up something between both pantries."

Leading the way, he quickly opened the door to Maria's apartment and ushered Gwen inside. "Let's drop your stuff off in here. The bathroom is the next door. Feel free to shower, change, whatever you'd like to do. Their bedroom is straight ahead." He gestured down the hallway, then to the left before tossing the spare key on the coffee table. "Kitchen."

"Thank you. I think I can take it from here."

He nodded and walked back to the door. "I'll just be next door if you need anything."

"Logan?"

His hand tightened on the doorknob, steadying himself as he stopped and turned.

"I…" She bit her lip, then tried once more. "Really. Thank you. Without you, I would be stuck at the airport for the holiday, sleeping on the floor with hundreds others. You're a godsend."

A lump formed in his throat. With a simple nod, he moved to the hall, shut the door firmly behind him, and re-entered his parents' apartment. Once there, he leaned heavily against the door, releasing a pent-up breath. Godsend? No. Too rough and tarnished, he couldn't wear the halo she wanted to place on his head. She was the angel, sweet and beautiful. He, the scarred and battered knight with a permanent disability who lived through hell.

Silly of him to think he left the fiery damnation behind when he left the war torn country. No. Hell existed in other forms, namely being less than a whole man, ripped from the job he loved, and forced to adapt to a society that didn't know what to do with retired soldiers. How could he be the man he always wanted to be with so many parts missing in his life? Who would look at him with desire, appreciation, and belief?

Gwen.

What did he have to offer anyway? Months of rehab? No job prospect? Possibly a lifetime filled with flashbacks and issues coping due to post-traumatic stress?
Face the facts, soldier. You're no great catch for her or anyone else. She deserves more, someone better.
He'd play Santa, let her stay the night, then send her on her way tomorrow, once the storm passed. She'd go home, and he could hang out at his parents' house. Alone.

On that sour note, he retreated to the shower, hoping to wash away pent-up emotions with hot water and soap.

Chapter 5

Wiggling her toes, Gwen surveyed the bright red Christmas socks that matched her Santa pajamas. If everything had turned out as planned, she would be sitting on the couch in her parents' house taking in the decorations. Or maybe in the kitchen, helping her mother make last minute preparations for the feast to come tomorrow. Perhaps reading a story to her little niece, as they both readied for bed in their holiday sleepwear. Instead, she sat, a bit uncomfortably, in a total stranger's apartment, alone. In New York City.

Fidgety and feeling more than awkward, she grabbed the television remote and flicked on a station. Sure enough,
Rudolph
was about to start. Her favorite Christmas special of all time and she had no one to share the event with. Loneliness descended on her like a dark gray cloud full of dreary rain.

What in the world am I doing here? All I wanted to do was fly home for Christmas. Now, I'm in New York City, stranded, borrowing an apartment while a military hero and my former classmate hangs out next door
. It could have been worse. If Logan hadn't, literally, run into her, she would be stuck at the airport, bedding down with others on the dirty floor or waiting desperately for the roads to clear enough for a long but safe drive home to Bethesda. She owed him a lot for his offer of shelter and the shower. A kindness she couldn't hope to repay.

Logan.

Her thoughts turned back to the soldier who'd taken her in. Why wasn't his family here to meet him? If Russell received leave, you could bet your bottom dollar that her entire family would show up to meet him, either at the airport, at their parents' house, or both. Especially if he'd been so seriously injured. The poor guy probably spent more than one holiday overseas, enduring grueling battles and the daily grind of ridding the planet of terrorists while making the rest of the world safe. While she wallowed in self-pity because a blizzard kept her away from home for one single holiday, others like her brother and Logan put their lives on the line Christmas, New Year's, or simply another Monday; the days didn't matter when you were at war. They worked day and night, with little downtime, hoping to make it through another tour in one piece.

Shame slapped her in the face.

When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.
Her mother's words replayed through her mind.

Maybe, just maybe, she could make this homecoming something special for Logan. Show him someone cared. Put a smile back on his face instead of the sorrowful sadness in his eyes she glimpsed earlier.

With a sudden inspiration, she hurried to the kitchen, rummaging through the fridge and pantry, taking quick inventory. There were enough options to whip up a couple of holiday desserts as well as a decent meal. Now, if only she could find some yeast. Maybe Logan's mother kept some?

Grabbing the key off the coffee table, she grabbed her purse and locked the door behind her, before pausing at Logan's, knocking firmly. The door opened within seconds.

He stood before her, freshly showered as indicated by his damp hair and fresh smell. Loose gray sweats covered his chest and legs, a white sock on his right foot contrasted with the artificially formed foot at the end of the metal rod, making up the foot of his prosthesis.

She'd never seen a sexier man in her life.

"Do you have yeast?"

Logan blinked down at her in puzzlement. "Excuse me?"

A spontaneous grin appeared on her face, realizing how he took her question. "For baking bread. Do you have yeast?"

"I have no clue." He opened the door wide, allowing her to duck under his outstretched arm. "You're more than welcome to look."

Darting in, she headed straight for the kitchen, opening cabinet doors until she spied the very item she searched for. "Ah ha!"

"Find some?"

"Yep. This is great."

"So you are going to bake bread next door while waiting for the storm to pass?" He shut the door, clicked the lock, and leaned back with his arms crossed over his chest. Blue eyes met her own.

"Nope. I'm going to hang out with you, watch
Rudolph
, then see what I can throw together for Christmas lunch tomorrow."

"Huh?" He looked like a man rarely surprised, more than capable to go with the flow, except when it came to her impulsiveness.

"Why should we sit here alone, brooding over our bad luck? Just because we can't be with our families doesn't mean we can't take advantage of the opportunity to make our own holiday."

His mouth opened and shut without words emerging.

"It's better than spending the night at the airport, right?" She shot him an impish grin.

The corners of his mouth twitched. "That it is."

"Then turn the TV to channel three. We'll watch Rudolph save the day, then plan a menu." With newfound hope and happiness, she zipped to his side, linked her arm in his, and led him to the couch.

Chapter 6

No sooner had
Rudolph
finished than the local weather man broke in. "The ice storm continues to increase in intensity. By morning, expect an inch plus of ice, which will lead to massive power outages throughout the metropolitan area and may last for days."

Gwen looked over at Logan. "Oh, no." Jumping up, she hurried to the kitchen, pulling ingredients out of both the fridge and pantry.

"What are you doing?"

She spared him a quick glance, searching through the freezer until she found a bag of chocolate chips. Plucking the baking chips from the shelf, she plopped them on the improvised table. "Sounds like we're going to lose power soon. Personally, I'd rather have my Christmas dinner at three am and eat leftovers later than live on peanut butter sandwiches for the next few days."

He shook his head at her. "If we lose power, the food may spoil."

"Exactly." She found a mixer and a bowl, setting both on the kitchen island countertop so she could face him, stay in the conversation, and work at the same time. "Might as well use what's perishable. If push comes to shove, we can store some in a cooler or simply put stuff on the balcony, let Mother Nature keep it cold."

Logan stood up, walking over with just a slight limp. His eyes sparkled as the corners of his mouth hitched up. "You sound like you've done this before."

She grinned. "Farm girl here. Been there, done that, have the Girl Scout badge to prove it."

He chuckled.

"Really. My parents live in rural Nebraska. Our power went down fairly often with storms, especially in the winter. You learn to adapt."

"What do you want me to do?"

"How do you feel about cookies?"

"Love them."

"Good." She flipped over the package of chocolate. "Here's your recipe. If you need help, just holler. In the meantime, I'm going to start with the homemade bread. Get the big stuff done first, then we'll start on the veggies."

"Homemade bread?" He shot her a puzzled look.

"Christmas tradition at home. Wait and see. You'll love it."

The next three hours were a blur of cooking and baking, with a couple of trips back to Maria's apartment for more supplies. Logan's apartment had a double oven, allowing them to put a turkey breast in for the allotted time while dozens of cookies baked above, followed by strawberry muffins. By the time Gwen carefully placed the four loaves of bread in the oven, Logan dug frozen vegetables out of the freezer, setting pots on the stove, and began to warm them for their upcoming feast.

Delicious aromas wafted through the apartment, familiar smells from every Christmas Gwen could remember. Only this time, she stood hip to hip in the kitchen of a New York apartment with her former classmate. More than once, she found herself staring at his prime body, imagining the muscles residing just beneath his sweats, resisting the urge to squeeze his rounded rear and check for resiliency. Chatting away as they worked, they caught up on happenings since their sole class together, shared childhood memories, and teased away.

Just like before, Gwen's nerves settled under Logan's care and attention, his words and actions soothing and engaging. His gift had probably saved his toes a few more tramplings as she'd clumsily attempted foreign body movements and steps, nervous to be in the arms of a living Adonis in dance class. He had made her laugh, pointed out his own less than graceful movements, and they'd hit it off instantly.

Like a well-oiled machine, they fell into a rhythm, even finding time to toss in Logan's dirty laundry now and again, playing a game of Beat the Clock with the steady pelting of ice against the window.

As the clock struck three am, they sat down at the small dining room table, surrounded by the fruits of their labor.

"Wow. We made it." She flashed him a smile. "You're a pretty good cook, by the way."

Logan shrugged. "Learn to take care of yourself in the Army." He slathered butter on a slice of still hot homemade bread, then took a large bite. His eyes closed as an expression of absolute delight crossed his face. "You're right. This is delicious." His gaze pinned hers. "Wonderful. Exceptional."