Winter Reunion. Roxanne Rustand

to be put on hold until he’d met the crazy stipulations in his mother’s will.

      On the endless series of flights coming back to the States and during those long days at Walter Reed, he’d had plenty of time to think, and had planned to make this trip into his past as brief as possible.

      But now, the charm and peacefulness of the village called out to him with its scents of pine. The sound of Aspen Creek rushing southward over the boulders strewn through its rocky bed. The absolute lushness of the trees and undergrowth and the damp, fertile earth, so unlike the dry and inhospitable climate where he’d spent much of his adult life.

      And with those scents, those sounds, came the memories he’d so carefully shelved away. Of jangling sleigh bells and the clopping of draft horse hooves on snow-covered asphalt, come Christmastime, when sleighs served as taxis for the tourists and locals who came into town for all of the Victorian decorations. The sweet, sweet scent of burning leaves and fragrant pumpkin pies and the local parade at the end of October, during the annual Fall Harvest celebration.

      He stepped farther into the building and felt a sense of peace in its silence, its massive stone walls. As a child he’d loved this old building, imagining knights on chargers jangling through the stone arches that framed each door and window. Envisioning Merlin and King Arthur sitting before the immense mouth of a fireplace inside, and a damsel peering from one of the soaring stone turrets that rose above the roofline.

      Now, the cavernous interior and multitude of windows spoke to him in a different way.

      He closed his eyes, imagining the place filled with soft candlelight and the hushed murmurs of diners sitting at tables set with crystal and silver. Or maybe retail shelving, stocked with colorful toys, antiques or camping gear…or even trendy clothing, maybe. The stuff of fun and relaxation, and the bounteous civilian life that allowed people time to savor some of the most beautiful scenery in the world.

      And he tried to imagine a time when war would no longer be a part of his life. No reconnaissance missions, no explosions. No rapid-fire, staccato blast of his M249 while he covered his buddies…or the comforting weight of an M16 cradled in his arms.

      But that was reality.

      Being here was like stepping into an old-fashioned Christmas card that he’d have to file away in a few months, because he might as well be visiting the moon for as much as he could relate to the breezy, small-town atmosphere where the greatest dangers were mosquitoes and the newest crop of inept teenage drivers. He couldn’t even begin to relate to the innocent, cheerful residents who expected to go about their business unharmed every single day, then sleep safe in their own warm beds at night.

      Shaking off his thoughts, he wandered through the building, trying to quell the deep sense of longing flickering to life inside his chest.

      Each of the four buildings in this block were roughly the same, with thick sandstone walls built to last for centuries, and old glass rippled with age set in the tall, narrow windows. Yet each building also bore unique, whimsical details in the fanciful figures carved into the stone lintels over their doorways, the patterns of the mullioned windows on the second floors, and the ornate details in the rooflines and eaves.

      He still couldn’t believe his mother had risked letting any of this fall into the hands of her brother-in-law, unless she’d wanted to insure that Dev would come home to stay, so he could prevent it. Was she really that crafty? Had she no idea of how difficult it would be for him to deal with Beth? Didn’t she care?

      Then again, Mom hadn’t really known him at all. He certainly hadn’t come home much, and when he did, he hadn’t stayed long. He was a far, far different person now than he’d been as a boy.

      His palm still burned at the remembered touch of Beth’s hand back at the law office, and his conscience nagged at him over how rude he’d been.

      On the trip home from D.C. he’d dredged up a few rusty prayers over how he was going to avoid running into his ex-wife. Gutless prayers, to be sure, and since few of his prayers had been answered in battle, he’d figured that the Almighty wasn’t listening anyway.

      God sure had to be laughing now.

      Having to face her during that meeting had left him more tense than any battle or covert operation. And now, instead of managing to avoid her and the old, raw emotions surrounding their ill-fated marriage, he was going to be seeing her all the time.

      Worse, he had to do a good job of it—to insure that the stipulations of his mother’s will were met well enough to pass muster with a couple of attorneys planning to guard her interests.

      The irony was almost enough to help him ignore the aching in his shoulder and the sharp, stabbing pain that radiated down his upper arm with every unguarded movement.

      At the sound of a knocking behind him, he spun toward the front door, automatically reaching for his absent weapon and scanning the interior of the building for exits and cover, his heart rate escalating.

      He blinked.

      Forced himself to relax.

      And squinted into the sunlight streaming in behind a slender figure silhouetted in the windowed upper half of the door. Though the thick, rippled glass muted her shape, his gut wrenched and his heart took an extra thud at his instant recognition, triggering emotions and memories that were long dead…and would stay that way.

      She knocked again, then tried the door handle and pushed the door open to stand in the entry, looking a little hesitant. “I…I was outside the bookstore and saw you unlocking the door down here. Mind if I come in?”

      He gave a single, sharp nod.

      Beth stepped a few feet inside. Avoiding his gaze, she surveyed the interior, her eyes sparkling. “Wow—just look at the natural light coming through all the high windows, and look at all the space. This place has tremendous potential. It ought to be perfect for whatever kind of business moves in here.” She gave him a speculative look. “Maybe you should just lease it instead of selling. You might want to come home for good someday.”

      “No. I’ll be leaving as soon as I can, and I won’t be back. There’s nothing to keep me here anymore.”

      Her expression hardened. “Of course not.”

      Guilt lanced through him at his inadvertent, callous words. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

      “It doesn’t matter.” She raised a delicate eyebrow, making him feel like an even bigger jerk. “We’ve both moved on. All for the best, and all of that. Right?”

      A shaft of sunlight lit her wildly curly chestnut hair, highlighting its varying shades of amber and gold. It had always felt so soft and silky, he remembered; baby fine and fragrant with the scent of wildflowers. Gentle, just like her.

      She’d so deserved better than someone like him.

      He belatedly realized that he hadn’t answered her when her smile wobbled and her gaze slid away from his.

      “I…didn’t mean to interrupt, or anything,” she murmured. “We can talk another time.”

      She wore gleaming gold hoops in her ears and a long denim skirt, topped with an oversize ruby sweater that looked soft as rabbit’s fur. Despite the casual clothes, she had an air of sophistication and reserve far different from the girl she’d been years ago.

      It was something he needed to remember.

      They’d both changed so much. There was no going back. All they needed was to be businesslike. Polite. Focused.

      “But I do think we need to talk, Dev,” she added. “When you have some time.”

      He winced. “Uh…yeah. Some time.”

      She ignored his dismissal. “Maybe now rather than later, come to think of it.” Her mouth flattened. “Because I think we need to make something perfectly clear.”

      Chapter Three

      Maybe