A Soldier's Prayer. Jenna Mindel

the rush of adrenaline too much to ever quit, and he cared for his company far too much to get out.

      Once the dishes were done and put away, Cash opened the slider to the back deck. “We’ve got to gather up some kindling to start the fire and green sticks to roast marshmallows.”

      “There are long metal forks around here somewhere,” Monica offered.

      Cash shook his head. “Sticks are way better.”

      “Yeah,” Ethan agreed, again with a note of challenge in his voice. “Way better.”

      Monica threw up her hands in surrender. “Okay, sticks it is. Boys, if you have sweatshirts in your room, you’d best grab one. It’s a little chilly outside.”

      Cash wasn’t so sure about that, since the sun still felt warm to him, but it wasn’t a bad idea. “You heard the lady. Grab your gear and I’ll meet you outside.”

      The boys darted into their room.

      “I’ll bring out the stuff for s’mores, but I’m getting a jacket, too.” Monica darted up the loft steps.

      Cash grabbed matches and stepped outside. The crisp smell of fall was definitely in the air even though it was just the end of August. He gathered some dry branches and looked up as the back door slid open and Ethan and Owen came running toward him.

      Monica was right behind them, carrying a tray loaded with everything needed to make s’mores and then some. He didn’t remember ever putting peanut butter in the mix, but hey, why not? The late evening sunlight set her long blond hair aglow.

      “You’re doing it again.” She elbowed him in the gut before setting the tray on a bench.

      “What?” But he knew. He couldn’t seem to stop drinking in every detail of her.

      “We’re going to need more kindling than that to start a fire.” Monica headed into the woods, just beyond where the grass stopped.

      The boys followed her.

      Cash looked at the puny sticks he’d collected and chuckled. There were several cords for the fireplace stacked under the overhang at the side of the house, but Monica wanted to hunt for firewood. He dumped what he had in the firepit and joined them in search of better fuel.

      * * *

      Monica headed back to the firepit with her arms loaded with downed branches. She loved gathering wood for a campfire. Cash’s nephews seemed to get into it, as well. Both Ethan’s and Owen’s arms were full. “Good job, guys.”

      “Can I light the fire?” Ethan asked.

      Monica scrunched her nose. Not her call. “We’ll have to ask your uncle Cash.”

       Uncle Cash.

      She’d had no idea that Cassius William Miller would be so good with kids. He’d make a good family man, although as far as she knew, he’d never been close to getting married. He was thirty-four, but to her knowledge, Cash had never had a serious girlfriend. How come? He’d once joked that he was married to the marines, but evidently he’d been serious.

      She dropped her wood just beyond the sandy circle surrounding the firepit that had been made from large rocks. “Boys, you can dump your wood here with mine. We have to stack it a certain way in the pit before we can light it.”

      “Yeah, we know. Our dad showed us plenty of times,” Ethan said.

      Monica bit her lip. She wanted to respond the right way, and ignoring that comment didn’t seem like a good idea, so she probed a bit. “Did you have a lot of campfires with your dad?”

      Ethan nodded with pride. “Yup. Even in the wintertime.”

      Monica glanced at Owen and her heart broke. His eyes appeared hopeful as he looked around. Did he understand that his father wasn’t ever coming back?

      Cash returned from the woods with his strong arms full of fallen branches.

      Her attention drawn to the way his muscles bunched and flexed as he broke up the pieces, Monica mumbled, “Well, your dad would be very proud that we’re doing this tonight. Carrying on his tradition.”

      “What’s that?” Ethan asked.

      Looking away, Monica asked, “What’s what?”

      “A tra-di-shun?”

      “It’s something so special that you repeat it yearly, or even more, and think of someone or something special while you do. For example, at Christmas, my family always cuts down a fresh pine tree together. It’s our tradition.”

      Ethan looked thoughtful. “Mom’s allergic to pine trees so we can’t do that.”

      Way to go. Monica looked to Cash for help. “Is there anything you can add about traditions?”

      “Hmm, let me think a minute.” He stroked his beard.

      Monica made a big show of waiting for his answer by gesturing for him to get on with it.

      It made the boys giggle.

      Cash cast an aggravated look her way, which made the boys laugh even more, then he crouched down in front of them. “When your dad and I were your ages, we used to see who could spot the first star of the night.”

      “And then what?” Ethan asked, with hope shining in his eyes.

      Cash looked at Monica. “The winner made a wish, but if he told what it was, it wouldn’t come true. Come on, let’s get this woodpile built up big so we can burn it.”

      “Yeah!” Ethan cheered.

      Monica shook her head. Once a thrill seeker, always a thrill seeker. Cash did everything in a big way. Like now, turning a simple campfire into a huge bonfire. Growing up, he’d been the one who had often lured her brother Matthew into trouble or injury or both. Cash had always exhibited a need for speed, whether racing bicycles, motorbikes, snowmobiles or even cars. He still drove a muscle car. The black Dodge Challenger parked in front of the cabin might not be new, but it was no doubt fast. All the more reason to steer clear of Cash Miller. She had enough to worry about without the added concern that he’d one day break his neck.

      She got busy stacking the gathered pieces of wood, leaning the smaller sticks against each other to form a tepee. She glanced at Owen watching her and stretched out her hand. “Want to help me?”

      The boy nodded and inched closer.

      “Let’s lean those larger sticks over the smaller ones in the same shape, see?” Monica handed him a broken branch. “You try.”

      Owen handed it back to her.

      Monica shrugged and anchored it against a larger one, then looked around. Cash and Ethan were hunting for green sticks for roasting the marshmallows.

      Owen handed her another branch.

      She smiled and searched those big gray eyes of his. Had he truly lost his ability to speak, or was he simply refusing to talk? When she was little, her older sister Cat used to hold her breath to get what she wanted. It rarely worked. Their mom refused to be manipulated. Owen looked much too sweet for such tactics, but then kids worked from a simpler approach than adults.

      “Here we go. Four perfect sticks.” Cash started stripping twigs and leaves off one.

      Ethan copied his uncle with another stick.

      “Owen, it looks like it’s up to us to clean our own.” Monica handed the five-year-old a stick.

      He pulled at the leaves.

      “Like this, Owen.” Monica snapped off the little branches.

      Owen followed suit and smiled.

      “Good job.” She looked up and caught Cash watching her.

      His gaze softened and he mouthed “Thank you.”

      Monica