Chapter Twenty-One
It was a Christmas miracle.
Vanessa's heart was filled with happiness. It was so full, and her happiness so intense, that she felt it would burst. The night had started so badly, so very, very badly. But now, well now, the true spirit of Christmas had arrived. It had come at last and it was a living, breathing essence that filled every nook and cranny of the cabin.
Two words had changed everything. Two little words that held more meaning than any others.
Officer Scott had placed two fingers on Henry's throat, felt a faint pulse, and yelled, "He's alive."
Unbelievable.
Henry was alive.
It was a Christmas miracle.
All anyone could figure was that Henry had pressed his fingers to the wound in his chest and plugged the hole. The cold had done the rest. It had frozen his hand in place and slowed his heart rate and the bleeding. He hadn't bled out.
Reinforcements and an ambulance had arrived soon after that. The ambulance took Henry and the brother from the bedroom away. The medics were optimistic about Henry, his pulse had gotten a wee bit stronger after they'd hooked him up to an IV.
The brother had appeared to have a mild concussion. One of the medics had said he should be fine in a day or two. The young medic had even cleaned and bandaged the cut on Vanessa's cheek. He'd been kind enough to leave antibacterial cream and bandages behind for her and had said to ice her cheek throughout the night. She'd promised she would.
The remaining brother had been taken into custody and whisked off the mountain. Vanessa imagined him sitting in a cold, dark jail cell. She hoped he never saw the light of day. He should be locked in a cell for the rest of his life.
Two other police officers had searched the cabin, gathered up the brothers' weapons and ammo, and taken them all away. Far, far away, Vanessa hoped.
Vanessa and Joe had then answered Officer Scott's questions. Vanessa finally got to tell her story. She'd needed that. Telling the story had helped desensitize her to it, to what had happened. Still, this night would be remembered as the longest of her life even though the terror had only lasted a few hours.
Before Officer Scott departed, Joe had asked if Scott, or Police Chief Ron, would call his parents and let them know he and Vanessa were okay. Joe had promised to call his parents when he arrived at the cabin and of course, that hadn't happened.
Scott told Joe and Vanessa to pile into his cruiser. Once they were all stuffed inside – huddled in the front seat – Scott had radioed Ron with the request. Ron, happy that everyone was alive, had gone one better. He'd called Fenton and Laura Hardy while Joe and Vanessa sat in the cruiser and listened on the radio. Joe was able to talk to his parents via the radio.
Vanessa had sat there listening to their kind and caring voices. Fenton and Laura Hardy sounded like nice people and Vanessa couldn't wait to meet them. Their apparent concern for their son – and for her – had touched her deeply. Their concern had made a dark night, not so dark.
Now, an hour and a half later, Vanessa buzzed around the kitchen. Joe had cleaned the vomit in the bedroom and was in the living room starting a fire. Vanessa was heating up leftover stew and making hot chocolate.
She hummed Christmas carols as she fussed over the food and drinks.
At long last, the night was playing out the way it was supposed to. The way she had imagined it would. At last, the cabin felt like home.
# # # #
Joe laid another log on the fire. It was going pretty good now. It should last a few hours. Joe sat on the oversized hearth and enjoyed the heat. This was his first chance to warm up since arriving at the cabin and he took full advantage of it.
The fire popped and hissed. The sounds took Joe back to Afghanistan, to a cordon and search operation in a village suspected of harboring insurgents. The heat, the dust, and the god-awful stench came back full force. That smell was everywhere. It permeated the entire country. It was a smell he would never forget.
Joe and his partner cautiously approached the next house. They'd been at it for hours. Searching homes … searching residents … searching their few and tattered belongings. This house, like most, was more hut than house. But it had a door, a wooden one.
Joe and his partner, Banyan, paused at the door. Joe stood on the left side of the doorframe with his back to the wall. Banyan was on the right. Both men sensed something off, something different about this house. How they knew that neither could say.
They exchanged looks and a split-second later, bullets shredded the door from inside the house. Joe and Banyan dropped to a knee and returned fire through the gaping holes in the door. Thank God their M4 carbines were locked and loaded. Standard operating procedure for these searches.
Joe radioed for backup. He hadn't needed to. Other teams were already hurrying to them and taking up defensive positions. The gun battle didn't last long. Not with so much American firepower. It ended with one insurgent dead inside and the other badly wounded. Papers, cell phones, weapons, and ammo were found inside the hut. The mission was deemed a success. No Americans were killed in the action and valuable intel was gained from the papers and cell phones.
Joe had taken a splinter in the neck when the door shattered. That minor wound had earned him three stitches and a Purple Heart. It was his second Heart in six months. The first one had come when an IED blew a leg off his previous partner, Jack Liedecker, and killed him. Jack had been a great partner and Joe still missed him. Still thought of the sacrifice Jack had made for the greater good.
It was over two years since that day and nightmares occasionally haunted Joe's sleep. Occasionally they jolted him awake, sweat beading his forehead.
Luck had intervened the day Jack died and it had saved Joe's life. An insurgent had jumped him, knocked him to the ground, and covered his body. When the IED exploded, the insurgent on top of Joe took the brunt of the shrapnel. Joe received a few pieces of metal in both legs. Minor wounds compared to Jack's. Jack didn't have anyone covering his body and he didn't survived.
Luck. That was what all service members called it, especially the grunts (infantry soldiers). Most grunts tried to make their own luck before they went on a mission. Loading their rucksacks the same way, carrying a special item, saying a prayer, whatever it took …
But like one grunt told Joe, "When your time's up, ain't nothing you can do about it. Luck or no luck, you're dead. Ain't no more to it than that."
No more to it than that?
Luck or godly intervention? Which had saved Joe?
He didn't know, but he'd come to realize that he couldn't wallow in the past. The world didn't stop for those stuck in the past. The world kept right on spinning and the days kept right on passing and as Joe well knew, a person's days could be cut short. One moment you were pulling guard duty and the next you were dead.
Joe felt a shiver crawl down his spine. He didn't want to waste whatever time he had left on this planet. That possessive, protective love gripped his heart again. It claimed his soul, too. He loved Vanessa. She was the woman for him and he knew it. No doubt about it. He felt it with every fiber of his being.
They both had troubled pasts and impulsive natures. Oh, they had their differences, too. He was apt to wanderlust while she preferred staying home. She loved to cook and he loved to eat. Couldn't complain about that.
And here she came with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate heaped with melted marshmallows. She set the mugs on the coffee table.
"Those are too hot to drink," she warned. "I'm bringing the stew out next."
She smiled at Joe and his heart flip-flopped. The hot chocolate smelled like Christmas and Vanessa looked like an angel. He was in heaven.
He rose from the fireplace and drew her into a long, lingering kiss. He kissed her carefully, a first date kind of kiss. The kind of kiss meant to reassure her and let her know she was safe with him. She would always be safe with him.
# # # #
Two empty bowls sat on the coffee table alongside two empty mugs.
Vanessa and Joe sat on the couch gazing into the fire. She tucked her legs under her and leaned into him. Her head found the perfect spot against his shoulder.
He took her hand in his and rubbed his thumb lightly over her knuckles. He enjoyed the closeness, the warmth of her body next to his.
After a moment or two, he said, "Do you know how much I love you?"
She untucked a leg and sat a little straighter. She looked into his sky blue eyes. "I .. I'm not sure." She was floundering here. Was there more to this question? Perhaps, a deeper meaning?
They'd said I love yous and truly meant them. But they hadn't had an in-depth discussion about their love for each other or how much they loved each other.
"All I know, Joseph Hardy, is that I love you with all my heart. From the day I met you I felt a connection. And since that day you've always been there for me." Her expression was somber. "I feel safe when you're around. Protected and safe."
She almost laughed at the words. They sounded corny and stilted. But they were true.
She blushed a little as she added, "You're kind and caring and warm and sensitive. I couldn't ask for a more wonderful boyfriend."
She'd spoken from her heart, unabashed and unafraid. After what she'd been through tonight, fear had no place in her heart, not when it came to love.
Joe shifted on the couch and faced her so that he could drink in her beauty. He ran a hand through her hair. Pale blonde hair made golden in the firelight. Gray-blue eyes that shone with innocence and love. Pink lips paused in a half-smile. He shifted his gaze to their hands joined together. That was the way it sure be. The two of them … Joe and Vanessa … joined together. They belonged with one another. Forever and for always.
He brought his eyes up to hers. "I've fallen for you, Van. Completely. I'm totally in love with you. Tonight showed me just how much. I never want us to be a part again."
She was a bit surprised. Joe Hardy wasn't given to such raw, emotional declarations of love.
"Are you …?" She looked at him curiously. She didn't want to assume anything, although her heart hoped.
"Am I asking you to marry me?" A grin hitched up a corner of his mouth.
One delicately arched eyebrow rose and the other lowered as she tilted her head and frowned at him. "Well, are you?"
His grin grew. "Only if you plan on saying yes."
She chuckled softly. The sound was musical and magical. She was happy again and he was glad. That was the way she should be – lighthearted and merry.
"Yes." She flashed him radiant smile. "I plan on saying yes."
"Great."
He enveloped her in strong arms and kissed her tenderly on the lips. He could never kiss her too much. And he realized, he could never kiss her enough.
Sometimes you couldn't win. And sometimes, that was a good thing. A very good thing indeed.