Chapter One

Zanzibar Island, off the coast of Tanganyika (Today's Tanzania)

Alexandra couldn't stop staring at Spencer and counting herself the luckiest woman alive. She couldn't help but remember the stifling existence she had left behind and think of how vastly different her days were now.

Since the moment she'd met Spencer, she had wanted to follow him forever. But she had told herself that her duty came first. She was a betrothed woman.

But then Spencer had gotten into a motor vehicle and nearly driven out of her life… and she had just known, deep down to her toes, that she was supposed to be leaving with him.

Not that he had asked. Or even really given him a choice in the matter. She was determined to tag along on to his next adventure.

And thank the good Lord she had. She had never felt more free than that moment, when she had left all she was behind to carve out the life she had always wanted.

She'd hated every second of the false smiles and boastful, impeccable dressed men that took longer to get ready than herself. To think that miserable, soul crushing life had nearly been her fate.

Unless you counted cleaning and assembling his guns, she had never even seen Spencer get ready. He either did it so fast it was not noticed, or he simply already woke up looking ruggedly handsome.

This morning, she'd woken up to soft morning light filtering in, the sound and sight of the ocean stretching endlessly beyond the intimate little bungalow they'd retreated to.

Life had gone from utterly distasteful to incredibly perfect with one snap decision.

The best decision of her life.

It had led her to the most amazing man, and the most wonderful of places- this bungalow being her favorite so far.

It was built to let the sea breeze flow through, with large open windows, no glass, just a wooden frame made of local bamboo, and a thatched atmosphere was so rustic and romantic, it gave the feeling of peace and complete separation from the world.

After their swim, and countless bouts of lovemaking, they had eaten local fish on the porch as they watched the sun cascade into the horizon.

Now, Alex watched from her chair in the corner as Spencer laid out a small paper on the windowsill and sprinkled tobacco on top. "They come rolled now, you know."

Spencer rolled up the paper, not looking up from his task as he answered, "That's what they gave us in the war. I won't smoke those now."

Of course not. What was she thinking, trying to make his life easier, she thought with an internal eye roll. It was as if the man enjoyed punishing himself in the smallest ways.

Alex admired the strip of his chest peeking through his white cotton tunic that gaped open almost to his belly button. It was a deliciously impressive chest. The tempting sight also reminded her of the jaguar wounds that were still in the healing process.

Last she'd checked, the deep claw marks had nicely scabbed over, but the surrounding skin was still a bit red. The raised scar tissue was a bold purple that she couldn't wait to see fade because it looked painful and she'd seen him wince whenever he overstretched the swollen, tender skin.

The two deepest scratches across each of his pecs had been covered until today. He'd taken the bandage off before they went swimming in the ocean, claiming the salt water was a better cleanser than the iodine.

She needed to put the bandages back on before the friction of his shirt reopened the wound.

Standing, Alex grabbed the petroleum jelly she'd been smearing on him all week so the scabbing skin wouldn't get dry, cracked and itchy, and crossed the room to care for her new fiancé. She stopped close enough to caress the skin just near where the jaguar had sunk his claws into his tender flesh.

No puffy redness or leaking, she noted, no signs of infection… Well, she should hope so. She'd put a lot of effort into diligently tending to his wounds all week.

God, had it really only been a week?

How could she only know this man a little over a week and now not be able to picture her life without him in it?

Probably because he was the most incredible, virile handsome man on the planet.

She'd heard of his prowess even before meeting him. But seeing the claw marks across his chest had highlighted that he was a mere man, no mythical Adonis, and not impervious as he acted.

"Thank you," his deep voice sent shivers down her spine.

She looked up, saw how intently he looked at her, and felt love deep in her smiled, reminded of the time they met.

He'd been like a wild lion, cornered, seeking an escape so he could go lick his wounds in a private watering hole- or in his case, a bar.

At first, she'd known he'd been irritated with her intrusion. And with his infamy, of all things. Alex had been immediately intrigued, having only known men who craved recognition.

She'd been shocked to have such a stimulating conversation. In that short time, she knew he was keenly intelligent, and she had just wanted to keep drinking in his wisdom.

And then she'd leaned in close and locked eyes with him. His eyes had held so much depth. She'd instantly known that he saw so much more than everyone else.

And she had not seen nearly enough. She wanted to know more.

As her girl friends had dragged her away, she couldn't take her eyes off him. She'd been afraid she would never meet a more interesting man again.

That thought brought with it her unequivocally boring ex- fiancé, and she thanked the Good Lord once again for giving her the courage to run from the dismal life that had been in store for her.

Not wanting to think of Arthur, she spun around to put the jar of jelly back in his bag. But her thoughts had her feeling out of sorts, and she knocked the bag off the table, several of the items it contained spilling out to the wide plank floors at her bare feet.

"Dang it. Sorry." She instantly dropped to her knees to collect everything, her thin, cream colored, knee length negligee billowing around her.

Spencer said nothing, just dropped down to help. He wore a slight smile, so she knew he wasn't annoyed with her. She gave a hesitant smile back, "I can be so clumsy."

"I know, Darlin'," his smirk was bigger now.

Swallowing through the sudden urge she had to maul him and mate like his lioness, she had to look away from his penetrating, warm turquoise gaze, less he saw the overwhelming need for him in her gaze.

A slender wooden box, worn, but beautifully crafted, was the last of the fallen contents. She reached for it, confused as to why she hadn't seen it yet. She thought she'd known all the contents in his bag- including several knives and a pistol.

She went to pick it up, but the latch had probably busted open from the fall, and the bundle inside tumbled out. She could smell the waterproof oiled cloth, and knew whatever was inside was being well protected. Curiosity always being her weakness, she unraveled the small package to reveal a bundle of old letters tied together with a red ribbon.

And they were addressed by a woman.

"Uh, Spencer..." she fingered the black cursive name written on the front. "Who is Cara Dutton?"

Oh God… please say there was no woman waiting for him back in the states. Please say she wasn't that big of a fool to fall for a taken man?

Not ready to hear he loved another, she wanted to keep her gaze on the bundle, but unwilling to be a coward, she sucked in a breath and turned to face him. "Something you forgot to tell me?" she added with a nervous chuckle.

That bloody smirk of his only grew. She glared at his amusement over her clear jealousy.

This man aroused the most primal instincts in her. She both loved and hated it.

Jealousy had always been foreign to her, but she shouldn't be surprised. He made her feel ways she had never felt before.

Well, if there was another bitch, she wasn't going down without a fight.

Spencer finally released her from her murderous thoughts.

"That's my Aunt."

She froze at that unexpected comment. "Oh… the Aunt that raised you." it wasn't a question, more just a reminder for herself.

Good lord, she didn't even know the surname of the man she loved. And it would soon be hers as well.

She glanced back down at the name on the envelope.

Alex Dutton.

It had a nice ring to it.

She glanced down at her naked hand, wondering if he'd get her a ring, and not caring if he didn't. As long as she got to be by his side forever, nothing else mattered.

Alex almost asked about rings, but he was now leaning by the open window, and she caught the sad, pensive expression on his face. Now was not the time for such paltriness as jewelry.

Right now, her man needed her special healing touch- and she didn't refer to her impeccable ability to dress his battle scars.

She held up the bundled letters, noted the way his eyes tried to avoid them. He treated these letters like the plague and she needed to know why.

"Why won't you read them?"

"Hard to explain," He still wouldn't look at her.

Well then, she would simply have to go over to him and stand in his line of sight.

She joined him, inhaling the sea air wafting through. She kept her eyes closed for a moment, absorbing the sounds of the waves crashing against the shore, and the breeze rustling through the palms.

When she opened her eyes, Spencer's blue eyes met hers, she held up the letters again, "Try. It will help."

She watched him shutter his expression, turned his back on her to look back out at the moonlit waters.

Undeterred, she pressed her face into his back and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, anchoring herself to him. When she spoke next, it was muffled, but he heard her. "Tell me. I need to understand what haunts you so I can banish them."

She thought she got through to him when she felt his arm hook around her back, holding her in place, pressed against him.

It was a lovely place to be, he smelt like her Spencer, leather and smoke, but with a touch of salty beach air now.

"War's not living. War is…"

She froze, barely breathing, praying he would continue. He never spoke of the war- he was much like her brother that way.

She relaxed her tense shoulders when he continued, not wanting to deter him in any way.

"If insanity was a thing you could touch, that's what war is," he finally finished.

He fisted her nightgown, pushed her a slight distance away with it, enough to make room for him to spin around to face her. She settled in between his spread out legs as he reeled her back in.

Spencer nodded to the letters she'd placed on the windowsill. "A letter is a window out of that hell for a minute." He looked back down at her, draped his arms around her back. "But it's a double-edged sword. Missing home and dreaming has killed more soldiers…" He was struggling, she could feel it in his bunched muscles.

He couldn't look at her long. His gaze went back to the letters. She was beginning to feel a touch of trepidation, bringing them to attention.

"You want to eat a bullet in battle, you start wishing for a letter," he murmured, before scoffing at the memory, "We had so many letters to dead men, we bundled them up and made furniture out of 'em. I credit not reading 'em for keeping me alive."

She squeezed him tighter, careful to avoid his scratched chest.

He squeezed her waist in return but still looked at the bundle he'd been carrying with him for years, "Then the war ended, and I got two years' worth of 'em."

"Spencer… the war has been over for nearly half a decade." She shook her head once the words left her mouth, "of course, you're very aware of that," she added, feeling like she had put a foot in her mouth.

He picked up the letters, flipped them over twice. "I felt guilty for not openin' 'em, so I just…"

"Tried to get yourself killed battling the kings of the jungle instead?" Spencer made more sense to her with each tidbit of his past he revealed.

Spencer leaned a little further back, urging Alex's smaller frame to settle more firmly into his much larger one. He arched a brow at her, questioning her.

"I understand now. Facing down jaguars and hyenas was not nearly as daunting as facing your feelings."

"You think you know me?" though his smile was gone, his eyes teased.

"It's my duty as your future wife," she played back, always trying to inject him with her cheer, even when she didn't feel cheerful.

The idea of the war keeping Spencer from a family she knew he loved very much bothered her.

His body language tensed again. She felt his burning gaze, looked up and met it with one of her own.

"You're right. I didn't know what I felt. Didn't want to think about it. I spent most of my time trying not to." He pushed blonde curls away from her forehead, pushed a lock behind her ear, caressing her jaw line. "Til you."

Nothing on earth could have stopped her from slamming her lips against his in that moment. She wrapped her arms around his neck, going up to her tiptoes. His strong arms wrapped tight around her waist as he stood taller, her toes no longer touching the floor. The only thing she touched was Spencer.

When her hand touched the letters, she pulled back. It was time to repair some of the damage with his family. He needed to take the first step. She would do this for him first, before letting her lust control her desires.

With a deep exhale, she straightened his hair and smoothed out his shirt. "There's something you should know about me. I'm a very jealous lover. I will not share you with your demons. So we must find them… and chase them all away," she spoke in a conspiratorial whisper, and winked.

She felt his chest rumble and knew he chuckled, without the sound. It was enough. She pressed the letters into his calloused hand.

With a spin full of flare, she flounced over to the table that held their wine and glasses. Holding the bottle in one, and the glass stems in her other hand, she raised them in display, "No one said demon chasing must be done sober."

Giggling at his amused expression, she dove between the opening of the flowing mosquito net canopy surrounding their bed.

It was the perfect atmosphere for letter reading. The soft lighting from their lanterns provided a soothing, golden glow to the room. The canopy bed draped around her enhanced the intimate setting.

They had spent last night- and much of the morning- taking advantage of their private, romantic domicile.

She settled in comfortably, kicking at the bed sheets they had never bothered to tuck in. When she noticed he remained by the window, watching her, she pushed the light, see-through netting aside and beckoned him to bed, "Let's get started, shall we?" She patted the mattress beside her. "Come on."

Alex pressed her lips together to stop her beaming smile when he complied to her order, climbing onto bed next to her and placing the letters down between them.

She poured them both a glass of wine before corking the bottle. "Shall we choose randomly or go in order?"

He took the glass, his large, scarred hands looking a tad ridiculous holding the small stem of the dainty glass.

Spencer unwound the ribbon tying the package together. "I guess if we're going to do it, we should do it in order." He handed her the oldest. "You read."

"Are you sure?" They were personal.

He nodded, "I like your voice."

She blushed with pleasure, and needed no further urging.

"My Dearest Spencer… News of the German Spring Offensive has reached our little valley in Montana, and the stories horrify. Jacob tells me the bulk of the German army charged your division and your company was given the grim honor of holding the flank... "

She quickly peeked at him, saw he was fine, and kept reading, "I've read tales of terrible machines with belts for tires and canons that rotate. Airplanes with bombs and guns and it robs me of sleep."

"The Brigadier General writes of your bravery. Of your unflinching resolve. I think only of the wild young man who would rather chase cattle than gather them. And race the horses until they were ruined for honest work."

She knew a brigadier general would write to the families of soldiers about the brave tasks they performed. Her family had received one for her brother, before he was killed.

This one was different from her brother's. She couldn't quite remember the contents, but it wasn't about how he and his men were vastly outnumbered and almost died like this one, she was nearly certain.

Alex needed to take a deep breath; she could feel the raw emotions on the page and feared looking at Spencer.

"I wait desperately for that boy to return. And I pray you bring that beautiful smile with you. It is my sunrise, and I miss it with all my heart."

A tear slid down her cheek before she could wipe it away. She mourned the boy lost to the war. The Spencer she knew, his smiles were rare.

She pushed through to finish. "I cling to every memory of you, waiting for you to come home, where we shall make countless more. Cara."

Silence loomed. Alex couldn't stop crying. At the heartfelt words of his Aunt, and how close she had come to never knowing Spencer Dutton.

When she heard her strong man sniffle, her heart cracked. "I'm sorry, I didn't…" she hastily shoved the letter back into its holding. "This was a mistake. I'm sorry."

His weathered hand covered her own to stop her from putting the letters away. When she looked at his face, she could see he was emotional, but keeping it contained.

"Keep going. Read the next one," Spencer urged.

The first letter was the hardest to get through. After that, the evening turned much more enjoyable as the amount of letters strewn around the bed increased. They drank wine as the hours of the night dwindled down to morning, thoroughly enthralled with his Aunt's storytelling.

"So, Jack said, 'Who needs a horse!' And he yanks his saddle from the bronco and marches it over to the milk cow. Gladys ran straight to the water trough and leapt into it, trapping Jack underwater until Jacob and John roped the beast and managed to free Jack from a death by cow drowning."

Alex was cackling so hard she clutched her stomach in pain. Spencer wasn't faring any better.

"I can't wait to meet him," she claimed after her laughter faded.

"He's a little tornado," Spencer was probably remembering a young boy. Jack was a married man now, and she wondered if he truly realized how long he had been away from his family.

She didn't make note of it, however, wanting to keep the playful mood in the room. "Runs in the family, I see. Your father's side?"

"Crazy runs on both sides. I'm double-bred, I'm afraid."

Alex leaned forward on her hands to kiss him. "So am I. Our children are going to be absolutely mad. We should consider adopting."

As he chuckled, she reached for another envelope and unsealed the flap. "Mm. I can't wait for the next letter."

The next one was also about his nephew Jack. He'd fallen in love.

"She's a lovely girl, with giant eyes and hair the color of straw. and she leads Jack around on an invisible leash. Watching them fawn over each other is my favorite hobby. I've forsaken knitting altogether, and give it all my attention." Alex smiled as she read, loving his Aunt Cara more with each letter.

And with each letter, Alex laughed and cried and felt as if she truly came to know the Dutton family. It was an unforgettable night, one she'd look fondly on until they were old and gray.

Spencer fell asleep around four in the morning, but she had to keep reading. Cara Dutton was an engrossing tale teller and she couldn't put the letters down until she'd read them all. Even then, she wondered if she'd sleep. Her mind was too fascinated; the letters had been such an insight into Spencer's other life. Before the war had changed him.

Sadly, not all of them were humorous and filled with love. Some painted a very barren existence that she wondered how he'd survived.

It was the worst winter since when your parents first arrived here. We found a snow drift with a hundred head of cattle frozen solid, but standing upright.

Good God, what kind of tundra had the man she loved crawled out of?

So far, it was the only mention of his parents, whom he never spoke of. She'd assumed his Aunt and Uncle had always been responsible for him. She wondered how his mother and father died.

Perhaps, other letters would reveal it. She was learning much about her future husband's childhood this way.

Unable to stem her nosy nature, she was compelled to keep reading until she got to the last letter.

When she finished reading, her heart was pounding. She pressed the heel of her palm to it, and used her other hand to shake Spencer awake.

This was too important to put off.

"Spencer," she called out to him.

His bleary eyes slowly opened. "What?"

She held out the letter, saw her hand shook and focused on steadying it. "You need to read this."

He didn't notice her solemn tone. He just rolled over with a tired groan. "Tomorrow."

She crawled into his arms, cupping his face, forcing him to open his eyes. When he does, the look she gives him implores, as does her words, "Read it."

He doesn't grab it. She watched his expression close as he tried not to feel and her stomach sank for him. He knew it was bad.

"What does it say?" he asks, instead of reading.

She swallows apprehensively, "You need to read it."

"You read it," Spencer impatiently snaps.

Seeing the scared little boy in him, she realized he needed her to do this. She took the letter back and read aloud;

"Spencer…" she hesitated before plowing ahead, "Your brother has been killed."

Spencer sucked in a sharp, painful breath.

Alex struggled to ignore his pain, but powered through. He needed her to be strong. "By the time you receive this letter, I suppose your uncle has been killed as well."

Her own tears fall with Spencer's. She needed to finish.

"Your nephew has been wounded… This ranch and your legacy are in peril. War has descended upon this place and your family. Whatever war you fight within yourself must wait. You must come home and fight this one."

Setting the letter down, she just held him as his emotions rioted through him.

"What's the date?" he suddenly asked.

She pulled back, confused, "the date?"

"Of the letter. When was it written?"

Alex looks down quickly, but lifts her gaze slowly.

"Three months ago."