Home for the Holidays (3 page)

“I was before I got the call to operate.”

“What time should I expect you tomorrow?”

“I plan to be on the road before sunrise. Allie likes eating breakfast at the Cracker Barrel, so we'll make at least one stop before we get to Charleston.” Evan told Iris he and his daughter were excited about coming to Cavanaugh Island and spending the holiday weekend with her before he rang off.

This year marked the first time Iris would host Thanksgiving on the island. Not only had she invited her family to come to celebrate the holiday with her, but also Tracy and Layla. She'd reserved connecting bedroom suites at the Cove Inn for her parents, brother and niece during their stay.

Last year she'd joined her family on a cruise to the Caribbean to celebrate her parents' thirty-eighth wedding anniversary. U.S. Army Col. James Nelson, a graduate of the U.S. Military Academy at West Point, who'd served with distinction in the Gulf War and was promoted from the rank of lieutenant colonel to a full colonel, had announced his retirement effective the end of the year, shocking everyone with this disclosure. When seeing the expression on her mother's face, Iris suspected that not even she knew what her husband had planned. Her father, who'd served his country for thirty years, had finally decided at the age of sixty-five he wanted to experience what it felt like to be a civilian again.

Iris noted the time on the phone. She only had a few minutes to talk to Tracy before the teacher began her first class. “Did you meet someone?” Tracy asked before Iris had a chance to saying anything.

Pinpoints of heat stung Iris's cheeks. “Yes,” she whispered into the mouthpiece.

Tracy screamed. “You didn't!”

Stretching out her legs and crossing her feet at the ankles, Iris watched an elderly woman attempt to park a behemoth sedan with fins dating back to the l970s between two pickup trucks. The parking lot appeared to be filled to capacity, which meant Christmas holiday shopping had begun in earnest.

“Earth to Iris. Are you there?”

“Yes, I did,” she confirmed for the second time.

“You're going to have to tell me all about it.”

A knowing smile parted her lips. “There isn't that much to tell.”

“Are you going to see him again?”

A slight frown furrowed Iris's forehead “I doubt it. He's only going to be here for the holiday. Enough about Mr. Last Night. I'm calling to ask your opinion about something.” She quickly told her about Mabel's business offer.

“If I were you, Iris, I'd go for it,” Tracy said, her voice filled with excitement. “We can talk more about it later. By the way, I put some oxtail stew in the slow cooker this morning, so all I'll have to do is make the sides when I get home.”

“Don't bother about the sides. I'll fix them once I get to your place.” Since becoming best friends, Iris had volunteered to meet Tracy's daughter's school bus and look after the seven-year-old until Tracy came home.

“You don't have to, Iris. You'll have enough to do tomorrow putting together a Thanksgiving dinner.”

“Stop stressing. I've got everything under control.” Her menu included roast and Cajun deep-fried turkey, corn bread–sausage stuffing, giblet gravy, collard greens, a sweet potato casserole with a praline topping, Parker House rolls, and the quintessential Southern Sunday dinner dessert: coconut layer cake.

“Okay,” Tracy conceded. “Remember, I'm going to haunt you until you tell me about your Mr. Last Night.”

“Bye, Tracy.”

Tracy laughed. “Later.”

Iris went back inside. She wanted to tell Tracy that she didn't want to talk about Collier, who despite her denial she wanted to see again.

Collier woke for a second time in less than four hours, flailing wildly and drenched in sweat. The nightmare was back, and he was drowning in an ocean stained with the blood of men staring up at the sky with sightless eyes. He'd managed to make it to the sand, where the stench of burning flesh threatened to make him lose the contents of his stomach. Rising to his feet, he started running, but arms like steel bands held him back until he broke free, stopping suddenly when flames erupted before him. He stood helplessly, watching and yelling at the top of his lungs while the firebomb consumed the Humvee.

Collier opened his eyes, staring up at the ceiling in the hotel suite, chest rising and falling heavily, the back of his throat raw from screaming as the images depicting the horrors of his last deployment slowly faded. As Special Forces, he and his team were always called into the most dangerous operations. The nightmares were so vivid Collier could recount every day of the thirteen months he'd been in Afghanistan, the sights, sounds, and smells lingering with him like he was still there.

By midafternoon, he'd finally shaken off the nightmares. Pulling into Sanctuary Cove Elementary and Middle School, he saw several parents waiting in their vehicles for the end of the school day. He'd come to the school to see his niece before she boarded the school bus. The highlight of his deployment in the Middle East had been their sporadic e-mails.

As soon as his deployment had ended, Collier put in for an official leave. Once it had been approved, he decided to use five weeks of his accrued leave time to surprise his sister and seven-year-old niece by coming home for the holidays. He knew it wouldn't have been much of a surprise if he'd checked into the Cove Inn instead of a hotel on the mainland. If someone on Sanctuary Cove spotted him, word that he'd returned home would've spread like a wildfire. Collier knew he'd also run the risk of someone calling his sister when he showed up at the club, but meeting Iris had been more than worth that risk.

He walked to the entrance of the school and rang the bell. The school safety officer opened the door, and when asked for identification, Collier showed him his driver's license. The man typed his name into a computer, printing out a visitor's badge with his name and his niece's name. He pointed to his left. “Go to the end of the hallway. Her classroom is on the right.”

He peered through the glass on the door to the second-grade classroom. His niece, dressed in the requisite school uniform, had raised her hand to answer a question. Collier opened the door and walked in, seeing shock in the eyes of the teacher who'd grown up on the same block as he and his sister. All eyes were fixed on him, and seconds later his niece, realizing who he was, raced from her desk, launching herself against him when he knelt down to hug her.

“Uncle Collier! You didn't tell me you were coming home.”

He kissed her neatly braided hair, struggling not to lose his composure. Homecomings were as emotionally heart wrenching for returning soldiers as their family members. “I wanted to surprise you,” he said in her ear.

“You did surprise me,” she whispered back.

Collier felt his heart turn over when he saw the tears in her eyes. He knew he had to leave before both of them started crying. “I'm going to wait for you outside, so don't get on the bus.”

Collier stood up, nodding to his niece's teacher. “How are you, Miss Patience?”

Patience Parker smiled. “I'm well, Scrap— Collier.”

He gave her a pointed look. She'd corrected herself before referring to him by his childhood nickname. “Thank you for letting me say hello. I'll let you get back to your lesson.” Closing the door, Collier retraced his steps. He handed in the visitor badge and walked out into the warm November afternoon.

Sitting on a bench in the playground, he inhaled a lungful of air. Cavanaugh Island had its own distinct smell. He'd missed seeing the palmetto tress and the Spanish moss hanging from the branches of ancient oaks. He missed the hot, sultry summers, hanging out on the beach, swimming in the ocean, the mild winters, and listening to the older residents speaking the distinctive Gullah dialect that was slowly dying out because the younger generation refused to speak it. Collier also missed the dishes unique to the region, and for the first time since he'd enlisted in the U.S. Army, he was able to admit that he missed his home.

His last deployment had changed him. He'd lost buddies in combat, men who'd become his brothers in every sense of the word, and he'd had to watch helplessly as one died in his arms. Two deployments to Iraq and a subsequent one to Afghanistan had given him his fill of war, of death, and of dying.

Fortunately he had a little more than a month to distance himself from anything resembling the military. Coming home to celebrate Thanksgiving and Christmas on Cavanaugh Island with his family was an added bonus. And if he were to run into Iris again, then it would make his homecoming even sweeter.

I
ris mounted the steps of the porch to the one-story Lowcountry plantation house. She always made it a practice to arrive at Tracy's house twenty minutes before the school bus was scheduled to drop off Layla. She opened the screen door, then unlocked the inner door, leaving it slightly ajar.

Her friendship with Tracy had begun last year when Tracy came to the Muffin Corner, placing an order for an assortment of scary desserts for her daughter's birthday party, which coincided with Halloween. The desserts were a big hit with Layla's classmates and their parents, and a week later Tracy left a gift basket for Iris at the bakeshop filled with scented candles, body creams, lotions, gourmet chocolates, and bath salts.

Iris reciprocated by inviting Tracy out to dinner in Charleston, and the two discovered they had much in common. Both had teaching backgrounds—Iris had taught art and Tracy was an English teacher—they were only a year apart in age, and both were divorced. While Tracy became a mother during her marriage, Iris made certain not to bring a child into the hell she'd had to endure until she found the strength to leave her abusive husband.

Several months ago Iris had volunteered to watch Layla after Tracy's elderly babysitter fell, fractured her hip, and was eventually confined to a Charleston nursing facility. The schedule fit perfectly since Iris worked at the bakeshop from six in the morning until two in the afternoon, and Tracy, assigned to her school's extended session, taught from ten to four. Now they regarded each other as an extended family, sharing meals, going to the movies, and attending church services together.

After washing her hands in the half bath, Iris walked into the kitchen. Lifting the top on the slow cooker, she checked the oxtail stew. It smelled delicious and the meat was fork-tender. She lowered the temperature to simmer, then searched the refrigerator, discovering a head of cabbage in the vegetable drawer. Iris thought about making steamed cabbage until she saw a ham steak. Stir-fry cabbage with ham, rice, and corn bread would go nicely with the stew. She'd learned within days of moving to South Carolina that rice and grits were staples in Lowcountry pantries.

Iris removed the outer leaves of the cabbage and cut them into quarters, then halved each quarter again, and then again. She glanced at the clock on the microwave as she reached for a large bowl, filled it with water, and placed the cabbage in it. The bus driver always dropped Layla off at exactly three thirty. Wiping her hands on the dish towel, she walked out of the kitchen to the front porch.

I don't believe it!

She thought she had to be hallucinating when she saw Layla skipping alongside her Mr. Last Night. Stunned, she took in everything about him: baseball cap, black sweatshirt, relaxed-fit jeans, and running shoes. He hadn't shaved and the stubble only intensified his masculinity.

“Miss Iris, come meet my uncle! He just came home,” Layla shouted excitedly, racing up the porch.

It was then that Iris noticed the Army duffel Collier carried. He was in the military?

A mix of emotions ranging from embarrassment to mortification roiled inside her.
Get it together girl
, she told herself as she saw Collier's stunned expression. It was apparent he was as shocked to see her as she was him.

She extended her hand. “Welcome home, soldier. I'm Iris Nelson, Layla's babysitter.” It'd be better for everyone if they played this like they'd never met. Too many awkward explanations otherwise.

Collier took off the cap, his shocked expression turning into amusement when he took her proffered hand, dropping a kiss on her knuckles. “Thank you. I must say this homecoming has been quite remarkable. Collier Ward. I'm Tracy's brother and Layla's uncle.”

Iris wanted to ask if he meant “Fraud” and not Ward. He'd had plenty of opportunity to tell her he had family in Sanctuary Cove.

Easing her hand from his firm grip, she pointed to the duffel bag he'd set down on the porch. “Are you staying for dinner?” she teased.

His eyebrows lifted questioningly. “Are you cooking?”

“Miss Iris cooks everything good, Uncle Collier,” Layla chimed in. “She's teaching me to cook. And you have to taste her cookies. Mama says they are the best in the world.”

Collier's gaze was fixed on Iris. “Miss Iris sounds like she's very special.”

“Layla, why don't you go in the house and change out of your school clothes? After you wash your hands you can help me with dinner.”

“I know. You don't want me to listen to grown folks business. Mama tells me that all the time when she's talking on the phone.”

Collier winked at his niece. “Go on, pumpkin, and do what Miss Iris tells you.” His eyes followed Layla as she stomped off the porch and went inside the house. Tracy claimed Layla should've been his daughter because both were strong willed and fearless.

Once the door closed behind her, he studied Iris with a curious intensity. She looked nothing like the temptress who'd seduced him with her killer body and stunningly beautiful face. And now, with her standing before him, he wasn't certain which he liked better—the dramatic makeup, quirky hairdo, sexy revealing dress or the fresh-faced woman in a pair of skinny jeans, tee, and flats. His gaze lingered briefly on the outline of her breasts under the cotton top. There was so much he wanted to know about her. “You're a cook?”

Iris smiled. “A pastry chef,” she corrected. “My specialty is cake design.”

“No wonder you smell so delicious.” His eyes sparked with desire.

Her jaw dropped slightly with his comeback, but she recovered quickly. “I wish I'd known you were related to Tracy.”

“Why?” Collier asked.

“Because I never would've flirted with you.”

He smiled. “I was the one who came on to you, not the other way around. You don't have to worry about me telling Tracy that we met last night because I've never been one to kiss and tell.”

The tense lines around her mouth disappeared. “Thank you for being a gentleman.” Iris pointed to the duffel. “Did you really stay in Charleston last night?”

He knew he'd lessened some of Iris's tension when the smile parting her lips reached her eyes. Bending, he picked up the bag. “Yep. I checked into a hotel because I wanted my homecoming to be a surprise for Tracy and Layla.”

“Where's your car?”

“I parked at the end of the cul-de-sac so Tracy wouldn't see the North Carolina plates. I don't know how well you know my sister, but she's the ultimate worrywart. If I'd called and told her I was coming in yesterday, she wouldn't have gone to work. Either she'd be calling or texting me every hour and, if she couldn't reach me or if my flight was delayed, then blame me for making her crazy.”

Iris glanced over her shoulder at Collier when he reached over her head and held the screen door open for her to precede him inside. “I've never seen that side of Tracy.”

“Good for you,” he drawled, “because she can be a hot mess.”

Collier knew his sister's anxiety was the result of them losing their parents within a year of each other; all the while she'd been going through a contentious divorce with a vindictive soon-to-be ex-husband. He'd requested a personal emergency family leave to be there for his sister and niece, but when it came time for him to return to duty for his second deployment to Iraq, Tracy had to be sedated because she feared losing him, too.

After this last deployment, Collier promised Tracy it would be his last combat mission, and barring any unforeseen national threat, he planned to spend the last two years of what would become a twenty-year military career stateside. Physically he could easily put in another ten years as a member of the Army Special Operations Forces, but he doubted whether he would be able to perform at peak capacity emotionally. The recurring nightmares were obvious indicators he suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder. He feared if it continued, he'd become a danger not only to himself, but also to others.

“How long is your leave?” Iris questioned.

“I'll be here through Christmas.”

She stopped abruptly in the middle of the living room, her brow furrowing. “That's almost five weeks.”

He smiled. “Five weeks to find out more about you other than your name and that you live in the apartment above Rose Walker's A Tisket A Basket.”

Iris folded her hands at her waist. “How long will it take for me to find out everything I need to know about you, Mr. Special Forces?”

Collier's body stiffened in shock; he was momentarily speechless. How had she known? Had Tracy told Iris about his military background? “I don't know what you're talking about.”

Iris took a step, bringing them within inches of each other. “Yes, you do, Collier. I grew up an Army brat and my father retired last year as a full bird, so the fact that you're in the military and Tracy has been as closemouthed as a clam about you speaks volumes.” She rested a hand on his chest. “There are no photographs of you anywhere in this house, and she's never mentioned you by name. That means you're Delta Force, Green Beret, Ranger, or Navy SEAL. Please don't insult my intelligence by denying it.”

He covered her hand with his free one. “If you know so much, you also know it's not something we can talk about. What do you want me to say?”

She rose on tiptoe. “Just tell me I'm right.”

Collier stared at her mouth under lowered lids. He wanted to kiss her. Really kiss Iris with the passion he found hard to control whenever they were together. “You're right,” he whispered.

“Thank you,” she drawled, barely able to keep the laughter from her voice. She executed a snappy salute, then turned on her heels and walked in the direction of the kitchen, Collier's eyes fixed on her hips in the fitted jeans.

Oh, this was going to be interesting. Time to step up his game.

“Something smells delicious.”

Iris's head popped up. She hadn't heard Collier come into the kitchen. He'd exchanged the sweatshirt for a white tee, the power in his upper body blatantly on display. “I'm sautéing ham for stir-fry cabbage.” He peered over her shoulder as she stirred finely diced ham in a large pot, removing the shreds to a plate to drain on a paper towel once they were browned.

“Is Layla still changing her clothes?”

Iris pointed to the closed door off the kitchen. “She's in the bathroom scrubbing her nails. I told her cooks have to make certain their hands are very clean if they're not wearing gloves.”

Collier chuckled softly. “I used to tease her when she was a toddler, daring her not to touch me with her little grimy hands because she loved playing in dirt. Her response was to chase me, and whenever I stopped, she would wipe the dirt off on my clothes. I lost track of the number of times I had to change because of her dirty handprints.”

“If you hadn't challenged her, then she probably wouldn't have done it.”

He opened the refrigerator and took out a container of milk. “I learned that the hard way.”

“There are cookies in the jar on the other side of the coffeemaker.”

Collier met Iris's eyes. “Did you make them?”

Nodding, she turned off the burner. “I make a different cookie every day for the Muffin Corner and bring a few home for Layla and Tracy.”

“Which ones are good, cookie lady?”

Iris cut her eyes at him. “
All
of my cookies taste good.”

“No shit,” he mumbled under his breath.

“Ooh, Uncle Collier. You said a curse.”

Iris turned to find Layla with her hand over her mouth and knew she had to clean up Collier's expletive. “No, he didn't. He said, ‘no slip,'” she lied smoothly. Iris realized she would have to lie again later that evening. There was no way she could tell Tracy she'd flirted with her brother. “Layla, you may have one cookie with a glass of milk as a snack before dinner.”

Collier blew Iris an air-kiss, pantomiming thank you. “You know you owe me,” she said sotto voce.

He moved closer. “I always pay my debts. What time do you guys usually sit down to eat?”

Iris took a quick glance at the microwave clock. “Anytime between five thirty and six. Barring traffic delays, Tracy usually gets home before five.”

Layla set the cookie jar on the table in the breakfast nook. “Are you having cookies and milk with us, Miss Iris?”

Iris studied the upturned face of the young girl with a flawless café au lait complexion, black pigtails, and large, round sherry-colored eyes, wondering how different her life might have been if her husband hadn't been abusive and she'd had his child. She probably would've continued to teach rather than go to culinary school and definitely wouldn't have moved to Sanctuary Cove.

Her expression softened. “Of course, sweetie.”

Picking up a gingerbread man, Collier bit off the head. “Please don't eat me,” he pleaded in a plaintive cry through closed lips as if he were a ventriloquist. “But I have to eat you because you're so good,” he said in his normal baritone. He was about to take another bite when his voice changed again, this time mimicking the iconic horror movie doll Chucky. “You'll be sorry if you take another bite.”