Silhouette Christmas Stories Read online

  "We'll hear soon," Kyle said, sitting at the table. There was a deathly waiting stillness in her home since he'd arrived from the B.O.Q. two hours ago. The tension in Gale's body was apparent.

  Slowly, she turned around. Kyle was dressed in a long-sleeved blue-plaid shirt that made his eyes look even darker. Although he was sprawled out on the chair, nursing his third cup of coffee, his long legs stretched out beneath the cherry table, he didn't look relaxed. Searching his composed features, she asked, "Do you think it means bad news if it's taking this long, Kyle?"

  He sighed. "They were bringing fifteen bodies back along with twelve POWs. I'm sure they're not releasing any word to the families of the survivors or the dead until they're absolutely sure of identification of everyone," he muttered. "That can take time. They don't want any mistakes."

  Gale bowed her head and wrapped her arms around herself because she was cold and shaking inside. "That makes sense." Gale forced a smile, fighting valiantly to look less worried. "They said if Mike was alive, they'd be calling me…"

  Gale and Kyle both knew that if Mike was dead, two Air Force officers would come to her house and give her the news in person. It was lousy duty telling the wife and children of a serviceman that he was dead.

  The urge to get up, to go over and hold Gale was excruciating, but Kyle fought it. So far, she'd rallied and held her own-until now. "We've got the tree in your front room," he said quietly. He tried hard to keep his tone light, but found it nearly impossible.

  She lifted her head. "Does that guarantee a phone call instead of those guys coming to my door?"

  "That's a roger."

  Turning to the sink, Gale began washing breakfast dishes. Kyle had eaten enough for two men; she hadn't been able to eat at all. The warm, soapy water took away some of the coldness that had been with her since she'd awakened that morning. There was such fear and anxiety pressing in on her, she couldn't shake it- not even with Kyle's caring presence.

  Needing something-anything-to do, Kyle got up, collecting the garbage and putting it into a sack. Why the hell were those bastards waiting so long to call her? Why couldn't they let her know the instant the plane had landed if Mike was alive? Was he ill, badly injured? In the hospital? Dammit, they ought to be telling Gale instead of letting her twist in the wind like this!

  Needing to calm his rage over the military officials' insensitive handling of the situation, Kyle took the garbage out to the cans that sat alongside the garage. Then he swept the walk, even though it was still raining. The rain was cooling to his anger and frustration.

  Reentering the kitchen fifteen minutes later, he found Gale had finished with the dishes. The place was quiet. Maybe some music would help to dissolve the stillness. Shutting the door, he wiped his feet on the rug and put the broom to one side.

  "KYLE!"

  Tensing at Gale's tortured cry, he quickly strode across the kitchen to the living room. Gale was standing at the picture window, staring out, her hands pressed against her mouth.

  "What?" Kyle said in a hoarse voice as he moved toward her, not understanding until he glimpsed two officers coming up the wet sidewalk toward the front door. "No… " he whispered, reaching out, gripping Gale's arm because she was weaving.

  The doorbell rang. Once. Twice. Three times.

  Kyle cursed beneath his breath, feeling Gale tremble badly. He looked down and winced. Her eyes were dark and narrowed with pain, with denial. "I'll answer it," he said unsteadily.

  Gale stood there, her knees watery, watching as Kyle opened the door. Her world exploded as the two men, both somber faced, told her what she already knew: Mike was dead.

  She barely heard their apology and their heartfelt condolences. All she could do was stare at Kyle's ravaged features. There were tears in his eyes, and his mouth was pulled into a terrible line of anguish.

  Gale was looking faint. Kyle turned to the senior officer.

  "I'll get in touch with you on funeral details in about an hour, Captain."

  "Yes, sir, Major. I'm sorry, sir…"

  His attention on Gale, Kyle cleared his throat and said, "We all are. Thanks."

  "Yes, sir. Goodbye, sir." The officers turned and left.

  Shutting the door quietly, Kyle turned to Gale. She looked small and broken standing there in the middle of the large room, her shoulders slumped, eyes filled with terrible reality.

  "Gale?" His voice shook as he took the final steps to where she stood. Tears blurred his vision; her face danced before him.

  "Mike's dead… "

  Standing uncertainly, Kyle gave a jerky nod. "Yeah… I'm sorry, so damn sorry, Gale-" He couldn't go on. Reaching out, he pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly, holding her hard, as if to take away her pain, her loss.

  The gray morning light filtered through the windows bracketed by beige drapes. Kyle felt the first genuine sob rip though Gale, her entire body convulsing. All he could do was hold her, rock her, murmur words, useless words, of apology, of comfort. But nothing was going to help her. His own pain at the loss of his best friend, someone he'd grown up with, shared his life with, was no less cutting.

  They cried together, clinging to each other because nothing else made sense, nothing else existed except the huge walls of pain that battered their hearts.

  Eventually, Kyle moved past his first wave of grief enough to think clearly. As he stood there, holding Gale, absorbing her soft, choking anguish, he looked ahead to the next few days. He knew Mike's body would have to be flown to Sedona. Mike's parents would want him buried there, Kyle was sure of that. He'd request emergency leave from his office and make sure Gale had someone to help her with all the details, the endless paperwork that he knew would come.

  Sighing, he rested his jaw against her hair, and closed his eyes. Her pain was his pain. So much had been taken from Gale over the years. So much.

  Opening his eyes, Kyle stared at the scraggly, leaning cardboard Christmas tree sitting on the coffee table in front of the couch. His gaze moved from the image of Mike to the Bell Rock decoration. Mike was going home. And they'd be going home with him.

  His eyes filled with tears, momentarily blurring his vision. Blinking, Kyle shifted his gaze to the second branch, where Gale's pear tree hung. Next to it was the partridge he'd drawn. His arms tightened around her. He knew she'd leave the Air Force and go home to Medford. She would try to pick up the pieces of a life that had been stretched and tortured for five years.

  Time… they both needed time to grieve for Mike, to remember him, to cherish all that was good about him and the ways he'd affected their lives.

  Taking a deep, ragged breath, Kyle simply held Gale, listening to her sobs lessen with the passing minutes, the first storm of grief, of shock, now pas-ing. There would be many other cycles of tears to come, he was sure.

  His gaze remained on the tree. Gale had fashioned a pot of daffodils. They were her favorite flower. She said she was going to plant them along the edge of the house in Medford, a sign of spring, of a new beginning.

  Yes, there was a beginning for both of them. Kyle didn't look at his own needs right now. Being there for Gale and for Mike's parents was what was important right now. But he would never forget that pot of daffodils. Never.

  Chapter Four

  December 24,1979

  Blytheville Air Force Base, Arkansas

  Kyle frowned, staring at the mass of paperwork on his desk. It was 0800, and he had all day to plow through it. What did it matter? He didn't have anything else to do over the Christmas holiday, so why not use the time to catch up on paperwork when the office was empty and quiet? December was a lousy month for him, he'd decided that a long time ago. The Air Force had ordered him from Griffiss to Blytheville two weeks ago, and he was still unpacking and trying to get situated at his new command. He'd called his folks, apologizing for not being able to come home as he'd planned. There was simply too much work to do here and the holidays were the only time he'd be able to get things in order before the responsibi
lities of squadron command rested squarely on his shoulders.

  "Major?"

  Scowling, Kyle looked up toward his sergeant, who stood at the entrance to his office. "What is it, Dick-son?"

  "A telegram just arrived for you, sir." He brought it forward and placed it in Kyle's hand.

  A telegram? Kyle nodded. "Thanks, Dickson."

  "Yes, sir." The door shut quietly.

  The yellow envelope stared back at him. Who would send him a telegram? He turned it over and ripped it open, a sense of dread filling him. The only time someone got a telegram was when it was bad news. His heart started an uneven beat as he read the short message.

  Kyle. Come Home. Gale.

  His hand trembled as he looked at the address. Gale was in Sedona, staying with the Taylors. In the past year, they'd exchanged many letters and phone calls, staying in touch, helping to heal each other in so many ways since Mike's death. She had left the service as she'd planned, moved into her parents' home, and was trying to make a new life for herself.

  A deep ache centered in his heart as he mulled over her request. The need to see her was excruciating. Looking around his new office, he grimaced. Stay and catch up on his new workload, or go home? There wasn't any question what he wanted to do. Gently tucking the telegram into the pocket of his light blue shirt, Kyle got up. As he reached for the phone to find out when the next flight left for Arizona, his throat constricted. Why was Gale there?

  When the reservations operator answered, it took several seconds before Kyle could speak. He recalled the cardboard tree they'd fashioned together last year. A make-believe Christmas tree filled with dreams and prayers. Some had been answered, others hadn't. He cleared his throat, his voice off-key. "Yes, I need a flight out to Flagstaff, Arizona, as soon as possible."

  His need for Gale, the new feelings tumbling through him, made him shaky and unsure. For so long he'd suppressed his feelings for her because they hadn't been right under the circumstances. Now she was a widow. Was she asking him home because he was her friend? Or because she felt similarly? Terribly unsure, Kyle closed his eyes and waited to learn the time of the earliest flight to Flagstaff.

  Gale shifted from one booted foot to the other, waiting impatiently at the Flagstaff airport. The small jet from Phoenix had landed, and she knew Kyle was on board. Suddenly she felt an incredible deluge of joy as she saw him emerge from the plane parked out on the tarmac. He walked quickly toward the building, an overnight bag in one hand, a wardrobe bag in the other. Her heart beat shifted into triple time as her gaze swiftly moved to his face. The past year had deepened the lines, especially around his mouth. There were still remnants of pain there, if she was reading him accurately.

  She scanned his tall, lean form. The well-worn leather bomber jacket he wore proclaimed he was a pilot in the Air Force. His light blue shirt was open at the collar, revealing a white T-shirt and a few strands of dark chest hair. He wore a pair of comfortable jeans and, to her delight, a pair of scuffed cowboy boots. Where had he gotten those? Knowing Kyle, he'd probably always had them, a tie to his Arizona roots and heritage. With his tan, he looked more like a Westerner than an Air Force major.

  Kyle smiled, the exhaustion torn from him as he saw Gale waiting restlessly at the rear of the crowd gath-ered at the doors. Christmas music was playing as he entered the small airport lounge decorated with a tree, tinsel and a cardboard Santa Claus waving his hand merrily to all arriving visitors.

  It was Gale that Kyle hungrily homed in on. She was wearing a dark green wool dress, the full skirt brushing her knees. The red scarf around her neck emphasized the blush on her cheeks. The festive Christmas colors enhanced the natural radiance of her features.

  He hadn't seen her since last year, since Mike's funeral. A part of him breathed a sigh of relief: Gale had regained her previous weight; her cheeks were no longer gaunt. As Kyle slowly made his way through the wall of waiting people, he saw her in an entirely different light. She looked like a rose in full bloom, her parted lips red and filled with promise, her cheeks deepening with a blush that did nothing but make her sparkling green eyes that much more beautiful.

  Shyness suddenly seized Kyle. He stopped in front of her, managing a lame smile of welcome. It was impossible to hug her because his hands were filled with luggage. "Hi, stranger," he greeted her, his voice hoarse.

  Gale was equally shy. "Hi, yourself," she whispered.

  Awkwardly, Kyle looked around. "Where's my folks?"

  Gale laughed softly, tying the belt around her camel-hair coat. "They'll see you at home." Gale motioned to the window. "You know they don't like driving in snow, and Flag has had a record amount this year. I told them I'd brave it and come to pick you up."

  "Sounds good. Lead the way, I've got my baggage on me."

  Gale turned and walked down the crowded hall. She saw how reticent Kyle was and understood. So was she. They were on an entirely different footing with each other for the first time. Was he here as her friend, or as something more? She didn't know, but she had to find out. "I'm so glad you came."

  "Your cryptic telegram made me come." He studied her intently, sensing her nervousness and shyness. He felt just as off balance. Trying to make her more at ease, he said teasingly, "What am I going to do around here for ten days?"

  A small gasp escaped Gale and she lifted her chin. "You got ten days?"

  Kyle didn't know how to read her reaction. "Yeah. Is that too long?"

  "Uh, no… no, that's wonderful! I didn't think you'd stay that long."

  "Cryptic telegrams make me nervous. I didn't realize you were down here for Christmas and I thought something was wrong that might demand more than a couple of days of my time."

  "Nothing's wrong… I changed my mind at the last minute about spending Christmas in Medford-alone. I-well, Sedona just seemed the right place for me to be, Kyle."

  He understood. Five years of her life had revolved around the Taylors. She needed their support as she was still easing through the loss of Mike. Yet another part of Kyle was severely disappointed. "Sedona's always a good place to come," he agreed hoarsely.

  She smiled. "The best, Major Anderson."

  "Why do I have the feeling I'm the fly and you're the spider, Ms. Taylor?" He met her smile, a sharp ache awakening in him. Gale was wearing her hair long and loose, a golden-brown cloak around her shoulders. It gleamed beneath the lights of the terminal. He wanted desperately to sift those strands through his fingers. He gently shut the lid on his heart's urgent request.

  Taking a huge risk, Gale curled her hand around his arm and led Kyle out of the terminal and into the chilly evening air. It was beginning to snow again. "As always, you're perceptive," Gale said with a laugh.

  Suddenly, Kyle realized that he'd never felt happier and he laughed with her. Large white snowflakes wafted down slowly from the darkening sky. Taking a deep breath of the cold, frosty air, he shortened his stride to match Gale's. He was home.

  "So, what have you got on the agenda for me?" Kyle wanted to say us, but decided against it.

  Glancing at her watch, Gale said, "Your mom has fixed the two families' Christmas Eve dinner. They're waiting for us. Afterward, we'll decorate both families' trees."

  Kyle looked for some hint of unhappiness, of grief, in Gale's eyes, but he found none. Instead, he found excitement and sparkling joy. "That's a nice thing to do," he said, meaning it.

  "It's about time we all had something good happen to us," Gale murmured. She squeezed his arm, feeling his muscles tense and then relax beneath her hand. "And for the next ten days, we're going to laugh and have fun, Kyle." Gale held his gaze. "No crying, no tears," she whispered.

  "You've got a deal, lady," he returned thickly. Christmas had never looked so good or so hopeful to Kyle. He sensed that Gale had released Mike and put her love for him in a chamber of her heart that held memories. Good, warm memories. Her green eyes were clear, and he saw renewed life within them. Her small hand on his arm felt good-felt great.


  "Right after the meal, we'll start with your parents' Christmas tree," Gale said, halting at her bright red sports car. "And then we'll all go to the Taylors'. Mom Taylor has made dessert and egg nog for us." Gale opened the door and smiled. "I have your gift, too. Wait until you see it."

  He grinned, hearing the excitement in her voice. Kyle placed his luggage in the trunk of the car. "I already sent you your Christmas present."

  "It's tucked under the tree," she said, "and I haven't opened it yet."

  "Better not have," he teased. Kyle wanted to lean down and brush her smiling mouth with a kiss. The need to do it was nearly overwhelming. For so long, he'd hurt for Gale, for her loss. The wind swirled, moving her hair restlessly across her shoulders. Snowflakes nestled in the golden-brown strands, and Kyle found himself reaching out, gently removing them one at a time.

  Gale stood very still, drowning in Kyle's nearness. When his mouth softened as he lightly touched her hair, she closed her eyes and remembered his gentleness, his ability to give to her. As she opened them, she took a chance and caught his hand in her own, squeezing it because she wanted his closeness.

  "Come on, let's go home-"

  "Together," he agreed, returning the pressure.

  It was nearly 1:00 a.m. before the Anderson household finally quieted down for the night. Kyle led Gale into the den. In front of them was a cheerful fire in the fireplace. Christmas music softly moved through the blue-carpeted room. The laughter, the sharing between the two families, had been nonstop. The Taylors had recovered from Mike's death, obviously happy that both Kyle and Gale were home for Christmas.

  It was as if a miracle had occurred in the past year. Kyle remembered how devastated Mike's parents had been. Now, the Taylors were the way he'd always known them-jovial and sharing. His own parents reminded him of joyous puppies, covering him with kisses, hugs and tears of gladness upon arrival. The decorating of both Christmas trees had been bonding, healing.