Authors: Lindsay McKenna
Her fingers trembled as she eased the envelope open. Inside was a small white card, which read:
From the heart, Jim Woodward.
Pepper stared at it for a long time, digesting his sentiment. It was vague, but at the same time, it wasn't. Needled, she forced herself to count the roses. Joe was right—there were twenty-four in all. Half were red, the others a buttery yellow. Their fragrance was heady, and Pepper suddenly laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. Here she was, tucked away in some of the most beautiful back country of the
Rockies
. There were near-blizzard conditions outside, with the temperature in the teens and the evergreens coated with a thick blanket of white snow. And she had two dozen roses. Beautiful, wonderful fragrant roses from a man she'd never dreamed she'd hear from again.
Pepper stopped at the
Phillipsburg
post office, part of her evening routine after getting off work. She expected very little mail—maybe some catalogs and certainly the perennial bills, but no personal correspondence. To her surprise, a long, business-size envelope lay in her box, thick and heavy. She stood in her colorful Pendleton jacket, a knit cap on her head and her gloves tucked under her arm as she examined the piece of mail. It bore no return address, just her name and address. The postmark, however, was from
Washington
,
D.C.
Her heart began a slow pounding of anticipation—and fear.
First the roses, which were out in her truck even now, with the heater running so they wouldn't freeze in this terrible snowstorm.
Now a mysterious letter.
Pepper jammed the envelope into the large pocket of her jacket, pulled up her collar and put her gloves back on. She would wait until she got home to read it. There was no doubt in her mind that it was from Jim.
As she drove slowly down
Main Street
, the town already wreathed in near darkness at four-thirty in the afternoon, Pepper tried to contain her wild imagination. She concentrated on driving, careful not to slide off into the ditch as she left the center of town behind. Two miles down the road, she turned left. A mile farther along the rutted, fir tree-lined road, now coated with ice, she was home. Pepper had built the cedar-log cabin herself over three years' time, with a lot of help from her smoke-jumper friends and her family. It had been a weekend project, and many memories of laughter and sharing had worked their way into her home as a result.
The cedar logs were barely visible in her headlights as she pulled into her driveway. Getting out, she tramped through the snow, the wind howling around her as she opened the garage door. Once she'd driven inside, Pepper shut off the engine, got out and shut the door behind her. She felt like a kid at Christmas with the huge box of roses under her arm and the letter in her pocket. Nudging off her boots at the door to the service porch connected to the garage, she went inside.
Her cabin was cool, so she laid everything on the kitchen table and went on into the living room. After making a fire in her Earth Stove, the environmentally benign wood-burning stove she'd installed for heating, she got up, dusted off her hands and went back to the kitchen. First she took the roses out of their box and arranged them in the largest glass vase she had. Inhaling their fragrance, she carried them into the living room and set them on the cedar coffee table.
Standing by the stove, feeling the first tendrils of heat from the newly made fire, Pepper carefully opened the thick envelope. Her heart thumped as she unfolded several handwritten pages. Jim's name, address and phone number were in the upper-left hand corner of the first page. Trying to still her pounding heart, she began to read the letter with an unexpected hunger:
Dear Pepper,
By now, you've got the roses I sent you. It's the least I could do, under the circumstances. When I found your note under my door on the cutter, it jolted me out of my narrow focus. I talked to Noah, and he told me you'd left. To say I was unhappy about your leaving the ship doesn't begin to describe how I felt.
There was so much going down after the mission that I lost my sense of balance. Laura's health, her nearly dying, scared the hell out of me. I was so worried about her that I forgot to think of you and how you might be feeling. I know you weren't wounded in the action, and you came through it with flying colors, but that doesn't matter. I should have paid more attention to your needs, whatever they might have been.
We went through a lot, you and
I
, in a very short, intense amount of time. And I went from almost disliking you to feelings that I can't begin to explain in the confines of this letter, Pepper. But first I want to say I'm sorry for ignoring you on the cutter. Looking back on it, I should have known better. I know what combat does to a person, and about the necessary letdown period afterward. You took the high ground, and whatever you were feeling, you didn't tell me.
I wish you had. I wish…so much. To say I'm feeling a little guilty is an understatement. We almost died on that island. If it hadn't been for your bravery and levelheadedness, we would never have gotten Laura out safely. And yet you kept to yourself. I asked Noah if you'd talked to him, and he said no. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you, Pepper. I should have been.
The roses are a way of apologizing to you. I wasn't a very good team member for you. Experiences like this bond people for life, and I felt that bonding with you on that island. I dropped the ball when Laura stopped breathing. So the yellow roses are asking you to forgive my all-too-human failings.
The red roses are to ask if there is a future for us. I know I have no right to ask that of you, but I meant what I said on the island. When I kissed you, you cried, and I never found out what those tears were about. I guess it was the wrong place and the wrong time.
I'm pretty busy here at the Pentagon right now. We still haven't got a lead on Jason or Morgan—yet. I'm spending about sixteen hours a day working with the communications people, trying to ferret out something in all that worldwide traffic via satellite. When I'm not working, I'm exhausted and inevitably, you come to mind. Our conversations are like water to me, Pepper. I'm thirsty to hear what is in your mind and heart. I felt cheated when you left, but I don't blame you for going. I think I understand why you did. Or at least I hope I do.
Some night, if you don't mind, I'd like to call you. But it's your decision, not mine, to make. I've enclosed a self-addressed, stamped envelope. If you want me to call, just mail it back to me. I can't make up for what wasn't given to you, Pepper. Maybe, if you're willing, we can talk. I'd like that very much. I hope to hear from you. Take care.
Jim
Pepper released a small, shaky sigh. Jim's writing was far from legible, but she realized how he must have labored over the letter. There wasn't a single ink smudge, and she smiled a little.
Once an officer, always an officer.
The fact that he'd handwritten it instead of using a computer meant a lot to her.
Fingering the return envelope, she wondered if she wanted to talk to him. After all, what was there to talk about? He loved Laura, not her. He spoke of the future, but what kind of future could there be for them?
Unhappily, she moved away from the stove and gently laid the letter on the coffee table, next to the roses. Her heart couldn't seem to settle down, nor would her flights of imagination. Looking out her front windows, she saw the snow thickening and blowing even harder. How lonely she'd felt until Jim's letter had come. But were his gifts nothing more than a request for atonement?
Turning, Pepper went to her bedroom to shed her dark green trousers and long-sleeved, tan blouse. She'd worn the official Forest Service uniform all day; now she wanted to relax in a far more feminine velour lounger of pale pink. Still, the cabin felt terribly empty, and as Pepper undressed, trading her uniform for civilian clothes, she wondered what it would be like if Jim were here, in her home. The mere thought made her shaky, her feelings raw and clamoring. She had to admit she wasn't sure she could control herself if he was here and kissed her as he had on the island—touched her as he'd touched her then.
With a shake of her head, Pepper wondered if she was getting winter fever early. Tomorrow she might mail back the envelope, but she was still uncertain. It would be a crazy move if she did.
A desperate one.
It was Friday night, and Pepper was wrestling with a ton of paperwork, mostly supply orders to replace equipment lost or damaged during the past year's fires. A headache lapped at her right temple and across her forehead, and she rubbed the area as she concentrated on filling out the government paperwork.
Her office was in a small niche within the parachute facility. It was six o'clock, a good hour past quitting time, and her mind strayed, as it so often did, to Jim. She felt nervous and edgy. Telling herself she was chasing a pipe dream, she'd given in and sent the envelope back four days ago, after three long weeks of resisting.
Closing her eyes, she rested her hand against her brow and sighed softly. Her emotions seesawed among euphoria, anger, helplessness and absolute fear. She'd never had this chaotic experience before, so she didn't know how to cope with it. It must be romantic love, she decided—the very kind of love Pepper had made her life-altering decision
not
to experience again after John died. Never again could she risk the pain that came from losing the one she loved. It just wasn't worth it. Her parents had a wonderful marriage—
one they
worked on continually. Neither of them took it or the other for granted. That was the kind of love Pepper had expected to share with John, but fate had decided otherwise. Now, at thirty, she had to remember why she'd made her decision not to get involved again.
Her office door was open just enough so she could hear the comings and goings of her team. Everyone had left right at five tonight. After all, it was the week before Christmas, and there were parties to attend, gifts to be bought and wrapped, places to go, people to see. Glumly, Pepper opened her eyes and frowned down at the piles of paperwork. The only person she wanted to see was Jim.
Out in the main room the outside door quietly opened and closed. But peering into the shadowy depths, Pepper saw no one.
Her imagination?
"Stop it," she muttered, irritated with
herself
and her unrequited longing. "You are such a stupid idealist. The sooner you get this paperwork done, the sooner you can go home."
Home to an empty cabin.
Home to the silence.
Loneliness gnawed at Pepper as if it had carved a wide swath through her center.
A noise, the sound of footsteps, caught her attention. Frowning, Pepper put her pen aside. Someone
had
come in the door at the other end of the facility. It was fairly dark, save for the emergency lights at the exits, and she didn't want whoever it was stumbling and breaking an ankle. The building was a huge Quonset hut from the Korean War era, made of corrugated aluminum. The floor was concrete, and the whole structure was large and empty, save for the area where parachutes were folded, hung and repaired.
Easing out of her squeaky leather chair, Pepper crossed to her office door and pushed it all the way open, sending a wide path of light into the gloomy building. She saw a shadow—a man, she thought—halfway to her office. Who was it? Pepper could recognize most of her crew by physical build, but this wasn't one of them. Still, there was something oddly familiar about this man, though she couldn't place him. Leaving her office, she moved down the wall to the main electricity supply. She flipped several switches and turned around to face her visitor.
Pepper's mouth dropped open. Her heart slammed against her ribs.
"Jim!" His name echoed oddly through the building.
Jim halted about fifty feet from her and gave her a strained, slight smile. "I'll give you this," he said, embarrassed, "you made me use all of my Recon training to find you." Looking around, his mouth stretching into a wider smile, he moved his gaze back to her shocked features. "This is one hell of a hole in the wall."
She could only stare. Had she gone crazy? Was this some kind of waking dream? Jim Woodward stood before her, a huge pot of bright red poinsettias in his hands. He wore comfortable-looking, dark blue chinos, leather hiking boots and a bright red flannel shirt beneath a well-worn leather jacket. How handsome he looked. How much she'd missed him. Pepper swallowed convulsively, meeting and drowning in his amused green gaze.
"
Wh
-
what are you doing here?" Her voice cracked. Her palms were damp. Her heart was pounding so hard it made her voice wobble off-key. She saw Jim's mouth work into a tense line. Internally, she went on guard. Anger slammed through her, and on its heels, euphoria. Hunger for him, for the feel of his mouth on hers, flowed over her. How badly she wanted to fly into his arms and welcome him back into her life, like a thrilled and trusting child. But she was no longer a child, nor trusting of Jim—or herself.