Silhouette Christmas Stories

To L/Cpl. Jim Flint and

Cpl. John Connelly, USMC-Vietnam veterans and dear friends

who served with me at Moffett Field, USNAS, California, 1965.

You served with pride and patriotism.

I salute you.

A recipe from Lindsay McKenna:

My mom took a fruitcake recipe and changed it around to please us-by adding black walnuts, which we gathered every fall.

RUTH'S CHRISTMAS FRUITCAKE

9 eggs (or enough to measure 2 1/4 cups)

1 lb raisins

1 lb candied cherries, cut up

I lb walnuts (or black walnuts, if you can find them!)

1/4 lb candied citron

1/4 lb candied orange peel

1/4 lb coconut

3 cups unbleached flour

1 1/2 cups shortening, softened

1 1/2 cups sugar

2/3 cup orange juice

1 1/2 tsp baking powder

3/4 tsp salt

Preheat oven to 300° F. Line and grease two 9" X 5" x 3" loaf pans or one 10" x 4" tube pan. Set aside.

Cream together shortening and sugar until fluffy. Beat in eggs. Set aside.

Sift together flour, baking powder and salt. Alternately stir flour mixture and orange juice into shortening mixture. Blend in fruits and nuts.

Fill pan(s) to almost full. Bake loaf cakes for 2 1/2 to 3 hours. Bake tube cake for 3 1/2 to 4 hours. Cover with foil during last hour of baking. Cakes are done when toothpick or knife inserted in center comes out clean.

Chapter One

December 24, 1973

Castle Air Force Base, California

Captain Kyle Anderson jogged up the sidewalk toward Captain Mike Taylor's base home. Was he too late? Kyle was supposed to go with his best friend, who was getting married tomorrow, to pick up their Air Force dress uniforms from the base cleaners, but he'd overslept. Damn!

Rubbing his smarting, bloodshot eyes, Kyle rapped his knuckles sharply against the door. Tomorrow, Mike was marrying Gale Remington, an Air Force officer he'd met a year ago. On Christmas Day, of all things. It was like Mike to do something romantic like that.

Kyle's breath was coming out in white wisps as he stood restlessly, hunched down into his dark blue wool coat, waiting to see if Mike was home.

"Mike?" His voice carried impatiently as he waited at the door, knocking even more loudly. Looking around, Kyle realized he was probably attracting the attention of every Air Force wife in base housing. They'd probably be looking out their windows to see who was shouting at 0800.

He'd overslept because of jet lag. Four days ago, Kyle had flown to Castle A.F.B. from Udorn, Thailand, where his fighter squadron was based, to be best man at Mike's wedding. But because of time-zone changes and the need to unplug physically and emotionally from the duties of a fighter pilot in Vietnam, Kyle was exhausted.

The door opened. Kyle grinned, expecting to see his friend from boyhood. Instead, he saw Gale, Mike's beautiful fiancee. His smile slipped considerably in surprise, his eyes widening as she opened the screen door.

"Hi, Kyle. If you're looking for Mike, he took off about fifteen minutes ago for the cleaners."

Pulse skyrocketing, Kyle drew in a shaky breath. He stood there, tongue-tied. Ever since he'd been introduced to Gale three days ago, his world had been out of control like a jet in a flat spin. The moment he'd looked into her incredible forest-green eyes, something wonderful, something terrible had happened to him. Once, twenty-five-year-old Kyle would have scoffed at the idea of falling head over heels for any woman on first sight. But he wasn't laughing now.

Placing his hands on his hips in a typical arrogant jet-jockey gesture, he covered his reaction to her. "Hi, Gale." God, did she realize what she did to him? It was agony to be around her because he wanted to simply absorb her, lose himself in her sunny smile, and stare into those dancing eyes that held such sparkling life in their depths.

Gale smiled shyly. "Mike said you might be late. He'll pick up your uniform." She forced herself to look away from Kyle's hawklike blue eyes that were large with intelligence. If there was such a thing as brazen self-confidence, Kyle possessed it. His stance was cocky and unapologetic. He was a proud eagle standing before her, knowing he was the cream of the Air Force pilot crop because he was an Academy graduate. Her pulse was doing funny things and she tried to ignore it. Since meeting Kyle, an exhilarating force swept through her whenever she thought of him or saw him. When Kyle looked at her with that burning intensity, she felt shaky, her carefully mapped out world falling apart.

"I overslept," he said with a laugh. He wasn't going to admit to her he couldn't shake the jet lag. Gale looked vulnerable and pretty in a pink long-sleeved blouse. The red apron tied around her waist and the dark brown slacks showed off her slim figure. She didn't look like a captain or a meteorologist, but she was both. Her hair, a pageboy of shifting brown color interlaced with gold and a few delicate strands of burnished copper, barely touched the collar of her blouse. He had to get away. It wasn't good to be here alone with her. God knew he'd taken great pains not to be alone with Gale-because he hadn't known what he'd do if he was. She affected him deeply.

It wasn't Gale's fault. She was hopelessly in love with Mike. Kyle rationalized his attraction to Gale by telling himself that because she was Mike's fiancee, he naturally liked her. "Look, I'll come back later," he said, his mouth growing dry.

"Nonsense, come on in. Mike's due back in less than half an hour and he wants you to stay for breakfast. Why go all the way back to the B.O.Q. just to come back later?"

Hesitating, Kyle glanced at the watch on his wrist. A half hour. It would look stupid to leave if Mike was going to be back that soon. "Well… "

Gale stepped aside, looking up at him. A large part of her wanted him to leave because in his presence, her emotions vibrated with a strange yearning she'd never experienced. But etiquette dictated differently. "You look tired. Come in. I've got a pot of fresh coffee." She knew Kyle had flown from Thailand to attend the wedding. The strain of what the war had done to him showed on his lean face, around his eyes and in the set of his mobile mouth. Heat fled through her, sweet and unexpected, as she stared at him.

She knew that, like every other arrogant, self-assured military pilot, he wasn't going to let on he was tired, much less exhausted by the war or the flight home. No, Kyle was like his fellow pilots: his callous, cocky exterior hid a vulnerable interior that was rarely shared with anyone. From the moment she'd met Kyle, she'd sensed a warmth and gentleness beneath that facade, and for some reason, Kyle's ebullient, joking presence had been able to lift the fear from her heart. Thirty days after the wedding, Mike, too, would leave for Thailand and become a part of the war. Gale feared losing her young husband.

Taking off his garrison cap, Kyle gave a nod. "Tired?" he teased. "You know us handsome, unabashed jocks aren't fazed by such things." He stepped into the warmth of the small living room. He could smell fresh coffee in the air and inhaled the scent deeply. And bacon was frying. His stomach growled, but he was also hungry in a different way. After he shed his coat, Gale hung it in the hall closet and beck-oned him to follow her to the kitchen. He spotted a small Christmas tree, all decorated, in the corner of the living room. The lights blinked merrily, reminding him of the joyous holiday season.

"I promised Mike I'd have breakfast waiting for him when he got back." She smiled and pointed to the table. "Sit down. I'll get the coffee."

A bright red cloth covered the round table, and a Christmas decoration sat in the middle of it. Gale's thoughtful touch, Kyle was sure. "Thanks," he said. Tensely, he sat down and watched Gale move to the stove to pour his coffee. Mike had lived alone here for a year, and from the letters Kyle had gotten from him, he'd thought the house would be cold and barren. It wasn't with Gale present. The place had a light feeling with the winter sunshine filtering in through the kitchen window, embracing Gale's slight form and making her look radiant. Like a starving man, Kyle watched each small movement she performed. There was a sureness and grace to Gale he'd never seen in another woman.

Rubbing his eyes, Kyle tried to figure it out for the thousandth time. What was it about Gale that had thrown him for a loop? He couldn't want her, couldn't be fantasizing about kissing her or having her for himself when Mike was going to marry her. What the hell was wrong with him? It wasn't as if he didn't have his choice of women. Maybe it was the war. He hadn't been the same emotionally since he'd started flying the dangerous missions, although he never discussed that with anyone. Not even his fellow pilots.

"Here you go. You like it black, don't you?"

Kyle took his hands away from his eyes, and nodded, gazing at her long, slender fingers around the white mug. "Black-yes."

She smiled understandingly. "You look like you could use about seventy-two hours more sleep."

"Nah. You know us fighter jocks are as tough as they come." He kept his eyes on her as she walked back to the stove to turn the bacon in the skillet. "It comes with the territory," he said, sipping the scalding hot coffee. The heat burning through him was raging out of control. Didn't he have any command over his feelings toward Gale? How could this have happened? Why?

Glancing over her shoulder, she said, "What? The war?"

"Yeah. Flying missions every other day over Hanoi and back is-" He hesitated, not wanting to use the word killer because he saw the worry in Gale's eyes. In a month, Mike would be joining his squadron. They'd be flying together-a boyhood dream come true. He and Mike had grown up in Sedona, Arizona, spending hours dreaming of careers as military pilots. Trying to disarm the anxiety he saw in Gale's eyes, he forced a smile. "It's a piece of cake." That was a bald-faced lie, but there was no sense in further upsetting her.

She raised an eyebrow. "It's dangerous."

With a shrug, Kyle muttered, "Not to us. Jet jocks are trained to take the heat."

"Oh, please." She laughed. "You guys are all alike. It would kill you to admit you're scared, have doubts or any other human frailty."

He grinned broadly and sipped the coffee. It was good and strong, just the way he liked it. "The only human frailties we possess are eyes to scope out good-lookin' women like yourself. Mike sure got lucky."

Gale blushed hotly. There was nothing displeasing about Kyle Anderson, either, but she kept that thought to herself. More than anything, she was drawn to the raw confidence that emanated from him like a beacon.

"How did you get so cocky?"

"You mean confident?"

She grinned. "I don't think the two words have anything in common, Kyle."

"Sure they do. You can't sit with an F-14 strapped to your rear carrying a ton of weapons if you aren't a little cocky and confident."

The imagery frightened Gale, although she knew it shouldn't.

Kyle tilted his head as he saw her expressive eyes darken. He'd never seen a woman who was so transparent with her emotions and feelings. It was a delightful and touching discovery. No wonder Mike had fallen in love with her. "Sorry," he muttered with a forced smile. "I'll try and keep the war talk to a minimum. I can see it's scaring you."

"It does, Kyle." She studied him in the silence. "Doesn't it you?"

"What?"

"Scare you, flying with a load of weapons?"

He shrugged. "I don't know… I never really analyzed it that way before."

It was her turn to smile. "If you did, you probably wouldn't be a fighter pilot."

His grin broadened. "You're probably right. Some things, I learned a long time ago, don't merit being looked at too closely."

"Is that anything like looking a gift horse in the mouth?"

"Exactly." Kyle laughed, his spirits lifting like a fierce wind. He couldn't recall having felt this happy before. He tried to analyze why Gale affected him like a heady wine. Five minutes ago, he'd felt like hell warmed over. Now, all that tiredness and depression had miraculously gone away. Was it because of the kindness he saw in her face? Those dancing green eyes that looked beyond his bravado and saw the real him? Or was it Gale's full, soft lips, which reminded him that there was something left in the world that wasn't hard, harsh or ugly?

"I think Mike's the luckiest guy in the world. Imagine him snagging you."

She turned to the kitchen counter to busy herself. It was too easy to stare into those dark blue eyes that made her go weak and shaky inside. "You're making it out as if he captured the most beautiful woman in the world," she teased. "And I'm not. I'm just an Air Force captain."

"No one said women in the service aren't beautiful."

"Please."

Kyle laughed softly as she turned and gave him a dark look over her shoulder. "Now, that's the truth, Gale."

"Sure. Fighter jocks have more lines per square inch than any other male I've ever run into."

"Sounds like an indictment."

"More like a chronic disease with you guys."

He sat back, immensely enjoying her sense of humor. "That's another thing I like about ladies in the military-they have a fine sense of humor."

"And probably the last thing you look at or consider when you meet one."

"Now, Gale… "

"Now, Kyle… " And again, she laughed. The merriment in his eyes stole her breath away. There was more happiness there than she'd ever seen before. "You're just like Mike," she accused gently, "all strut and stuff, but underneath, a very nice guy."

"God, don't let that get out! The guys over at Udorn think I'm one mean fighter behind the stick."

Rolling her eyes, Gale got eggs from the fridge, then returned to the stove to cook them. "Here we go again. Make sure no one knows the real guy who wears those pilot's wings. Really, Kyle, did they make all of you out of the same mold?"

"Well, we went through flight school together."

"Instead of teaching you how to fly, I swear they put all of you through the same personality training."

"That's not so bad. I mean, look at us-we're confident, good at what we do and besides that, we're good-looking."

"I give up. If I didn't know any better, I'd say Mike was here and not you."

Sipping his coffee, Kyle smiled recklessly. "Well, Mike and I are like brothers, but there are a few differences. I'm four months older than he is."

Gale knew there were other, more profound differences. Mike was laid back; Kyle was far more aggres-sive. She wondered if Mike would turn out the same way after being in combat.

Forcing herself to return to the task at hand, Gale busied herself with scrambling the eggs while the bacon finished frying. Her hands trembled. Trying to laugh at the absurd notion that Kyle's presence was responsible, Gale focused on Mike. She had met him a year ago over at Operations, where the meteorology department was located. He'd come in early one morning, angry over the fact his weather plan hadn't been ready in time for his flight. On his return to base two days later, Mike had taken her out to an expensive restaurant in Sacramento to apologize for his less-than-gentlemanly behavior. Over the next six months, they'd fallen in love. Their happiness was complete until Mike abruptly received orders to Thailand. They had decided to get married before he left.

Frowning, Gale stirred the eggs briskly in the hot skillet. Vietnam. War. Death. She felt her heart contract powerfully with fear. It wasn't fair that Mike was going to be torn away from her a month after they became husband and wife. What in life was fair? Not much. Kyle's face haunted her. Shutting her eyes, Gale took a deep breath. What kind of crazy joke was being played on her? She loved Mike! So what were all these new and startling feelings she'd had since she had been introduced to Kyle?

Forcing herself to concentrate, Gale removed the skillet from the burner and put a lid over it to keep the eggs warm. At twenty-three, she thought she knew herself. It was true Mike was the first man she'd fallen in love with, but she'd had a lot of dates throughout college before joining the Air Force. Now, the nights she'd tossed and turned, dreaming of both Mike and Kyle, had left her nerves raw and taut. How could she be attracted to Kyle? Perhaps because he was Mike's best friend and they were similar in some ways.

Reaching blindly for the skillet that held the bacon, Gale bumped the pan containing the hot grease off the electric burner. Unthinkingly, Gale reached out, trying to catch it. Hot grease splattered across her right hand. Pain reared up her arm, and she cried out, leaping back as the skillet crashed to the floor, the grease flung in all directions.

"Gale!" Her scream galvanized Kyle into action. In an instant, he was at her side, his arm going around her shoulders, holding the reddened hand that had been burned.

"Oh, damn… " she sobbed, gripping her wrist, trying not to let the pain overwhelm her. Sinking against his strong, supporting body, Gale felt safe. Kyle's breathing was punctuated, harsh near her ear, his breath moist against her cheek.

"So stupid," she whispered, a catch in her voice. "I-I'm sorry… "

"It's all right. Come on, get over to the sink. Cold water will help," he whispered, guiding her in that direction. The burn on her hand didn't look nasty but still his heart was pounding in his chest and he felt shaky. After fumbling with the handle on the cold-water spigot, Kyle turned it on and forced her hand beneath the stream.

The water hit her flesh and Gale sucked in a breath, then bit her lower lip.

"Lean on me," Kyle ordered huskily as he felt her tremble. She obeyed him. Her perfume, light and del-icate, struck his flaring nostrils. It was the way she fitted against him that nearly unstrung him. Her hair, slightly wavy, felt like silk against the hard line of his jaw. Kyle ached to lean down and kiss her. "Take it easy, easy… " he coaxed, his voice low and unsteady.

For several minutes Gale was unable to do anything except feel. Feel the lessening of the pain, feel Kyle's strong, powerful body against hers. His breath was choppy, and she was aware of his heart beating frantically in his chest where she lay against him. His touch was excruciatingly gentle as he placed a cloth over her hand after turning off the faucet.

"Come on, sit down. You're shaky."

Wasn't that the truth, Gale thought, allowing Kyle to guide her to a chair at the table. Her watery knees had nothing to do with the burn, but with him holding her as if she were some fragile, priceless treasure.

Worriedly, Kyle studied her, his hand firm on her shoulder. Gale was waxen, and when she raised those dark, long lashes to look up at him, he felt as if someone had gut punched him. Dizziness assailed him, and his grip tightened on her shoulder momentarily. Large eyes, huge black pupils surrounded by a vibrant green, stared back at him. Gale's cry had torn him apart, ripping away all his pretenses, his good sense.

Kyle went to the sink and dampened a wash cloth. Gale sat with her head bowed. She looked so hauntingly vulnerable her shoulders slumped forward. Fighting all his rising, chaotic feelings, Kyle crouched in front of her.

"Here, this ought to help," he said. He removed one cloth and laid the new one across the injury. Kyle heard Gale breathe in raggedly, but she didn't cry out.

He kept a grip on her arm. His heart refused to stop thudding in his chest, his pulse pounding until every beat was like that beat of a kettle drum being played within him.

When Kyle looked up and saw tears form and then fall down Gale's cheeks, he lost what little control he had left. "Don't cry," he pleaded thickly, cupping her cheek with his hand. He stared deeply into her eyes.

"Oh, Kyle… " she choked out.

Her lips parted, lush and inviting, and Kyle started to lean forward.

"Hey, where's everybody at?" Mike called from the living room.

Kyle froze, his hand slipping from Gale's face. He stood, dizzied and shocked by what had almost happened. "In here, buddy."

Mike appeared at the doorway. Dressed in his blue winter uniform, he took off his garrison cap. Immediately, he went to Gale's side and knelt on one knee next to her.

"Honey?" He gently cradled her hand. "What happened?"

Gale made a frustrated sound. "I made a dumb move at the stove and splashed grease over my hand, Mike. It's nothing. I'll be okay."

Kyle backed away in a daze. What the hell had just happened? He had been ready to kiss Gale! Shocked, he left the kitchen and went to the living room. Hands shoved into his pants pockets, Kyle was angry and upset with himself.

Gale was barely able to think. If Mike hadn't arrived when he had, she knew Kyle would have kissed her. His eyes had been hooded, stormy with unre-quited need. She trembled, but it wasn't out of fear. It was out of anticipation of the unexpected. When Kyle had held her, he'd made the pain go away. She shook her head, forcing her attention to Mike, who had retrieved some salve to put on the minor burn.

It was all craziness! It was the stress of the wedding, the war and the fact that Mike was going to leave in a month. The pressures on all of them were great. Kyle was Mike's best friend, Gale rationalized, and he had simply reacted out of loyalty.

Kyle slowly paced the perimeter of the living room, head down in thought. Mike would never know what had transpired. The wedding would go on as planned. Kyle would be Mike's best man, and he would be happy for both of them…

Savagely rubbing his face, he knew it had to be the jet lag, the shock of stepping out of the war in Southeast Asia and returning to the States. It had to be.

Chapter Two

December 24, 1974

Castle Air Force Base, California

Gale sat in the living room of her base home, several letters and a magazine in her lap. The house was quiet. Deadly quiet. She had just gotten off duty at the meteorology department and the holiday stretched out unendingly before her. This year there was no tree in the corner, no decorations in evidence, not even Christmas music to take the edge off the silence that surrounded her. The coolness in her home seeped through her uniform, making her feel chilled more than she should be.

Six months after marrying Mike, he'd been lost over Hanoi during a bombing raid. Was he a prisoner of war-or dead? No one knew. She slowly looked at the first letter, wishing it was from Mike, but it wasn't.

Instead, it was a neatly addressed envelope from Captain Kyle Anderson. Gently, she ran her fingers across the crisp envelope. Kyle… Her grieving, shattered heart filled with warmth and a thread of hope. Kyle had signed up for a second tour so he could be with Mike during his first. When Mike had been shot down by a SAM missile, Kyle had been there. He'd seen the whole thing.

Mike had often said Kyle was like the brother he'd never had. Since the time Mike had been listed as missing in action, Kyle had written to her at least once a week, fulfilling his duties as a friend who wasn't there to help her over the terrible days and nights of loneliness. In his first letter, Kyle had told her that Mike had made him promise to care for her if he was ever shot down and became a POW or M.I.A. Like the Marines, the Air Force took care of its own, Kyle had informed her. And because of his promise to Mike, he would do his best to take care of her, even though they were half a world apart.

With a sigh, Gale saw that the other two letters were bills. Her parents were dead, so there was nothing from family. Her sister, who lived in Haight Ash-bury, was opposed to the war and to Gale being in the service. Gale expected nothing from Sandy as a result. They were on opposite sides of an ideology that had divided them for the past four years.

This would be her Christmas present: Kyle's letter was a precious, life-giving gift. Inevitably, Gale's spirits lifted, as they always did whenever she received a letter from him. Opening this one slowly, savoring the fact that it was several pages thick, she settled back to find a tiny shelter from a storm that hovered around her twenty-fours hours every day.

December 16, 1974

Dear Gale,

This is your hot-rock jet jock writing to you from a place where a Christmas tree would never grow! I'm sitting here at a bar in Udorn trying to write to you under some pretty severe conditions: beautiful Thai bar girls dressed in decidedly tight dresses, loud (and lousy) music, cigarette smoke so thick you could cut it with a knife, and a lot of pilots making eyes at all the bar girls.

Of course, yours truly is the only one doing something praiseworthy-writing to you! How are you? In your last letter, you sounded down. Don't give up. I know Mike will be back. Somehow, some way. And me? Brazen (to use your word) as ever. Yes, I still fly a mission over Hanoi just about every other day. And no, I haven't had any close calls. Are you kidding me? The ace at Udorn? Come on! This jock has one and a half tours under his belt. I'm considered the Old Man around here. All the younger jocks always gather around me when I sidle up to the bar, wanting stories. So I oblige them.

Thanks for the tin of cookies! My God, they were a hit around here! You know how our post office works don't you? Those enlisted guys have noses on them like bloodhounds. They smell each package. The ones that have cookies in them are somehow detoured or "lost." When the package finally finds its way to the officer, the food that was in it has mysteriously gone. All the guys who work over at the post office are overweight. I wonder why?

However, because you told me ahead of time that you were going to make six dozen chocolate-chip cookies and send them to me for Christmas, I went over and warned all those guys to keep their hands off-or else. Your cookies got through unscathed. How did you know my favorite was chocolate chip?

I'd die for those. Between the box my mom sent and yours, I was the cookie king here at Udorn. And don't you think the other jocks weren't wandering over to my hooch to bum a few. Yes, I shared them, like you requested. Would I hoard them? Don't answer that. I carried out your wishes to the letter. You made a lot of jocks happy. I gave some to the enlisted guys on the flight line, too. Those guys bust themselves twenty-four hours a day, and it was a good feeling to make them smile. They thank you, too.

Hey! Gotta zoom off. One of those beautiful Thai ladies is giving me a look I can't resist. Look, you take care of yourself, hear? Your letters are like life to me here at Udorn. I really enjoy getting them. Don't stop! I won't, either. I promised Mike that I'd take care of you, so expect a letter once a week.

Merry Christmas, Gale.

Your Friend, Kyle.

December 24, 1974

Dear Kyle,

I want you to know that your lively letter-which sounded like a buccaneer swashbuckling-was my Christmas gift. I sat here with two bills, a magazine and your letter in my hand. Your letter, by far, was the one I wanted to open and read.

I had to giggle about the Great Cookie Heist! Just to brighten your day, I'm sending another box (air mail, of course, so it doesn't take three months via ship to reach you) of chocolate-chip cookies. Keeping busy is my only way to keep my sanity, and it's nice to be able to cook for someone who loves my cooking so much. So, in your own way, you're helping me, even if it's something as simple as appreciating my cookies. Baking them keeps my mind off so many terrible thoughts I shouldn't be thinking.

Enough of my maudlin musings. I hope the bloodhounds of the Udorn post office can't smell these. I've triple wrapped them in foil, plus wrapped each cookie individually to make sure no odor escapes to get their attention. And I've disguised them in a plain cardboard box instead of sending them in a suspicious round tin, which I'm sure tips them off that it might be cookies or other goodies inside.

Hi, I'm back. I started this letter an hour after getting yours. When I'm lonely, I write letters to my friends here Stateside. Yours is the only one going overseas. It's Christmas Day now, and I got lonely. I'm learning to turn on the radio or television set just so I can hear the sound of another human voice. What hurts is when the nightly news comes on and they show at least fifteen minutes of footage on the Vietnam War. I forget that it's going to come on, and then, some part of me focuses in on it, no matter what I'm doing. I'll hurry to the living room to shut it off, but it's like I'm mesmerized by some power and I just stand there watching and listening to it. What's wrong with me? Why do I have to watch the shooting, the killing they photograph?

It's worse on the radio because I never know when some news flash is going to come over it. At least with the television on-and if I can remember to turn it off-I only have to avoid hearing it at 6:00 p.m. and 11:00 p.m. I'm learning all these little tricks to avoid pain. Amazing what a human being will do, isn't it?

Thanks for listening to me. Just talking to someone, another military person, helps. I don't say anything to anyone around here because they all have a husband, brother, sister, son or daughter over in Vietnam and I don't want to depress them or make them worry any more than they already do. Thanks for being a compassionate ear. Please, fly safe. You're in my prayers every night along with Mike.

Warmly, Gale

December 23, 1975

Dear Gale,

Merry Christmas! I tried calling you yesterday, but the airman over at Ops said you'd just gone home after twelve hours of duty. I was going to call you and tease you unmercifully because I hadn't yet received those chocolate-chip cookies you promised to send this year. Now that I'm Stateside and stationed at Homestead AFB in Florida, I wonder if the cookies really got lost in the mail or if the same guys in the post office over in Udorn are now stationed at Homestead with me. I'll fill out a form at the post office, but it won't do any good.

You sounded better in your last letter. I know it's tough to go on without knowing about Mike, but you're a fighter and I admire your courage under the circumstances. Just hang tough. It's all you can do.

So, you're going to be stationed at Travis AFB, eh? Busy place. You'll be there for three years and get plenty of opportunity to visit San Francisco-lucky lady! Have a bowl of clam chowder down on Fisherman's Wharf for me, will you? It's one of my favorite places. I like the smells, the color, the people and activity. Quite a place. Take a cable-car ride for me, too. I like that bell they ring. Makes you want to get up and dance up and down the aisle while they're ringing it, ha, ha.

I can't believe you want me to tell the story of my life! Me, of all people! All I do is give you a hard time, lady. So I make you laugh a little. Nothing wrong with that. I figured it out: fifty-two installments, one letter a week to you, three or four pages at a time, and I ought to have my autobiography finished in the forthcoming year. Brother, are you a glutton for punishment, but, if that's what you want as your Christmas present, I'll indulge your whim. Next letter, I'll start. Can you see it now?

"I was born in Sedona, Arizona, to a grocer and his wife. I was red, wrinkled and too long. My mother, upon seeing me for the first time, broke out in tears because I looked so ugly. Of course, she reassures me that as I grew and filled out, I was the cutest kid in Red Rock county."

Whew, that was close! I'm such a handsome devil now that I couldn't let that info slip out to my flying buddies. I'd never hear the end of it.

Is this the kind of thing you're wanting to hear about in my letters? The down-and-dirty life of Kyle Anderson? Ha, ha. I think you're a real masochist, Gale-a new and provocative side to you I never realized existed. Okay, okay, I can hear you nagging me in the next letter to quit quibbling and get on with it.

So-Merry Christmas! You get fifty-two installments over the next year about me and the story behind this fantastic jet jock. It ought to hit the New York Times bestseller list, don't you think? Nah, don't tell me now. Tell me next Christmas, okay?

I know you don't have anyone to go home to for Christmas, and you've already said you'll spend it there at base. I really think you need to get away for a while and get some down time. You've worked yourself to a bone this year, Gale. Even I take time off and go see my folks in Sedona once a year. Why not take the thirty days leave you've got coming and get some R and R? I worry about you, sometimes. You're a strong lady with a warm heart, but stop and smell the flowers, huh?

Merry Christmas, Gale. As I hitch my foot up on the brass rail of the O Club bar, I'll lift a toast to you.

Your special friend, Kyle

December 30, 1975

Dear Kyle,

I can't believe you didn't get the cookies I sent! Are you sure they're missing? Or do you just want two huge batches to hoard? Knowing your love of desserts in general-and cookies specifically-I wouldn't be a bit surprised if you fibbed to get a few extra dozen.

I'm so happy you've decided to send me your autobiography. I'm going to do the same thing. Not that I have had a terribly exciting life, but I think that's only fair. As you get writer's cramp and the next let-ter is hounding you to be written, you can fondly think of me having to write to you, too. Only, I won't see it as a royal pain as perhaps you might as the weeks roll by. Letters have been a life-sustaining source for me, giving me hope and often lifting me out of the depression I allow myself to get into.

Actually this year, I'm doing better. But I want to get on with writing my life story to you, too! I hope you won't be bored to death. I can see you sitting at your desk, feet up on it, letter in hand, snoozing away. Ha, ha.

Okay, here goes nothing. Promise me if you do get bored, tell me. I'll stop my autobiography. As I said before, my life's pretty nonedescript (my opinion).

I was born in Medford, Oregon. Unlike you, I was a pretty baby (according to Mom). She said everyone in the hospital oohed and ahed over me. I don't really remember. However, my star status quickly sank because my older sister, Sandy, really hated me. Sibling rivalry and all that, I suppose. Mom said Sandy (who was four years old when I was born) started having temper tantrums every time Mom picked me up to breast-feed me.

My father, who wasn't long on patience or very tolerant of such childish things, stood about two evenings of Sandy's shrieking and did something about it. He warned her that if she started screaming again, he was going to pick her up by her feet and dip her head in a bucket of water. I guess Sandy believed him because she never ever again had a temper tantrum. I'm not condoning what he did, but I wonder what psychologists would say about it. Sandy is the one who became a hippie in Haight Ashbury. She went to San Francisco when she was eighteen and got into the drugs and flower-children culture. I forget how many times she's been arrested.

I often wonder why she turned out the way she did. Mom said I was the favorite of the family because I was a sweet, quiet baby. Later, I was the "good girl" who did what was expected of her, while Sandy started to rebel. I know this letter is supposed to be about me, but I think every person is somehow fashioned and shaped by those around them. I ache inside because Sandy hates the military and, therefore, hates me.

I just wish she could overlook my job, Kyle, and see me, her sister. We got along well as kids. It's just that in our teenage years, Sandy got wild and had awful fights with Dad. When our parents died in that car crash when Sandy was eighteeen, I think it drove her off the deep end. That's when she took off for San Francisco.

Me? Well, I got shuttled between my father's two brothers and their families for the next four years until I turned eighteen. To this day, Sandy and I have never gotten together to talk about the loss of our parents. It would have been nice if she could have stayed around for the funeral. I really needed to be held. Looking back on it, I'm sure she did, too, but there was no one else who could hold us like our parents. I remember standing in front of the two coffins with my aunt and uncle on either side of me.

I never again felt so alone. Well, I should amend that. I felt that alone when I got the telegram telling me that Mike was shot down. The same kind of awful gutting feeling. Looking back on my short life, I wonder if I'm always destined to lose the people I love.

I don't mean that to sound maudlin. It's just that I see people live their lives in cycles where things get repeated. I hope the cycle changes. I want Mike home, safe and alive.

Your friend, Gale

December 20, 1976

Dearest Gale,

This letter ought to reach you in Medford, Oregon, hopefully before Christmas, not after it.

I was TDY (temporary duty) to Anchorage, Alaska, (where Santa Claus lives) until four days ago. The temperature extreme between Anchorage and Florida is alarming. I'm coming down with a cold. (I can see it now-the next letter I receive from you will tell me to drink lemon juice in hot water, put myself under a lot of blankets, and sweat the cold out of my body. Better yet, I'll probably receive a bottle of vitamin C, along with a finger-shaking letter demanding "why didn't you dress properly so you wouldn't catch a cold?")

This isn't a normal Christmas for me. Usually, I'd be over at the O Club with the rest of the single guys, playing dead bug or something to make the time pass. Getting stuck with duty around here stopped me from going home to Sedona like I wanted to. This year is different. Can't put my finger on it… maybe I'm getting older? Ha, ha. Perish the thought. Older but better-looking. How's that?

I can hear you laughing right now. Did I ever tell you how pretty your laughter is? I like the sound of it.

I intend to call you on New Year's Eve, as always. I really look forward to our talks. I don't know if the post office or the phone company makes more money off us.

When I got back to Homestead, your Christmas present was waiting for me. What a great surprise! You knitted this sweater for me by yourself? Dark blue, for the Air Force, of course. Seriously, Gale, it's beautiful. I just sort of stood over the package after opening it, running my hand across it. It felt soft and yet strong-like you. I never expected such a beautiful or thoughtful gift, Gale. Florida weather isn't very cool for very long, but I'll wear it every chance I get. Thanks.

This is the last installment to the story of my life. Letter #52. Here goes.

Presently, I'm stationed at Homestead AFB, in Florida, doing what I do best: flying. Sometimes, though, I get tired of the military machine and some of its stupider management decisions (and God knows, they abound in great proliferation). If I didn't like flying so much, I'd quit. But what else is there except flying?

I live on base, and the sound of jet engines lull me to sleep. I like that. The house is pretty empty to come home to sometimes. Just depends on what kind of mood I'm in, I guess. The television keeps me company-another human voice, to use your turn of phrase. There's no special lady in my life at the present. Maybe I'm looking for the impossible and I've set my sights too high. I like the fact women are coming into their own sense of identity. That's why I've al-ways admired you so much, Gale. You were a strong, independent woman long before it was popular.

My life revolves around my squadron and the duties therein. I'm lucky: I get paid to do something I love, which is to fly. Still, there's a hollowness in me I can't describe, can't seem to fill, no matter what I do. Maybe it's age or I'm mellowing. Possibly, even changing. Gadzooks! Did I say something personal? I must be getting old! Or maybe it's you. You're easy to talk to and share with.

There! That's it! So now, you've got the inside scoop on this jet jock. Now that it's all over, I don't feel as vulnerable as I did when I started writing my life story last Christmas. You're right: jet jocks are a flippant, arrogant lot who would never reveal their real feelings, their fears, hopes or dreams to anyone else. But I did to you and it felt kinda good. (Don't let that get around, or I'll never be able to live it down here with my squadron.)

On the other hand, I liked getting your letters about your growing-up years, going through ROTC in college and then into the Air Force. Unlike me, you never did have a tough outer image in front of the real you. I always knew you were a softy with a heart as large as this base. You do so much for others, Gale. I know Mike's parents really appreciate the fact you visited them last year. Mom told me it made them happy. I can't know what it cost you in terms of emotions, but I'm sure it was a hell of a lot. They're lost without word on Mike. You've managed to pick yourself up by your boot straps and continue on. God, I admire you for that. Is there a clone of you somewhere? I'd like to meet her.

Take care, sweet lady. I'll call you on New Year's Eve. A special gift for both of us. You're always in my thoughts.

Kyle

December 24, 1976

Dearest Kyle,

I'm going to miss getting your weekly letters. To be honest, your letters and phone calls have helped me stay centered during this awful period. You don't see that, though, do you? That's one of the reasons why I could face Mike's parents and stay with them. It was a cathartic experience, but I think, in some ways, healing for all of us.

Well, here's my Letter #52! Last one. I'm surprised you haven't fallen asleep over them yet! What a masochist you are at heart!

Right now, I'm living on base at Travis. The base housing here is Like it is everywhere: you can hear your neighbors through the walls. I'm surrounded by families on both sides of me and I really like that. Often, when I don't have duty at night, I'll baby-sit for Susan, who has three small children ranging in age from one through four, or Jackie, who has two, ages seven and ten.

I really enjoy the children. They give me so much hope. When I hear them laugh, I remember back to the good times when I laughed like that as a kid-or even as a grown-up. I especially remember laughing at something you had in every one of your letters. You have been wonderful in giving humor as a gift to me on days when I felt lower than a snake's belly, to use Susan's words. (She's from Texas, can you tell??)

This fall, I planted daffodils out front. The soil here is really bad, but I've tried to prepare it properly so I'll have at least three dozen plants poking their heads up in early March. It's nice to have something of home that you can bring along with you, isn't it? That's why I knitted you the sweater. To tell you the truth, that sweater was knitted during baby-sitting time. I'm surprised you didn't find a dab of jelly, a gob of sticky caramel or some other unidentifiable stain on it! The younger children especially loved to sit with me while I was knitting. And they love to touch things at their age. I ended up using a lot more yarn than it should have taken because they loved playing with it so much! Rather than them handling your burgeoning sweater, I let them play with the extra skeins I kept in my basket.

The kids have been good for me in a lot of ways. Nights are usually filled with helping Susan or Jackie (because both their husbands are SAC pilots who fly B-52s and are away more than they're home-sound familiar???). I've become Auntie Gale to the children, and I rather enjoy my status. There's something about a child's smile when it's given to you, or the touch of a child's hand that just can't be duplicated anywhere else in life. Do you like children, Kyle? I know you were an only child and never had the pleasure of sibling company. Let me know. I'm curious.

Take care. And you're right: enclosed is a huge bottle of vitamin C! You'd better be over your sniffles by the time the New Year call rolls around or you're in deep you-know-what. As always, you're in my heart and thoughts.

Your friend, Gale

December 20, 1977

Dearest Gale,

Another Christmas. Life goes on, doesn't it, whether we want it to or not? This letter will reach you down in Sedona. I'm sure Mike's folks are delighted you're there again for them. I don't see how you do it. You've got a hell of a lot more courage and internal fortitude than I would under your circumstances. Just your being there has got to lift their spirits. If you were here at Griffiss AFB, which is near Buffalo, New York, I'd give you a big hug and kiss for what you've done for them. You're one hell of a lady in my book.

Well, I'm finally settled into my new base-I have more responsibility, less flying time. I don't like that. If I wanted to fly a desk, I wouldn't have joined the Air Force.

Buffalo is-well, let's put it this way: it's not the most exciting place for a bachelor. We've already got a ton of snow. Hell of a change from my Florida base. I guess I live a life of extremes. I wear the sweater you knitted for me a lot nowadays when I'm off duty.

Until you told me, I often wondered what your favorite flower was. A daffodil. I pictured you like spring flowers, so I was close. Fall is my favorite time of year. I like the riot of color. Makes me think of some invisible painter who's gone wild with a palette of colors, slap dashing them here and there. I like the smells, too. Funny, since I've known you, you've put me more in touch with my senses. I never used to notice subtle shadings or pay attention to smells in general.

You're right: pilots are put in a little box, certain skills they possess brought out and honed to a fine degree, but everything else just sort of sits there, ignored and untended. You're a hell of a gardener, lady. I like being cultivated by you. I like seeing life through your eyes. It's made me see my world differently. Better.

Because of my transfer to Griffiss, I can't be home for Christmas with my parents. Too bad, I'd promised them I'd make it this year. I know you'll drop by and see them for me, you're that kind of lady. Don't tell my mother that I'm unhappy here. Lie. She tends to worry too much. I think she got all her gray hair while I was over at Udorn flying missions over Hanoi. I don't want to be responsible for any more gray hairs on her head. Worst of all, I can't be there while you're there. If nothing else, I could have offered you fortitude with Mike's parents and been there in case you needed a shoulder to cry on.

Hi… this is a supplement. A KC-135 tanker just slid off the end of the runway during an ice storm and I had to go help. Not much for me to do, but as one of the few officers left on base during Christmas, everyone becomes more important or integral than usual. Luckily, the crew is fine. The 135 is going to need some major structural work, but it could have been worse. Much worse.

God, it's freezing cold here compared to Florida. I think my blood's thinned too much. It's dark and gloomy here in the office. I really didn't want any lights on, I guess. It's 1600 and the dusk is coming up rapidly. I was sitting here in my new office, leaning back in my chair, my feet propped up on the desk, a warm cup of coffee in hand, and I got to thinking about you. It was a good, warm feeling, Gale.

You've taken the last few years with so much grace. You haven't faltered at work, and you've gone on without Mike. Hanging in limbo must be a special hell for you. It's got to be. And yet, you survive. The last year's worth of letters from you has explained so much to me about you, how you work, think and feel. Reading about your world has affected how I see mine. I've got the best end of the deal, I think.

Maybe I'm feeling guilty… feeling something, that's for sure… hell, I don't know what it is. Maybe it's the holiday blues that strike the military people who can't be with the people they love at special times like this. I think I'm feeling sorry for myself because you're home with people I love and I'm not there to share it with you. So, don't get alarmed at my wallowing. I'm just sharing my wallowing with you for the first time.

We've shared a lot of ground with one another, haven't we? That's the good thing about our friendship. I've never had a woman as a friend. (Don't comment on that!) I guess I want to say while I'm in this philosophical mood, that these past few years have been the best of my life. I never had a relationship with a woman that ever got to this depth or that I allowed to get past my jock facade. It's not so bad. In fact, it's damn good. Just thinking of you, of what we've shared these years, makes my heart feel like it's exploding in my chest. If you feel one-tenth as lucky as I do, I'll be happy.

Give my folks and Mike's folks a big hug for me, will you? Tell them I'll make it next Christmas or else, okay? And give yourself a big hug from me.

Warmly, Kyle

December 26, 1977

Dearest Kyle,

I'm here in the guest room at Mike's parent's home. Your last letter touched me so deeply, that I cried. Oh, I know, you didn't intend on making me do that, but I couldn't help it. Loneliness is something I know well, and so do you, in another kind of way.

More than anything, I wanted to meet you here so we could have celebrated a Christmas together. Wouldn't that have been nice? We both could have drunk a toast to Mike and been here to help support his parents. They still are suffering so badly, I just don't know what to say or do. I talk a lot with Mom about this, and I think it helps to alleviate some of her fears. This year, she really unloaded and revealed a lot more to me than last year. I think she's really beginning to trust me. After all, I was a stranger who walked in, married her son and then left town. I really like her, but she's gotten so many gray hairs worrying.

Mike's dad has internalized the whole thing. His ulcer (which he got after Mike was M.I.A.) tends to act up at this time of year, according to Mom. I spend time with him down at Oak Creek. You know how he loves to fish. I just sit there on one of those smooth red sandstone rocks and let him do the talking, if he feels like it. For the first time, he spoke about Mike. About the possibility that he was dead, not alive. It hurt to hear him feel that way.

I guess men are more pessimistic than women by nature. I hold out hope he's alive. Dad has not. But Mom has. I really wished you had been here. It got pretty emotional for me with each one of them unloading on me. They didn't mean to, but who else could they talk to? I went for a hike on Christmas Day and wished you were here. I know that I could have cried in your arms and it would have been okay. I didn't dare cry in front of Mom and Dad. They were feeling miserable enough.

Oh, Kyle, I just hope this is over soon. What's wearing me down isn't myself as much as those I love, like Mike's parents. It hurts me to see the pain they carry with them daily. With your help, I've been able to put my pain into a perspective of sorts. I don't know what I'd have done without your care and help through all these years. I'm thankful for your support. And, like you, I love where our friendship is going. It's a privilege to know the real Kyle Anderson, 'cause he's a far better guy than that jock facade he wears.

I'd better go. I hear Mom downstairs. I woke up early and wanted to get this letter off to you today. I can hardly wait to hear from you on New Year's Eve! Your parents and Mike's can hardly wait, either. How I wish you could come home for Christmas. Any Christmas! You're dear to my heart, my best friend…

Gale

Chapter Three

December 24, 1978

Travis Air Force Base, California

Any minute now, Major Kyle Anderson was going to walk through the doors of Operations. Gale fidgeted nervously behind the meteorology desk, the only meteorologist on duty Christmas Eve. Her heart speeded up, as it always did whenever she got a letter or received a call from Kyle. How long had it been since she'd last seen him? Five years. Five of the most hellish years of her life. But his letters and later, his frequent phone calls had helped ease her suffering.

Licking her lower lip, Gale moved to the forecaster's desk and sat down. In the other room, twelve Teletype machines noisily clattered away, printing out weather information from around the world. Her mind and heart focused on the fact that within seventy-two hours she would know one way or another whether Mike was alive or dead.

Rubbing her aching brow, Gale closed her eyes, the tears coming. She fought them back, refusing to cry.

Sniffing, she took a tissue, dabbed her eyes and tried to focus on the wall of weather maps. Operations was ghostly quiet. Across the way, one airman was on duty at the air-control desk. Everyone else was with family on this Christmas Eve. Everyone had someone to spend the holidays with.

Two days ago, the Pentagon had informed her that Mike's dog tags had been supplied by Hanoi as belonging to a POW. The North Vietnamese were releasing some POWs and the remains of other servicemen as a goodwill gesture. As to Mike's fate, sometime between December 25 and 28, the Pentagon would know and Gale would be contacted. Unable to stand the suspense alone, she had called Kyle.

More tears came and she wiped them away. He was supposed to go home for Christmas this year. She'd hesitated calling him. She knew how badly his folks wanted to see him and how much he needed to be home. But the pain of waiting alone had driven her to the phone to ask him to come and wait with her instead.

Kyle hadn't sounded as if he wanted to be anywhere but at her side when the news came from the Pentagon. She felt guilty about taking him from his folks and hoped that they would forgive her moment of weakness.

Gale got up and went to the Teleype room where there was a modicum of privacy. She didn't want the airman across the way to see her like this. Even now, Mike's parents waited, having also been notified. They had looked to her for solace over the past few years, especially since they had both come to fear Mike was dead. But they'd never openly admitted that to her.

Kyle was coming to be with her. He'd always kept up her hope, her belief that Mike was still alive.

"How am I going to handle this?" she muttered, burying her face in her hands. "How?"

Right now, her emotions were little more than taut butterfly's wings ready to shatter at the slightest movement. Kyle, flying in from Griffiss AFB, was supposed to land momentarily. A part of her was so weak after the years of terrible waiting and wondering, of being in limbo about Mike, that she ached to simply be held by Kyle. Gale knew she'd feel safe and protected from a world gone mad. The peace she'd felt in his arms five years ago when she'd burned her hand would be there, too. Her emotions were playing tricks on her. Gale thought she had heard longing in Kyle's voice when she'd made that phone call, but that was impossible.

She began to absently tear off and collect the Teletype paper, gathering it from each machine and then clipping it to posting boards. Some of the sheets would be used in plotting the midnight weather map an hour from now. Walking out into the main office, Gale put the weather information on the desk where a clean sheet of map paper lay. Working kept her from thinking. Working kept her from feeling.

Halting, Gale lifted her chin and looked out the windows into the gloomy darkness. The landing apron in front of the building had very few jets parked on it. No one flew during the holidays unless they were on alert duty. It was raining. The gusting wind sent sheets of water across the tarmac. Gale prayed Kyle would be strong enough for both of them. The waiting… the wondering had taken their toll. She was too emotionally drained to be strong any longer.

She moved to the front desk and stood watching the double doors, and she wondered when Kyle would arrive. His letters had been filled with anecdotes about his military life, funny stories about things that had happened to him, stories meant to make her laugh, to pull her out of her depression. During the past year, there had been a wonderful shift in his letters-they were more personal, more about the man, Kyle Anderson, and not the pilot. Those letters were special to her.

Kyle's phone calls weren't frequent. He called on her birthday, Thanksgiving and Christmas, just to check in on her. Kyle knew what it was like to be in the service and alone on holidays. She ached to hear his voice, to listen to him laugh and tell his jokes. There was nothing but good in Kyle Anderson. His loyalty to Mike was unswerving.

The doors opened.

Kyle stepped into the dimly lit Ops area and shook water off his olive-drab flight suit. In one hand he had his helmet bag, in the other, a small traveling bag with two sets of clean civilian clothes inside, including the sweater Gale had made for him. His F-4 Phantom was parked at the hangar, the crew chief having given him a ride over to Ops.

Sensing Gale's presence, he looked up. He hadn't seen her in five years; he hadn't dared. Her heart-shaped face was the same, and so were those haunting green eyes, that full mouth and slender build. Her hair was longer, and he was pleased about that for no discernible reason. The strands were pulled into a French twist behind her head, with feathery bangs barely touching her eyebrows.

It was the look of utter devastation on Gale's pale features that forced him to remain strong, because he could see that she wasn't. This wasn't the Gale he'd met five years ago, the woman who had courage under incredible duress. Five years without Mike had ravaged her in many ways. And still, she was the most beautiful woman Kyle had ever seen. The years hadn't dimmed his memory of her. Like a miser, Kyle had hoarded that precious, sweet memory, pulling it out from time to time to savor it, knowing that it could never be anything more.

Putting a smile of welcome on his face, he strode toward the counter where she stood. He noticed the airman sitting at the control desk, reading a magazine, not even bothering to look up.

"Hi, stranger," Kyle said, setting his helmet bag on the counter and the traveling bag on the floor. An ache seized him, and he wanted to walk around that desk, pull Gale into his arms and simply hold her. The urge was overwhelming. Kyle didn't let his smile slip, being very careful to keep the look of devilry he was famous for in his eyes-and to hide a look of yearning.

Gale stared up at Kyle not believing he was really with her. She moved without realizing what she was doing, coming around the end of the counter. The smile on Kyle's face changed, became nakedly vulnerable, and she saw him open his arms to her. Tears blinded her, and she couldn't stop herself. In moments, his arms closed around her. He dragged her against him and held her tightly.

"Oh, Kyle," she said, her voice muffled by bis flight suit, her arms going around his waist. She needed to lean against someone for just a little while, to seek protection against the final seventy-two hours of a five-year marathon that she'd run alone. Then the words she had refused to say to herself started pouring out of her. "I'm so afraid… so afraid…"

"It's going to be okay, Gale," Kyle whispered, shutting his eyes and absorbing the feeling of her against him. "Mike's coming home. I can feel it. Everything's going to be okay." Every muscle in his body screamed out for further contact with her warm, pliant body, but he kept his embrace that of a friend. "Just hang in there," he told her, pressing a chaste kiss to her hair. The clean, faintly fragrant scent of her body sent a painful surge through him. Kyle dragged in a deep breath, rocked her gently in his arms and fought his personal need of her as a woman.

Now beyond words, Gale collapsed into Kyle's arms. The moment his hand stroked her hair, a small sob caught in her throat. She felt his arms tighten around her momentarily. It was as if Kyle knew exactly what she needed, and beyond exhaustion, she capitulated to him. Each stroke of his hand on her hair took away a little more anxiety, a little more pain and suffering. Finally, after a full five minutes, she was able to ease out of his arms and step away.

Wiping her cheeks dry, Gale managed a shy, broken smile. "Thanks for coming, for being here…"

Kyle shrugged self-consciously. "I'm glad you called. I wouldn't have wanted it any other way, Gale."

"Your parents-"

"They understand," he whispered, reaching out, barely caressing her hair. "I want to be here."

"It's been so long since I last saw you."

Too long. The words begged to be said, but Kyle held on to them. He managed a strained smile meant to buoy her flagging spirits. "I know."

Gale sniffed and found a tissue in the pocket of her dark blue slacks. "I'm just glad you're here."

"Hell of a thing," he muttered, forcing himself not to reach out to smooth back several strands of hair clinging to her reddened cheek.

"What is?" She stuffed the tissue back into her pocket, then raised her head and met his blue eyes smoldering with dark intensity.

"The Pentagon springing this on you at Christmastime. I wish they'd waited… or something."

With a shake of her head, Gale whispered, "At least I'll know."

The haunted look in her eyes tore at him. Kyle had to stand there, not touching her, trying not to comfort her beyond the province of an old friend. "Buck up," he coaxed huskily, trying to sound positive. "It'll be good news. Mike will be back in no time."

Rubbing her arm because she was suddenly chilled, Gale forced a slight smile. "I hope you're right, Kyle. So many prayers, so many hopes dashed so many times and ways."

"The kind of suffering the wives and families of the men who went over there is a special kind of hell. I can't really know what it's like for you, except that I know it's agony." How could he tell her he hurt for Mike almost as much as she did? Kyle didn't want to dwell on negatives with Gale.

"Despite everything, you look pretty as ever," he said, meaning it.

Gale touched her cheek, feeling the heat of a blush sweeping onto her face. "Thank you."

"Going to say the same for me?" he asked, beginning to grin.

"You look more mature." The war had carved and etched deeper lines into his face. She saw the pain he carried in those lines.

"Have I changed that much?"

Managing a wobbly smile, Gale shook her head. You look wonderful. She longed to reach out and touch the hand that rested on the counter. A long, spare hand like the rest of him. Kyle was built whipcord lean, with a deep, broad chest and shoulders. His face was narrow, his smile warm with welcome, his eyes hooded by some undefinable emotion.

"Whew, that was close."

"You're such a clown, Anderson," she joked weakly, trying to get a handle on her escaping emotions and to pick up on his effort to lighten the mood of their vigil. Tears had come, but just the way Kyle was behaving helped her to stabilize. The tears went away and in their place, Gale felt an overwhelming lightness sweep through her. "You haven't changed a bit."

His boyish grin broadened. "The same? Usually, at my age, people say I look a bit more suave or some such thing."

She laughed, a terrible burden sliding off her shoulders. "All pilots know they're handsome devils. You don't need me to add to that confident ego you already own." If anything, Kyle had grown more handsome with age. The crow's feet at the corners of his eyes were deeply embedded, and the laugh lines around his mouth were pronounced. A few errant strands of black hair dipped over his wrinkled brow and Gale yearned to push them back into place.

"Touché, Major Taylor." He forced himself to look around because if he didn't, he was going to stare deeply into her eyes, bare his soul and then destroy the fragile truce between them. "Got a cup of coffee for this tired old jet jock? "

"I'm forgetting my manners. You bet I do. Come on around the end of the counter."

"I'm allowed to tread on sacred meteorology territory?"

"Of course. While I get you coffee, why don't you call the B.O.Q. and tell them you've arrived. I made reservations and they've got a room ready. They'll send over a driver to pick you up whenever you want to hit the rack. The number is 920."

With a nod, Kyle rounded the counter. "Thanks, I'll do that." His eyes narrowed when she turned away and went to the Teletype room, where the coffee pot was kept. Gale was terribly thin. Damn! The uniform hung on her. A deep, startling anger coursed through him. War did terrible things to all people, not just the people who fought it, but the wives and family left at home were equally injured by it. No one was left untouched or unscarred. But surely Gale had suffered more than most.

Gale tried not to let her hand tremble when she placed the mug in front of Kyle, but it did. Tucking her lip between her teeth, she looked away, aware of his sharpened gaze. She leaned against the counter, opposite him, listening to the rich timbre of his voice, a healing balm across her taut, screaming nerves. He automatically allowed her to relax, to feel as if everything would be fine.

Kyle hung up the phone. "Thanks for making the reservations," he said, picking up the mug.

"At Christmastime, the B.O.Q. is empty."

"All the bases are deserted. Only the poor schmuck stuck with the duty is around." Kyle glanced at her critically. "Which reminds me, why are you on duty at a time like this?"

Gale shrugged, crossing her arms against her chest. "Why shouldn't I be? If I wasn't, I'd be going stir crazy over at the house. I couldn't just wait, Kyle. I have to be doing something-anything-to keep my mind off the what ifs."

The coffee was hot and strong. Kyle nodded, understanding. "When do you get off duty?"

"Christmas morning at 0700. Then, I come back at 1900 tomorrow evening for twelve hours and then get the next seventy-two hours off."

He glanced around. "So you're here holding down the fort by yourself?"

"Do you see a crowd of pilots standing around needing weather?"

"Not a one."

Gale smiled. "In about half an hour, I've got to plot a weather map, is all."

"And you have to take a weather observation from the roof of Ops once an hour?" Kyle guessed. He watch her nod, thinking how the lights gave her hair a golden cast, like a halo around her head. "How long is your hair?" Damn! He hadn't meant to get so personal.

"Believe it or not, almost halfway down my back. Isn't that something?"

Swallowing hard, Kyle agreed. The very thought of sifting his fingers through that thick brown mass was too much. He forced himself to think of Mike and his ordeal.

Mustering a smile, Kyle said, "In three days or less, we'll know Mike's fine and coming home to you."

"I wish I had your optimism."

"My stock and trade."

It felt good to laugh-freely and with happiness. Gale shook her head. "You're good medicine, Kyle. You take away my pain and make me laugh when I never thought I would again. Thanks."

You takeaway my pain. Kyle looked away from her green eyes which were sparkling with life once again. When he'd arrived, Gale's eyes had been flat with pain, dull with fear. Her words tormented him. Well, maybe he could take some of her worry and anxiety away-if only for the next few days. Sitting up, he took a good look around the office.

"What, no Christmas tree? What kind of place do you run here, Major?"

Gale grimaced. "Want to know the worst of it?"

"What?"

"I don't have a Christmas tree at home, either."

He studied her, hearing the underlying strain in her voice. "Probably haven't had one in years, right?"

"How did you know? Never mind, don't answer that." Gale gave him an exasperated look. "Do you know how disconcerting it is to have someone know me that well?"

Kyle grinned and stood up, stretching fully. Flying in a cramped combat jet from New York to California wasn't his idea of pleasure. "I promise, your secrets are safe with me."

With a smile, Gale reached for his emptied mug. "I don't know how you've put up with me through the years, Major Anderson. I've been a royal pain at times." Some of the depressing letters she'd written to him, in which she'd let her fear for Mike and the real possibility he was dead surface, weren't her idea of chatty letters to a friend. Kyle had fielded her tough, hard questions and issues addressing her trepidation for Mike. He'd counseled her on how to stay sane and try to lead a normal life while she remained in a painful limbo of not knowing.

"Never a pain," Kyle told her, working at keeping his tone light and teasing when it was the last thing he wanted to be with her.

"More coffee?"

"Yeah, please. Hey, you got an old cardboard box sitting around here somewhere?"

She gave him a strange look. "Yes. Why?"

With a shrug, Kyle pointed to the main desk. "I think we ought to put a Christmas tree up, don't you?"

Kyle's enthusiasm was contagious and just what Gale needed. "I think you're right. But cardboard…?"

"Sure." He followed her back to the Teletype room. "When Mike and I were kids in Arizona, we had this tree house in this huge old sycamore in his backyard. A couple of days before Christmas, we'd go up there and make a Christmas tree and leave it in the tree house. You must have seen it when you stayed with the Taylors."

"Mmm. Mike's mother told me how you two used to spend hours playing in that old tree. The view from their home is breathtaking." The surrounding country-the wide, flowing creek and pine forest-was a salve to her spirit when she visited there. Smiling wistfully, Gale straightened, handing him the mug. "That sycamore is still standing out back, you know."

"It must be at least a hundred and fifty years old." Thoughts of the tree brought back a wealth of good memories.

"What did you two do out there with that sycamore?"

Brightening, Kyle spotted an empty Teletype-paper box in the corner. "As I said, Mike and I would make a cardboard Christmas tree for our tree house every year. We'd sit up there with crayons, paper, glue and string for hours putting it together." With a grin, he walked over and picked up the box. "And we're going to do that tonight. A good-luck charm to get Mike back home alive. Ready?"

Gale didn't have time to protest. With a small laugh, she nodded, walking back to the forecaster's desk with him. She watched as Kyle searched through several drawers until he found some colored felt-tip markers.

"Perfect," he muttered, pulling up another swivel chair and motioning for her to sit beside him. "Come on, we've got a lot to do. Normally, this takes a whole day to do up right, and we only have seven hours left before your watch ends."

Sitting down, Gale watched as he placed the markers and white paper in front of her. "You mean, you're planning on staying up all night with me?" Kyle had to be tired from the flight. She saw dark shadows beginning to form beneath his eyes.

"You've got to stay up all night," he pointed out blandly.

"Well… that's different, I have the duty. Kyle, you've got to be dead on your feet. Don't you think you ought to go over to the B.O.Q. and get some rest?"

He shook his head. "No way. I want to be here when you get that phone call telling you Mike's alive. I wouldn't miss that for the world, lady."

Fighting the urge to throw her arms around his shoulders and hug him for his thoughtfulness, Gale didn't do anything. Instead, she muttered, "You're such a glutton for punishment."

Kyle grinned lopsidedly. "Yeah, I know. Now, come on, you've got to help me here."

"Do what?"

"Well," Kyle murmured, picking up the box, "we used to make Christmas decorations of things we liked. You know, planes, cars and stuff like that. Whatever we made had to mean something important to us. Usually we made decorations of toys we wanted to get for Christmas."

Laughing, Gale drowned in his amused look. "So, if I wanted Mike, I draw him-"

"And cut him out and put a string at the top of him and then hang him on the cardboard tree I'm going to make for us. Yeah, you've got the idea."

Touched, Gale felt the intensity of Kyle's happiness. Suddenly, they were like two children rediscovering the joy of simple things like playing. "Okay," she whispered, "that's my first decoration, Mike coining home safely to me. To us."

Giving her a wink, Kyle said, "I've never given up on him being alive."

"I-I haven't been as positive as you," Gale hesitantly admitted. She began to make an outline of a man, her husband, on the white paper. As much as she wanted Mike to be alive, she just couldn't shake the awful feeling she was a widow. Still, for the Taylors' and Kyle's sakes, she fought her pessimism.

"No one is going to go through five years without having a few bad days," Kyle said gently. Whistling softly, he tussled with the box and cut off the top and bottom of it. Next, he opened it out and laid it flat on the desk. Glancing down at Gale, he saw her completely immersed in her first decoration.

"Hey, you ought to have been an artist. That really does look like Mike."

Blushing, she managed a quirked smile. "Thank you."

Taking a black pen, Kyle drew the main trunk of their "tree," and then four smaller cardboard branches. "I can remember Mike and I laying on our bellies for hours up there in that tree house, making these decorations. Our moms used to call us down for dinner, but we never came, so they ended up bringing it up the ladder to us."

"Mike mentioned that you two spent a lot of time up there."

"Yeah, we used to talk for hours about what we were going to be and do."

Gale sat back, examining her handiwork. She had drawn Mike in his blue officer's uniform.

She sat back, watching Kyle fashion their tree. He took some tape and fastened the four branches to the trunk. With some extra cardboard, he shored up the bottom so the tree would stand-at a bit of an angle.

"There," Kyle said proudly, studying his creation. "It looks a little naked right now, but when we start hanging the stuff on it, it'll look great."

Stifling a giggle, Gale looked at the tree and then at Kyle. "Doesn't it look a little… scrawny?" As a matter of fact, it looked like a multiarmed scarecrow.

"Nah." Kyle sat down, grabbing some paper and a red marker. "Come on, Major, quit laughing at my artistic efforts and get to work."

Giggling, Gale carefully cut out the drawing. "Now what?"

"You got any string around this place?"

Rummaging around in one of the lower desk drawers, she drew out a small ball of it. "Here you go."

Taking the string, Kyle cut off a small piece. "Just take a bit of tape and put it on the back of Mike, and then hang him."

"Hang him? Do you think Mike would like your choice of words?" She burst out laughing.

"He was always hanging around," Kyle muttered good naturedly as he showed Gale how to make a loop that could be slipped onto the branch of the tree.

"Mike said you were always on his heels," Gale parried.

"It was the other way around."

"You two were inseparable."

"Yeah, we were shadows to one another, that's for sure."

She surveyed Kyle's handiwork. "Nice. Now what?"

"Well," Kyle said with great seriousness, "we always put what we wanted the most on the top limb, and then we'd put other decorations in descending order of importance. The lowest branch represented what we wanted least."

Getting up, Gale gently put Mike on the uppermost limb on the right. "There," she whispered, staring at it.

"Looks good," Kyle said, giving her a game smile. He saw the tears in her eyes. "Come on, what's your second wish for Christmas? A fur coat? A new car?"

She smiled and sat down. "I'm not telling. I'm going to watch you for a minute. What's your first choice?"

Kyle saw flecks of gold in the depths of her green eyes. Swallowing hard, he tore himself away from his own need of her. These next few days were for Mike and for her, not for himself.

"Kyle?"

Damn, he was staring at her, something he hadn't meant to do. "Uh… oh, I was going to draw Bell Rock, a red sandstone butte that sits out in the village of Oak Creek, near Sedona." He got to work, carefully making an outline of the butte.

"You need to go home for a while."

He shrugged. "Well, sometime."

Gale read between the lines. "Sooner rather than later. Right?" She saw his mouth quirk. "Kyle Anderson…?"

"Sometime," he hedged. If Mike was dead, he wanted to remain here with Gale, to help her adjust.

She would need someone, since she had no close family. "I'll get there soon enough. Maybe in the spring. It's no big deal, Gale." He looked at her serious features. "And quit looking like you're the Grinch that stole my Christmas. You didn't. I don't want to be anywhere else but here right now. Understand?"

She sat there for several minutes without saying anything and watched him painstakingly draw the red-orange butte. He'd cancelled his own holiday leave to be with her. There was so much sentimentality to Kyle, and so much he was sensitive about. Compressing her lips, Gale still refrained from saying anything, not wanting to spoil the liveliness of the mood he'd created for them. But someday, after Mike returned home, she was going to sit down and have a long, searching talk with Kyle, telling him how much she appreciated his care, his love, as a friend.

"Mike and I used to climb all over Bell Rock," Kyle said quietly. "It's got skirts around it, kind of like a layer cake, smooth and easy to climb over."

Gale relaxed in the chair, watching him begin to color the formation. "So, you were rock climbers, too."

"Well now, Red Rock County is really hiking country. Bell is a hiking butte, not a true rock-climbing experience."

Gale pulled another sheet of paper to her. "I did a little hiking when I was out there last year. I really liked it."

Kyle picked up the scissors and cut out the butte. "So, what's your next decoration?"

"I'm going to draw my home in Medford, Oregon. I'll use a pear tree to symbolize it, though, because it's a huge valley with nothing but fruit orchards throughout it."

His grin broadened. "Want me to draw the partridge for it?"

She laughed long and deeply, wiping the tears from her eyes. "You have a great sense of humor."

"Thanks. I like the fact you have the good taste to appreciate it." Kyle pointed to the tree she was drawing. "Is that what you want to do? Go back home?" He knew her parents were dead, but that the house was still there, empty and in her name.

Hesitating, Gale looked at the tree with white blossoms. "My enlistment's up in four months. I-I've given a lot of thought to it, Kyle. I'm going to leave the service."

He frowned. "But you've go a lot of time built up toward a twenty-year retirement pension. Why blow it now?"

She shrugged. "I guess I want to have a home… a family."

"Oh."

She met his dark blue eyes. "I'm tired, Kyle. Tired in a way I can't even begin to describe. I need time to get back to basics, back to things that give to me, not take."

"A home and children?" In his opinion, Gale would make a wonderful mother, a spectacular wife.

"Yes. What about you?"

"Me?"

"Sure. Haven't you thought about having a family and kids someday?"

He nodded, trying to contain the pain that mushroomed unexpectedly in his chest. His dreams had been of Gale, of what might have been but would never be. "Yeah… I suppose." And then he made light of it. "You know me, career-oriented all the way. I'll wait until I get my mandatory twenty in, and then hog-tie some good-looking woman who's willing put up with me and my eccentricities."

Gale looked at the clock. It was time to plot the weather map. Rising, she gave him a serious look. "You're far better marriage material than you think you are, Anderson."

Laughing, Kyle sat there, watching her move to the plotting desk. Pulling another piece of paper to him, he glanced at his watch. Time was moving slowly. Didn't it always when something important was about to take place?

December 26, 1978

"How much longer?" Gale asked in a whisper, the question breaking the strained silence. She stood at the window of her base-housing home and stared out at the rainy morning. It was nearly 1000, and still no word from the Pentagon. In the distance, she could hear a bomber taking off, the jet engines creating man-made thunder that reverberated through the overcast sky. Her fingers tightened against the kitchen sink.

"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 responsibilities 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.

He sat on the couch facing the fire. Glancing up, he saw Gale studying him, a pensive look on her face. If nothing else, he was aware of how much he loved her. Did she love him? Or did she still see him as simply a friend? He patted the space next to him.

"Come on, sit with me." How would she interpret his gesture? Probably as one of friendship. The fear he felt at trying to communicate that he loved her, had always loved her, scared him. If he put his arm around her shoulders, what would she do? If he tried to kiss her, what would be her reaction? Kyle was scared to death that Gale would turn away from his advances. The thought was shattering and one he couldn't overcome right now.

She smiled and sat next to him, her hand touching his shoulder. The uncertainty in his eyes kept her on edge. The last few hours of sharing and laughter with both families had been incredibly healing. Incredibly wonderful. Whenever she caught Kyle looking at her, an ache of longing had swept through her like a tidal wave. Gale could barely hang on to the words, I Love you. Did he still see her only as a responsibility? Someone to be loyal to because of Mike, because of a promise to always take care of her?

Her hand felt good on him, and Kyle tried to stop the need to return the gesture. Her eyes were filled with caring.

"There are so many good memories here," she said quietly.

He laid his head back and stared at the fire. "Yeah."

She wrapped her arms around her drawn-up legs, the full green skirt like a cloak. "You ate enough for three people, Anderson. It's a wonder you don't look like a stuffed turkey."

He grinned, wanting to reach across those few inches between them and put his arm around her. "Tart, aren't we?"

"No more than usual. You just haven't been around enough to see this side of me."

Kyle sobered, lost in the vision of her upturned face glowing with happiness. "We really haven't spent much time together," he agreed, feeling the need to remedy the situation, but not knowing quite how to proceed.

"No, we haven't," Gale said softly. Taking a deep breath, she whispered, "I just want you to know how much all those letters you wrote over the years helped me to keep my hope alive, to keep me laughing instead of crying. You shared so much of yourself with me, Kyle-all the silly, human things that were going on in your life while we both waited to hear about Mike." Her fingers tightened on her legs. She wanted so badly to reach out and cover his hands. "Each letter was like life to me, Kyle. I lived to get them from you. Your words, how you saw life, helped me grapple with Mike possibly being gone."

"But… all they were were things about my career and some stuff happening with my squadron. They weren't intimate or-"

"You don't understand, do you?" Gale gave him a gentle smile, realizing her words were having a powerful effect on him. "Your letters were honest, Kyle."

"What?"

"You were vulnerable with me. Do you know how rare that is between two people? We're all so afraid of getting hurt, of getting wounded, that we protect ourselves. Your letters over the years bared your soul, how you thought, how you felt on such a wide range of topics that I got the pleasure of knowing the man behind that macho jet jock image. Do you understand now?"

Kyle turned and faced her. "I think I do." Or did he? Had she asked him to Sedona just to thank him in person for his years of loyalty to her? That thought was like a knife cutting him.

Gale saw the pain, the devastation apparent on his features. Did he love her? Or had the flame that burned fiercely between them dimmed and died over time? She was unsure of what she meant to Kyle, if anything, beyond a strong, enduring friendship. She wanted to gather Kyle into her arms, to tell him of her love for him, but the time wasn't right. Perhaps it would never be. Getting to her feet, she laid her hand on his shoulder.

"Listen, I think you need some time to think about what I said. Good night, Kyle." She leaned down and brushed a kiss on his cheek. Would he interpret her action as merely friendly, or would he see that she was trying to show him that she wanted much more from him?

Gale saw the surprise flare in his eyes as she kissed him. Why was she being so hesitant when it was the last thing she wanted to be? Why didn't she have the courage to simply blurt out how she really felt?

Deep down inside, Gale knew she was afraid of Kyle's answer. Sometimes the fear of rejection made her less than courageous. Perhaps giving him little hints would help him come to realize what she was really trying to say to him. Perhaps.

Kyle couldn't speak, only feel and feel some more. Gale's hand on his shoulder was focusing his disjointed emotions. Finding his voice, he whispered, "I'll see you in the morning." He wanted to grab her hand, drag her into his arms and kiss her hard and long. The question and hesitation in her darkened eyes made him hesitate. Gale had kissed him. Okay, so it was a chaste kiss. But still, she'd kissed him! Hope flared strongly in his chest. He managed a slight smile, wanting to reach out and at least hold her hand, but he was too afraid. "Good night."

Gale barely lifted her hand. "Good night… "

Kyle watched her leave, the den suddenly feeling empty without her warm presence. The house was dark and quiet. He walked through the living room to the large plate-glass window and looked out over the backyard toward the Taylors' house a mere three hundred yards away. The sky was clear and the stars were large and close, twinkling and dancing.

Thrusting his hands into the pockets of his jeans, he stared at the old sycamore tree standing proud and silent in the darkness. Gale's face lingered before him. Yes, he loved her. The past year had brought that fact squarely to him. He had to make a decision. He realized he'd been waiting, giving Gale time to recover from the news of Mike's death. Now it was clear that she was over her bereavement.

Fresh fear gripped him. Did she love him? Where did friendship like theirs end and a new, different kind of love begin?

Taking a deep breath, he moved away from the window and headed down the hall to his bedroom. The Taylors would be coming over at 10:00 a.m. to open Christmas gifts. And Gale would be with them. Suddenly, the need to see her, talk with her, was overwhelming. It didn't matter how fearful he was of her reaction to his admitting his love for her. He couldn't stand the excruciating wait, not knowing what her answer would be. There was so much to say. The morning couldn't come soon enough-

"Good morning," Gale said, smiling up into Kyle's freshly shaved face. He'd cut himself, and she wanted to reach up and gently press a kiss to his jaw.

Hungrily, Kyle stared into her lovely forest-colored eyes dancing with incredible life. "Merry Christmas," he whispered. She wore a pale peach blouse and cream-colored slacks. Her hair was a shining cloak across her shoulders. Kyle inhaled the flowery scent of her perfume. A tension, a delicious throbbing sensation, ensnared him.

He saw Gale's eyes widen and interpreted that as her also being aware of the sensual pulsation that had now sprung between them-just as it had the first time they'd met so many years ago. Hope swept through him, making him giddy, nervous.

Gale moved to one side as the two families trooped toward the den where the tree stood laden with gifts. She looked up, drowning in his gaze. Did she dare hope? Did she dare read what lingered in his eyes as love for her?

For the next half hour, gifts were opened amid laughter and joking. Kyle brought a gift from beneath the tree and sat down, handing it to Gale. Would she like it? Or would it make her unhappy. He couldn't be sure.

Gale shook the red-wrapped box. "It rattles!" she cried out to everyone, and then laughed with them.

Kyle managed a nervous smile and watched as she tore into the wrapping like a child. His heart beat harder as she opened the box.

Digging through a mass of crinkly red-and-green tissue paper, Gale found a small, oblong bulb. After finding two dozen more, she tilted her head, giving Kyle a questioning look. "Daffodil bulbs." Tears filled her eyes. She held the bulbs reverently. Memory of their cardboard Christmas tree at Travis slammed through her. And so did the memory of a conversation they'd had about her daffodils and the fact they meant a new beginning for her. Sniffling, she gently placed the bulbs back in the box.

"Here," Kyle mumbled, putting his linen handkerchief in her hands. Embarrassed, he looked at his parents and the Taylors. There was understanding and sympathy in their expressions. Gale was beginning to cry in earnest and Kyle felt the need to get her alone.

"Uh, excuse us for a moment… " he said, rising, pulling Gale to her feet.

"Take her into the living room, honey," his mother said.

Gently, Kyle put his arm around Gale's shoulders and led her to the other room where they'd have a modicum of privacy. Once there, he drew her to a halt, folding her against him. A groan escaped Kyle as she put her arms around his neck, nestling her cheek against his chest.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, absently rubbing her shoulders. "I didn't mean to make you cry, Gale. Not now… God, not after everything you've gone through."

She drew away just enough to see the anguish in his azure eyes. "I'm not sad," she choked out.

"No?" His eyebrows moved upward. "I don't understand."

Managing a small laugh, Gale shook her head. "Oh, Kyle, you're so sweet and good to me. You do things so unconsciously, not even realizing what you're doing."

She was smiling through her tears and he framed her face, feeling the dampness beneath his hands. The urge to kiss those beads of moisture off her thick lashes haunted him. The need to kiss her was more painful than any physical agony he could recall. "Tell me what I did," he said thickly, allowing himself to drown in gold-flecked eyes lustrous with invitation. The thread of hope he clung to grew stronger, and he dared to believe he saw love there.

"My Christmas gift to you is also a set of daffodil bulbs, Kyle." She dropped her eyelids and her voice grew strained. "After I got over grieving for Mike, I went back and reread all your letters. It was then that I realized I care very deeply for you… that we've always shared something special." She licked her lips, tasting the salt on them, forcing herself to look up at him again. Kyle deserved her courage now, not her cowardice.

"You're honorable, Kyle. More than any man I've ever known. In the past year, I've realized that although I loved Mike, there was something you and I shared, too. There was a lot of caring in your letters to me. How many men would have written at all, much less as much as you did? Not many, Kyle."

Gently, he removed the last of her tears with his thumbs. "I didn't want to interfere, Gale." He dragged in a deep breath. "I knew you loved Mike. What I felt… how I felt about you wasn't important."

She took a huge risk, sliding her hand across his cheek. "You did the next best thing, you took care of me in his absence." Her voice grew tender. "I gave you daffodil bulbs to tell you in a silent sort of way that I want you back in my life, I want to share it with you in a new, better way. That is… if you want to-"

He stood there thunderstruck, not believing what he was hearing. Gale stood unsurely in his arms, her eyes giving away her anxiety, her fear that he would reject her brave honesty. A tremble passed through him and he closed his eyes. "My God."

"Kyle?"

He opened his eyes and met her gaze. She had called his name so softly, a plea to him to answer her admission. Her lips were wet with tears, but they parted, begging him to kiss her. How long had he wanted to? The ache intensified within him, and it felt as if his heart were going to be torn apart. Kyle cradled her face with his hands.

Gale stood there, waiting in the silence. Just to touch his mouth, to feel the power and tenderness of Kyle as a man was nearly too much. A fine trembling flowed through her as the world slowed to a halt. She saw hunger in every line of his face, in the stormy blue of his hooded eyes.

He leaned forward, staring at her lovely mouth, and hesitated. It was a dream, a beautiful dream come true.

Tentatively grazing her lips, he felt her breath catch. The second time, he molded his mouth possessively to hers, feeling her fire, feeling her as the young, vital woman she was in his arms. Drowning in the warmth of her lips, Kyle explored her with aching slowness, tasting her sweet, liquid depths. Gale was yielding and hungry, matching his needs, telling him of her desires. There was a lushness to her, a fertileness that made him feel powerful and protective of her. She conveyed so much to him. Kyle felt her love, her com-mitment to him, unbridled, wild and filled with rich promise. He drowned in a rainbow of emotion.

Kyle gently disengaged from her ripe lips, her half-closed eyes telling him everything. The words, held in abeyance for so long, were torn form him. "I love you…"

Kyle's admission, the emotion behind it, rocked through her. Gale closed her eyes, a whisper of air escaping her lips. He loved her! The words flowed through her heart, and she moaned as she felt his mouth find hers once again.

Surrendering to him in every way, because they each had been denied so much for so long, Gale drowned in the wonderful celebration of his declaration. Gradually, the kiss ended. Looking into his eyes, she whispered, "I love you, darling… so much…"

Words were useless for what Kyle felt for Gale; only holding her, pressing small, heated kisses against her cheek, eyes and lips could convey his joy. His senses were acute, registering each soft breath she took. He could taste Gale on his lips and savor all the sweetness of her, loving her.

"If this is a dream," Gale uttered with a sigh, her head resting on his shoulder, "I don't ever want to wake up."

Kyle leaned over, caressing her flushed cheek. "It's not a dream. It's real… we're real."

How long they stood there in each other's arms, Gale didn't know. Finally, Kyle led her to the dark green couch. They sat down, never leaving each other's arms. She closed her eyes, content to be held, to feel the beat of his heart beneath her fingertips. The silence was like a warm blanket surrounding them.

"I'm glad you had the courage to tell me you wanted me for more than just a friend," Kyle whispered against her hair. "I don't know when I fell in love with you, sweetheart, but it doesn't matter."

"It was the letters," Gale replied, content to be held tightly within his embrace. "This past year, I wondered how we couldn't have fallen in love with one another."

Kyle leaned down, watching as her lashes lifted to reveal her joyous green eyes. "I think the first time I was introduced to you, I fell in love with you. I just didn't admit it to myself. I couldn't."

"Something happened that morning I burned my hand," Gale agreed quietly, "but we both denied it. I loved Mike, I was worried for him…"

"A lot was going down."

"Too much."

He absently stroked her long, silky hair. "This past year, I've been fighting a hell of a battle with myself," he told her, his voice gruff with feeling. "My love for you was growing out of control, and I knew I had to wait. I wasn't even sure if you loved me, Gale. I was afraid to say anything."

She sat up, caressing his strong, lean jaw. "I felt the same way. I took a chance and came here, hoping that you would come home when I sent that telegram."

He caught her hand and pressed a warm kiss to it. "You had a lot more courage than I did." He gave her a smile filled with love. "Was I ever glad to get that telegram."

"You had the courage to come. That's all that mattered."

Her eyes were luminous with tears. Gently, Kyle framed her face and kissed them away. "Tears of happiness," he rasped.

"Yes… "

"Marry me, Gale. Now. Today."

She blinked and held his intense cobalt gaze. "Today?"

Caressing her lips, he whispered, "I don't want to spend another night without you. I want to wake up with you in my arms tomorrow morning… for the rest of the mornings of my life. I'll retire from the Air Force so we could be together always and forever."

She looked up at him. "You will?"

He grinned. "Yeah. I'm getting tired of flying a desk when I've got a lot of good years left behind the stick. What would you think of me starting a feeder airline out of Sedona? Me and two other guys have enough money to buy a small commercial-sized plane to start out with."

"It sounds exciting."

Kyle tightened his hands around her. He ached to make love to her, but he stilled his hunger, anxious to see her reaction to his plans. "Exciting, scary and a real adventure."

"So we'd live in Sedona?"

"Yeah. What do you think of that?"

"I like it."

"You could be the meteorologist for the airline. We want to call it Red Rock Airlines. What do you think?"

Gale snuggled closer to him. "I like the whole concept, Kyle."

"It's a hell of a leap of faith," he muttered. "And it's chancy. I've got my life savings, including my stock holdings, tied up in the deal." He slanted a glance down at her. "The bank is going to own me for a long time once we get this feeder airline off the ground, sweetheart."

"So we'll be struggling but happy. It's a wonderful idea and I'd love to live here."

"You really mean that?" Her happiness was paramount to anything he wanted.

Leaning forward, Gale kissed him gently. "With my life, Kyle Anderson. So, I'm married to an airline executive instead of an Air Force major. I don't care what you do as long as you're happy doing it. Okay? I just want to share my life with you. That's all I want."

Closing his eyes, he whispered, "I love you so much. As long as I have you at my side, I can do anything, Gale. Anything."

Her smile was soft. "Darling, the best thing is, we'll do this together. We never have to be apart again, and I'm looking forward to living life with you."

"Through all the ups and downs?"

"Through everything. I love you, Kyle. We're going to be happy. I just know it."

Crushing Gale against him, Kyle knew he would never want anything more out of life-ever.

Author's Note

Serving in the U.S. Navy from 1964 to 1967 during the Vietnam conflict brought new meaning to the holidays for me. Until I joined the military, Christmas was a very special day filled with family members, excitement, warmth and opening gifts. I remember as a six-year-old being unable to sleep on Christmas Eve, then getting up with my siblings, Nancy and Gary, to see what was under the Christmas tree. Another year, Gary got so excited that he threw up on Christmas Eve! My mother, Ruth, decided that from then on, all gifts would be opened on Christmas Eve because she didn't want any of us getting sick with excitement over them.

Those kinds of memories mean so much more when you're stuck in a military base very far away from home. Christmas for servicemen and servicewomen is the loneliest time of year, a time of great vulnerability, since there is no way to go home to be with family. Instead, the military becomes your family. I can remember standing duty over the holidays and looking at the empty Ops building and the quiet revetment area devoid of jets and personnel.

For "Always and Forever," I drew upon my own experience as a Navy meteorologist who stood Christmas duty. My Marine Corps husband, Dave, was stationed in Vietnam for sixteen months. Every day I wrestled with fear and anxiety, wondering if he was alive or dead, because he was in I Corps area out in the bush. The chance of his coming home was very slim. I waited in agony, as every military wife did, hoping I never saw two officers come up to the house to announce he was dead.

The holidays for those in the service can be brightened by letters. They were our lifeline, a godsend, a reminder of a saner, gentler, more loving world than the one we worked and lived in. Besides letters, phone calls were wonderful. And moms sending our favorite cookies and cakes, which we'd all divide among our friends in the barracks. Believe me, you have no idea how much letters mean. If you have a daughter or son in the service, keep those cards and letters going to them.

When Dave was in Vietnam, I wrote a letter to him every day. That's close to five hundred letters. They were my outlet for expressing my love-and my fears-for him and to tell him about my job and what was going on at the base. Dave later told me that he used to read and reread those letters. His buddies did, too, because not everyone got as many letters as Dave did. He admitted that they helped him keep his sanity, his hope that he'd survive.

So, dear readers, know that a lot of me, my experiences and feelings about service life are woven through the strands of "Always and Forever." Being part of the military teaches you so many valuable lessons that civilian life doesn't. I'm proud I served my country for three years. And I'm glad that Dave made it back home to me!

Merry Christmas.