Winter Reunion Read Online Free Page B

secure future. The shopkeepers. Vivian’s last set of boarders. And Beth would even own the beloved building that housed her bookstore—something she’d never thought possible.
    Dear Lord, help us succeed. Guide us in helping those people. And please, for as long as Dev is here, help me protect my heart.
    Â 
    Dev stepped into the Walker Building and breathed in the musty scents of mold and mice. Light filtered through the grime and cobweb-festooned mullionedwindows facing the street, while the back half of the building was cast in deep shadow.
    A wide, open staircase rose along the wall to the left, the wooden steps littered with crumbling cardboard boxes overflowing with yellowed newspapers and what appeared to be rags.
    He’d had to come back for another look, even if his every decision would now have to be put on hold until he’d met the crazy stipulations in his mother’s will.
    On the endless series of flights coming back to the States and during those long days at Walter Reed, he’d had plenty of time to think, and had planned to make this trip into his past as brief as possible.
    But now, the charm and peacefulness of the village called out to him with its scents of pine. The sound of Aspen Creek rushing southward over the boulders strewn through its rocky bed. The absolute lushness of the trees and undergrowth and the damp, fertile earth, so unlike the dry and inhospitable climate where he’d spent much of his adult life.
    And with those scents, those sounds, came the memories he’d so carefully shelved away. Of jangling sleigh bells and the clopping of draft horse hooves on snow-covered asphalt, come Christmastime, when sleighs served as taxis for the tourists and locals who came into town for all of the Victorian decorations. The sweet, sweet scent of burning leaves and fragrant pumpkin pies and the local parade at the end of October, during the annual Fall Harvest celebration.
    He stepped farther into the building and felt a sense of peace in its silence, its massive stone walls. As achild he’d loved this old building, imagining knights on chargers jangling through the stone arches that framed each door and window. Envisioning Merlin and King Arthur sitting before the immense mouth of a fireplace inside, and a damsel peering from one of the soaring stone turrets that rose above the roofline.
    Now, the cavernous interior and multitude of windows spoke to him in a different way.
    He closed his eyes, imagining the place filled with soft candlelight and the hushed murmurs of diners sitting at tables set with crystal and silver. Or maybe retail shelving, stocked with colorful toys, antiques or camping gear…or even trendy clothing, maybe. The stuff of fun and relaxation, and the bounteous civilian life that allowed people time to savor some of the most beautiful scenery in the world.
    And he tried to imagine a time when war would no longer be a part of his life. No reconnaissance missions, no explosions. No rapid-fire, staccato blast of his M249 while he covered his buddies…or the comforting weight of an M16 cradled in his arms.
    But that was reality.
    Being here was like stepping into an old-fashioned Christmas card that he’d have to file away in a few months, because he might as well be visiting the moon for as much as he could relate to the breezy, small-town atmosphere where the greatest dangers were mosquitoes and the newest crop of inept teenage drivers. He couldn’t even begin to relate to the innocent, cheerful residents who expected to go about their business unharmed everysingle day, then sleep safe in their own warm beds at night.
    Shaking off his thoughts, he wandered through the building, trying to quell the deep sense of longing flickering to life inside his chest.
    Each of the four buildings in this block were roughly the same, with thick sandstone walls built to last for centuries, and old glass rippled with age set in the tall, narrow windows.