🗽Sunday's Short Stack🗽: Christmas Homecoming by LA Witt

Summary:

The Christmas Angel #4

August 1939. Roger Miller and Jack O’Brien have been close since childhood. By the time they realize there’s more between them than friendship, Jack is leaving their sleepy Iowa town for college. But they console themselves knowing he’ll be home for Christmas. Right?

It is Christmas before they see each other again, but that Christmas comes six years and a world war later. Aged, beaten, and shaken by combat, they’re not the boys they were back then, but their feelings for each other are stronger than ever.

Neither know the words to say everything they’ve carried since that peacetime summer kiss, though. Even as they stand in the same room, there’s a thousand miles between them.

But maybe that’s some distance the little angel in Roger’s rucksack can cross.

This 24,000 word novella is part of the multi-author Christmas Angel series, and can be read as a standalone.

Original Review December 2018:
One last splash through the local swimming hole for the summer leads to realizations for Roger Miller and Jack O’Brien but is it too late since Jack is leaving the next day for college?  With promises of seeing each other at Christmas they wonder where they'll end up but the promised holiday reunion comes six years late after the long years of war have shaped their lives.  Will Roger and Jack find happiness with each other finally or has their time passed them by?

Yet another amazing story in the multi-author Christmas novella series, The Christmas Angel.  LA Witt's Christmas Homecoming is full of everything that makes holiday romances great: promises of more, separation by unseen circumstance, and inevitable reunions.   I don't think I'm giving anything away by saying this is a HEA because as it so often is with holiday tales, the meat-and-potatoes of the story isn't in the ending but the journey the main characters take to get there.

For those who don't usually go for historicals all I can say is please go outside your norm and give this series a try.  So far I've only read three of the seven tales but they have all been respectful for the past all while telling a great little gem of love story.  With Roger and Jack's part of the Angel's journey we get to see them warring within themselves between what their hearts desire and what is expected of them: getting married and settling down(they don't call the years following WW2 the Baby Boom for nothing😉😉).   As a forty-five year old woman in 2018, its hard to imagine what Roger and Jack faced as returning soldiers but LA Witt does a wonderful job of telling their story in a heartwarming entertaining Christmas package.  Who says we have to wait till Christmas morning to unwrap all our treats?

I really don't think I can recommend this series enough.  Is it one you need to read in order? No.  As a matter of fact, I myself read book four before book three(a rarity for me but I accidentally opened Homecoming first and went with it😉).  The Angel is the connection and since we don't really learn how she gets from one era to the next, it is not necessary to read in order.  I will say that even though each entry is a standalone from a different time, I would highly recommend reading book one(Christmas Angel by Eli Easton) first simply because we learn how and where the angel came to be.  It isn't something that will leave you lost if you don't start with the first one but personally I would be left wondering about her origins and it would leave me a bit distracted from completely enjoying each of the authors' entries, but that's just my personal opinion.

RATING:

Chapter 1 

Roger 

August 1939 

“This place won’t be the same without you around.” 

My best friend, Jack O’Brien, smiled at me as we strolled down the long dirt road that would take us from town to our houses. His hands were in the pockets of his dusty trousers, the brim of his cap shading his eyes from the late summer sun. “I won’t be gone forever.” 

“Four years is a long time.” 

“Yeah. It is.” He let his elbow brush mine. “But you’ll be so busy you won’t even notice.” 

I laughed halfheartedly. “I’m pretty sure I’ll notice.” 

He glanced at me, and he started to say something, but then didn’t. I was glad, because I had a feeling I knew what he was about to say. 

“You’re gonna be married soon.” 

I stared down at the dirt at our feet. I didn’t know if I would be or not. Everyone in town had been pushing for me and Daisy Morton to get married, and she always got this hopeful look in her eyes whenever someone mentioned it. Me, I got a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach that a man probably wasn’t supposed to get when he thought about marrying the nicest girl in town. 

We continued through the dusty heat, and finally made it to the woods. We both sighed with relief as the road took us out of the bright sunlight and into the shade. 

“Where do you think you’ll go?” I asked. “After college?”

Jack shrugged, staring at the ground like I’d been doing a moment ago. “Wherever there’s work, I guess.” 

There wasn’t much work in this town.  Hadn’t been in years. We hadn’t even felt the crash in ’29 because things had already been tough here. If not for the newspapers, I doubt we would have known about it at all. 

So all I could hear in Jack’s words was: I don’t think I’m coming back. 

As we kept walking, the silence between us as uncomfortable as it was unusual, I couldn’t think of what to say. How to tell him I wanted to go with him. There was nothing for me here except my parents’ farm, and Lord knew if that would still be standing in a few years. 

I didn’t imagine there was much for me in the city either, but Jack would be there, and that seemed like enough. I didn’t say it, though. The train would take Jack away tomorrow, and I wouldn’t be going with him, and that was final. What did it matter if none of this seemed right? 

We walked on, and we still didn’t talk. The quiet made me itchy. I wasn’t used to it. Not with Jack. We talked so much we drove our folks and friends crazy. But ever since we’d met up at the carnival this morning, things had been different. I couldn’t figure out what to say. I couldn’t even look at him without getting this ache in my chest. I was afraid to say anything because I was sure all that would come out was “don’t leave” or “let me come with you.” 

Up ahead on the left was a well-worn trail that went deep into the woods. How many times had we gone tromping down that trail over the years? There were berries you could pick and eat—and a few we’d figured out real quick you shouldn’t—and if you followed the trail far enough, there was a swimming hole. Jack told me a while back he’d had his first kiss down there. Tenth grade with Dottie McAllister. My first kiss had been with Daisy a couple of months ago, on a dare in front of all of our friends. I liked to think Jack’s was more fun than mine. 

It was hard to believe that time was over. Not the embarrassing first kisses, but our days of jogging down that path, vines whipping at our bare shins and both of us whooping and shouting with our friends before we cannonballed into the swimming hole with the leeches. Betting Jimmy Davenport he couldn’t hold his breath longer than I could. Tossing in coins and diving to find them, even though the pond was usually too deep and murky. Tying ropes to branches and swinging so we could sail through the air before splashing into the water, and still doing it after Bobby Harwood swung too far and broke his arm. Smoking stolen cigarettes and drinking stolen liquor and batting away mosquitoes. 

I would miss those days—mosquito bites, leeches, broken arms and all. 

And more than that, I’d miss the friend who’d been there for all the most amazing adventures. 

I’d always known there would come a time when we’d drift apart and turn into memories. My dad told stories about his childhood friends, and even if he got a little melancholy now and then, he didn’t seem sad that those days were behind him. He had a family, and he had friends here in town, and he seemed happy like that. I’d always known that would be me someday too. Jack would be someone I talked about with a smile, just like I talked about David Sullivan, who’d moved to the city with his family five years ago. Sure, we all missed David, but life had gone on and so had we. That would happen after Jack was gone too. I didn’t know when or how, but it would. 

As we closed in on the overgrown entrance to that little side trail, Jack slowed. Then he stopped. I watched him, and he stared at the grass-lined trailhead for a moment. When he finally turned my way, he had that smile that always meant we were about to do something crazy. Usually something that got our hides tanned once our folks found out. Worth it. Always worth it. 

“No one’s expecting us for a while.” He gestured at the trail. “Want go down to the swimming hole?” 

I blinked. “What?” 

“Come on.” The grin widened as if he knew I could never say no to him. “Go jump in the water. Cool off. Have a swim for old time’s sake?” 

It sounded crazy. Two grown men spending an afternoon in a swimming hole? 

It sounded crazy and… irresistible. 

So I grinned back and nodded toward the trail. 

Jack went first, breaking into a run as soon as he was off the road, and I stayed on his heels. All the way down the winding trail, across the gully where we used to catch frogs, past the tree where Jack and Dottie had carved their names two days before they’d broken up, and into the clearing that would be littered with maple leaves in a few weeks. 

At the center of the clearing was the swimming hole—a pond about ten yards across and so deep in places we’d never actually been to its bottom. The rope we used to swing on still hung from a tree branch, half-covered in moss as it swayed in the warm wind. 

Sometimes there were kids and people our age, but almost everyone was in town for the carnival, so there wasn’t a soul in sight. We had the whole place all to ourselves. 

A ways up from the water’s edge, we quickly stripped down to our drawers. Then we exchanged glances, ran, and cannonballed into the swimming hole.

The shock of the cold water always startled me, and I surfaced with a gasp. Beside me, so did Jack, and I turned, laughing and ready to say something, when— 

He brushed water from his face and pushed his red hair back off his forehead. 

When did you turn into a man? 

I shivered, hoping if Jack noticed, he blamed it on the water. We’d both become men in the last couple of years, but we were still kids in my mind. Still two boys with nothing better to do than go out raising Cain, as my mother always said. 

But that wasn’t a boy in front of me. That was a man. Broad-shouldered. The earliest hints of a beard that wanted to grow, and would be as red as the rest of his hair when it did. A sharp jaw. Muscles from working on the farm and climbing trees with me and our friends. I wanted to touch those muscles, a desire I’d never had before. And couldn’t explain now. And could barely resist now. 

I’m staring at Jack. What in the world? 

I pulled my gaze away and splashed some cool water on my face. It was enough to snap me out of that ridiculous trance, and as near as I could tell, Jack hadn’t noticed. 

We swam and splashed like we always had. We dove to the bottom for some of the coins that had been down there for years. Jack found a nickel, but otherwise we both came up empty-handed. Still, it was fun, and the cool water was perfect. Not just because of the summer heat, but because it took me back to all the days we’d spent out here. One last hurrah before we left our youth behind. 

Before Jack was gone. 

The thought sobered me, cutting through the carefree feel of the afternoon and reminding me of tomorrow. I tried to ignore it, though. I didn’t want to think about tomorrow.

Unaware of the struggle in my mind, Jack treaded water, smiling as the sun beat down on his face. “Ahh. Too bad I won’t be able to do this when I’m home for Christmas.” 

“You can if you want to, but your balls might not come back down till spring.” 

Jack laughed, and I didn’t hear what he said because I was too busy staring at him. We’d swum in this place hundreds of times, but I’d never really looked at him like this. Like I needed to drink him in before the train took him away. 

Crystal drops clung to the darkened tips of his wet red hair, and slid down the scattered stubble of his not-quite-beard. His cheeks and nose were sun-kissed, and when he met my eyes, his sparkled with… no, not with his usual mischief. With something else. Something I’d never seen before. 

He waded closer to me, gaze still fixed on mine. I was standing on some solid ground, and I knew when he’d found his footing because his shoulders rose a couple of inches out of the water. He was taller than me, but the ground must’ve been lower, because we were eye to eye now. 

Neither of us said a word. I had no idea what to say. What was happening? Why was he looking at me like that? Why was I looking at him like this? 

And why was the thought of kissing Jack—my best friend, a boy I’d known my whole life—suddenly irresistible? Even the cool pond couldn’t stop me from getting hard, and my face burned. What if he noticed? What if he was close enough to notice? 

And suddenly… he was close enough to notice. 

Jack. Right there. Our faces inches apart above the water, our bodies nearly touching below it. 

His hands found my waist, and I gasped, which drove me a little closer to him. Our hips brushed, and I only had the space of a heartbeat to be embarrassed before I realized he was hard too. In the name of balance, I put my hands on his chest, then slid them up and behind his neck, and we were doing more than grazing each other beneath the surface. The firm ridge against my hip was unmistakable, and there was no doubt he noticed mine. 

My heart thumped so hard, he had to have felt that too, especially when our chests nearly touched. Our eyes locked. We’d touched before, but never like this, and now I really, really wanted to know what it would be like to kiss him. 

But he’s Jack. He’s a man just like you. We can’t kiss. 

Can we? 

“Is this…” I licked my lips. “Are we supposed to…?” 

“Does it matter?” he whispered, and then Jack O’Brien’s lips were against mine. 

And everything. 

Was just. 

Still. 

Kissing Daisy had never been like this. Nowhere near it. There was no one around to heckle us, but that wasn’t what was different this time. I loved Jack’s lips against mine. They were cool, but quickly warmed, and they moved gently—almost lazily—as he drew me closer. There was nothing awkward or embarrassing. Nothing that didn’t seem to fit quite right. Part of me worried someone might appear and catch us, and the scandal wasn’t one I wanted to imagine, but I couldn’t bring myself to let him go. I hadn’t known until this moment that I wanted to do this, but now that we were, it was like my entire life had been leading up to it. 

The cool water seemed to be all that was keeping me from bursting into flames. Jack’s body was hot and firm against mine, his hands gentle and maybe even a little timid as he slid them up and down my back. As his tongue slipped into my mouth, I could taste the cigarette we’d shared while we’d walked, and I held him tighter and refused to think about anything that would happen after this. As far as I was concerned, time stopped here and now, and this moment was too big to be contained in a memory. 

Jack’s lips broke away from mine, and he pulled back enough to look in my eyes. 

How did I never notice how beautiful your eyes are? 

Because we were boys. Men. I was supposed to be with Daisy, getting married like a respectable gentleman, same as Jack would do once he met the right girl. There was a future ahead of us, a future that was coming up quick, and where did something like this fit? 

“What are we doing?” My voice shook as if I were shivering. 

“I don’t know.” He smoothed my hair with a wet hand. “I don’t know why, but I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.” The sunburn on his cheeks deepened with a blush, and he dropped his gaze. “And since I’m leaving tomorrow, I…” 

“I’m glad you did.” 

His eyes found mine again, and he watched me silently. 

I couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Everything that came to mind would be too sad, and the moment would be lost. 

Why did we wait so long to do this? 

Do you know how much harder it’ll be to watch you leave tomorrow? 

Please take me with you. 

He must have seen the longing in my eyes, because he caressed my cheek and whispered, “I’ll be home for Christmas. You’ll see me again before you know it.” 

We gazed at each other, and my heart ached.

But you’ll go back after Christmas. 

But we’re men. 

But Daisy. 

“I’ll write you,” I said, as if it would make any difference. “As often as I can.” 

His sweet smile made me feel things I’d never known I could feel. Warm and shaky all over, but in a good way, like I could stand here and look at him forever. Like I wanted to. 

He cupped my cheek. “I’ll send you my address as soon as I can. And you better write.” 

“I will. I promise.” 

“Me too.” Beneath the water, his hand slid up my back, and he drew me in closer. “I’m going to miss you.” 

Before I could speak, his lips were against mine again, and I held on. As the kiss lingered, my body felt things it never had before, but so did my heart. My chest hurt and my stomach was sick because no matter how glorious this moment was, it was just that—a moment. One that would be over sooner than I was ready to let it go. 

Tomorrow, Jack would be gone. 

And it had taken me until today to realize I loved him.

In 1750, a master woodcarver poured all his unrequited love, passion, and longing into his masterpiece—a gorgeous Christmas angel for his beloved’s tree. When the man he loved tossed the angel away without a second thought, a miracle happened. The angel was found by another who brought the woodcarver True Love.

Since then, the angel has been passed down, sold, lost and found, but its magic remains. Read the romances inspired by (and perhaps nudged along by) the Christmas angel through the years. Whether it’s 1700s England (Eli Easton's Christmas Angel), the 1880’s New York (Kim Fielding’s Summerfield’s Angel), the turn-of-the-century (Jordan L. Hawk’s Magician’s Angel), World War II (L.A. Witt’s Christmas Homecoming), Vietnam-era (N.R. Walker’s Soldier’s Wish), the 1990’s (Anyta Sunday’s Shrewd Angel), or 2018 (RJ Scott’s Christmas Prince), the Christmas angel has a way of landing on the trees of lonely men who need its blessing for a very Merry Christmas and forever HEA.

Saturday's Series Spotlight

Part 1  /  Part 2

Shrewd Angel  /  Christmas Prince

LA Witt
L.A. Witt and her husband have been exiled from Spain and sent to live in Maine because rhymes are fun. She now divides her time between writing, assuring people she is aware that Maine is cold, wondering where to put her next tattoo, and trying to reason with a surly Maine coon. Rumor has it her arch nemesis, Lauren Gallagher, is also somewhere in the wilds of New England, which is why L.A. is also spending a portion of her time training a team of spec ops lobsters. Authors Ann Gallagher and Lori A. Witt have been asked to assist in lobster training, but they "have books to write" and "need to focus on our careers" and "don't you think this rivalry has gotten a little out of hand?" They're probably just helping Lauren raise her army of squirrels trained to ride moose into battle.

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