Christmas Homecoming by LA Witt
Summary:
The Christmas Angel #4
August 1939. Roger Miller and Jack OâBrien have been close since childhood. By the time they realize thereâs more between them than friendship, Jack is leaving their sleepy Iowa town for college. But they console themselves knowing heâll 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, theyâre not the boys they were back then, but their feelings for each other are stronger than ever.
Neither know the words to say everything theyâve carried since that peacetime summer kiss, though. Even as they stand in the same room, thereâs a thousand miles between them.
But maybe thatâs some distance the little angel in Rogerâs rucksack can cross.
This 24,000 word novella is part of the multi-author Christmas Angel series, and can be read as a standalone.
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, theyâre not the boys they were back then, but their feelings for each other are stronger than ever.
Neither know the words to say everything theyâve carried since that peacetime summer kiss, though. Even as they stand in the same room, thereâs a thousand miles between them.
But maybe thatâs some distance the little angel in Rogerâs rucksack can cross.
This 24,000 word novella is part of the multi-author Christmas Angel series, and can be read as a standalone.
One last splash through the local swimming hole for the summer leads to realizations for Roger Miller and Jack OâBrien 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 nothingđđ). 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 itđ). 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:
Soldier's Wish by NR Walker
Summary:The Christmas Angel #5
The year is 1969âŠ
Gary Fairchild is proud to be a hippie college student, and he protests the Vietnam War because he believes in love and peace. To him, it isnât just a counterculture movementâitâs a way of life. When tickets to the Aquarium Expositionâ3 Days of Peace & Music, or Woodstock, as it was better known, go on sale, thereâs no way he isnât going.
Richard Ronsman is a sheltered farm boy who lives in the shadow of his overbearing father. Heâs hidden his darkest secret to earn his fatherâs love, but nothing is ever good enoughânot even volunteering for the Vietnam War. And with just a few days left before heâs deployed, heâs invited by a striking hippie to join him at a music festival.
Three days of music, drugs, rain, mud, and love forged a bond between these two very different men that would shape the rest of their lives. They share dreams and fears, and when Richard is shipped off to war, they share letters and love. For Richardâs first Christmas home, he is gifted a special angel ornament that just might make a soldierâs wish come true.
This story is one of seven stories which can all be read and enjoyed in any order.
I have to be honest and say I generally don't seek out stories told in the 60s & 70s, maybe its because I was born in 1973 so that time frame isn't old enough to be "historical" and yet its not really new enough to be "present day" either. Don't get me wrong, I don't not read that era if a book that sounds interesting comes along but I just don't go looking for it. So my decision to read A Soldier's Wish was partly the intriguing way the series is connected by a Christmas angel ornament but mostly the author. NR Walker has never let me down before and she didn't here either.
For some Richard and Gary's insta-connection might seem farfetched or reaching but I loved it. Insta-love is not for everyone and I'm the first to admit that sometimes it just doesn't work for the characters or setting but that's not true here. Nope, A Soldier's Wish is well written and completely believable that two people who on the surface are polar opposites but given the right atmosphere you realize that they are only perfect for each other. I really loved how the author used letters and visits to advance the story, giving the boys a piece of each other even when physicality and location wasn't exactly on their side. The letters especially warmed the heart.
As with my reviews for the other entries in The Christmas Angel series, each book is a standalone and can be read in any order. I still highly recommend reading Eli Easton's Christmas Angel first though because I know I would be a bit distracted wondering about the angel's origins and that would take away from completely enjoying the entry I was reading. However, that is just my personal opinion and no matter what order you read this series it is most certainly not one you want to miss.
RATING:
Christmas Homecoming by LA Witt
Chapter 1
Roger
August 1939
âThis place wonât be the same without you around.â
My best friend, Jack OâBrien, 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. âI wonât be gone forever.â
âFour years is a long time.â
âYeah. It is.â He let his elbow brush mine. âBut youâll be so busy you wonât even notice.â
I laughed halfheartedly. âIâm pretty sure Iâll notice.â
He glanced at me, and he started to say something, but then didnât. I was glad, because I had a feeling I knew what he was about to say.
âYouâre gonna be married soon.â
I stared down at the dirt at our feet. I didnât 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 wasnât 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.
âWhere do you think youâll go?â I asked. âAfter college?â
Jack shrugged, staring at the ground like Iâd been doing a moment ago. âWherever thereâs work, I guess.â
There wasnât much work in this town. Hadnât been in years. We hadnât even felt the crash in â29 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 Jackâs words was: I donât think Iâm coming back.
As we kept walking, the silence between us as uncomfortable as it was unusual, I couldnât think of what to say. How to tell him I wanted to go with him. There was nothing for me here except my parentsâ farm, and Lord knew if that would still be standing in a few years.
I didnât imagine there was much for me in the city either, but Jack would be there, and that seemed like enough. I didnât say it, though. The train would take Jack away tomorrow, and I wouldnât be going with him, and that was final. What did it matter if none of this seemed right?
We walked on, and we still didnât talk. The quiet made me itchy. I wasnât used to it. Not with Jack. We talked so much we drove our folks and friends crazy. But ever since weâd met up at the carnival this morning, things had been different. I couldnât figure out what to say. I couldnât 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 âdonât leaveâ or âlet me come with you.â
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 eatâand a few weâd figured out real quick you shouldnâtâand if you followed the trail far enough, there was a swimming hole. Jack told me a while back heâd 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 Jackâs 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 couldnât 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 daysâmosquito bites, leeches, broken arms and all.
And more than that, Iâd miss the friend whoâd been there for all the most amazing adventures.
Iâd always known there would come a time when weâd 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 didnât 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. Iâd 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, whoâd 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 didnât 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.
âNo oneâs expecting us for a while.â He gestured at the trail. âWant go down to the swimming hole?â
I blinked. âWhat?â
âCome on.â The grin widened as if he knew I could never say no to him. âGo jump in the water. Cool off. Have a swim for old timeâs sake?â
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 theyâd 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 holeâa pond about ten yards across and so deep in places weâd 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 wasnât a soul in sight. We had the whole place all to ourselves.
A ways up from the waterâs 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, whenâ
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. Weâd 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 wasnât 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 Iâd never had before. And couldnât explain now. And could barely resist now.
Iâm 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 hadnât 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 weâd 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 didnât want to think about tomorrow.
Unaware of the struggle in my mind, Jack treaded water, smiling as the sun beat down on his face. âAhh. Too bad I wonât be able to do this when Iâm home for Christmas.â
âYou can if you want to, but your balls might not come back down till spring.â
Jack laughed, and I didnât hear what he said because I was too busy staring at him. Weâd swum in this place hundreds of times, but Iâd 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 Iâd never seen before.
He waded closer to me, gaze still fixed on mine. I was standing on some solid ground, and I knew when heâd found his footing because his shoulders rose a couple of inches out of the water. He was taller than me, but the ground mustâve 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 Jackâmy best friend, a boy Iâd known my whole lifeâsuddenly irresistible? Even the cool pond couldnât 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. Weâd touched before, but never like this, and now I really, really wanted to know what it would be like to kiss him.
But heâs Jack. Heâs a man just like you. We canât kiss.
Can we?
âIs thisâŠâ I licked my lips. âAre we supposed toâŠ?â
âDoes it matter?â he whispered, and then Jack OâBrienâs 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 wasnât what was different this time. I loved Jackâs lips against mine. They were cool, but quickly warmed, and they moved gentlyâalmost lazilyâas he drew me closer. There was nothing awkward or embarrassing. Nothing that didnât seem to fit quite right. Part of me worried someone might appear and catch us, and the scandal wasnât one I wanted to imagine, but I couldnât bring myself to let him go. I hadnât 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. Jackâs 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 weâd shared while weâd 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.
Jackâs 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?
âWhat are we doing?â My voice shook as if I were shivering.
âI donât know.â He smoothed my hair with a wet hand. âI donât know why, but Iâve been wanting to do that for a long time.â The sunburn on his cheeks deepened with a blush, and he dropped his gaze. âAnd since Iâm leaving tomorrow, IâŠâ
âIâm glad you did.â
His eyes found mine again, and he watched me silently.
I couldnât 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 itâll 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, âIâll be home for Christmas. Youâll see me again before you know it.â
We gazed at each other, and my heart ached.
But youâll go back after Christmas.
But weâre men.
But Daisy.
âIâll write you,â I said, as if it would make any difference. âAs often as I can.â
His sweet smile made me feel things Iâd 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. âIâll send you my address as soon as I can. And you better write.â
âI will. I promise.â
âMe too.â Beneath the water, his hand slid up my back, and he drew me in closer. âIâm going to miss you.â
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 thatâa 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.
Soldier's Wish by NR Walker
CHAPTER ONE
Gary Fairchild
Thursday, August 14, 1969
âPull in at the diner, âPauly cried.
âMan, you shouldâve eaten already. Weâve only been on the road for an hour,â Kathryn said. That was true. Weâd left Western Connecticut State College at sunrise and had only made it as far as the prime farming country of Middletown, New York. She waved over the bench seat to the back of the van, where Pauly and I were sitting. âCheck the cooler. Thereâs plenty to eat now that Colleen isnât coming.â
âNah, I want something fried. Like eggs. And toast. And coffee,â Pauly added. âAnd Iâm pretty sure we wonât be eating real food for the next three days.â
I conceded with a nod. âTrue.â
Lyman gave Kathryn a mellow smile. âThe manâs got a point.â
Kathryn quickly agreed. âI wonder if they have herbal tea.â
âDoubtful, but thereâs only one way to find out,â Lyman said, flipping on the blinker. He pulled the van into the lot, and the four of us piled out. The diner was kinda old, kinda cool, and the bell on the door hadnât finished chiming before the waitress said hello.
The place was busy enough for the breakfast shift, and I figured being on I-84 made it good for locals and travelers alike. Not that the locals looked too happy to see us; a few farming typesâcoveralls and truckersâ capsâturned to stare. I heard a mumble of âdamn hippiesâ and âheaded to White Lakeâ but ignored it. If our choice of clothes and long hair and music wasnât to their liking, they were in for one helluva disappointment because these parts of the State of New York were in for a lesson in counterculture the next three days.
The Aquarian Expositionâ3 Days of Peace & Music was rolling into Sullivan County.
We took a booth and ordered. Paulyâs mention of eggs and bacon had us all vying for the same, and man, it was good. Life as a college student didnât afford us many luxuries, but then, we werenât big on material things.
âSo tell me again,â Pauly said after his last forkful. It was like he could only retain information when fed. âWhy did Colleen bail?â
I knew Kathrynâs reply would be long and Iâd heard it all before. I was pretty sure Pauly had too, but he listened intently. âYou know she withdrew, right?â she started. âHer parents lined up a secretarial job at their lawyers and insisted she take it. They truly think a woman shouldnât aspire to be anything more than a secretary or a motherâŠâ Kathryn went on. And on. And on.
And then Lyman began on corporate power and privatization and outsourcing and the detriment to the fundamental rights of the people⊠And so it went on.
I loved Lyman and Kathryn. I really did. They were passionate about our country, total freedom riders, but Iâd heard all of this before. More than a few times. And Iâd engaged in lengthy debates, but it was a fire in them that would never be contained. Over the years it simply changed direction, rekindled, and on it raged again.
I began to study the other folks in the diner. The hippie-hating farmers were still there, sour-faced, scowling into their cups of joe. And there was a young family; I smiled as the kids enjoyed their pancakes. But then there was a guy, by himself, in a booth staring out the window. He was wearing slacks and a sweater. His blond hair was the good olâ short back and sides. He was so tidy and clean-cut, he couldnât be anything but military. The duffle bag at his feet confirmed my suspicion.
U.S. Army.
Normally I wouldnât look twice at his type, and Lord knew, his type never looked twice at me. But there was a look of such profound sadness on his face, I couldnât look away.
âGary?â Lyman called my name.
I turned, not having heard any of what heâd said before. The three of them were watching me. âHey, Iâm just gonna go say hi.â I took my cup of coffee and slid out of the booth.
âWeâre leaving in five,â Kathryn called after me.
I gave her a nod to let her know Iâd heard her and made my way over to the sad army guy. He was still staring out the window, looking like he was fighting tears. âHey,â I said so as not to scare him. I nodded to the seat opposite him. âCan I join you?â
He startled anyway and shifted in his seat. âOh, sure,â he replied.
I slid in and put my coffee between us. âI was just sitting over there with my friends,â I explained. âI couldnât help notice.â
His eyes, so blue, shot to mine. âNotice what?â
Wow, okay. So that was an overreaction. And over what? What did he think I noticed? He swallowed hard and looked back out the window, a deep blush staining his cheeks.
I put my hand up. âI couldnât help but notice you were here alone.â
He glanced at me again, then kept his eyes on his hands that were now clasped on the table. âSorry, I⊠IâŠâ He sighed. âItâs been a helluva day.â
âItâs early morning.â
The guy almost smiled, then shook his head. âFeels longer.â
It was pretty clear he wasnât having a good day, so I gave him a smile. âMy nameâs Gary Fairchild.â
He looked at me then, like really met my eyes. His cheeks pinked up a little. âNice to meet you, Gary. Iâm Richard Ronsman.â
In 1750, a master woodcarver poured all his unrequited love, passion, and longing into his masterpieceâa gorgeous Christmas angel for his belovedâs 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 itâs 1700s England (Eli Easton's Christmas Angel), the 1880âs New York (Kim Fieldingâs Summerfieldâs Angel), the turn-of-the-century (Jordan L. Hawkâs Magicianâs Angel), World War II (L.A. Wittâs Christmas Homecoming), Vietnam-era (N.R. Walkerâs Soldierâs Wish), the 1990âs (Anyta Sundayâs Shrewd Angel), or 2018 (RJ Scottâs 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.
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 itâs 1700s England (Eli Easton's Christmas Angel), the 1880âs New York (Kim Fieldingâs Summerfieldâs Angel), the turn-of-the-century (Jordan L. Hawkâs Magicianâs Angel), World War II (L.A. Wittâs Christmas Homecoming), Vietnam-era (N.R. Walkerâs Soldierâs Wish), the 1990âs (Anyta Sundayâs Shrewd Angel), or 2018 (RJ Scottâs 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
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.
N.R. Walker is an Australian author, who loves her genre of gay romance. She loves writing and spends far too much time doing it, but wouldn't have it any other way.
She is many things; a mother, a wife, a sister, a writer. She has pretty, pretty boys who she gives them life with words.
She likes it when they do dirty, dirty things...but likes it even more when they fall in love. She used to think having people in her head talking to her was weird, until one day she happened across other writers who told her it was normal.
Sheâs been writing ever since...
LA Witt
NR Walker
Christmas Homecoming by LA Witt
Soldier's Wish by NR Walker
