Tawny Weber - Call To Honor

What the hell was she thinking, wondering if she should get naked with the hottie next door when her face looked like this? She yanked open the bottom drawer of the floor to ceiling corner cabinet and pawed through the array of bottles and jars and tins. Bubble bath, body lotion, tanning cream. Eye shadows, miracle mascaras, blushers by the dozen. Harper shuffled and dug until, a fistful of samples in hand, she rose to spread the tubes and tins over the bathroom counter.

After squinting her way through the tiny print and wondering if bifocals were next, she settled on four antiaging ones that promised to turn back time. A daytime moisturizer with SPF, a hydration-boosting serum, an age-reversing night cream and a mask rich in botanicals.

She’d need to visit one of those skin care counters at the mall, but she figured there wasn’t a moment to lose fighting the affects that that bitch, age, was trying to gash into her face. She’d be damned if she’d let her win.

Twenty minutes later, she’d washed, masked, toned and moisturized. She flexed a little, feeling righteous in her fight. Take that, bitch, she huffed into the mirror.

Hair pulled back in a tight ponytail and her face glistening with a thick layer that promised dewy youth, she caught sight of herself in the cherry-trimmed cheval mirror.

She had to laugh.

She looked like this, and she was worrying about wrinkles keeping her from hitting on the neighbor?

This was the closest thing to seduction wear she owned. The black nightshirt fit just fine, skimming her breasts and hitting midthigh. But it was roomy rather than revealing, and while the cotton was wonderfully soft, Wonder Woman was so wash-worn that she was more a shadow than an actual image.

She was so not the seduce-the-neighbor-into-a-puddle-of-lust type of woman.

Hoping that little taste of reality would put an end to the crazy thoughts that kept trying to take hold, she headed down the hall. She stopped to take a quick peek at Nathan. In the glow of the star-shaped nightlight, her son slept with his usual exuberant abandon. Blankets kicked this way, arms and legs sprawled. His face buried in the pillow, his hair stuck up in little tufts. Her fingers itched to smooth it down, to straighten his blankets and settle him into the center of the bed. But he’d wake at the lightest touch. So she simply listened to the gentle sound of his breath, watched the easy rise and fall of his chest. After a long moment, she pulled the door three-quarters shut again and went to her own room.

The bulk of the furnishings in the house belonged to Andi, including the four-poster bed. But the bedding, oh, that’d been Harper’s single indulgence for herself when they’d moved in. Heavy gold brocade and apricot satin, it was so rich and elegant, it made her feel like a princess. She woke every morning feeling as if she actually belonged in a house this fancy, as if she’d finally earned the right to such sumptuous surroundings. That she’d finally shed the grasping guttersnipe label pinned on her so many years before by Brandon’s mother.

With that thought firmly in mind, knowing she’d put it off long enough, Harper reached under the mound of decorative pillows on her bed and pulled out the envelope that had come with today’s delivery of a box of memories.

She tapped it on her palm a couple of times, then set it on the nightstand. She pulled back the blankets, climbed beneath the cool sheets and fluffed her pillow a couple of times before leaning back.

Then she lifted the envelope again. With a deep breath, she slid her thumb beneath the flap and carefully tore the seal.

Ms. Maclean,

You don’t know me but I served with Brandon Ramsey. He was my mentor, my friend and my roommate. He was a hero who deserves to be honored. But the Navy is tying that honor up in red tape. They are trying to make him a scapegoat for a team too incompetent to retrieve his body. That means they won’t send Brandon’s son the benefits he deserves. Instead they’re destroying the legacy your son’s father left behind. I’m sending a few things so his son can appreciate what a great man he was. But that’s not enough. They need to honor Brandon, to show the world what a hero he was. This is a mess. I hope you can help me fix it.

Keep the Spirit Alive!

Dane Adams

Harper read it again, then one more time, then glanced at the rest of the papers. News clippings, write-ups on Brandon’s deeds, certificates.

She could only sigh.

This poor guy. Of course the situation was a mess. What else would Brandon leave behind? She didn’t understand the part about the Navy making Brandon a scapegoat. More likely it was just red tape and some sort of military rules or regulations that this guy was upset over.

It wasn’t until she saw a tear splash onto the paper that Harper realized she was crying. She didn’t know why. Brandon had destroyed all of her illusions years ago when he’d crushed her heart.

She shoved the unread documents back into the envelope.

This wasn’t her life. It wasn’t her problem.

Whatever Brandon had done, whether he’d died a hero or not, it didn’t matter.

Not to her.

But tears still came, even as she slowly drifted into sleep.

Not for Brandon this time. Or even for Nathan.

But for the girl she’d been, the one who’d believed in heroes.

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