"Merry Christmas, Miss Summers.” Lou paused, then added as she stepped into the hallway, “If you need anything, please don't hesitate to ask. I'm at your beck and call, anytime of night or day."
"Thank you. I'll keep that in mind."
Lou stood and watched her walk down the hall, then turned back toward the bed. As soon as he reached the bedside, a gravelly voice grabbed and held his attention in awe.
"You hitting on my woman, Sergeant?"
"OhmyGod, you're awake. Let me catch her."
Mitch caught his wrist before Lou could move. It took great effort, but Mitch managed to turn his head, open his eyes, and continue.
"I've got a better idea.” He took a deep breath, licked his lips then added, “But I'm going to need your help to pull it off."
Allie took the last tray of cookies from the oven and placed them on the cooling racks. It was the third batch of gingerbread men she'd made that resembled Marines. Oh God, who did she have on her mind? This was the first time in five weeks she hadn't sat at his side, talking to him, reading a book or newspaper to him, praying he'd wake. With a shake of her head, she truly didn't need an answer. Only one Marine-Sergeant Mitch Sinclair-had won her heart and soul.
The ring of the doorbell snapped her from another daydream of the hunky Marine. She issued a silent prayer for his safekeeping and wellbeing as she exited the kitchen and crossed the living room. Her father descended the stairs as she reached the front door.
Swinging it open, her heart skipped a beat and her jaw dropped. Dress blues never looked so good. From his head to his toes, he stood regal and strong. One would never have known he'd lain in a dormant state for the past weeks. Sword at his side, gold buttons shined, and his white hat positioned jauntily, shadowing what she knew were a set of gorgeous brilliant blue eyes. She couldn't speak for fear she may be suffering from some sort of delusion and he'd disappear the moment she opened her mouth.
His words came loud and clear on his thick southern drawl touching her heart and sealing her fate.
"I understand someone in this house asked for a special gift for Christmas."
Allie's voice shook. “How… how are you here? When I left you last night, you were unconscious."
She wanted to touch him, but kept her hands knotted in her apron. Yet, if she reached for him, would he dissipate and this turn out to be a mere dream? She wasn't sure she could handle such a grand disappointment. The last few weeks were tough, between trekking to the hospital daily, to taking care of her father, to dealing with loving an unconscious man and not knowing if she would ever see the wondrous shade of blue again. Everything weighed heavy on her spirit and soul, but a sliver of hope had kept her going. If this was a dream, God, she prayed she'd never wake.
"I had a little help getting here.” Following the direction of his nod, she noticed Sergeant Randle leaning against a car in the driveway. Odd, she hadn't seen him earlier, but her eyesight had been narrowed by a vision from heaven that filled her doorway.
"Oh, my God, it is you.” Allie fell into his arms, crying and laughing at the same time. Her prayers were answered. “This isn't a dream."
Mitch cupped her chin, lifting her gaze to meet his. “I'm here because of you. Everyday, a sweet voice whispered to my tired soul. It was you who guided me back and gave me the strength to heal."
He ran his thumb across her trembling lip and brushed the hair from her eyes.
"Allie, it was your Christmas wish that touched my heart and led me to you. I heard your voice every day. You were there for me when I needed someone in my life the most. I couldn't let you down."
Allie swallowed hard against the lump in her throat and stated on a shaky whisper, “All I want for Christmas is a Marine."
Mitch leaned in close, gathered her in his arms, and smiled. Hovering within millimeters of her lips, he stated right before he captured her mouth in a passionate embrace…
"Wish granted."
Mission Mistletoe by Lori Avocato
After working thirteen years as a registered nurse, four of which she felt like ‘Hot Lips Houlihan’ while serving in the United States Air Force, Lori Avocato picked up a book and said, “Hm. I can write one of these.” Yeah right!
Now as an award-winning author, Lori is multi-published with fifteen books currently sold in which her humor lends itself to her comedic voice. She writes contemporary novels and often uses her military, medical, or a combination of both backgrounds in her plots.
As an Air Force veteran, Lori belongs to RomVets and The Nathan Hale Chapter of Military Officers Association. As a writer, she belongs to The Author's Guild, Mystery Writers of America, Sisters in Crime, and Romance Writers of America along with several local chapters.
Lori lives in the New England area, raising two teenage sons (Heaven help her!), and, of course, continuing to write novels. She'd love to hear from you via email at LAvocato@cox.net
This story is dedicated to all the men and women in the military both past and present.
Thanks to my mom, who was in the WACS during WWII, for encouraging me to follow in her military footsteps.
Chapter One
"Good Lord! Please don't make me get in one of those flying coffins so close to Christmas! I'd really rather not take the helicopter runs this week-or ever.” Prue leaned forward as if her chief nurse, Colonel Fisher, would agree to her plea-merely by the subordinate officer's body language-even though she was on the medical/surgical unit's telephone. Somehow she felt the gesture would help through the phone lines.
Come on, lady, those helos don't make me feel very safe. I mean, one ‘Jesus’ bolt holding on the blades. Blades? Does that tell you something? “Ma'am, the Air Force regulation says the fire truck has to be at the helipad every time a chopper lands. That reg… well, it doesn't make me feel very safe."
"I'm well aware of Air Force regs. As a matter of fact, I have a few years on you in that department, Captain, and I certainly wouldn't want you not to feel safe. My goodness. No. I mean, I'm sure you joined the military in wartime to sit on a fluffy chair eating bonbons."
Wow. Suddenly it dawned on Prue that the colonel's voice wasn't at all very motherly. Made her homesick for Connecticut. Ah, Connecticut. Where Christmas was made. Holiday cards always had Currier and Ives pictures of New England. Not, New Mexico-even in December. No wonder she didn't care if she spent Christmas on duty.
No family around.
No snow.
No man.
And she wasn't about to count the horny paratrooper who trailed after her around the base the last few months. Slick she'd called him since he thought he was so cool, jumping out of airplanes to save the injured. Well, she sure didn't want him jumping after her… or her bones! Those PJ, no matter how hot and hunky, were a breed of their own as were the fighter pilots. They should all be forced to have a ‘beware of your heart’ emblem on their sleeves.
The colonel cleared her throat. Whoa boy. That always came before the woman spewed out a direct order. So, in her usual rebellious military nature, Prudence hurriedly said, “I know, ma'am! Here's a thought. I can cover the OB unit while Lieutenant Foster takes the chopper run. She loves flying. Doesn't even vomit! Wait! Oh, you'll love this. I'll do an extra shift on Christmas for you! What a deal! Like an early Christmas present, ma'am."