Megan Randall dusted aside the fallen leaves and twigs scattered across the gravestone, detritus of the storm that had blown through northeastern Alabama overnight. She never put flowers on her husband's grave, not even on decoration day. Soft had never been his style. Vince had been tough as old leather, strong as steel. She'd loved that part of him since she was sixteen. She wouldn't dishonor it after death.

Of course, he'd hate to know she visited his grave daily, like a ritual, but he'd just have to forgive her.

"No tornadoes this time." She traced the curves and lines of his name etched in the glossy granite. "A limb from the hickory tree in the backyard fell on my tomatoes, though. Ticked me off."

The only answer was a light breeze rustling the trees nearby and the soft snuffling sound of Patton investigating the grass behind her. He tugged impatiently on the leash, a signal to move along before he did something they'd both regret on one of the nearby graves.

She led the mutt out of the small graveyard, sparing a quick look behind her as they moved back onto the country road. Vince could have qualified for burial with honors at Arlington, but he'd made her promise that if he died in battle, she'd lay him to rest right here in Chickasaw County. He was an Alabama boy, born and bred.

Patton pulled to a halt, his normally floppy ears peaked and his furry body rigidly at attention. He gazed into the woods ahead, a low whine emerging from his throat. Not a warning, exactly, but it made the hair on the back of Megan's neck prickle.

She peered into the gloom, unable to see any movement within the thick vegetation. A squirrel, she thought. Or a rabbit. Nothing more threatening than that.

But the hair on the back of her neck continued to rise.

Though not a fearful person, Megan wasn't foolish. Her house was only a mile up the road, but Patton's soft whines convinced her to circle back around the cemetery toward her sister's house and the safety of numbers. It was Saturday morning, so Isabel and Ben would probably be home. And if they weren't, Megan had a key to let herself into the house.

To her surprise, however, Patton pulled against the leash as she tried to bring him around in the opposite direction.

"Come on, Patton—let's go! Heel!" She gave a sharp tug, and the big dog finally came to heel as she'd trained him to do. He trotted beside her as she jogged toward her sister's house, his furry head turning now and then toward the direction from which they'd come.

She found Isabel and Ben in the front yard of the sprawling farmhouse, piling up limbs the storm had knocked from one of their old oaks. Patton tugged on the leash, eager to go to Isabel, one of his favorite people.

Megan's sister looked up at his happy bark and grinned. "Patty McPatton!" she called as Megan reached down and released the dog from his leash. The mutt raced to Isabel, his back end dancing as she bent to greet him.

Ben kept his distance—Patton was still deciding if he liked the new person taking up his beloved Isabel's attention—and smiled at Megan as she approached. "One of these days, that tree's going to come crashing down on the house. I keep telling Isabel we need to top it off, but I think it'd break her heart."

"What brings y'all here?" Isabel asked, still scratching Patton's ears while the dog panted.

Not wanting to admit she'd been spooked by a whining dog, Megan shrugged. "Just out for a run and thought we'd come by."

"Have you eaten yet?" Isabel asked. "Ben and I are about to drive to town for breakfast, as soon as we wash up. Want to join us? We can drop off Patton on the way."

Megan was sure the last thing the newlyweds needed was a third wheel for their breakfast date. "I've eaten," she lied. "But Patton and I will take a ride back to the house, if you're offering."

"Sure thing," Ben agreed. "Be right back."

"We'll be out here." Megan settled on the porch swing to wait, gazing toward the woods that lined the other side of the road. She still felt a low level sense of alarm, as if someone lurked in the deep woods, just out of her sight.

Someone watching her.

At her knee, Patton whined again, his tail thumping a steady cadence on the porch floor. Ears alert, he peered into the woods across the road.

Her heartbeat quickened. "What do you see, boy?"

The front door screen opened with a creak, making her jump. Isabel and Ben emerged, hand in hand. Megan tamped down a twinge of envy and greeted them with a smile.

"Sure you don't want to go to breakfast with us?" Ben asked. "You're more than welcome."

"I figure you two have at least three more months of matrimonial bliss before you'll really notice anyone else in the room with you, so I'll pass," she answered with genuine affection. Isabel and Ben had reunited only a month ago, after her sister had spent six months believing the man she secretly loved had been killed in a bomb explosion. She'd been given a second chance at love and grabbed it with both hands.

Megan would never get that chance. She'd seen her husband's body with her own eyes, still and lifeless in his dress blues. She'd said her goodbyes alone by his casket at the tiny church where he'd been baptized as a teenager. At least the kill shot had been through the heart, giving her the chance for an open casket and a final goodbye. She knew plenty of military widows who hadn't been afforded that.

It was a comfort, however small.

Patton piled into the backseat of Ben's Jeep Cherokee with Megan, snuggling close to her. He'd been here in the States with her for four years, since just before Vince's death, but he still got nervous in cars.

"How's he doing?" Isabel asked, meeting Megan's gaze in the rearview mirror.

"He's fine—aren't you, boy?" She gave the dog a hug and he leaned his muscular, furry body into hers. Tears stung her eyes but she fought them back.

He had been Vince's dog originally, a stray he and the other men in his squad had found wandering around their forward base in Ralijah, Kaziristan. He'd been a puppy, orphaned, perhaps, or just abandoned by his wandering mother. Young enough to tame easily under the affectionate care of his adopted family of soldiers, Patton had become the camp mascot. But after a scary near-miss with one of the unit's armored vehicles, Vince had arranged for the puppy to be shipped home to Megan.

She'd been happy for the companion and made fast friends with the German Shepherd mix puppy. They'd both waited patiently for three long months for Vince's return.

They hadn't expected he'd come home in a flag-draped box, she thought, her gaze drawn to her husband's gravesite as they passed the cemetery on the way to her house.

Ben and Isabel let her out at the front gate of her small bungalow, a river stone and clapboard house nestled in a wooded area near the base of Gossamer Mountain. A mile to the south, Gossamer Lake sparkled through the trees, reminding her that May was almost halfway over and she still hadn't been bluegill fishing with her cousin Hannah as promised.

She'd broken a lot of promises over the past four years.

"Come on, Patton, let's go inside." She unlocked the front door and waited for the dog to enter. But Patton lingered in the front yard, sniffing the monkey grass growing at the edge of the fence near the gate.


He looked up at her briefly, panted happily, then resumed his investigation of the fence edge.

With a sigh, she entered the house alone, knowing he'd scratch at the door soon enough. Despite being a refugee from a very rugged land, he'd grown to appreciate the creature comforts of America, like central air-conditioning to ward off the humid heat of an Alabama summer and the dog food bowl that magically filled whenever he was hungry.

She wondered if he was still waiting for Vince to come home. Did he wonder why the big, tough soldier who saved him from a life of hardship had never shown up again?

Her eyes burned again. She rubbed her fingers against the sting until she regained control.

Today was May fourteenth. Seven years and a week ago, she'd married Vince Randall in the same little church where she'd laid him to rest. He was supposed to have come home in time to celebrate their third wedding anniversary.

Things hadn't worked out that way.

Text Copyright 2012 by Paula Graves. Permission to reproduce text granted by Harlequin Books S.A.