Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74256 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74256 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Quickly, I unpack, shoving my bag beneath my cot and head off in search of cell reception. From the time change, I know it’s late in California, but I need to hear her voice. I walk about a hundred yards from where we're staying and get my first line of signal. I stop walking and dial her number, hoping the call goes through.
She picks up on the first ring. “Chad.”
My body relaxes. The tension rolls away at the sound of her voice. “How’s my wife?”
She laughs.
Fuck, I wish I could bottle that sound.
Maybe I can ask her to do a voice recording and send it to me. Hearing her laugh would definitely help get me through what’s to come while we’re here.
“Exhausted. We moved everything from the hotel to the house. It’s so cute, a two-bedroom. It almost looks like a cottage.”
“Is everyone still there?”
“Ford and Shayne are here. They’re in the guest room on an air mattress they picked up in town. Our parents all went back to the hotel, and your sister too. I offered her to sleep with me in our bed, but she said someone had to keep our parents in line.” She chuckles, as if the thought of our parents causing trouble is hilarious, and it is. I’d be laughing too, but I’m stuck on her saying “our bed,” and wishing like hell I’d had a few more days, hell, months, to be with her before I had to deploy.
“That’s good. I’m glad you’re not alone. How is the house? Is it in decent shape?”
“Yeah,” she replies softly. “It’s really cute, actually. The previous tenants left some furniture. It’s nothing fancy, but I like it. How are things?”
I spend a few minutes telling her about the hot desert sun, the dry sand, and our living conditions. “It’s not home,” I tell her. What I don’t say is that even living in this dust bowl, if she were here, it would feel like home.
She’s my home.
“Did you get my letter?”
“I did. Thank you. It was exactly what I needed.”
“Good, because I might have already written you another one.”
“Read it to me.”
“What? No. I’m going to put it in the mail in the morning.”
“I wrote you back, too, but we only get incoming and outgoing mail once a week.”
“Well, I guess that means you’re going to be getting a lot of letters on mail day.”
“Good. It makes me feel close to you.”
“Read it to me.” She tosses my words back at me. “Oh, and thank you for the stack of envelopes.”
“I did that while you were gone. I had some nervous energy. It made me feel like I was doing something to help you prepare to leave. There are some in your bag that are blank, with just stamps as well. I’ll send you more in my package next week.”
“You don’t have to send me anything.”
“I’m your wife; of course I do.”
My. Wife.
I love saying it. I love hearing it, but hearing it from her lips, that does something to me. Something that has my pulse racing. I’ve always wanted her. From the moment we met, she was the only woman I could see. Now she’s mine, and I’ll be damned if I let her go without a fight.
“I should let you get some sleep. I’m exhausted, and I need to report in thirty minutes to get our orders.”
“Please stay safe.”
“Always.”
“I miss you.”
“I miss you too. I’ll call again when I can.”
“Okay.” I can hear the crack in her voice. I want to tell her not to cry for me, but I can feel those same emotions welling inside me too. The pain of being away from her is almost too much to bear.
“Bye, baby.”
“Bye.”
My hand shakes as I force myself to remove the phone from my ear and end the call. I slide my phone into my pocket and head back to the tent. The sooner I get my assignment, the sooner this starts, and I can get home to her. I’m hoping for four months, not the six they say is possible. Four months is too long, and six seems like a lifetime.
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
Faith
Walking out of the bedroom, I smile when I see the picture from our wedding day hanging on the wall. I look at it every single day. I was able to get prints made before Ford left and he made sure to hang it for me. Not that I couldn’t handle it on my own; it’s not rocket science. However, my brother spouted off something about little sisters and best friend’s wives. I didn’t quite understand his mumble, but I got the gist of it. He was taking care of me, not only because I was his little sister, but because I was his best friend’s wife.
I’m somebody’s wife.
That’s hard to grasp most days. The ceremony feels as though it was a dream. In fact, if it hadn’t been for both of our families hanging around a few extra days to help me move into this house and get settled, it would be hard for me to grasp. I guess there is also the wedding band on my left hand, one that I look at often, and then the photo hanging on the wall.