Bring Me Home for Christmas - By Robyn Carr Page 0,27

sooner had she gotten settled than her brother and his friends came in. They were exuberant; they had dead ducks in the back of the truck. Becca laughed as she secretly measured the merits of broken bones.

Denny was busy behind the bar, but only for a few minutes after his pals returned from hunting. He made sure his party was served, then sat with them. Since Becca hadn’t had a pain pill since morning, she thought a beer might serve her just as well, so she asked for a mug and poured one from the pitcher Denny brought.

The hunting party of Marines relaxed with their beer and reminisced about Iraq, about mutual friends, about what they’d been doing for the past few years, and she enjoyed it thoroughly. Men, she knew, weren’t too good about keeping in touch with each other. There were the occasional emails or phone calls, but it took a gathering like this to really put them in touch again. And these were men who had served in a war together, who’d kept each other’s backs, who had stood watch while their buddies slept on the desert floor in a faraway land.

They poked and jabbed at each other, made fun, and no one escaped. There were a few toasts to comrades past and one very solemn remembrance of a man named Swany—she made a mental note to ask Denny or Rich about him later.

It seemed they all but forgot she was there and this was very much to her liking. She sat at the end of the table with her foot up on the opposite chair, while Denny and Rich sat on one side and Troy and Dirk on the other. She was able to be an observer, taking in their easy rapport, their humor and even gallantry as they spoke up for each other, praising small acts of bravery in the field.

“That Seth—he couldn’t walk and chew gum at the same time. Didn’t you carry him, Troy, about two miles after he blew out his knee in Baghdad?” Denny asked.

“Yeah, it was me, and I’ve had trouble with my knee ever since.”

“I offered to take him,” Rich said. “I think you were looking for a medal or something.”

“And all I got was a bad knee. Seth, though—he’s fine.”

Denny served them a salmon and wild rice dinner, a culinary event that had the boys talking about fishing as opposed to duck hunting the next day. They had all come with empty coolers, prepared to take their trophies home to impress either girlfriends or mothers.

When Denny cleared the dinner plates away, the bar was taking on a slightly different atmosphere. The locals had cleared out and there were only a few out-of-towners, either fishermen or hunters. Jack wandered over to their group, pulled another table up close and sat down with them. He asked the guys about their hunting. A few minutes later, Preacher came out of the kitchen, checked to make sure their few patrons were fine, then went behind the bar to pour a couple of shots, which he carried to the table Jack had pulled up.

There was a little grousing about last night’s poker—apparently Jack had taken complete advantage of the younger guys and Preacher had folded before becoming a victim.

Talk among the men wandered back to the Marine Corps, how it had been in the old days, how it was now. The few patrons who had lingered wandered off and it was just them—Jack and Preacher and Denny’s hunting party. The bar was dim and cozy, the fire was warm, the mood was one of friendship, camaraderie and mutual respect. Becca was feeling more comfortable and at home than she had since arriving. She was feeling less alone than she had in a long time.

“What time do we go out to the river?” Dirk asked.

“It’s close and dawn is later—seven is good,” Denny said. “Salmon’s up now and it’s good fishing. They’re moving upriver to spawn.”

“Salmon’s bleak in Sacramento right now,” Troy said. “I’m looking for something huge. Like that,” he said, gesturing to the mounted thirty-pounder over the bar.

“Becca, you feel okay?” Rich suddenly asked her.

“Sure,” she said. “Why?”

“You haven’t kept your mouth shut this long since the day you were born,” he pointed out.

“I said the salmon dinner was amazing!”

“You usually have a lot more to say,” he said. “About everything.”

Denny laughed before he said, “You about ready for bed, Becca?”

The entire gathering, including Jack, sent up a great round of whoops