Unpredictable Love

  UNPREDICTABLE LOVE

  Jean C. Joachim

  Moonlight Books

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  A Moonlight Books Novel

  Sensual Romance

  Unpredictable Love

  Copyright © 2016 Jean C. Joachim

  E-book ISBN: 978-0-9971833-5-1

  Cover design by Dawné Dominique

  Edited by Tabitha Bower

  Proofread by Renee Waring

  All cover art and logo copyright © 2016 by Moonlight Books

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  PUBLISHER

  Moonlight Books

  Dedication

  To the late Nan Eddleston Cohen and Dr. Benjamin Cohen, the inspiration for the loving aunt and uncle in this book.

  And to the late Marilyn Reisse Lee, the best friend anyone could ever have.

  Acknowledgment

  Thank you to the following people: Tabitha Bower, my editor, Renee Waring, my proofreader, Sherri Good, David Joachim, Larry Joachim and Steve Joachim, for providing support, love & laughter.

  Other books by Jean C. Joachim

  FIRST & TEN SERIES

  GRIFF MONTGOMERY, QUARTERBACK

  BUDDY CARRUTHERS, WIDE RECEIVER

  PETE SEBASTIAN, COACH

  DEVON DRAKE, CORNERBACK

  SLY “BULLHORN” BRODSKY, OFFENSIVE LINE

  AL “TRUNK” MAHONEY, DEFENSIVE LINE

  HARLEY BRENNAN, RUNNING BACK

  OVERTIME

  THE MANHATTAN DINNER CLUB

  RESCUE MY HEART

  SEDUCING HIS HEART

  SHINE YOUR LOVE ON ME

  TO LOVE OR NOT TO LOVE

  HOLLYWOOD HEARTS SERIES

  IF I LOVED YOU

  RED CARPET ROMANCE

  MEMORIES OF LOVE

  MOVIE LOVERS

  LOVE’S LAST CHANCE

  LOVERS & LIARS

  His Leading Lady (Series Starter)

  NOW AND FOREVER SERIES

  NOW AND FOREVER 1, A LOVE STORY

  NOW AND FOREVER 2, THE BOOK OF DANNY

  NOW AND FOREVER 3, BLIND LOVE

  NOW AND FOREVER 4, THE RENOVATED HEART

  NOW AND FOREVER 5, LOVE’S JOURNEY

  NOW AND FOREVER, CALLIE’S STORY (series starter)

  MOONLIGHT SERIES

  SUNNY DAYS, MOONLIT NIGHTS

  APRIL’S KISS IN THE MOONLIGHT

  UNDER THE MIDNIGHT MOON

  MOONLIGHT & ROSES (prequel)

  LOST & FOUND SERIES

  With Ben Tanner

  LOVE, LOST AND FOUND

  DANGEROUS LOVE, LOST AND FOUND

  NEW YORK NIGHTS NOVELS

  THE MARRIAGE LIST

  THE LOVE LIST

  THE DATING LIST

  PINE GROVE NOVELS

  UNPREDICTABLE LOVE

  TOO LATE FOR GOODBYE*

  ECHOES OF THE HEART*

  *to come

  SHORT STORIES

  SWEET LOVE REMEMBERED

  TUFFER’S CHRISTMAS WISH

  Chapter One

  Jory Walker plucked three letters from the mailbox in front of the house. Two bills and one envelope addressed to her that looked like it had been through a war. It had, according to what was scratched in the upper corner.

  SSGT. T. Stevens

  Anger bubbled up inside her. She made a beeline for the house, only to collide with her sister.

  “Amber! What the hell?” She waved the envelope in the young woman’s face.

  “I just sent him one letter.”

  “This is the fourth you’ve gotten from him. When are you going to write back?”

  “It was a mistake…”

  “You can say that again. Especially the part where you signed my name!”

  “Laura was so convincing. I thought she meant one time. Only one letter.”

  “She asked people to sign up to write to guys in the military. Not to write only one letter and include a lewd photo.”

  “It wasn’t lewd, whatever that means. Just me in a bikini. I’m not good at writing. Much better at pictures.” Her beautiful, blonde sister, with a Miss America figure, grinned.

  “And the reason you signed my name?”

  “I always liked yours better. Besides, if he wanted another letter, I knew you’d write it for me. So, it might as well have your name on it.”

  “Don’t give me that bullshit smile. I’m on to you. And the answer is ‘no.’” Jory shoved the envelope from T. Stevens into Amber’s hand.

  “Please? Pleeeaassseee, Jory. You’re the writer. Not me.”

  “That’s right. You’re the pretty sister, and I’m the smart one.”

  Amber nodded. “I don’t mean it like that. You’re so much better than me.”

  “Than I.”

  “See?”

  “No.”

  Amber’s jaw jutted out. “Okay. Disappoint some poor guy out there fighting a war. Look at his picture. He’s hot, even with a buzz cut. Besides, he might die. Your words could be the last ones he ever sees!”

  “He’s expecting you, not me.”

  “Yeah, the picture. But he’ll never know. He’s in Afghanistan somewhere. Real far away. Just write one or two letters then tell him you got engaged.”

  “What a mean thing to do! Lead him on then dump him with a lie?”

  “You’re not going to marry that creep, Archie?”

  “Hell, no!”

  “Then why do you go out with him?”

  “He beats what’s on TV. Well, most of what’s on TV.”

  “You deserve better.” Amber turned her big blues on her sibling.

  As soon as she ramped up the supportive heat, Jory melted. She always did and knew her little sister was manipulating her. But she was powerless to resist. Ever since their parents had been killed in a car crash fifteen years ago, Jory had taken Amber under her wing.

  She snatched the envelope from Amber’s hand with a snort of disgust and returned to the house. The pretty blonde slid behind the wheel of her car and waved goodbye.

  The two girls had had to leave their home in New York City and move in with their widowed aunt, Nan Edwards. It had been traumatic for the much younger one, but Jory had adjusted well. She loved Pine Grove, a small town on Cedar Lake in upstate New York.

  Amber was a different story. She dreamt of beauty pageants and Hollywood. New York had given birth to those aspirations, with the promise of fame on every corner, from Broadway to Park
Avenue. Pine Grove didn’t fit that picture. No one took her seriously, least of all her big sister.

  Jory, thirty-two, wrote for the Pine Grove Independent, the town weekly newspaper. It didn’t pay much, but spending her days in the company of other newshounds stimulated her curiosity. Then, there was the fun stuff—rubbing elbows with the locals. She interviewed the women’s club and covered the softball tournament between the state troopers and the volunteer firemen. She reported the pros and cons of fracking, and kept the community informed.

  Respect came her way as an outgrowth of her work. Jory Walker had the ideal job, but it didn’t keep her warm at night or send shivers through her in the bedroom.

  Amber worked for Beasley’s pharmacy, doing makeovers and hawking makeup for the small store. She didn’t make much money, but had access to tons of new products, which she tested on herself and her family at every opportunity. She loved her job.

  Jory tossed the letter on the kitchen table, in front of her aunt, who sat sipping coffee.

  “She’s done it again. Damn it,” Jory said, pouring her second cup.

  Nan glanced at the piece of mail. “Done what?”

  “Roped me in.” Jory added milk and sugar.

  “How?”

  “Remember Laura Dailey’s drive to get pen pals for military guys in Afghanistan?”

  Nan raised her gaze to her niece.

  “We wrote about it in the paper.”

  “Oh, yes. Now I do.”

  “Amber signed up.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “She had no intention of writing more than one letter to this guy, Staff Sergeant T. Stevens.”

  “That’s all? Doesn’t seem too serious.” Nan shrugged.

  “It is when she signs my name.”

  Her aunt sprayed coffee on the table. Her eyes bugged out. “Oh my God! She signed your name?” Nan reached for a paper towel.

  “Yep. Three letters have arrived from this poor, prolific sap, who’s probably wondering why I never answered his first one.” Jory shook her head. “The fourth arrived today.”

  “Maybe he’s nice?”

  “Good try. I’ll answer these then beg off. I’ll make up some excuse. Or maybe tell him I have five arms and two heads. I’ll think of something.” Jory headed for her room and closed the door.

  The small, three-bedroom house was tidy and well organized. A large front porch and back deck gave more space for the women to carve out a few minutes of private time. The big backyard, carpeted with a combination of grass and weeds, had been the host of many a kickball game when Amber was younger. Now, it housed an old gas grill and some white vinyl lawn chairs, purchased on sale and looked it.

  Jory flopped down on her bed. She had picked up the sturdy, handmade, lavender quilt at a yard sale. The covering echoed her favorite colors, with pink and dark purple flowers against green and white.

  She leaned her slim frame back against three pillows and examined the postmarks on each envelope, trying to figure out the order of the letters. She opened the one with the earliest date and pulled out a small photo. Flipping it over, she saw his name neatly printed on the back. Trent Stevens. She smiled at the sexy picture of the Sergeant, stripped to the waist. He wore the short hair of the military, regulation uniform pants, boots, and dog tags, resting against an impressive, if slightly sunburned, chest.

  Obviously, he worked out. Her gaze examined the defined pecs, covered with a smatter of dark hair. His biceps were impressive. A hug from SSGT Stevens would be soul-melting. A slight shiver ran through her. Archie Peabody doesn’t look like that. She hadn’t seen all of Archie, since she had refused to sleep with him. But she had seen him in a bathing suit. The words “pasty” and “flabby” came to mind when she recalled images of him at the Fourth of July celebration on the lake.

  She sighed. Archie worked at the paper that was owned by his father. They mostly talked shop when they went out. Sometimes, he took her to a movie.

  “Archie’s better than nothing,” she’d said a hundred times to her sister and aunt. But she knew they didn’t believe it any more than she did. He was lonely, and so was she. What’s it hurt, having dinner with him?

  She opened Trent’s letter. It was a single page, with small, neat script.

  I gave you all my important intel in my first letter. So this is about other stuff. I like animals. I grew up with a dog and a turtle. Tortoise, really. He was a big guy. Smart, too.

  I like American food mostly, but also Mexican. Out here, I’m getting used to MRE’s. Basically, I’m a steak and potatoes kind of guy. What’s your favorite meal?

  Got to go. Can’t talk about where. You understand. Please write soon.

  I hope you received my last letter. We live for mail delivery.

  Take care,

  Trent

  Jory took a piece of paper from her writing tablet and grabbed a pen. Before she began, she changed her mind, went to her desk, and pulled out a box of pretty, pink notepaper she had received as a gift but never used. She’d had no one to write a letter to before today. After slipping out a sheet, she leaned on a pad and began.

  Dear Trent,

  Sorry it’s taken me so long to write back. Work has been very busy, and I do

  some of the cooking at home for my sister and my aunt. My favorite meal is

  Chinese. The real thing, like you find in Chinatown in New York City. I’ve only

  been there twice, but the food was amazing. I like American, too. I love Turkey

  and mashed potatoes. But I’ve never turned down a good steak.

  I don’t remember exactly what I told you in my first letter, but we have a cat,

  Pookie. She goes outside for a good part of the day, but sleeps with me at night.

  She’s scratching to get in, so I’ve got to go. I hope this letter reaches you.

  Sincerely,

  Jory Walker

  One glance at her watch told her she was already ten minutes late for work. She scrawled Trent’s address on the envelope and stamped it.

  “Well, it’s done. I hope he doesn’t notice the different handwriting. Gotta ask Amber what she told him. Geez. This is the last thing I need. Damn her.”

  Downstairs, she handed it to Nan. “Mail this for me?”

  “Sure, hon.”

  Jory trotted to her old car, pulling the keys out of her purse as she walked.

  * * * *

  Once she got to her office, she turned on her computer and plucked the other two letters from SSGT Stevens out of her bag. She hid behind her screen, in case Archie came by.

  Dear Jory,

  What’s a pretty girl like you doing writing to a grubby guy like me? It’s so dusty

  here I swear you could plant a garden in my hair. Sorry if that’s gross. It’s hot

  and dry. We can only take two-minute showers because we’re low on water. The

  barracks are hot in the summer and cold in the winter. I hate it here, but it’s my

  job.

  Tell me more about your life. Everything about home helps me remember this

  hellhole isn’t forever. I’d write more, but its lights out. Wish I could kiss you

  goodnight.

  Sweet dreams,

  Trent

  Her brow wrinkled. He’s miserable, and he’s falling for me. Crap. This isn’t supposed to be happening. She opened the third letter.

  Dear Jory,

  I haven’t heard from you, even after writing two letters. I know they were short, but there isn’t a heck of a lot to write about here. I get it. You’ve probably got some guy taking up your time. A girl who looks like you isn’t home knitting sweaters every night. It’s okay. I appreciate the one you sent. I wish you well.

  Sincerely,

  Trent

  Before she could do anything, her door opened.

  “Knock, knock, anyone here?” It was Archie, standing on the threshold.

  Jory opened her center drawer and slid the letters in before h
e could see. “Come in. Actually, you are already.”

  He eased himself into a chair facing her desk. “You look pretty busy. Working on a new story?”

  “Just following up on Laura’s pen pals for the military effort.”

  “Oh, yeah. How’s that going?”

  “So so.”

  “Can you give me 500 words on it? I’ll schedule it for next week.”

  “Sure.”

  “I don’t want to keep you,” he said, rising to his feet.

  Once he had closed the door, Jory let out a breath. She opened a new document on her computer and typed a response to Trent. Then, she printed it out, put it in her bag, and erased the file. When she got home, she’d copy it onto good stationery.

  An unexpected passing required a new obituary notice. Jory was pressed into service. As she wrote, she marveled at the full life the woman had had. Would the journalist be blessed with children, grandchildren, fulfilling work, and a devoted husband some day? Jory pushed the unanswered question out of her mind and focused on her task.

  Next, she helped pick articles from the past that the Independent reran every week in a nostalgia column then proofread ads called in from the feed store and Homer’s Restaurant. Her busy afternoon kept her from finishing Trent’s letters at the office.

  Anxious to get home, she hit the gas pedal a bit harder than usual. Surprised at how much she wanted to read his words, she chalked it off to simple curiosity. She’d never been in the Middle East and wanted to know more about the region. Or that’s what she told herself.