"The Stocking" Excerpt


	"The Stocking: A Proposal Via Inflatable Raft" by DC DeVane (An Excerpt of THE STOCKING from HOLIDAY OP Book Two from the sweet military romance anthology published by Highland Press) Chapter One “Happy Holidays,” said the FedEx guy as he delivered the heavy box onto her front porch, scooted the handcart out from underneath it, and hurried down the walkway to his waiting truck. “You, too,” Marcy called after him. He waved without even looking back, stowed the dolly, and sped away. Marcy Grayson looked at the package for several moments, wondering who in the world would have sent her such a huge, heavy ‘whateveritwas.’ She ran her hands over the box looking for the sender’s return information, but only her name and address were on the top. Curious, she pulled at the twine and tape holding the plain brown paper in place and worried the container loose. After several minutes struggle, the last of the protective outer wrapping fell away to reveal a beautiful red and gold patterned foil package with a big card on top. ‘Love, Paul’ She squealed. A Christmas present from her sweetie! Marcy quickly reached down and pulled the card loose from the package to look at it more closely. Awwww . . . Paul had signed it ‘Love.’ Funny, there was a string attached to the back of it. *** * * *** Ahhhhhh unft . . . ummm pfttt . . . pant pant pant . . . umfffft . . . “NO!” had been the last intelligible word she’d been able to utter before the air whooshed from her lungs. Marcy was stuck spread eagle, smushed up against the wall and not happy about it in any way, shape, form, or fashion. She pushed at the unwieldy black rubber blob that had become the entirety of her universe. It gave way in some places, pushed back in others. She tried again, only to be thrust back against the wall even harder. Being pinned into the corner of the small enclosed porch of her modest home was soooo NOT how she wanted to spend her holidays. She couldn’t even manage to get her hands down by her sides to work her cellphone out of her pocket and call for help. Okay, this was becoming less funny by the minute. Not only was it frost-butt cold out there on the porch . . . never mind that it wasn’t supposed to be this cold in Huntsville, Alabama, winter or no winter . . . she was tired, and chilled, and it was getting harder and harder to breathe as the enormous rubber raft attempted to wrestle her into submission. The end of the raft sticking out through the front door kept it open, giving the cold air plenty of room to seep in around its squishy edges. Marcy wondered vaguely why none of her nosy neighbors had come to see what monstrosity was sticking out of her porch door like an enormous hippo butt stuck up in the air. For once, just when she wished they would poke their noses into her business, they were strangely AWOL. Oh well, so much for ‘Neighborhood Watch!’ As she pushed again with all her might against the solid wall of black blobbiness, the absurdity of the situation set in and her irrepressible sense of humor began percolating up to bubble over. She giggled. Paul was such a dead man! She was going to kill him when she saw him. He’d threatened her with this if she . . . At that last memory. Marcy’s giggle escalated into peals of laughter. Yep . . . she was just going to have to kill him. No way around it. Kind of like the raft holding her immobile at the moment . . . an inescapable fact of life. *** * * *** That straightjacket-tight pantyhose made the derriere look better under a knit dress was an inescapable fact of life. Marcy turned to stare at her backside in the full-length mirror in her bedroom. She ran her hands down over her trim waist and hips, then turned around to enjoy the sight of her well-rounded breasts in the soft, clingy fabric. She wanted to look especially nice tonight. Paul would be here shortly to take her ‘somewhere special’ for dinner. Since this was their usual date night, she wondered exactly what was up that he was making it into such a big deal. Hmmmmm. Well, there were a few things she could think of that might qualify. She reached over and got the pearl earrings her mother had given her for her twenty-first birthday and carefully hooked them into her ears. Her gaze came to rest on her hand, focusing in on her bare third finger. Was he about to . . . ? Her eyes widened, the breath catching in her throat as she bit her lower lip and let her heart hope. She added the matching pearl necklace . . . just for luck. *** * * *** Bridge Street Town Center. Conner’s Steak & Seafood on the water by the footbridge. Candlelight dinner overlooking the manmade lake. The full moon reflecting down in the water, smiling back at her from above and below. Good food, good wine . . . very good company. Even a romantic fire in the fireplace right there in the restaurant. Check. Check. And check. Yessssss. All the elements were in place as Marcy lingered over the gourmet coffee and slice of German chocolate decadence she and Paul were sharing. Any minute now. She put down her fork and reached over to touch her ring finger. It must be psychosomatic. It had been itching like crazy all night long. Several times she had to consciously stop herself from scratching it right in front of Paul. She smiled to herself. Well, what do you know? Her finger was as excited by the prospect of an engagement ring from Paul Callahan as her heart was. And her heart had wanted him to be all hers from the first time she’d set eyes on him; back in tenth grade when she’d transferred to the new school and he was The senior stud all the girls were dying over. One look at him and she had almost walked into a wall. He was tall and handsome and had a sexy ‘big man on campus’ swagger when he walked. He was also dating Becky Carter, a girl she had taken an instant dislike to for the completely obvious reasons that she was a sweet, blue-eyed cheerleader who was built like a Barbie Doll . . . and dating ‘Marcy’s boyfriend.’ The fact that Paul had no idea the flat-chested little sophomore girl with the head full of brown curls was even on the planet at that point was irrelevant. He was hers . . . or going to be just as soon as he woke up and realized it. She could wait. In the meantime, she had wondered if mojo dolls and stick pins really did work or if the gris-gris woman she’d met when they were stationed overseas had just been pulling her leg. She hadn’t had long to wait. Within a month Paul and Becky had parted ways—as usually happened with high school romances at the end of the summer—and with no help from Marcy. Her mind came back momentarily from the past when the waiter brought Paul the check. She watched the face of the man before her and remembered the boy he’d been. While he handled the paperwork, she let her mind drift back down the years to that first day—that amazing, life-changing day—when Paul had saved her and ‘They’ had begun. *** * * *** “She looks like she’s about eight years old. I bet she doesn’t even shave her legs, yet.” The girl’s snide voice caused Marcy to stiffen. As the new girl in school, there was always a brief period of territorial skirmishes to endure, but that usually settled down pretty quickly. This time, this school, it hadn’t. Cherie Serginter had decided Marcy didn’t belong on ‘her’ planet and had made it her ongoing mission to let the new girl know that it would be better if she just evaporated now and quit taking up space. Marcy sighed and kept walking. “So Mer-cee. Have you tried drinking more milk? Maybe if you poured it directly onto your chest they might get the idea. Or you could just borrow some of your dad’s socks and do some stuffin’.” The hateful girl snickered. “You’re a real pirate’s dream come true . . . got your own sunken chest.” The other girls laughed. Bullies were the same all over the world. Get a group and pick a victim. They followed her across the courtyard, as she hurried to her next class, and temporary safety. Almost there. She had the building in sight when things suddenly escalated. A hand in the middle of her back pushed her forward, causing her to lose her balance and the books and papers in her arms to go flying. She stumbled and barely managed to keep her feet. Another shove and she went down to her knees and found herself surrounded. One of Cherie’s gang picked up her purse where it had landed in the grass and started to open it to see if there was anything in there they might want. “I wouldn’t do that.” A quiet male voice intruded into her humiliation. Instantly, all the girls froze. A couple of them giggled nervously. Cherie licked her lips, puffed her chest out, and stepped forward. “Hi, Paul. How’s it going?” She had dropped her voice, trying to sound alluring, but to Marcy’s ears it just sounded like a cheap line from a bad B flick. He looked Cherie over and then, without taking his eyes off the short, stocky girl with the overdeveloped rack, reached out and snatched Marcy’s purse back and handed it down to her. “Here.” Marcy took it and snapped it closed again. “Thank you.” He grasped her by the elbow and helped her to her feet. “You okay?” “Yeah. I just need to get my stuff and get to class.” “I’ll walk you over there.” He turned to the circle of wannabe thuggettes. “Well, just don’t stand there, ladies. Pick her stuff up and hand it back to her.” He stepped straight into Cherie’s space, forcing the girl to step back. “Now.” The girl’s mouth got a mulish set to it and her eyes darted around Paul to glare at Marcy. Paul didn’t budge or speak another word. After a few moments Cherie nodded and her little gang of five started picking up Marcy’s books and papers and shoving them back at her. “Now get the hell out of here and leave her alone.” He dropped his voice and leaned close to whisper into the pack leader’s ear, “Or else.” Apparently, Paul Callahan didn’t just walk like a big man on campus—he was one. The girls groused while they did as ordered; but they did as ordered, and that was what counted in Marcy’s book. Once they were alone he turned to give her his undivided attention. “They give you any more trouble, let me know. They have a rep for trying to be tough and making life miserable for any new girl coming in.” He reached out and tweaked a leaf out of Marcy’s riot of curls. “Don’t take it personal. You weren’t the first. And I’m afraid you won’t be the last.” He stopped and actually looked at her. “Marcy, right?” “Yes.” She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and looked him straight in the eye. “And you’re Paul.” “Where were you headed when . . .?” He indicated the direction the girls had stomped off with the twitch of his head. “Oh, just study hall. Coach Rosetti.” “I’m heading that way. I’ll walk you over. Here, let me take those.” Without waiting for her to agree, he hefted the load of books out of her arms and fell in beside her. “Lead on.” Oh My God! Paul Callahan. Carrying her books and walking her to class. Her day had just gone from less than zero to home run! It was worth the humiliation she’d endured. Well, almost worth it. Her pride was still stung, but her mom and dad would be proud she hadn’t gotten into a fight with the girls. She glanced over at Paul and blushed all the way to the roots of her hair. He was looking straight at her. Staring was more like it. She stopped and stared right back at him. “You have caramel-colored eyes. I’ve never seen that on a girl before.” “Yours are more like milk chocolate.” Just then, she snorted. “What?” “I’m just glad you didn’t say ‘peanut butter colored,’ cuz then we’d look like a Reese’s Cup walking along,” she teased. He grinned, then chuckled. “You said you were going my way . . .?” She hooked a thumb in the direction of the class she was late for. “Oh, yeah. Heading over to the rifle range for ROTC actually.” He grimaced. “Target practice. I’m trying to pass my qualifications and I . . .” Marcy’s head snapped up to instant alert, her eyebrows going up in surprise. This might be the opening she’d been praying for with Paul. “And you . . .?” she led the question. Paul actually blushed and ducked his head down a bit. “Oh, it’s nothing. Just having problems with landing my center matches at distance. I’ll figure it out.” He’d done the typical guy thing of throwing out a couple of technical terms figuring she wouldn’t know exactly what he was talking about and be impressed. He’d miscalculated. Marcy grinned over at him in delight. “I can help with that. Let’s go.” She took the lead and walked straight past her assigned classroom out toward the ROTC area. She glanced back to see Paul staring after her in shock for a second before hurrying to catch up. That had been eight years ago. It had been Paul and Marcy—shoulder-to-shoulder, back-to-back—against the world ever since. *** * * * A gondola ride around the lake, complete with hot cocoa and warmed lap blankets followed dinner. There was even a singing gondolier—but, still no proposal—although Paul did pull her into his arms and kissed her silly as they went under the bridge, a tradition said to ensure eternal love according to their poleman. As the gondola started back to the dock, Paul looked down at Marcy and, with a sigh, gently pushed her away from his body and set them both back to rights, straightening the front of her jacket, and even making sure the laprug was tucked in so she wouldn’t be chilled. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat. “Honey . . . there’s something I have to tell you. Something I want to ask you.” Here it was! Her ring finger had been right and gave a happy little tingle. He’d just been waiting for the right moment. “Honey . . .” He paused, took another deep breath. Marcy mentally urged her big-strong-knight-in-shining-armor to be brave and just ask. It shouldn’t be so hard to ask her to marry him. Afterall, they had been together for ages. What was he waiting for? “Paul . . . what is it?” she prompted, giving him the opening to ‘pop the question.’ He took her hand in his, brought it to his lips and kissed her fingers. “Honey . . .” Another pause and then it all came rushing out at once. “I joined the Army. I just got my notification. I’ve been accepted AND I’ve got a chance to eventually get into the Rangers. I leave in three days for bootcamp at Fort Benning, Georgia. Will you keep my dog?” The cold must be affecting her ears. ‘I’ve discovered that I love you. Desperately. Passionately. You are my heart, my soul, my life, my very reason for living and I can’t endure another day without you as my wife. Will you marry me, my darling Marcy?’ came out sounding exactly like ‘I’ve joined the Army, will you keep my dog.’ Marcy sat in stunned silence, a weird, bloodless pressure seemed to be centered around her face, over by her ears. Her eyes were having trouble focusing all of a sudden and her mouth opened and closed several times, but nothing came out. Her ring finger was strangely silent. “Honey?” Nothing. “Honey? Did you hear me?” Paul reached up to gently touch her face. She slowly turned to him. “You joined the Army and you want me to keep your dog.” Her deadpan response quietly fogged from her mouth into the frosty night air. Paul’s face relaxed. Yes. She had heard him. He looked expectantly at her. Still nothing. He took a deep breath and plowed on. “You’ve known Alex since he was a puppy. He likes you and I know he’ll be safe and happy with you while I’m gone.” Marcy’s brain finally started to function again and she closed her mouth that had been hanging open ‘catching flies’ as her mom would have said. “You joined the Army. And you want me to keep your dog.” “You already said that.” “Just checking to make sure I heard you correctly.”** As soon as the gondola pulled up to the pier, Marcy stood and reached for the hand of the man waiting to help the ‘romantic couple’ from the boat. She thanked him, turned around without stepping back from the edge of the dock—thus preventing Paul from exiting the craft—and looked down at her not-fiancé trying to steady himself while standing in the unstable vessel. Her too-quiet, measured tones and deliberate sentences dropped onto his head like lead weights from above. “Thank you for a lovely evening. Good luck with your Army career. I hope you make it into the Rangers. Yes, I’ll keep your dog. No, I don’t need a ride home.” With that she turned and walked away without looking back. *** * * * Paul watched Marcy brush past the carousel and the street vendors without stopping and disappear into the crowd. He sat back down on the blanket—still warm from being on her lap—a strange, unreadable expression on his face. The gondolier looked down at him in amusement. “You’re an idiot.” Paul’s eyes flew up to glare at the man standing over him, then flicked back to see where Marcy had disappeared and his shoulders sagged. No point in being pissed at the gondolier . . . the guy was right. Without wasting another second, he reached up, grabbed the mooring pylon, heaved himself up onto the dock, and took off running after Marcy. “Marcy! Mars! Wait up!” Thankfully, she stopped, and waited for her idiot boyfriend to catch up with her. “Honey, what’s wrong? Why did you leave me like that?” Paul’s eyes desperately searched her face for clues as to what she was thinking. “I love you,” she whispered, then just stood there silently, not even looking at him. “I love you, too.” This uncharacteristically deflated Marcy was starting to scare Paul. “Mars? Talk to me, honey.” * * * * “A woman waits her whole life for a proposal from the man she loves, and I guarantee you, when she’s a little girl thinking about her ‘Prince Charming,’ that proposal does not come out sounding like ‘Will you keep my dog!’” She wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her empty-fingered left hand and sniffed back her hurt as she stared out across the piazza. Paul closed his eyes, his head falling back for a moment before he blew out his breath and brought his gaze down and forward to stare at her. “Mars, I . . .” “No. Don’t. You don’t have to say anything. I let my expectations ruin a beautiful evening between us.” Her voice caught in her throat. “Apparently, one of the last ones we’re going to have from the sound of it.” She gathered as much of her dignity and her aching heart as she could scrape up off the cobblestones and pasted a smile on her face as she looked up into the big brown eyes of the man she loved. “It’ll be okay. And, yes. You know I’ll keep Alex. He’s as much mine as yours. And . . . I’m . . . Congratulations on getting into the Rangers. I know you’ve talked about joining up for a long time. Since before college even.” She took a deep breath that only shook slightly. “I just didn’t know you were going to do it so soon.” “I’m not in the Rangers yet. That’s at least a year off, if then. But at least now I have the possibility of being accepted.” He paused before gently continuing. “I waited until you got out of college and got settled into the new job. I wanted to make sure you were all set before I headed out.” “Headed out,” she parroted almost soundlessly. “Sounds like you’re not planning on coming back.” Paul grabbed her arms and made her look directly into his eyes. “NO! That’s not what this is about. Don’t even go there.” He pulled her up tight against his body and wrapped his arms around her. “I love you, Mars. I always have. This is just something that I have to go do.” He tilted her chin up to look at him. “I will be back. I’ll always come back to you.” She sighed and snuggled back down against his chest, enjoying the warmth of his body that radiated out even through his jacket. “I guess it won’t be so bad. I mean, how long is bootcamp and all that other training? Six weeks? Six months? We were apart a lot longer than that when you first went away to college without me. We’ll get through it and then you’ll be home.” Paul stiffened under her fingers. “Honey, if I make it through bootcamp then there’s AIT—Advanced Individual Training. After that there’s at least one year in the Infantry and then I can apply for RIP—Ranger Indoctrination Program. If I make it through that . . . then I go to Ranger school, and . . . then . . . I go operational and I’ll be deployed. An enlistment is a minimum four-year commitment and most of it won’t be Stateside. Not with the country fighting two wars and God only knows how many more skirmishes around the world in the coming years.” His words made her realize she hadn’t thought it through. He tried to soften the blow as much as possible. “I will get leave and we will be rotated out, so I’ll be Stateside some of that time, and with you every moment I can be.” Her eyes drifted up to the festive lights strung across the walkways, lighting the night and shining down on happy couples and families she watched walking along, window shopping. They seemed to mock her, the lights. She looked away from their fairy brightness and as her eyes adjusted, her heart clutched. Paul had caught up to her right in front of Kay Jewelers. There, in the shop, was tray after tray of engagement rings and wedding bands . . . and none of them were hers . . . theirs. She closed her eyes to block out the sight of so many promises of happiness, took a deep breath and did what she always did: stepped up to support Paul in whatever he wanted or needed her to do. “So what can I do to help? I mean, do you have everything you need already? Can I exercise my shopping genes on your behalf? Or . . . something?” Paul squeezed her tight until she squeaked for breath before letting off on the pressure. “So, you forgive your idiot boyfriend for spoiling our last date night for a while?” Marcy snorted at Paul’s description of himself. He had just gotten a new nickname in her book. “Don’t I always?” She nuzzled her head up under his chin. “Seriously though, what do you need me to do to help you get ready?” “I’m fine for now. Basically, we show up in our skivvies and Uncle Sam takes it from there.” “Winter’s coming on soon. It’s going to be cold this time of year. I’ve seen pictures of those boot camps. Most of the time the guys look like they’re either going to die of heat stroke or hypothermia.” He chuckled. “I’ll be fine. You know I love camping out and ‘roughing it.’ Only thing I won’t have is you next to me to keep me warm.” A wry smile quirked her lips. Her humor was her armor. Always had been. It got her through tough times and hard things when nothing else could. It would in this case, too. So, okay, she obviously couldn’t make him unsign the enlistment papers; she wouldn’t if she could because she knew how long he’d wanted this. Nor could she go to bootcamp with him, but there was no sense in not having some fun with his last remark. “Well, no.” She gave a big, overly dramatic sigh. “I can’t go with you to keep you all nice and warm at night, but I could make you one of those big, soft specialty teddy bears with your name embroidered on it. They even have little green fatigues you can dress them in at the Build-A-Bear shop I passed by the other day at the mall.” * * * *** Paul’s blood ran cold at the thought of her sending him a teddy bear. He knew this woman intimately, and her thought—should he think of it more in terms of her ‘threat’—of sending him a bear was not something to be taken lightly. She’d do it! And oh he would be so dead. He wasn’t even IN the military yet, but he knew enough to know that ‘mama’s boys’ had a hard time and a teddy bear would brand him for life as the ‘boy who brought his BooBoo to bootcamp.’ “Oh honey . . . nonononononono . . . you can’t. Really!” He held her away from him to stare pleadingly into her eyes. “You do that to me during bootcamp and I’m dead meat.” *She twinkled back at him. “Why, Paul, I don’t know what you’re talking about. You know I would never* do anything to embarrass you.” “Yeah. Sure you wouldn’t. Let me tell you something, Marcy Grayson. If I wind up getting pummeled because of you and some stupid bear, I-I-I’ll . . .” He fumbled around looking for a suitable threat that might make an impression on the hardheaded female he’d lost his heart to all those years ago. “I’ll send you an auto-inflating raft boobie trapped to go off in your living room. Then you’ll be sorry.” * * * *** The ice and fear between them cracked a bit as she grinned up at him. Of all the ridiculous bluffs he could have threatened her with, an auto-inflating raft was the best he could come up with? Her boy was seriously losing his touch. She knew then that this was going to be an ongoing joke between them and that she would continue to torture him with the promise of sending him a teddy bear to keep him warm and comfy at night. She loved her ‘idiot boyfriend’ —as he would forever be known as after this night of non-proposal—and would never intentionally do anything to make his bootcamp tougher for him. Realllllly. But she wasn’t above having a little fun with him in the meantime. And have fun she did. Over the next few weeks that he was away at bootcamp, Marcy kept the post office in business with cards and letters. She’d done a little investigating and tracked down his mail station. The first letter, welcoming him to the next phase of his adventurous new life, had actually arrived the same day he reported. And letters and pictures, all that was allowed to be sent, arrived in a steady stream to remind him of exactly what he was going through bootcamp for. Some were pictures of her and Alex and ‘home.’ Others were cutouts of fully operational US Army Rangers in camo paint holding big, scary-looking things that went bang and boom and that you had to yell, ‘incoming’ about. Written at the bottom in bold black marker was, “Ranger Paul!” And with each letter, the mention of how much she was enjoying designing and building his bear . . . what it looked like . . . how pretty its white fur and big chocolate brown button eyes were. In one letter, she had even taken pictures of various bear outfits in the shop—her favorite was the pink ballerina bear one—and included a little form to fill out of which ones he liked best and a self-addressed stamped envelope so he could send it back to her. Marcy had laughed until she couldn’t breathe at what he’d sent back and saved the reply for the scrapbook she was making for him. She could practically feel Paul squirm as he read her letters and knew that if he’d been able to call her from bootcamp there would have been a little tinge of worry in the back of his voice that she might actually carry through on the ‘promise.’ Paul had been at Basic for over a month. Just a couple more weeks and he’d be done . . . and home for the holidays. Marcy couldn’t wait to see him and hold him tight again. But first she had one more thing to send. She had to hurry and get one last surprise finished and in the mail prior to the cutoff date to get it there in time before he left. It had all been arranged between her dad and Paul’s DI. She hoped the guys in Paul’s bay didn’t pound on him too hard because of what she was about to pull. And so, with the Charlie Brown Christmas Special playing in the background on the TV, she carefully stitched the small brown buttons into place on the face of the bear, then held her handiwork out at arm’s length to inspect the overall effect. All that beautiful white fur. The pink ears and paws done in satin. The smile carefully embroidered onto his face and his Army Ranger cami fatigues as letter perfect as she could make them. A sprig of mistletoe and a couple of jingle bells on his boonie cap completed his ‘ensemble.’ Almost done. Another couple of hours work and it would be complete and ready to send to Paul. She took a sip of her hot chocolate and went back to her hand stitching, humming It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas under her breath.