# A Soldier's Prayer

Jenna Mindel

Live for today. Love for tomorrow… Maple Springs is where second chances begin.Staggered by her cancer diagnosis, Monica Zelinsky seeks the solitude of her uncle's remote cabin. Instead, she finds her brother's best friend, too-handsome marine Cash Miller, and his two young nephews. Now Monica and Cash's long-hidden attraction could become something deeper—if they let it. Because when the future is uncertain, falling in love is the greatest act of hope imaginable…

Live for today. Love for tomorrow...

Maple Springs is where second chances begin.

Staggered by her cancer diagnosis, Monica Zelinsky seeks the solitude of her uncle’s remote cabin. Instead, she finds her brother’s best friend, too-handsome marine Cash Miller, and his two young nephews. Now Monica and Cash’s long-hidden attraction could become something deeper—if they let it. Because when the future is uncertain, falling in love is the greatest act of hope imaginable...

JENNA MINDEL lives in northwest Michigan with her husband and their three dogs. A 2006 Romance Writers of America RITA® Award finalist, Jenna has answered her heart’s call to write inspirational romances set near the Great Lakes.

Also By Jenna Mindel

Maple Springs

Falling for the Mom-to-Be

A Soldier’s Valentine

A Temporary Courtship

An Unexpected Family

Holiday Baby

A Soldier’s Prayer

Big Sky Centennial

His Montana Homecoming

Mending Fences

Season of Dreams

Courting Hope

Season of Redemption

The Deputy’s New Family

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

A Soldier’s Prayer

Jenna Mindel


www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09682-9

A SOLDIER’S PRAYER

© 2019 Jenna Mindel

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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Growing up, Monica had been resolutely off-limits...

Monica tipped her head and all that gloriously long and stick-straight blond hair slid over her shoulder. “I’m sorry I didn’t make it to Cole’s funeral.”

“It’s not like we live close anymore. Five hours’ drive round-trip makes for a long day.”

Cash glanced at Monica and caught the turmoil in her face. “You okay?”

She nodded. “What can I do?”

He narrowed his gaze. “Not much you can do. These things happen.”

“I meant dinner. How can I help?”

He blew out his breath, glad for a reason to escape the trip down a pain-filled memory lane. “You can help by making patties, and I’ll get the grill going.”

“Deal.”

Out on the deck, the sun hung low in the sky. Leaning against the railing, Cash wondered why Monica would come up here by herself. Part of him hoped she would stay.

The other part worried that being around Monica for very long was asking for trouble.

Dear Reader,

I hate cancer for what it does and the wreckage it leaves behind. I, like many of you, have friends and family who have been touched by this awful disease. I was halfway into writing this book when my brother was diagnosed with a rare form of throat cancer and that really brought this subject much too close to home. As I write this, his treatments are complete and his outlook is very good. I thank God for His healing!

By choosing a heroine with cancer, I wanted to honor those who’ve been there before. Monica has never been comfortable in her own skin and that plays deep into her insecurities at the start of this book. What I love about her is that she becomes a true warrior who overcomes those insecurities supported by the unwavering love of the hero, as well as her trust in God.

Living a redeemed life doesn’t mean we won’t face trials or even end up with cancer. But we do have a God Who walks with us in this imperfect life whether our race is long or cut short.

My prayer is that we keep our eyes fixed on the eternal prize and live the life God gave us, focused on Him.

Jenna

I love to hear from readers. Please visit my website at www.jennamindel.com or follow me on www.Facebook.com/authorjennamindel or drop me a note c/o Love Inspired Books, 195 Broadway, 24th Floor, New York, NY 10007.

Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him that loved us.

—Romans 8:37

For those who have run or are running the race.

Acknowledgments

My special thanks to Chrystianna for telling great stories of her two boys. They were my inspiration for Ethan and Owen.

Huge thanks to Aunt Colleen for her insight and knowledge of the process surrounding a diagnosis for breast cancer. I really appreciate it. Love you!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Introduction

Dear Reader

Bible Verse

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Epilogue

Extract

About the Publisher

## Chapter One

Monica Zelinsky had to get away and think. Think. She had just turned thirty and yet life as she knew it was over. From here on out she’d be considered a cancer survivor. If she survived. If the cancer didn’t spread. She prayed it wouldn’t.

Running a hand through her long hair, she grabbed a handful and pulled hard enough to sting. She’d lose this. She’d lose it all, after she’d spent over a hundred and fifty dollars for a highlight. Sure, it might be crazy to think of measly dollars when she faced a much bigger cost, but she couldn’t help it. Getting her hair done had always been something she’d looked forward to.

Keeping her gaze fixed on the road ahead watching for the turnoff, she gave full vent to her fears with a disgusted growl. Hair grew back. Her breasts wouldn’t, and removing them was one of the options she had to consider. She’d need chemo regardless of her surgery choices, having been diagnosed with an aggressive form of breast cancer.

This kind of news should alter a person’s priorities real quick, but it didn’t do a thing to dissolve Monica’s insecurities. She’d never been comfortable with her looks, and now... She blew out another breath. She’d get even more uncomfortable before it was all over.

Tightening her grip on the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white, Monica took the two-track road that led to her uncle’s cabin in the middle of the Upper Peninsula of Michigan.

She had a little less than a week before meeting with a referred cancer team to go over her plan of attack, they’d called it. A war waged inside her body called triple negative breast cancer. She was considered stage two out of four, and so far no lymph nodes were affected. She’d had no idea, no symptoms—not even family history—to give her a heads-up. This had come out of the blue with nothing to tip her off to a problem until she’d found the hard lump in her right breast.

Monica barely noticed the changing color on the trees. It was late August, but fall came early in the UP. Just like this cancer had come way too early in her life.

Cutting the engine, she got out and stretched.

It had been a three hour drive north and west into the middle of nowhere. Her uncle’s cabin sat deep in the Hiawatha National Forest that ran between Munising and Escanaba. She knew the way by heart. She’d been coming here since she was a kid with her family, mostly her older brothers, especially Matthew. He was the keeper of the cabin keys for her family, although for this visit, Monica had to get a set directly from her uncle.

Scanning the chalet-style log cabin with its dark green metal roof, Monica looked forward to a few days of solitude and more online research. She would pray, think and pray some more, and hopefully prepare for what lay ahead. She was definitely short on courage these days, especially after Brady dumped her.

After being interested in him for years, Monica was happy when Brady had finally asked her out, and things had been pretty good. At least she’d thought so. They’d been dating for months now, but he couldn’t handle her cancer sentence and had cut her loose. His departure should hurt, but Monica was more disappointed than anything. She’d hoped for love but that hadn’t happened. Brady hadn’t been right for her. Too bad. She would have appreciated a broad shoulder to lean on.

Stepping inside the cabin, she noticed the window over the sink in the kitchen had been left open. A sink that was full of dirty dishes. Her brothers had been here earlier this summer, but surely they hadn’t left the place like this.

She climbed the knotty pine staircase leading to a cozy loft and dumped her suitcase on one of four beds. Staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows, she smiled. She’d always loved the loft because she could see the vast out-of-doors even at night, catching a glimpse of the stars.

She trudged back to her car for the groceries she’d brought, including a small cooler. Before putting the items away she texted her mother that she’d made it safely. There were several cell service dead zones in the area, but fortunately, her uncle’s cabin wasn’t one of them. She then checked her office messages that were forwarded to her cell. She ran her own web design and branding business, but there was nothing that couldn’t wait until Monday.

Opening the fridge door to transfer the cooler contents, she noticed that it was already stocked. The gallon of milk on the top shelf was nowhere near out-of-date. In fact it looked like a recent purchase. Odd. Monica’s sister-in-law said that Matthew had the keys with him. At least that’s what Annie had thought when Monica stopped by their house to pick them up. She quickly texted her brother to ask if anyone else had come up here. He worked as a first mate on a Great Lakes freighter, so she didn’t expect an answer right away.

Stepping down the short hallway, she checked the other two bedrooms. The larger one looked neat and tidy, with the bed made, the coverlet wrinkle-free, and shoes lined up under a bench that held a duffel bag. The other room was a mess—bunk beds unmade, suitcases open and kids’ clothes strewn about. No one in her immediate family had small children. Babies and toddlers, yes, but not kids big enough for those clothes.

Who on earth was here, and why?

* * *

Cash Miller looked at his two little nephews buckled into booster seats in the back of his Dodge Challenger. Ethan was eight and Owen had just turned five. Cash was giving his sister-in-law a break for a long weekend before she and his mother joined them at the cabin for the rest of the following week. Cash hoped that a men’s camping trip might loosen Owen’s now silent tongue.

Owen had a chocolate ice cream stain all over the front of him. The kid had taken forever to eat his cone and couldn’t keep up with the drips.

“Mom’s going to be mad when she sees your shirt,” Ethan taunted.

“No, she won’t,” Cash said.

“Everyone knows you’re just acting stupid.” Ethan kept badgering his little brother.

“Don’t call your brother stupid.” Cash looked at the eight-year-old through the rearview mirror.

Ethan glared back. “He can talk.”

Cash held back from correcting him. Owen used to talk a blue streak, right up until his father, Cash’s only sibling, had died a few weeks ago. The mind could play nasty tricks and Cash figured the stress Owen suffered from had manifested into a physical thing, affecting his speech. One he hoped wouldn’t remain permanent. It had to be a phase.

He gritted his teeth and silently prayed. God, please let this be a short-lived phase. Help me this weekend. I could really use some help.

One more glance at Owen’s T-shirt and Cash was pretty sure he could get the stain out. Even if he couldn’t, his sister-in-law wouldn’t be mad. Ruth had been beyond relieved when he volunteered to take the boys off her hands for a few days so she could settle his late brother’s estate without distractions. Though his mom lived with Ruth, she wasn’t handling Owen’s silence very well, so Cash had stepped up to help. He had to.

“Uncle Cash?” Ethan’s pot-stirring voice twisted his gut.

What was he up to now? “Yeah, dude?”

“Do you think Dogman will find us at the cabin?”

Cash glanced at Owen. The little guy’s dark eyes widened with fear. He could have cuffed Ethan upside the head for spooking Owen with that old Michigan legend. “No. He won’t find us because Dogman isn’t real.”

“Yes, he is, Uncle Cash. My dad said so,” Ethan challenged.

Cash clenched his jaw to keep from saying something he shouldn’t. His older brother, Cole, had loved telling stories. He used to scare Cash as a kid, much like Ethan did to Owen. “What your dad said was make-believe. Just pretend.”

Ethan scowled and didn’t say another word.

Cash swallowed his own rising anger. He’d had his fill of death and dying. A marine since he’d graduated from high school, he’d seen his share of friends go down, including his first commanding officer, who’d been like a father figure to him. It made getting too close to people a really dumb idea. There one moment, gone the next.

Losing Cole, who’d been in the prime of his life, to a freak logging accident wasn’t something Cash had expected, much less prepared for, and it hurt. It hurt real bad.

He’d taken leave for his brother’s funeral, but now faced the task of helping his nephews accept that their dad was gone for good. Ethan acted out, while Owen had retreated. Regressed, Ruth had called it. Cash had some experience with brothers in arms who’d reacted similarly, but he was no expert. All he knew was that grief had a way of leaking out in strange forms.

Like now. Hearing that Dogman legend tore him up pretty good. The fictional spooky creature was said to linger in the woods of the Lower Peninsula, but folks liked to spread tales of sightings in the Upper, as well. Cole was probably one of them spreading those rumors, considering he’d spent a lot of time in the woods. Owning a forestry business, Cole had been an expert woodsman. He shouldn’t have died like he did, toppling a tree that had twisted backward and fallen on him.

Cash gritted his teeth once again until he got control. He had a job to do and that was keeping two little boys busy with fun for the next four days.

As Cash pulled into the driveway, he spotted a sporty blue Subaru and his thoughts skidded to a halt. They had company.

“Who’s here?” Ethan was out of the car in seconds, running toward the door.

Owen moved much slower, looking wary.

Cash scooped up the five-year-old and followed Ethan inside the cabin. He nearly ran the kid over, because Ethan had stopped cold and was staring ahead.

“Is she a princess?” he whispered.

Owen inhaled sharply.

Cash also stared at the ethereal vision before them, of sunlight pouring in a window behind a tall female with long blond hair. Her slender outline glowed golden in the late afternoon light and the sequined T-shirt she wore shimmered like diamonds.

She made quite the royal vision in jeans and that T-shirt, but one he recognized well. “No, boys. That’s no princess, it’s Monica Zelinsky. How are you, Stork?”

“Nice.” She sneered at the old nickname he’d given her when they were kids. “Cash Miller, is that really you under all that facial hair?”

“In the flesh.” He hadn’t shaved since he’d left base and had a bit of a beard going. He tried to let Owen down, but the kid clung to him.

“It’s been ages.” Monica stepped forward, out of the haze of golden sunlight. “Who do you have there?”

He’d always thought her attractive, even when she’d been a long-legged, skinny teen. The last time he’d seen her was over two years ago, at her brother’s wedding. Monica had been overly made up and stuffed into a shiny dress. Taking in the sequins on her T-shirt, he figured she liked the sparkle. She didn’t need all the glam. She shone from within and always had.

He cleared his throat. “My nephews. The older one is Ethan, and this little dude is Owen.”

“Hello.” Monica smiled.

Cash’s pulse kicked into high gear. That smile of hers always had the power to knock him off-kilter.

She scrunched her nose. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know anyone would be here. Should I leave?”

“No.” Hadn’t he just prayed for help? It was as if God had answered that prayer by bringing her here. Bringing help until the boys’ mom and grandmother arrived. No way could she go. “Stay. Please. We’re going to grill out for dinner.”

Monica’s bright blue eyes narrowed. She looked torn, as if staying or leaving played a tug-of-war inside her head.

Cash wouldn’t blame her if she left, but he didn’t want her to. Not only could he use her help, but it’d been a long time since he’d seen her. He wouldn’t mind catching up a little.

She crouched down so she was eye level with Ethan. “What do you think? Do you mind if I stay for dinner?”

Ethan still gazed at her as if he expected a crown to materialize on her head. “I don’t mind.”

Monica stood and faced Owen, smiling once again. Her teeth were perfect and bleached white. She’d been one of two Zelinsky kids who had needed braces. “And what about you? Owen, is it?”

Owen hid his head against Cash’s neck, but he nodded.

“He’s sort of quiet these days.” Cash gave her a look that said he’d tell her later.

“Owen won’t talk. He hasn’t since our dad died,” Ethan answered.

“Oh. I’m so sorry.” Monica looked sad. Really sad.

Her bright eyes had always been expressive. Her smart mouth, too. He remembered that there wasn’t much Monica wouldn’t say, and that’s what had endeared her to him when they’d first met. He’d been fourteen and she’d been ten.

Cash set the boy down and spread his arms. “There you have it, the Miller dilemma. Why don’t you guys go wash up and then we can get the burgers made for the grill. Ethan, see that Owen changes his shirt.”

The boys ran for their room, feet stomping and door banging.

Monica smirked as she poked a spot of melted ice cream in the middle of Cash’s T-shirt. “I see you had ice cream before dinner.”

He tensed under her touch. “That’s what uncles are for.”

She cupped his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “I’m so sorry about Cole.”

“Thanks.” Tempted to draw her to him, he stepped back instead.

Other than a shared embrace when she’d turned eighteen, Cash hadn’t hugged Monica since his father died when he was sixteen. Not only was she four years younger than him, making such things a little awkward, but any guy worth his salt didn’t mess with his best friend’s little sister. Not ever. Growing up, she had been resolutely off-limits.

Fast forward several years and his change of career from an enlisted marine to the Marine Corps Forces Special Ops Command made serious relationships with women off-limits, as well. At least for him. Becoming a Marine Raider had been his choice, just like steering clear of Monica ever since that one kiss they’d shared on her eighteenth birthday...

“Cash?”

“Huh?” Had she been talking?

“I’m sorry I didn’t make it to Cole’s funeral.” Monica tipped her head and all that gloriously long and stick-straight blond hair slid over her shoulder.

She had always been taboo, and it sure felt like she should be now. He experienced that familiar nip of awareness and like always, he brushed it aside, refusing to let the attraction grow.

“It’s not like we live close anymore. A five-hour drive round-trip makes for a long day.” Although Cash had been glad to see her parents there at the church. Matthew had made it because he was catching his freighter at port in Marquette the following day.

Ethan and Owen came tearing into the kitchen.

“Give it back!” Ethan chased his little brother who scooted out of reach waving a fidget spinner.

“Guys, tone it down.” Cash ran his hand over his whiskered chin. He’d shave when he had to, when he returned to duty on Labor Day, in a little over a week.

The boys tore into the living room.

Owen threw the fidget spinner at Ethan. Then the boys launched themselves onto the couch and clicked on the TV. The fight was over as quickly as it began.

He glanced at Monica and caught the turmoil in her face. “You okay?”

She nodded. “What can I do?”

He narrowed his gaze. “Not much you can do. These things happen.”

Again, the teasing smirk. “I meant dinner. How can I help?”

He blew out his breath, glad for a reason to click off the trip down his pain-filled memory lane. “You can help by making patties while I get the grill going.”

“Deal.” Monica looked into the living room. “Ethan and Owen, do you want to help?”

Ethan groaned, but Owen slipped off the couch and tiptoed toward Monica.

Cash exited the cabin onto the deck. The sun hung low in the sky, but it wouldn’t set for another couple hours. He turned on the gas valve, then lit the grill and shut the lid.

Leaning against the railing of the deck, Cash wondered why Monica would come up here by herself. He’d have to ask her later, if she stayed beyond dinner. Part of him hoped she would. The other part worried that being around Monica for very long was asking for trouble.

* * *

“Thank you, Owen.” Monica’s heart melted when the boy smiled, then walked the plate of hamburgers outside for Cash to place on the hot grill.

He might not speak, but the little boy was a charmer, with rich red hair and thick eyelashes that framed dark gray eyes. Eyes a lot like his uncle’s.

Through the sliding glass door to the deck out back, Monica watched Cash cup his nephew’s cheek as he took the plate from him. Despite his rough-and-tumble ways, Cash was a gentle guy. Even though he’d been Matthew’s friend, he’d always taken time to talk with her. He’d made her feel awkward, sure, especially the year she grew to be taller than him by a couple inches or so, but he never made her feel unwanted. Never the annoying tagalong that she’d often been.

The last time she’d seen Cash Miller was two and a half years ago, at her brother Matthew’s wedding. There hadn’t been any dancing and Cash had pretty much ignored her after a brief greeting. He’d hung out with her brothers and then left before she’d had a chance to really talk to him. She wouldn’t mind spending a little time with him now, just to make sure he was okay, and hear what he’d been up to.

“How do you know Uncle Cash?” Ethan climbed onto the stool on the other side of the island.

“Your uncle is friends with my brother. I’ve known him since I was a little older than you.”

Ethan gave her a haughty glare from golden-colored eyes. He, too, had a mop of red hair, although lighter than his little brother’s. “I’m eight.”

“I was ten when I first met your uncle Cash.” Monica grabbed the bag of spring mix she’d purchased, along with some veggies.

She would never forget the day Matthew had brought Cash home with him from school for the first time. Cash had taken one long look at her and called her a stork. She’d been furious at that moniker because it had been far too accurate. She had been a skinny kid with even skinnier legs, crooked teeth and a big nose. She still had the big nose.

“There’s frozen french fries in the freezer.” Cash entered the kitchen, opened the fridge and grabbed a can of pop, snapping open the tab top with a fizzy click.

“Yeah, so?” Monica tipped her head.

“So, I thought you could make them.” Cash winked at Ethan.

The boy looked at her, then back at Cash with a grin.

“Why can’t you make them?” Monica wasn’t giving in that easily. Especially in front of an eight-year-old watching them with too-wise eyes.

“I’m manning the grill.”

“You’re in here now, with plenty of time to take care of the fries while I set the table.”

“The boys and I eat in the living room.” Cash completely evaded her comment.

“Yeah,” Ethan added, with challenge in his voice.

Monica glanced at Owen, now lying on the couch watching a cartoon on TV, then back at Cash. “What would their mother say?”

Cash rolled his eyes.

Monica had her answer. She wasn’t the boss of any of them, so she merely took plates and set them on the island, while Cash grabbed the bag of frozen fries.

Ha! She’d won that round.

The space between the stove and island was limited. Her breath caught when she turned to fetch the silverware and collided with Cash leaning to throw the empty fries bag in the trash can under the sink.

Cash straightened and gestured for her to go first. “After you.”

Despite her hot cheeks and Ethan’s giggle, she managed a sarcastic-sounding retort, “Why don’t you get out of the kitchen?”

He winked at her. “Exactly what I was hoping you’d say.”

Monica tried to ignore him. She tried even harder to ignore the pesky increase in her heart rate, but that was a lost cause and had been ever since she was twelve.

She opened the fridge to gather condiments, then whipped around to set the bottles on the island. Cash was in her space once again. She dodged left, but he lurched the same way. Bobbing the opposite direction, they did an awkward dance that ended with her dropping the ketchup bottle.

Cash bent to retrieve it at the same time she did and they bumped heads.

“Oww!”

He laughed and gently touched her forehead with his fingers, rubbing where they’d hit. “I’m so sorry.”

She looked into his dark gray eyes filled with mirth and the truth slipped out. “You’re dangerous, Cash Miller. That’s what you are.”

His gaze darkened as it swept her face.

And there it was—that sting of awareness she knew well. Monica could barely breathe as she recalled the one kiss they’d ever shared. It had been her eighteenth birthday party and her parents had hosted a huge cookout. She’d walked Cash to his car because he’d had to head back to base. There, he’d given her the most beautiful crystal stork. To thank him for such a lovely gift, she had hugged him, and that embrace had soon turned into the most wonder-filled kiss she’d ever received.

Did he remember it, too?

She shut down that train of thought quickly. She couldn’t go there. Not now, not ever. She had a nasty medical battle ahead. One that had already chased away one guy she thought she could rely on. There was no way she’d let another man, especially this man, mess her up when she was plenty worried about her future as it was. If she even had a future long enough to enjoy.

Tamping down the panic that crept upon her ever since she received the bad news of her biopsy, Monica set the bottles on the island. Ketchup, mustard, squeezable mayonnaise, ranch and Thousand Island salad dressing all toppled over.

Ethan reached out to help her right them.

That’s when Monica saw the smoke. Glad for the diversion, she hid behind her trusty sarcasm. “Uh, Cash? You better check those burgers.”

He dashed for the deck and opened the barbecue lid. Flames shot up as he flipped the burgers over.

Monica looked at Ethan. “I hope you like yours well done.”

Ethan shrugged.

Monica got busy grabbing cups and the gallon of milk. Anything to keep her focus away from Cash. No way could she stay here the whole weekend. She’d never functioned well around him and it looked as if that still held true.

She’d stay tonight and tomorrow morning tops, then she’d be on her way. Maybe she’d head for a motel in Marquette. It was a pretty college town on the shore of Lake Superior. But Monica didn’t need pretty. She needed to think things through, do more research and jot down a million more questions. She needed to find some kind of inner strength to deal with what lay ahead. Other than her family’s support, she faced this disease alone. Could she beat it? Monica wasn’t sure.

All she knew was cancer waged a war inside her and she was scared. Really scared.

## Chapter Two

Monica felt a soft touch and looked down into the pleading eyes of Owen. “What is it?”

He pulled on her hand.

“He wants to show you something,” Ethan offered.

No kidding. Monica bit her tongue and played along, following the little boy.

Owen led her to the TV, which had gone blank even though the satellite box dials glowed blue, showing it was still active. The TV was old and the picture sometimes grayed out, needing to be reset. It usually came back on after someone turned the whole thing off for bit, but maybe this time it had burned out for good.

“You know what, how about we turn off the TV for now? I imagine you didn’t come here with your uncle Cash to watch TV.” Monica looked down at the boy. Why were they here? She’d never known Cash to hang around little kids before.

“The burgers are done and not too burned.” Cash entered with the plate.

“The TV’s out, so we might as well eat at the table,” Monica said. “Owen, would you like to help me?”

The boy nodded.

“He sure likes you.” Cash leaned close and whispered teasingly, “He probably thinks you really are a princess. Storks can look regal, you know.”

Monica laughed when she considered her just-over-six-foot frame. “There’s more giant than princess about me.”

“A more beautiful giant there never was, right, Owen?” Cash grinned when his nephew agreed with wide eyes.

Monica soaked in the compliment, but shook her head at Cash’s nonsense. He’d have the poor boy wondering if she really were a giant. If she remembered correctly, giants were to be feared in storybooks. In a few months, she’d look pretty scary from chemo.

With a sigh, she handed Owen a glass of milk, with directions to place it on the table. She did the same with Ethan, who complied, but that’s as far as his help went. He slid into a chair at the table as if he expected to be waited on.

Monica ignored that idea and helped Owen fix his plate as Cash pulled the cookie sheet of french fries from the oven. They were burned a little on the ends, but to her they looked perfect.

Cash started to make a plate for Ethan, but Monica stalled him. “Ethan, if you’d like dinner you’re going to have to come get it.”

Cash stared at her as if she’d called the kid a bad name.

“Really, there’s no need to wait on them. We fixed the food. They can come get it.” Monica was the sixth of ten kids. Growing up with three younger brothers and one younger sister, she’d learned early on to follow her mother’s example. Helen Zelinsky did not believe in babying anyone.

Ethan looked at Cash for support.

Thankfully, he backed her up. “You heard her.”

Ethan glared at Monica, but stayed put, arms folded.

“Now you’ve done it,” Cash muttered under his breath.

So much for Cash’s alliance, but Monica wasn’t about to give in. “Does their mom wait on them?”

Cash nodded. “Hand and foot.”

“No wonder she needed a break,” Monica muttered as she dished salad onto her plate, then offered a spoonful to Owen.

Once both their plates were filled, she handed Owen his and followed his slow steps to the table. The tyke didn’t drop a single fry, so praise was definitely in order. “Good job.”

He beamed at her.

Monica waited for Cash to sit down. Ethan’s scowl deepened. “Can we say grace?”

Cash bowed his head. “You do it.”

Owen folded his hands.

Ethan looked at the ceiling.

Monica bowed her head and recited the dinnertime prayer she’d known her whole life. “Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty, through Christ our Lord. Amen.”

“Amen.” Cash made a show of digging into his food noisily. “This is really good, Ethan. You better get yours.”

“I’m not hungry.” He slumped a little lower.

“That’s a shame.” Monica bit into her hamburger.

After a few minutes, Ethan sighed and finally dragged himself to the island, where his plate holding a hamburger waited to be filled with fries and salad. He grabbed a handful of salad and plopped it on his plate, then squirted ranch dressing all over it before grabbing a handful of fries.

When he slipped back into his chair, Monica gave him a beaming smile. “Thank you.”

Ethan didn’t say anything, but she thought a whisper of a smile tugged at his mouth.

She caught Cash’s gaze from across the table and he tipped his head to her. Another round won.

This certainly wasn’t the weekend she’d envisioned, but a cold motel room didn’t sound any better and she really didn’t want to head back home. Not yet, anyway.

After dinner, they all pitched in to clear the table. Even Ethan helped put stuff away without complaint, while she filled the sink with hot soapy water and Cash banged on the TV until it finally turned on again.

The boys rushed to throw themselves on the couch, pushing each other, giggling.

Cash brought her an empty glass left on one of the end tables. “You’re really good with the boys. You’ll make a good mom one day.”

“Thanks.” Monica’s voice nearly betrayed her, so she focused on her newly manicured nails, painted deep orange, while she got control of her emotions.

She might not ever have kids of her own, if the chemo fried her insides. Then again, she might never marry if she went under the knife to be butchered. What man would find her body acceptable after that?

“I’m glad you’re here.” Cash patted her back. It was a friendly sort of gesture, but awkward.

Monica wanted to know if he meant it. “Are you really?”

His gaze narrowed. “You showing up like you did was an answer to a prayer.”

“Yeah?” She wanted to tell him to keep praying, because she needed it, but the words stuck in her throat.

“Yeah.” Cash nodded.

She didn’t want him to know what she faced, because if she started to unload, she might cry. Monica never cried if she could help it, and Cash would definitely freak out if she did. She smiled at the thought of knocking Cash’s tough-guy exterior askew. It might be worth it just to see what happened, but she didn’t want his worry or his pity.

Monica had to accept that this cancer was her burden to bear. Alone.

* * *

Cash stared at the stack of dishes next to the sink and then glanced at the boys on the couch. “Ethan, Owen, we’re not done yet.”

“Do we have to?” Ethan dropped his head back and groaned.

Owen skipped forward, eager to help.

The little guy rarely disobeyed, and Cash wondered if that was why he seemed to have lost his ability to speak. Was silence his way of showing defiance, or an attempt to regain some kind of control over his young life?

“If you want to roast marshmallows, we have to clean up our lunch and dinner dishes.” He glanced at Monica and smiled.

She smiled back as she stepped toward the sink. “If we all pitch in, it will go faster.”

“Exactly.” Cash took one look at her perfectly painted fingernails and nudged her out of the way. “I’ll wash. You three can dry and put away.”

Monica saluted him. “Aye, aye, sir.”

“That’s ‘First Sergeant, sir.’” He squirted more soap into the already hot and soapy dishpan and swished his hand to make more bubbles.

“Wow, you’re marching right up the ranks, huh?”

Cash shrugged. He’d been at this rank for a while now, leading his team.

“When do you go back?” Monica handed out clean dish towels to the boys for drying.

“I’ve got another full week of leave. I have to report on Labor Day.”

Her eyes clouded over. “Not long then.”

“I took a month, considering the circumstances.” Cash dumped the silverware into the tub with a clatter.

“How many years has it been for you?”

“Since I enlisted?” He grabbed the cups next, scrubbing each one and placing it in the second sink.

Monica nodded.

“Fifteen years.” He had five more to go before he could even think about retiring, not that he would.

He didn’t know what he’d do if he ever retired. He was a soldier, a Raider of the Marine Corps Forces Special Ops. A lifer. It’s who he was. He rinsed the dishes in the full sink, handing over the cups to each boy and Monica for drying.

“I’ll put them away, okay?” She redried the cup Owen had given her, then stashed it in the upper cupboard.

He watched her fluid movements as he waited for Ethan and Owen to catch up on drying the dishes. Monica hadn’t always moved with such grace. When he’d first laid eyes on her, she’d been awkward, with a good-sized nose and a habit of knocking things over. She grew in both height and composure as the years went by. She’d filled out some, her facial features softening. Monica now stood nearly three inches taller than him, still long and lean, but there was nothing awkward about her.

“What?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Quit looking at me like that.”

He laughed. “Like what?”

“I don’t know, like I’ve got mustard on my chin or something.”

He grinned. “Maybe I’d like mustard on your face.”

She rolled her eyes. “Maybe you’re crazy.”

Maybe he was. He’d always kept a safe distance from Monica. She could never be called simply pretty. She’d grown up to be gorgeous and even more off-limits. Her brother would skin his hide if Cash ever hurt her. Living the way he did, in harm’s way, he’d do exactly that. There were no guarantees that he wouldn’t lose a limb or worse. No way did he ever want to saddle a woman with the kind of worry that came with his job. He liked the rush of adrenaline too much to ever quit, and he cared for his company far too much to get out.

Once the dishes were done and put away, Cash opened the slider to the back deck. “We’ve got to gather up some kindling to start the fire and green sticks to roast marshmallows.”

“There are long metal forks around here somewhere,” Monica offered.

Cash shook his head. “Sticks are way better.”

“Yeah,” Ethan agreed, again with a note of challenge in his voice. “Way better.”

Monica threw up her hands in surrender. “Okay, sticks it is. Boys, if you have sweatshirts in your room, you’d best grab one. It’s a little chilly outside.”

Cash wasn’t so sure about that, since the sun still felt warm to him, but it wasn’t a bad idea. “You heard the lady. Grab your gear and I’ll meet you outside.”

The boys darted into their room.

“I’ll bring out the stuff for s’mores, but I’m getting a jacket, too.” Monica darted up the loft steps.

Cash grabbed matches and stepped outside. The crisp smell of fall was definitely in the air even though it was just the end of August. He gathered some dry branches and looked up as the back door slid open and Ethan and Owen came running toward him.

Monica was right behind them, carrying a tray loaded with everything needed to make s’mores and then some. He didn’t remember ever putting peanut butter in the mix, but hey, why not? The late evening sunlight set her long blond hair aglow.

“You’re doing it again.” She elbowed him in the gut before setting the tray on a bench.

“What?” But he knew. He couldn’t seem to stop drinking in every detail of her.

“We’re going to need more kindling than that to start a fire.” Monica headed into the woods, just beyond where the grass stopped.

The boys followed her.

Cash looked at the puny sticks he’d collected and chuckled. There were several cords for the fireplace stacked under the overhang at the side of the house, but Monica wanted to hunt for firewood. He dumped what he had in the firepit and joined them in search of better fuel.

* * *

Monica headed back to the firepit with her arms loaded with downed branches. She loved gathering wood for a campfire. Cash’s nephews seemed to get into it, as well. Both Ethan’s and Owen’s arms were full. “Good job, guys.”

“Can I light the fire?” Ethan asked.

Monica scrunched her nose. Not her call. “We’ll have to ask your uncle Cash.”

Uncle Cash.

She’d had no idea that Cassius William Miller would be so good with kids. He’d make a good family man, although as far as she knew, he’d never been close to getting married. He was thirty-four, but to her knowledge, Cash had never had a serious girlfriend. How come? He’d once joked that he was married to the marines, but evidently he’d been serious.

She dropped her wood just beyond the sandy circle surrounding the firepit that had been made from large rocks. “Boys, you can dump your wood here with mine. We have to stack it a certain way in the pit before we can light it.”

“Yeah, we know. Our dad showed us plenty of times,” Ethan said.

Monica bit her lip. She wanted to respond the right way, and ignoring that comment didn’t seem like a good idea, so she probed a bit. “Did you have a lot of campfires with your dad?”

Ethan nodded with pride. “Yup. Even in the wintertime.”

Monica glanced at Owen and her heart broke. His eyes appeared hopeful as he looked around. Did he understand that his father wasn’t ever coming back?

Cash returned from the woods with his strong arms full of fallen branches.

Her attention drawn to the way his muscles bunched and flexed as he broke up the pieces, Monica mumbled, “Well, your dad would be very proud that we’re doing this tonight. Carrying on his tradition.”

“What’s that?” Ethan asked.

Looking away, Monica asked, “What’s what?”

“A tra-di-shun?”

“It’s something so special that you repeat it yearly, or even more, and think of someone or something special while you do. For example, at Christmas, my family always cuts down a fresh pine tree together. It’s our tradition.”

Ethan looked thoughtful. “Mom’s allergic to pine trees so we can’t do that.”

Way to go. Monica looked to Cash for help. “Is there anything you can add about traditions?”

“Hmm, let me think a minute.” He stroked his beard.

Monica made a big show of waiting for his answer by gesturing for him to get on with it.

It made the boys giggle.

Cash cast an aggravated look her way, which made the boys laugh even more, then he crouched down in front of them. “When your dad and I were your ages, we used to see who could spot the first star of the night.”

“And then what?” Ethan asked, with hope shining in his eyes.

Cash looked at Monica. “The winner made a wish, but if he told what it was, it wouldn’t come true. Come on, let’s get this woodpile built up big so we can burn it.”

“Yeah!” Ethan cheered.

Monica shook her head. Once a thrill seeker, always a thrill seeker. Cash did everything in a big way. Like now, turning a simple campfire into a huge bonfire. Growing up, he’d been the one who had often lured her brother Matthew into trouble or injury or both. Cash had always exhibited a need for speed, whether racing bicycles, motorbikes, snowmobiles or even cars. He still drove a muscle car. The black Dodge Challenger parked in front of the cabin might not be new, but it was no doubt fast. All the more reason to steer clear of Cash Miller. She had enough to worry about without the added concern that he’d one day break his neck.

She got busy stacking the gathered pieces of wood, leaning the smaller sticks against each other to form a tepee. She glanced at Owen watching her and stretched out her hand. “Want to help me?”

The boy nodded and inched closer.

“Let’s lean those larger sticks over the smaller ones in the same shape, see?” Monica handed him a broken branch. “You try.”

Owen handed it back to her.

Monica shrugged and anchored it against a larger one, then looked around. Cash and Ethan were hunting for green sticks for roasting the marshmallows.

Owen handed her another branch.

She smiled and searched those big gray eyes of his. Had he truly lost his ability to speak, or was he simply refusing to talk? When she was little, her older sister Cat used to hold her breath to get what she wanted. It rarely worked. Their mom refused to be manipulated. Owen looked much too sweet for such tactics, but then kids worked from a simpler approach than adults.

“Here we go. Four perfect sticks.” Cash started stripping twigs and leaves off one.

Ethan copied his uncle with another stick.

“Owen, it looks like it’s up to us to clean our own.” Monica handed the five-year-old a stick.

He pulled at the leaves.

“Like this, Owen.” Monica snapped off the little branches.

Owen followed suit and smiled.

“Good job.” She looked up and caught Cash watching her.

His gaze softened and he mouthed “Thank you.”

Monica nodded and returned to the task at hand. This might not be what she’d expected when she drove up here, but maybe God had saved her from the inevitable wallowing she would have sunk into had she been here all by herself. Maybe tonight was a good thing, something she needed, because her mind was drifting away from her own issues to why Owen wasn’t talking.

* * *

Cash sat back and watched Monica help both Ethan and Owen roast their marshmallows. The fire had burned down some. The boys had loved the towering flames shooting high into the sky. They’d jumped up and down. Ethan had cheered. Cash had loved it, too, regardless of the indulgent smile Monica had given him, as if he should know better.

Yup, she’d make a good mom. He couldn’t believe she wasn’t already married. Her brother said she’d dated some, but never anything serious. He wondered why. He’d wondered a lot of things about Monica over the years. She’d occasionally slipped into his thoughts at the oddest, least opportune times, like during a lull in gunfire, but he’d firmly pushed her aside. That was a good way to get killed, losing focus on the mission at hand over something as simple as a woman back home.

He glanced toward where the sun had set, leaving behind a sky that glowed orange and pink through a clearing in the trees. It was only eight forty, less than an hour before bedtime for the boys.

That would put him alone with Monica—

“There’s the first star, Uncle Cash.” Ethan pointed to the darkening sky just above the clearing.

“That’s Venus, buddy. Not a star at all, but a planet.”

The kid’s eyes narrowed as if he didn’t quite believe him. “Can I still make a wish?”

Cash chuckled. “Sure. Or you can wait a little bit longer for the stars to pop out. Then it’s off to bed.”

Ethan groaned. “Do we have to?”

Cash looked over at Owen, slouching low in the camp chair. His eyelids drooped. “Afraid so, buddy. Big day tomorrow.”

“What about Dogman? Will he come out after we’re in bed?”

Owen’s eyes flew open, wide as half-dollars.

“No, Ethan. There’s no such thing as Dogman. He’s make-believe, only a pretend character in an old story. Stop trying to scare your brother.”

Ethan folded his arms and pouted.

Owen slipped out of the camp chair and climbed onto Monica’s lap.

She welcomed him, wrapping her arms around his waist, then resting her chin on the top of his head. “Owen, did you want to make a wish?”

He shook his head.

“Why not, little dude?” Cash asked, hoping Owen might answer with spoken words. It was why he’d brought the boys to this cabin, hoping a change of scenery and lots of activity might reopen the floodgates of his speech.

He shrugged instead, leaning deeper into Monica’s arms.

“I’ll wish for us, okay, Owen?” Ethan whispered.

Cash battled against the knot that formed in his throat. Why had he told the boys that stupid tradition of wishing on stars? He knew what they wished for—something that couldn’t come true. They wanted their dad back.

Cash wished for the same thing. He’d never had the chance to tell Cole how much he admired him or how much he loved him. There hadn’t been a proper goodbye the last time he’d seen him. They’d slapped each other’s backs, saying they’d see each other later, but later never came. He caught Monica’s watery-eyed gaze across the crackling campfire and nearly lost it.

Why did his brother have to die? He had a wife and two boys to look after. Cash had been the one dancing with death for as long as he could remember. All those deployments and risky missions into enemy territories had left him whole, without critical injury. Why?

Why was life so unfair?

They sat silently by the fire and Cash stared into the flames. When he finally checked his watch, it was well past nine. He glanced at Monica, still holding Owen, who’d fallen asleep.

He stood and reached for the boy. “Time for bed.”

Ethan got up without argument.

Cash shifted Owen to his shoulder and followed Ethan inside.

Monica stayed put by the fire.

“Go to the bathroom, Ethan.” Cash didn’t bother with orders to brush teeth. This was camp and normal grooming habits were pretty much ignored. It’s what made it camp.

He entered the bedroom the boys shared and laid Owen on the bottom bunk. He didn’t want to wake him, so Cash just slipped off the boy’s shoes and socks before lifting the covers over his motionless form, still dressed in his sweatshirt and jeans.

Ethan came in, changed into his pajamas, and climbed up to the top bunk. “Uncle Cash?”

“Yeah, bud?”

“Is she staying the whole time?”

“Monica? I don’t know. If she does, is that okay with you?”

“Yeah.” Ethan nodded. “Owen likes her, and then Mom and Grandma can meet her, too.”

“She’s easy to like.” Cash ruffled the kid’s hair.

No matter how much Ethan teased his little brother, he still looked out for him. He was a lot like his father in that respect. “Your dad would be proud of how you’re taking care of your little brother.”

Ethan looked at him hard. “I wish he was here.”

That knot deep in Cash’s throat tightened up again, but he swallowed through it. “Me, too, buddy. Good night, Ethan. I love you.”

Ethan looked at him, appearing wiser than his tender years. “I love you, too.”

Cash closed the door only halfway, leaving the bathroom light on. He padded into the kitchen, opened the fridge and grabbed a couple cold beverages before heading back out to the fire.

Monica looked up as he approached.

He handed her a can. “Want one?”

“Sure.” She snapped open the tab top and took a sip. “So, what’s the story with your nephews?”

“My sister-in-law was at her wit’s end with Owen not speaking. Since I had the time, I figured I’d try to help. Ruth had some legal stuff with the tree business, so I asked to bring the boys here. The timing worked well.”

“He’ll talk eventually, won’t he?”

“I hope so. I think it’s the stress of losing his dad. I’ve seen soldiers psychologically lose their eyesight, even their hearing, after combat, with nothing physically wrong with them. If Owen is purposefully keeping quiet, I imagine he’ll give up eventually. I’m hoping some activity away from home will flip the talking switch back on.”

Monica’s eyes shone with approval. “It’s good of you to try.”

Cash shrugged and looked away. “They’re my brother’s boys. I have to do something.”

Monica nodded. “How’s your mom?”

His mother had told him that he was all she had left now, and that comment stuck with him, haunting him. He shrugged. “Upset. She moved in with Cole a while back, after she sold the house.”

“That’s good.” Monica shivered and pulled her chair closer to the fire.

“I can throw on a couple more logs.”

“No. It’s fine. I’m going to turn in soon.”

He watched her stare at the flames, admiring her profile. She still had a long nose, but it was straight. He’d thought for sure that he’d broken it once during a snowball fight when he’d hit her dead-on, but she’d kept a stiff upper lip.

She’d always come back with a sharp retort to his teasing. He liked that about Monica. She’d never been a wimp. She had a stubborn streak and didn’t like to show any weakness. More tomboy than princess, her choice of swanky clothes and makeup seemed at odds with the girl he’d grown up with. But then again, maybe he held onto his youthful memories of Monica too tightly because he didn’t want to notice how beautiful she’d become nor accept how attractive he found her.

Tipping his head, he asked, “Why’d you come up here alone?”

“Just needed to get away for a few days.” She took another sip, but didn’t glance up from the fire.

“Everything okay back home?”

“Everyone’s fine.”

“But not you?”

She looked at him with those expressive blue eyes of hers reflecting anguish. “I’ve got some decisions to make.”

“Ahh. Is there a guy involved?”

She uttered a short bark of laughter. “Not anymore. He broke it off. We weren’t serious or anything.”

It was Cash’s turn to chuckle at the cavalier tone in her voice. “Monica, Monica, Monica. What’d you do?”

Her face turned grim. “Absolutely nothing.”

“And yet he broke it off—”

“It’s fine,” she interrupted. “I’m not in a good place for a relationship, anyway.”

He leaned forward, curious. “Why not?”

She finished her drink and crumpled the can, then stood. “Not something I really want to talk about, either.”

Warning bells went off inside his brain. Monica wasn’t one to hide anything. Worse, where was that sharp tongue of hers? She looked defeated and that wasn’t at all like her.

Cash tried again. “If you do want to talk about it, I can listen.”

She patted his shoulder. “I know you can. Thanks.”

He grabbed her hand and gave it a friendly squeeze.

She surprised him by hanging on tight. “Good night, Cash.”

“See you in the morning. I hope you stick around for breakfast. I make pretty mean pancakes.”

She let go of his hand. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Good.” He listened as she made her way inside the cabin, closing the slider door with a whoosh.

He stayed by the fire, watching the low flames awhile longer. He’d do what he could to convince Monica to stay on for a bit. Cash needed her help, and maybe she needed them, to give her mind a rest from whatever decisions she faced.

He wouldn’t pry into her situation, but he’d pray for her. He’d been praying a lot lately when he wasn’t yelling at God for taking yet another person he cared about from him. As for Monica, he shouldn’t know too much and it’d be better if she didn’t tell him. He was leaving soon, so he didn’t want any entanglements with a woman back home. Getting too close wouldn’t work for him. It might cost him his edge.