In The Wake of Honor (Sagebrush Springs #1)

Chapter 1

Greenvale, Pennsylvania

Jackson McGuire sat stiff-backed on the train’s padded bench, his fingers curled around his knees.

The war was over, but the part of his mind tasked with self-preservation had yet to be convinced.

The steady, rhythmic clatter of wheels on rails, quaint farmhouses, and peaceful countryside rolling past should have been a comfort.

Instead, the shadows of war followed him, seeping into the scenery like blood spreading through water.

A long stretch of pasture dotted with grazing cattle filled the window, like some romantic landscape rendered in oils.

Then the fences blurred into broken breastworks, the rolling fields morphing into battle-scarred earth littered with bodies—men sprawled where they’d fallen, some lifeless and bloated, others gasping like fish on dry land.

A soldier with his leg gone, sobbing for his mother.

Another gurgling and clawing at his throat.

Jackson blinked hard, forcing himself to see what was really there.

Ordinary life. The forlorn cries and moans faded as he focused on the quiet murmur of his fellow passengers and the distant call of a conductor.

It was all calm and familiar. If he could only figure out a way to keep his thoughts from wandering–

The locomotive’s piercing whistle blared, causing his entire body to flinch.

His palms grew damp, and his heart thundered in his chest as the train neared the station and slowed to a stop.

“Steady on, soldier,” he muttered to himself as he shouldered his well-worn knapsack and stepped onto the platform.

The scent of coal smoke filled Jackson’s nostrils as he navigated the bustling station, a stark and welcome contrast to the acrid gunpowder that had haunted his dreams for four long years.

Thoughts of loved ones he’d soon see further calmed his mind.

Caroline Bennet most of all, the woman he’d left behind when he’d enlisted, along with his heart.

Her gentle laugh, her smile, the softness of her hand in his—those memories had been his lifeline during the darkest days of the war.

“Jackson,” a male voice called from within the crowd. “Is that you?”

He turned and searched the faces.

One of his childhood friends pushed his way through the crush of bodies, smiling broadly despite resting heavily on his cane as he limped.

A grin shot across Jackson’s face. He wrapped Peter in a backslapping embrace then drew away and gave him a quick perusal. “It’s good to see you.”

“You, too.” Peter said as he shifted his weight back to his cane. “You look well.”

“I’m all right. Glad to be home.” Jackson sidestepped out of the flow of people disembarking the train, suppressing the urge to wince and rub the deep puckered scar on his left thigh. “Who are you waiting for?”

“Mark,” he said of his oldest brother, who’d attained the rank of captain.

Jackson gave a grunt of commiseration. “I’d have been home months ago if I hadn’t made lieutenant. Had to stick around, tying up loose ends.”

A look of shame dulled Peter’s expression. He’d wanted so badly to serve along with his brothers, but he’d been born lame.

Jackson understood the burning drive, a drive men didn’t feel as intensely once they knew the cost. “Thank you for writing to me while I was away,” he said sincerely. “Your letters cheered me up.”

Peter shrugged. “It was nothing.”

Jackson shook his head and locked gazes with his friend. “Letters from home keep a soldier sane. On the worst days, it’s everything.” He clapped Peter on the shoulder. “Give your family my regards, but not until I’ve had a chance to make it home to mine. I caught an earlier train to surprise them.”

“Will do.”

“Is The Piper’s Jug still open?”

“It is.”

“Once Mark is settled, let’s all meet for a drink,” Jackson said as they parted.

“I’ll tell him.”

Jackson navigated the crowd, his nerves on edge, and his gaze darting around in a constant search for danger. No matter how many times he reminded himself the war was over, his eyes still strained to catch glimpses of the enemy.

Think of Caroline.

He just needed to see her. Then his mind would believe he was safe.

Jackson distracted himself with thoughts of her and patted the silver hair comb in his pocket, to assure himself it was still there. He’d bought it for her in a small village along the way, though she deserved a token far more valuable.

The tightness in his chest had eased by the time he reached the edge of the city. He set off down the empty road towards the Bennet household, each step bringing him closer to the reunion he'd dreamed of countless times. His parents were anxious for his homecoming, but family could wait.

As he approached the tree-lined turnoff for Caroline’s house, Jackson’s pace slowed, because of cramps in his injured leg and because of the view.

The spotless sprawling lawn and trimmed hedges were a stark reminder of the life he'd left behind—a life of peace and order that now felt as foreign as the countless Union camps he’d called home.

Jackson slipped the worn pack from his shoulder and set it aside. His hand trembled slightly as he unlatched the gate, the creak of its hinges sounding unnaturally loud in the quiet afternoon.

You can do this, he told himself. It's Caroline—the same Caroline you've known all your life. But as he neared the garden, doubt crept in.

What if she’d changed?

What if the horrors he'd witnessed had changed him into a man no longer worthy of her love?

Jackson’s fingers brushed over the delicate comb in his pocket again. Her reaction to the gift would answer those questions. He took a deep breath and steeled himself for the moment he'd anticipated for so very long.

He walked closer, his eyes fixed upon a figure among vibrant blooms.

Caroline's back was to him, her chestnut hair piled in a loose bun, gleaming in the afternoon sun. Her slender frame moved with grace, her hands carefully tending the delicate roses.

His heart swelled inside his chest as he watched her, drinking in every detail. The curve of her neck, the gentle slope of her shoulders—all achingly familiar yet somehow new.

She's even more beautiful than I remember.

He stood frozen, afraid to break the spell.

Caroline’s spine stiffened, and her movements stilled, except for a slight tilt of her head. Slowly, she began to turn, her body moving with a deliberate grace that spoke of anticipation and perhaps a touch of trepidation.

Jackson’s chest seized as her profile came into view, those familiar brown eyes widening as they landed on him. For the space of a heartbeat, disbelief clouded her entire face, and her lips parted with a gasp.

“Jackson,” she uttered in a barely audible voice. “Is it truly you?”

He wanted to answer, but his mouth wouldn’t work.

Joy bloomed across her face, and the years of separation melted away. All the longing, hope, and love he'd carried with him through the war was reflected with an intensity that left him breathless.

The force of an entire battalion couldn’t have stopped his lips from curving into a smile. “Yes,” he croaked out. “I'm home.”

Caroline dropped her gardening shears, the metal clattering onto the stone path as she rushed towards him in a flurry of motion. Strands of her hair, loosened from its pins by her work, streamed behind her like a banner.

“Jackson!” she cried, her voice breaking with emotion. “Oh, Jackson!”

He held out his hands in welcome as she flew into his embrace.

The force of her impact sent pain shooting through his injured leg—a reminder of a close call at Gettysburg—and nearly knocked him off balance.

But he held firm, wrapping her in his arms. The familiar scent of jasmine, roses, and untainted earth enveloped him.

“You're here,” she whispered against his chest, her fingers clutching at his shirt. “You're really here.”

Jackson swallowed hard, fighting to maintain his composure. His arms tightened around her, one hand cradling the back of her head, soft hair filling his calloused palm. “I promised I'd come back to you,” he murmured, his voice low and husky. “And I always keep my promises.”

Caroline pulled away slightly and looked up, her tear-filled eyes searching his face. “I never doubted you would,” she said, a tremulous smile gracing her lips.

Jackson’s thumb brushed away a tear from her cheek, the gentleness of the gesture belying the turmoil of emotions within him.

He wanted to tell her everything—how thoughts of her had sustained him through the darkest nights, how the memory of her smile had been a beacon of hope in a sea of despair, giving him strength when all seemed lost. But the words caught in his throat, too raw and vulnerable to voice aloud.

Instead, he drew her close once more, allowing their shared embrace to speak volumes. In the warmth of her arms, Jackson felt pieces of himself long fractured by war begin to heal.

The sounds of activity within the house floated past them on the mild August breeze, reminding him he was back among society, not in the middle of nowhere on some godforsaken field.

Reluctantly, he released Caroline and took a step back.

One impulsive post-war embrace could be forgiven, but nothing more.

He cleared his throat of emotion. “Forgive the indulgence. You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

Caroline smoothed her skirts, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “You, too. I'm so relieved to see you well. When we heard about the battles...” As she trailed off, her eyes roved over him.

Her scrutiny straightened his spine more effectively than the presence of a superior officer.

Knowing she was cataloging the changes in him made him want to hide, but he stood fast and endured it.

“I'm afraid the war has left its mark,” he said wryly, offering her his arm and leading her along the path in the garden.

She frowned. “You're limping.”