Enchanted Enough (Love in Montana #7)

Prologue - Morgan

Prologue

BECK

Lifting the beer to my mouth, I took a long drink. In front of me lie everything left of my mother, my best friend, the only person who had ever loved me completely. I cleaned out her house and donated everything else to a women’s shelter. The only things that remained were those that she had personally boxed up and put in the attic, the things that meant the most to her.

I closed my eyes and fought the burning sensation of tears. Six months she’d been gone, and every day I missed her more and more. If one more person told me time heals, I would hit them.

I took another long sip of beer and set it on the small table beside me. Letting out my breath, I pulled the first box closer. My hand shook slightly as I lifted the lid off and stared inside the box.

“The very first box, Mom,” I said as I glanced up. “You always were a planner.”

Looking back at the box, I reached in and pulled out a stack of letters. They were from him—my father. The man my mother had only told me bits and pieces about.

I closed my eyes as a memory hit. I was six years old, and had been afraid of a storm…

“Shh, don’t be afraid of the storm, Beck.”

“I can’t help it, Mommy. The thunder scares me.”

She rocked me slightly. “Don’t let the thunder scare you. Do you know what it is?”

Shaking my head, I asked, “What is it?”

My mother placed a kiss on top of my head. “It’s the sound from when the lightning hits something.”

“How come it doesn’t make it at the same time as the light?”

She laughed softly. “Maybe we should wait until you’re a little older before I explain that. Your daddy used to love thunderstorms so much. He wasn’t afraid of them at all.”

“How did he die?”

I felt her let out a gust of breath. “He was a soldier, a Marine. So brave and smart, just like you. He was on a secret mission, and something went wrong. He died before he ever got to meet you.”

“Do you think he would have liked me?”

Moving so she could look me in the face, she cupped my cheeks and smiled. “Oh, Beck, he would have loved you fiercely. That was the type of man he was. He loved me, and I loved him. And with that love, we made you together. I know he would have worshipped the ground you walked on.”

I felt hot tears on my cheeks. “I wish he wouldn’t have died.”

She slowly nodded and wiped her tears away. “Me too, sweetheart. Me too.”

I was jolted from the memory when I heard the floorboard creak behind me.

“Did you want any help?” Mateo asked.

I shouldn’t have been surprised he was here. He always had my back, from the first moment we met on the playground in first grade. A kid was making fun of me for my haircut, and Mateo told him to stop. Then he looked at Mateo and said something that, at the time, I hadn’t realized was derogatory. Mateo had, though. Even at that young age, he was already hearing it.

The next thing I knew, Mateo punched the kid, and he and I both ended up in trouble. From that point on, we were the best of friends. And his mom and my mother had become close as well. Both single moms raising unruly boys.

“I appreciate it, but I think I need to do this part on my own.”

He placed his hand on my shoulder and squeezed it. “You know I’m here,” he said.

All I could do was nod. Emotions clogged my throat. He turned, and the sound of the door clicking nearly made me jump.

I took the rubber band off the letters and felt a strange sensation in my chest as I read the return address. Sergeant Beck Shaw . My mother had never told me my father’s last name. Only that I was named after him.

My hands shook as I turned the letters over and started reading them. In the first few, it was clear they had just started dating. Sergeant Beck Shaw had been in the Marine Forces Special Operations Command and was often gone for weeks, or months, at a time. He could never tell my mother where he was going or how long he’d be gone. The letters were sweet and tender, and the deeper I got into the pile, the more their love for one another became apparent.

In one letter, Beck replied to my mother about her news that her father disapproved of their relationship. He said that he’d never want to come between her and her family, but that he loved her and wasn’t about to walk away. The next letter talked about how much he enjoyed spending time with her. That their time in the beach house, in particular, was something he’d never forget.

The next letter was dated four months later. He apologized for being unable to write sooner; he was back from a mission, and could she meet him at their cottage? He mentioned an enclosed check that should cover her travel expenses. I smiled as I read the words of a man who was head over heels in love. He told my mother he hadn’t told his family much about her yet. Only that he had met someone and would tell them more about her once he was out of the Marines.

I frowned and wondered why. My question was answered in his last paragraph.

I want to shout from the mountaintops that I love you, Heather. My parents are going to love you, and so will my brothers. I understand you don’t want me to tell them much about you until we figure out what to do about your father, but I swear to you, Heather, I’ll take care of you. If your father cuts you out, I’ll provide for you. I have money saved up, and my father and mother plan on giving me a piece of the ranch. We can build our own little house. We can build our love from the ground up. We’ll hear our kids’ little footsteps in our home, and everything will be perfect. I promise you. Once I’m out of the Marines, we can get married. We can do it there in Dallas, or in Montana. I don’t care. The only thing I care about is your happiness. I’ll wait for you for an eternity. I love you, honeybee, and I cannot wait to hold you again.

Forever yours,

Beck

I folded the letter and slipped it back into the envelope. Then I noticed it was Beck’s last correspondence. There was one other letter, but it was in an official envelope from the United States Marines. Lifting the flap, I pulled out an unopened letter from my mother to Beck coupled with an official-looking letter. My heart pounded in my ears, and I imagined what it must have been like for my mother to read it, knowing she was pregnant with me. I skipped over the formal letterhead information and went straight to the letter.

Dear Ms. Dahlstrom,

It is with regret that I am writing to inform you that Sergeant Beck Shaw was killed in action.

I understand the sorrow this letter will bring you, but I hope you find comfort in knowing that Sergeant Beck provided a heroic service to his country.

The letter fell from my hand, and I wasn’t sure how long I sat there. Eventually, my hand went to my chest, and I rubbed at the dull ache.

Picking up the letters, I stood and headed out to the living room, where I would spend the rest of the night getting shit-faced drunk until my grandfather found me the following day.