Page 1 of Wyatt the Military Veteran

PROLOGUE

SIX MONTHS AGO

Dear Chris,

Are we crazy? Because this is blind dating on the next level—communicating through letters when we’ve never officially met.

Your mom is super sweet (and persistent) and assures me it’s not weird or awkward, but I hope you don’t feel pressured into anything.

I completely understand if you don’t want this to continue past one letter.

Stay safe over there!

Kennedy

***

K,

Mom means well. Keep sending letters if you want. It’s not like I have much going on out here.

C

CHAPTER ONE

WYATT LINCOLN

“Dugan, you’ve got mail.” The bright blue envelope stands out in a stack of plain manila, and I can’t help but smile at the collection of stickers decorating the correspondence.You’re Great!stars andShine Your Lightsuns with goofy grins form a barrage of upbeat phrases that glitter under the fluorescent barracks’ lights.

“Thanks.” Chris Dugan takes the letter and rips it open without a thought toward the time spent making the outside look special. His eyes scan the unfolded page before shoving the sheet back in its home and tossing it in the trash.

“Whoa, bad news?” It doesn’t fit with the letter’s peppy charm, but why else would a man throw away a personal letter after a one-minute glance?

Personal correspondence is gold while on deployment.

Our unit has been stationed in this desert hell for months running drill exercises and ensuring we’re in top shape for whatever comes our way, so a note from the outside world reminding us of home would boost anyone’s spirits.

Except for Dugan’s, apparently.

“Nah… It’s just some girl my mom wants to set me up with.”

“But you’re not interested?” I venture, gaze dropping to the discarded letter. My fingers itch to retrieve it.

Thousands of miles away, someone took the time to craft that letter just for Dugan, and he tossed it like leftovers from the canteen. It’s not right; it’s not fair.

You’re just jealous because no one’s ever written to you.

Since when has that been an issue?I argue with myself. Plenty of guys get letters and care packages, and it’s never stirred up this kind of response. Sure, it’s a reminder of my harsh reality—no close friends or family back home after a childhood spent in the foster system—but I’ve never been tempted to steal a fellow soldier’s private mementos.

Until now.

I swear that ripped envelope is practically glowing, the blue paper burning brighter the longer I stare at it.

“She’s nice enough but not really my type,” Dugan says, breaking the trance the damn letter has on me. “I’ll go along with Mom’s scheme until enough time passes for me to say I gave Kennedy a fair shot.”

“Does she know that’s your plan?”

“Are you kidding?” He snorts in disbelief. “My mom has a thing for strays like Kennedy. Shy, quiet, and not much experience with men because of it. I’m doing both of them a favor by going along with the charade.”

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