Page 15 of Wannabe in Wyoming

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Tell that jackass neighbor of yours that you already have a boyfriend and to keep his dirty hands off you.

“Arrgh.” That piece of paper ended up in a ball in the bottom of the trash too.

Dear Willow,

You’re so damn sexy, I can’t stop thinking of you. Hell, I jacked off in the port-a-john to images in my head of having you naked underneath me.

“Get a freaking grip, Casey. That’s not something you tell her in a letter when you’ve never even been in the same damn room with the woman.” He threw the crushed-up page toward the basket to add to the others, but it bounced off the rim and onto the floor.

“You talking to yourself over there, man?” Hector Garcia asked from across the multipurpose room a few members of Nathan’s squad were hanging out in during their downtime. “Or just playing a crappy game of trashball?”

“Neither. Mind your own business.”

His roommate, Zach Ramsey, made kissing noises before announcing, “He’s writing toWillowand trying to not tell her how badly he wants to bang her the first minute they meet.”

With that, everyone in the room started up with the kissing noises and moaning and yelling like they were getting some tail.

“Fuck you, all,” he responded without any heat. They always gave each other shit about one thing or another. Today was just his day to get razzed apparently. He ran his hands through his hair as his captain strode into the room.

Before anyone could stand, Capt. Matt Santana waved both hands in a downward gesture. “At ease. I come bearing gifts . . . well, actually good news. A week from Thursday, we’re outta here—a little earlier than expected. So, give your significant others, and anyone else you want, a heads-up. We’re going home, boys and girls!”

The room erupted into a cacophony of whoops, hollers, and whistles. That was the best news they’d gotten since they’d arrived in this hellhole. If all went well, Nathan would leave Iraq next week and never return.

* * *

September 10

Dear Willow,

We just got the greatest news! My platoon is heading back to the States next week! I think I might kiss the ground as soon as I get off the plane. It’ll take about another week or so to settle back in, but after that, I should be able to take a few days leave. I was thinking of taking you up on your invite to visit Wyoming, so I can sit on that porch swing with you and watch the sunset. Is that okay with you?

Don’t bother mailing another letter or care package to me here, because I’ll be on my way home, if not already there, by the time you do. I’ll put my email address and cell phone number at the bottom of this letter, so you can send me yours. That way, when I get home, it’ll be easier to contact you.

I want you to know, I’m saving all your letters. They’ve meant the world to me, and so have you. When I get a chance, I’d like to take you out on a date, like a proper date. Please say yes. Pretty please! Okay, enough begging. I’m probably coming off as a desperate schmuck, but I feel like I’ve known you for a lot longer than these past few months. Oddly, it doesn’t seem strange to me that we haven’t met in person, yet I feel like we already have. I hope that doesn’t sound creepy. Anyway, let me know if you’re up for me visiting you, and I’ll make the arrangements. Maybe you can scout out some tattoo shops within driving distance and help me choose some new ink. We could also go horseback riding, shooting, and if we’re lucky, watch a thunderstorm roll in. (As I wrote that, I was struck by how cool it is that we have so much in common. It must’ve been fate when our mail clerk chose me to give your first letter to.)

To answer your questions about thunderstorms—yes, I love them, and no, we really don’t get them here. In fact, there is very little rain, if any, from May to September. Instead, we get sandstorms, and those things are a bitch. You feel like you’re coughing up sand for days after getting caught in one of them.

I’m sorry to hear about your douchebag ex-husband. No one deserves to be treated like that. I’m glad you’re half a dozen states or so away from him now. Maybe he’ll get the picture. And if he doesn’t, I’ll be more than happy to make sure he does.

The Brodericks sound like nice people. It’s great of them to take you under their wing, sort of, and show you the business. I think you should go for it, if that’s what you really want to do. I have a feeling you’d excel at anything you put your mind to. I mean, you packed up and moved halfway across the country and transitioned from a big city woman to a small town one with more ease than most people could. I’m proud of you. Just do me a favor and don’t name any of the alpacas after me, okay?

Well, I gotta go—my buddies want to celebrate the good news, and they’re making such a racket, I can barely hear myself think. The next time I write, I’ll be in the States! I can’t wait. Talk to you soon.

Yours,

Nathan

(719) 555-9420

[email protected]

* * *

Willow’s handshook as she finished reading. “Oh my God!” She wanted to scream out loud for the world to hear, “He likes me! He really likes me!”

She refrained, but just barely. As it was, she’d let out a squeal that probably sounded like a mating call to any nearby pigs. As she’d walked to her mailbox, she’d been hoping for, but not really expecting a letter from him so soon. She’d been so surprised and excited, she’d ripped it open and read it right there, standing on the side of the road, oblivious to any rattlesnakes that may have slithered by.

She traced her finger over the carefully written numbers at the bottom of the page. His phone number. Flipping the envelope over she noticed the post mark was almost two weeks old. That meant . . . he was home! She could call him, likeright now—just dial the number and talk to him for real. She’d be able to hear his voice. His breathing. His laughter.