more years
together than many people have.”
She clung to his words. They’d fallen hard for each
other at sixteen and their love only mushroomed over the
years. She whirled to face him. “If you hadn’t joined the
military—”
He held up a hand. “Don’t go there. Death is a
certainty for everyone. I died for a cause I believed in.
What more can a man ask? From where I stand, it’s better
than dying in a car crash or wasting away in bed with a
debilitating disease.”
The truth of his words brought another huge lump
into her throat.
“Remember me with pride, Cyn.”
“I am proud of you. I just can’t stop the bitterness. It
eats away at me.”
“Life goes on. You’ll fall in love again and—”
Rage filled her senses. A scream rose in her throat.
“I’ll never stop loving you!”
Was that pity in Peter’s smile?
She dropped her gaze.
“Your loyalty is only one of the many things I loved
about you. I’ll always be a part of you. You’re warm,
generous and giving. You can love another man without
diminishing the love we shared.”
Cynthia’s stomach rebelled, and she fought the urge
to vomit. “Are you telling me to find someone else to take
your place?”
“No need to search. He’ll find you. I promise.”
In a panic, she bolted across the road away from her
3
Pam Champagne
dead husband.
Mike Spencer yawned and asked himself why he’d
thought a trip down Hess Road at two o’clock in the
morning was a good idea. He’d got off work at one and left
Fort Drum a half hour later. If he’d gone straight home,
he’d be in his favorite chair on the porch, sipping a beer
and listening to crickets.
Instead, he coasted along the dirt road with his
window open, listening to water rush down the Hope
River. The bridge should be right up ahead. Once he
crossed the river, there was a picnic area where he could
turn around. The road curved sharply to the left, and as
he came around the bend and started over the bridge, he
tensed at a flicker of movement ahead. What the hell? He
slammed on the brakes and barely avoided plowing into a
slim blonde woman.
As if in slow motion, he watched her trip and pitch
forward. He cringed at the hollow thud of her head hitting
the Jeep’s bumper. He jammed the shift lever to park,
flipped off the key and hurdled out the door. She lay on
her side still as death. Teased by the breeze, wisps of
curly, blonde hair blew around her face.
Mike sat on his heels. He touched her neck with a
shaky hand and breathed a sigh of relief to find her pulse
steady and strong. He sprinted to his Jeep and grabbed a
wool army blanket from the back seat. Once he’d tucked it
around her shivering body, he pulled out his cell.
The back of his neck prickled as if someone watched.
He twisted his body to glance over his shoulder. The
phone slipped from his hand and hit the metal grates on
the bridge with a clatter.
A soldier stood several feet away. Not just any
soldier, but Peter Jenks, who’d deployed to the Mideast
two months earlier. He’d been killed in action three days
ago.
Mike shook his head to clear the fog in his brain and
dragged his attention back to the injured woman. God, he
must be more tired than he’d thought. He retrieved the
4
Bridge of Hope
phone and quickly punched 911. “This is Major Spencer. I
have an emergency at the Hope River Bridge on Hess
Road. Possible head injury.”
“Is the victim breathing?”
“Affirmative. She ran in front of my Jeep.”
“Did you hit her?”
“No. I stopped in time. She slipped and hit her head
on the bumper. Pulse is strong and steady. No visible
blood.”
The voice from behind his left shoulder sent a shiver
down his spine. “Her name is Cynthia Jenks.” The hairs
on his arms stood at attention.
From his squatting position, Mike half turned to look
over his shoulder. The vision of Peter Jenks stood in the
same place. Sweet Jesus. Was he
together than many people have.”
She clung to his words. They’d fallen hard for each
other at sixteen and their love only mushroomed over the
years. She whirled to face him. “If you hadn’t joined the
military—”
He held up a hand. “Don’t go there. Death is a
certainty for everyone. I died for a cause I believed in.
What more can a man ask? From where I stand, it’s better
than dying in a car crash or wasting away in bed with a
debilitating disease.”
The truth of his words brought another huge lump
into her throat.
“Remember me with pride, Cyn.”
“I am proud of you. I just can’t stop the bitterness. It
eats away at me.”
“Life goes on. You’ll fall in love again and—”
Rage filled her senses. A scream rose in her throat.
“I’ll never stop loving you!”
Was that pity in Peter’s smile?
She dropped her gaze.
“Your loyalty is only one of the many things I loved
about you. I’ll always be a part of you. You’re warm,
generous and giving. You can love another man without
diminishing the love we shared.”
Cynthia’s stomach rebelled, and she fought the urge
to vomit. “Are you telling me to find someone else to take
your place?”
“No need to search. He’ll find you. I promise.”
In a panic, she bolted across the road away from her
3
Pam Champagne
dead husband.
Mike Spencer yawned and asked himself why he’d
thought a trip down Hess Road at two o’clock in the
morning was a good idea. He’d got off work at one and left
Fort Drum a half hour later. If he’d gone straight home,
he’d be in his favorite chair on the porch, sipping a beer
and listening to crickets.
Instead, he coasted along the dirt road with his
window open, listening to water rush down the Hope
River. The bridge should be right up ahead. Once he
crossed the river, there was a picnic area where he could
turn around. The road curved sharply to the left, and as
he came around the bend and started over the bridge, he
tensed at a flicker of movement ahead. What the hell? He
slammed on the brakes and barely avoided plowing into a
slim blonde woman.
As if in slow motion, he watched her trip and pitch
forward. He cringed at the hollow thud of her head hitting
the Jeep’s bumper. He jammed the shift lever to park,
flipped off the key and hurdled out the door. She lay on
her side still as death. Teased by the breeze, wisps of
curly, blonde hair blew around her face.
Mike sat on his heels. He touched her neck with a
shaky hand and breathed a sigh of relief to find her pulse
steady and strong. He sprinted to his Jeep and grabbed a
wool army blanket from the back seat. Once he’d tucked it
around her shivering body, he pulled out his cell.
The back of his neck prickled as if someone watched.
He twisted his body to glance over his shoulder. The
phone slipped from his hand and hit the metal grates on
the bridge with a clatter.
A soldier stood several feet away. Not just any
soldier, but Peter Jenks, who’d deployed to the Mideast
two months earlier. He’d been killed in action three days
ago.
Mike shook his head to clear the fog in his brain and
dragged his attention back to the injured woman. God, he
must be more tired than he’d thought. He retrieved the
4
Bridge of Hope
phone and quickly punched 911. “This is Major Spencer. I
have an emergency at the Hope River Bridge on Hess
Road. Possible head injury.”
“Is the victim breathing?”
“Affirmative. She ran in front of my Jeep.”
“Did you hit her?”
“No. I stopped in time. She slipped and hit her head
on the bumper. Pulse is strong and steady. No visible
blood.”
The voice from behind his left shoulder sent a shiver
down his spine. “Her name is Cynthia Jenks.” The hairs
on his arms stood at attention.
From his squatting position, Mike half turned to look
over his shoulder. The vision of Peter Jenks stood in the
same place. Sweet Jesus. Was he
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