Home for the Holidays by Rochelle Alers

cook. Turn heat to medium low. Stir until sausage cooks through and drippings appear. Add seasonings. Add one cup of self-rising flour. Mix well until there is no dry flour or lumps left. Pour milk into skillet and continue to stir until you reach the desired texture.
    C ollier walked into the kitchen, stopping short when he saw Tracy sitting at the breakfast nook, sipping coffee, while flipping the pages of a magazine. He thought she would’ve slept in because schools were closed.
    Her head came around when he moved closer. “What are you doing up so early?” she asked, smiling.
    Reaching into an overhead cabinet, Collier took down a coffee mug. “I could ask you the same thing.” He filled the mug with coffee from the carafe on the countertop.
    Tracy pushed several twists off her forehead, her eyes narrowing behind the lenses of her glasses. “You know I’m a creature of habit. I tried to force myself to stay in bed, but once the sun came up, I decided to get up.”
    Slipping on the bench seat opposite his sister, he peered at her over the rim of the mug. “The girls were still up giggling when I got in last night,” he said, then took a sip of the steaming brew. “What’s up with girls that they have to giggle so much?”
    â€œYou’ll know the answer once you have a daughter. And don’t look at me like that, Scrappy , because I ain’t scared of you.”
    Collier struggled not to laugh. “You just can’t let Scrappy rest in peace, can you?”
    Tracy stuck out the tip of her tongue at him. “Nope, because underneath the spit shine and polish Master Sergeant Ward you’ll always be Scrappy.” She paused. “What time did you get in last night?”
    He lifted broad shoulders under his faded sweatshirt. “It wasn’t late, maybe around ten.”
    â€œDid you ask Iris if she would go out with you?”
    â€œWhat’s this, sis? An inquisition?”
    She pushed up the glasses that had slipped down the bridge of her nose. “No.”
    Collier drained the mug, rinsed it, and placed it in the dishwasher. Then he walked to Tracy, leaned down, and kissed her hair. “Yes, I did ask her,” he whispered. “And she said she would.” He stood straight. “I’m going out.”
    â€œWhere are you going?” Tracy asked, grinning.
    Turning on the heels of his running shoes, Collier waved to her as he walked out of the kitchen. “See you later, Tracy,” he drawled. He didn’t need her monitoring his whereabouts. But then he had to remember that Tracy was always in mother mode and a tad overprotective when it came to him and Layla. If he’d managed to survive serving in two war zones, then he had nothing to worry about while on his home turf.
    Opening the front door, he stepped out onto the porch. The rain had stopped and the warmth had returned. Minutes later he backed the rental out of the driveway, heading for the business district. Collier slowed when he spied the banner hanging from lampposts as he maneuvered onto Main Street: WELCOME HOME, M.SGT. COLLIER WARD .
    â€œDamn,” he swore under his breath. His name and rank were strung across the street among the colorful Christmas decorations. He knew it would only be a matter of time before everyone in the Cove knew he was back. Cavanaugh Islanders loved traditions and honoring those who’d served in the military, beginning with the Revolutionary War to the war in Afghanistan.
    There was another sign advertising caroling and sleigh rides for children under ten. New York City had its Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, Philadelphia their Mummers’ Parade, and for Sanctuary Cove it was a Winter Wonderland Festival held the weekend before Christmas. It began at five in the evening and ended at midnight, weather permitting. The festival brought out locals and tourists alike.
    The merchants belonging to the chamber of commerce