by Kirsten Lynn
I tip my head as Caleb bows and captures my mouth. His kiss isn’t a sweet, short welcome to the New Year. It’s a hot, decadent, all-consuming welcome to the New Year where I am his. I break the kiss when I need air.
He skates the pad of his thumb over my bottom lip. “Happy New Year, Brynn.”
“Happy New Year, Caleb.”
The spoken words are simple, but the emotions and hopes and dreams we share without words are complex and will take us a lifetime and then some to fulfill. When the low rumble of conversation breaks into our space, I give him a lopsided smile and turn back to our guests.
Tucking Michael in, I smooth back his bangs and kiss his forehead. He’s been cast-free for a few days and cleared by the doctor, but I check his arm anyway before pulling the covers over him.
I meet Caleb, who was tucking in Ella, in the hall and we walk into our room. He unzips the dress and slips his arms under it and into the sleeves, tugging them over my arms.
“Caleb.”
“I know, Angel. I’m not such an ass I’d expect sex when you’re still sick. I simply love touching you.”
I turn and caress his cheek with the back of my fingers. “I know you’re not an ass. I’m sorry for both of us that I’m not up for an all-nighter, or even an all-hour.”
“No need to be sorry. We have a lifetime of all-nighters and afternoon quickies, and morning delights. A few more nights until you’re one hundred percent is nothing in a lifetime.”
I continue to undress and he starts stripping. “I can sleep in the bed again, though, so at least there’s that.”
“I’ll take it. I used to be able to sleep anywhere, but a few weeks holding you and I haven’t slept worth shit without you in my arms.”
“Agreed and agreed.”
Once I have his T-shirt on, I wrap my arms around his waist and rest my head on his chest. His arms are heavy and solid and amazing as he holds me close.
I nestle closer. I’m where I belong. Where I’m needed. Where I’m valued. Where I’m desired. Where I’m safe in the harbor of his love.
EPILOGUE
Caleb
New Year’s Eve, Two Years Later
From the archway between the kitchen and living room I watch those who have become my life. As it should be, Brynn stands in the center and everyone revolves around her. She’s wearing a red dress, and I smile thinking of how I’ll remove it later. She’s deep in conversation with our mothers, but she could tell anyone exactly where each of her children is, where I am, and how to care for anything from flue to flesh wound.
On her hip, sits our one-year-old daughter, Ruthie. She is by far the most adorable one-year-old on the planet. I’m not biased at all—it’s fact. Okay, maybe not fact, but I dare someone to tell me different. Brynn has her dressed in a fluffy green velvet dress, her chestnut hair the shade of her mother’s and pulled into two small pigtails, only enhancing the cuteness.
Ruthie catches me staring, and her mouth curves in a grin. Her ice-blue gaze collides with mine, and her tiny hand opens and closes in her version of a wave. I wave back, but don’t move. There are two more lights shining I focus on.
Michael sits with Brian and Frank around a card table, playing a game. Since going back to school in Camden, he’s found his footing. He’s a typical kid, sometimes too typical and Brynn and I have to remind ourselves it was us who pushed him to be just that. He and I have played lacrosse, and tossed a football, but neither are his thing, and I’m just as happy spending time with him over a game of chess.
“Daddy, can Mia and I have another cup of hot chocolate?”
“What did your mom say?”
“Not right now.”
“Then that’s your answer and I told you not to play your mom and me against each other.”
“Yes, Dad.”
And then there’s our kindergartner. I hold onto my chuckle as she walks back to the friend from school we allowed her to invite. They don’t stay disappointed for long, and find a place near the Christmas tree where they sit and begin playing with a miniature doll set she got for Christmas. Ella, when she’s not angling to get her way, is every ounce my Little Bit. She melts my heart. She’s also one hell of a hockey player, a sport she picked up after Brian got her, her first pair of skates.
We didn’t need a court to tell us we were a family, but it sure felt good when all the paperwork was signed, and Michael and Ella became ours legally a year and four months ago. I shake my head remembering when Brynn and I figured it out and the goosebumps we got thinking of Mark and Liz having a hand in the journey.
I meet Brynn halfway when she hands Ruthie off to her mother and walks toward me. “Happy anniversary.” She lifts on her feet, and I bend sharing a brief kiss with my wife.
“Happy anniversary to you, Angel.”
“What are you doing standing over here by yourself?”
I scan the room again. This time I don’t narrow my focus on Brynn and the children, but Frank, Rose, Mom, and even Brian. I wouldn’t admit it to him, but I’m going to miss Brian barging in on us when he takes a temporary post off Bath.
I caress her cheek with the back of a finger. “Taking inventory of my blessings.” I take her hand and guide her over behind the tree for a little privacy. I glance out the window at the green light touching the water. “When are we selling the keeper’s house, again?”
Her eyes spark as she laughs. “I thought we decided the twelfth of February thirty of never.”
I chuckle. “I’ll plan on it.”
She hugs my hand. “The Marine with the plan.”
I rub my chin between two fingers. “Not that many of those panned out.”
“Like how, because I want to be with Ruthie, you’re now getting your degree in education before I finish my nursing course?”
“Yeah, like that one.”
“And we started Michael in school earlier than planned and Ella right away instead of homeschooling for a bit?”
I try to frown, but smile. “Exactly like that.”
“And—”
I brush my lips over hers. “I get it. The plan is usually not what’s executed on the field.”
She takes a step back and the sparks in her eyes and curve of her lips promise mischief. “And that brings me to another plan of ours that has gotten a little off course.”
I narrow my gaze. “What plan is that?”
Her smile grows. “The plan where we wait until Ruthie is three to have another baby.”
Stunned isn’t even close to how I feel. The air rushes from my lungs. Her smile falters. “Not happy?”
I recover and cup her cheeks, peppering her face with kisses. “I’m overwhelmed at what you’ve given me, Brynn. Holy shit, another baby!”
She presses her lips to mine, wrapping her arms around my neck. “Shhh, love, I don’t want to tell anyone else yet.”
Roping her waist with my arms, I hold her close and bury my face between her neck and shoulder. “How long have you known?”
“I took the test this morning, but wanted to wait until tonight to tell you.”
I lean back to make eye contact. “When did you suspect?”
She chuckles and shakes her head. “I didn’t really. I’ve been feeling off for a couple weeks. This morning I saw the pregnancy test in the medicine cabinet from when we were trying for Ruthie. I thought, what the hell.”
I swallow the Rah! I want to bellow. Picking her up, I bury my face again and kiss her neck as I squeeze her tight. Her body trembles, and when I set her on her feet I confirm it’s in laughter.
“We might reach your dozen, yet, Angel.”
I can only imagine my smile is as big as hers the way my face feels stretched. “I love you, Caleb. You’re my heart.”
Resting my forehead against hers, I inhale the scent of pine, cinnamon, and all the good things of the holidays, but then it narrows to her. Like everything in my life, every small moment in my life, every major event, it all comes down to Brynn.
; “I love you, Brynn. You are everything I’ve ever wanted. You are my home.”
SHORT LIST OF MILITARY TERMS
MEDEVAC: Medical Evacuation
CASEVAC: Casualty Evacuation (more serious injuries; any aircraft can respond)
FMF: Fleet Marine Force
2/8: 2nd Battalion, 8th Marines (out of Camp Lejeune)
3/7: 3rd Battalion, 7th Marines (out of Twentynine Palms)
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Hi Readers!
Since writing the historical romance GILLIAN: BRIDE OF MAINE a few years ago, I’ve wanted to write a contemporary story taking place at a Maine lighthouse. Caleb and Brynn raised their hands and offered up their story. A Marine and Hospital Corpsman…I was absolutely giddy to start writing this story. I fell in love with not only Caleb and Brynn, but with the children Michael and Ella. I hope you, too, will fall for this family born from the heart.
When using a real location, I always try to be as authentic as possible. Sometimes as an author we have to change things so they fit the story we want to tell. The Marines in Helmand Province and the firefight, while based on real Marines and real actions in Afghanistan are of my own making. The main alteration I made was to the lighthouse. Curtis Island Lighthouse is an operational lighthouse in Maine. However, it is owned by the Camden Historical Society. I re-opened the keeper’s house as a private residence for Brynn. The inside of the keeper’s house is also altered some to fit the story. Any other small alterations are for the same purpose. I hope you will look over these and enjoy the story.
Thank you for reading THE MARINE’S HOLDAY HARBOR! I hope you enjoyed Caleb and Brynn’s story! And stay tuned for more from Maine…Brian is headed to Bath, Maine…just saying.
Wishing you all the best,
Kirsten Lynn
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Historian by day, romance author by night. Kirsten Lynn lives in Wyoming and uses the rugged terrain and small-town settings as a backdrop, and sometimes character, in many of her stories. She loves first loves, second chances, and happily ever afters. When she’s not lost in writing a sexy story about a swoon-worthy Marine, cowboy, or firefighter meeting their match, you can find her with a cup of coffee by her side buried in history books, or finding inspiration in the mountains close to home.
MORE FROM KIRSTEN LYNN
4 MARINES FOR HISTORY SERIES
CHERRY PICKED
CHERRY HOT
CHERRY ICE
CHERRY WINE (COMING IN 2020)
TEN SLEEP DREAMING SERIES
CHOCOLATE COWBOY
IRON COWGIRL
HARBOR LIGHTS SERIES
THE MARINE’S HOLIDAY HARBOR
THE GUARDIAN’S LIGHT (COMING IN 2020)
For links and information about these and other titles please go to:
Website: www.kirstenlynnwildwest.com/books.html
