by A. m Madden
“Absolutely.”
Luca smiled at us as I walked her out onto the dance floor.
“Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” she said as we positioned ourselves in the empty space. “Everyone is watching us.”
“Just like at your dad’s Christmas party, and I don’t care.” I bent to kiss her long and hard on the lips. It was true. The old David would never have shown such an open display of affection. Well, fuck that, I was happy. Life had been fantastic since meeting Maygen. I loved my job at the VA hospital. I loved my girlfriend. Things couldn’t have been better. And I no longer cared who knew it.
I squeezed her tighter as we moved to the music. While looking into her pale blue eyes, I kissed her lips again, this time more gently. The feel of them against mine sent the same electric jolt through me that I’d felt the very first time I kissed her. It hadn’t diminished or dulled in any way. After all we’d been through, I still felt the fireworks she caused by just looking into my eyes.
She broke the kiss, her gorgeous eyes landing on mine with concern. “Are you okay?”
Okay?
How could I explain to this exquisite, perfect woman that I was more than okay? Yes, I’d have many issues for the rest of my life. Regardless, I never felt such contentment or love as I felt by staring into her gorgeous blue eyes. I never doubted I’d be okay as long as she stood beside me. I no longer worried over whatever life threw my way. Life wasn’t perfect by any means, but at the moment for me, it was damn near close.
While skimming my thumb along her parted lips, I nodded and gave her the lopsided smile she loved. “Baby, as long as I have you in my arms, I am perfect.”
It wasn’t a lie. It was the absolute truth.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to my family for always putting up with my “one more paragraph” excuses. I love you guys, and you’ve supported me through this crazy journey since day one. J~A~R, you are my lifelines.
To my Penguin Random House family: Sue Grimshaw and Gina Wachtel; thank you so much for your guidance during this journey. I always appreciate your advice, encouragement, and extensive knowledge. Erica and Ashleigh, thank you for your marketing tips and help. Thank you, Thomas Pitoniak, Madeline Hopkins, and Katie Cicatelli-Kuc, for finding all my little typos and weird mistakes. My fingers are much faster than my brain. I love being part of Loveswept and look forward to continuing our journey with many more dreamy romances to come.
My beta readers, my chicks, my hos, and my groupies have all become a huge presence in my life. Some I’ve met, others I haven’t yet. I feel as if I’ve known these women for years and years. I love them all very much. Thank you to all the bloggers who have supported me since my first book, and all the new bloggers who discover me with each release. You guys make it possible for all the wonderful, faithful, passionate readers to find us. Your commitment to our romance world is amazing, and I appreciate all you do to get our books and names out there.
To my first-round beta readers, Angel Justice and Joanne Schwehm. You two have no idea how much I appreciate your help with each book I write. Your friendship means the world to me. I love you ladies.
Finally, my biggest thank-you goes out to my readers. My appreciation is immeasurable, and it often causes me to fumble with my words. “Thank you” is simply not enough. You all continue to rock. I hope I can continue to rock your worlds with my stories. Love you all so very much!
One last thing: After you’ve read a book, please take a few moments and post a review. It’s the single best way to thank your authors.
Xoxo
A.M.
BY A. M. MADDEN
True Heroes
Stone Walls
Glass Ceilings
Dark Corners
The Back-Up Series
Back-Up
Front & Center
Encore
Backstage
The Devil’s Lair
Backstage Pass
Breaking the Rules
LOVE on the Horizon
Hostile Workplace
Other Books
The Shortstop
USA Today bestselling author A. M. MADDEN is a wife, a mother, an avid reader of romance novels, and now an author. A self-proclaimed hopeless romantic, she loves getting lost in a good romance book.
You can contact A. M. Madden at:
ammadden.com
Facebook.com/authorammadden
@ammadden1
tsu.co/AMMadden
[email protected]
“Reason I Am” is the original song for the Back-Up Series. Lyrics by A. M. Madden and music by Mike Martone. Visit ammadden.com/shop/ for more details.
Read on for an excerpt from
Hers to Heal
A Black Eagle Ops Novel
By Vonnie Davis
Available from Loveswept
Preface
In the Hill Country of Texas, a community developed around an old Apache legend pertaining to Warrior Falls. Myth or truth, this particular bit of Native American lore has been handed down, generation to generation, about the rocks in Warrior Falls carrying magical healing powers. Wounded Apaches would stand or be carried beneath the waterfall for the healing-infused waters to stream over their injuries.
Over time, Warrior Falls has grown to a population nearing six thousand. Its streets boast quaint shops, restaurants, and supply stores in addition to two traffic lights. Down-to-earth, often quirky people operate these businesses. Residents and nearby ranchers love their close-knit community just the way it is. That is why the secret hidden deep within the cave behind the waterfalls is so closely guarded.
Until a team of present-day wounded warriors slowly trickle into town…
This is Reece “Steelhead” Browning’s story.
Chapter 1
Reece Browning hated everything.
He hated that he was no longer a SEAL in Team 5, that he only had one arm, and that he’d mentally changed into a person he barely recognized. He hated wearing a prosthetic, which was why he kept throwing it away. And he positively hated how his physical therapist kept carrying the damned arm back in, cleaning it up, and standing over him like a mouthy Marine drill sergeant until Reece reattached it.
What he really detested was that she was a former Marine—a willowy, blond, brown-eyed, opinionated, ballsy ex-Marine by the name of Gina Wilson. Who, right at this moment, had her powerful hands on his bare ass, giving his wounded muscles and resulting scars one hellacious massage.
Okay, so maybe he didn’t hate this part so much.
“This should take care of some of the pain in your sciatic nerve. Once I’m through, I’ll put an ice pack on it. Keep it there for twenty minutes.”
He grunted in response.
“A word of warning: If I come here tomorrow and you’re not wearing that arm, I’m going to shove it up your ass, Reece. Our goal is to make you as functional as you were before you lost your real one. Yes, it’ll take us time and hard work, but the benefits will far outweigh the efforts. You’re not afraid of pushing yourself, are you?”
“Hell no!” Refusing to give her anything more to harp about, he mentally turned her off and stared at the green wall of his room. His mind drifted. Early in the mornings, in the soft sunlight, the green reminded him of a stalk of celery in a strong, spicy Bloody Mary—his late mother’s favorite drink. Wasn’t it strange as hell how his mind now worked? His mom’s dying words as pancreatic cancer consumed her were, “God, I could use a Bloody Mary.” He hoped they had an open bar in heaven. She’d be drunk as hell if she could see him now.
“Either that or I’m going to program your arm so the fingers clamp on to your penis if you try to remove the prosthesis before nine at night.”
Gina’s persistent yapping invaded his earlier thoughts of losing his mother. Tomorrow would be two years since she’d gotten her angel wings.
“It’s been you and me every day for three weeks, and I’ve had to do all the talking. Three weeks of li
stening to myself breaking the silence. I gotta tell ya, you have a very limited vocabulary…a male grunt, ‘no,’ and ‘hell no.’ Oh, and let’s not forget your favorite, ‘fuck you.’ You know, just to see if you’d verbally react, I’d say you have a nice ass.” Her fingertips lightly caressed his flesh, instantly making him harder than the barrel of an M-4 carbine. “But then, you’re all ass.”
She was goading him.
And, hell, he hated being goaded.
“Now I know why your SEAL brothers nicknamed you Steelhead. Damned if you aren’t the most stubborn man I’ve ever met.”
He smiled into the white sheet on the king-size bed.
“Guess what my nickname was in the Corps?” She slapped his ass and his eyes popped open. “Just guess!”
Motor Mouth? Lip Smacker? Talk-n-Plenty?
She began making small circles on his butt cheeks with her thumbs for a deep-tissue massage. God, he did not like this part at all. Her first few rotations forced him to suck air and tense his legs.
“Can’t think of an answer?” She leaned over so her breasts pressed against his T-shirt. “Thumbs of Bitchin’ Steel. Tobs, for short,” she whispered in his ear and then straightened to press harder with her steely thumbs.
Kee-ryst! No fake.
When his former commander Zane Quinlan, known simply as ZQ, started talking to Reece about coming to Eagle Ridge Ranch to heal in peace and quiet, away from the noise and nonsense of the world’s fast pace, he’d eventually acquiesced. He hadn’t counted on Gina…Motor Mouth…Bitchin’ whatever. He sneered into the bed. He loved this ranch. Her, not so much. No matter how physically attracted he was to her. And wasn’t that a bitch?
Part of his decision to come to the Hill Country of Texas rested on former team members staying on or near ZQ’s twenty-two-thousand-acre ranch and the camaraderie they still shared. That, and his love of horses.
Dust, their team’s sniper, was living in Warrior Falls, a small town nearby, with his new wife, Kelcee. Dustin Franks had lost part of his leg in Raqqa, Syria.
JJ had been the team’s demolitions expert, assistant corpsman, and dog handler. Now that Jerryl Jacoby was a civilian, he’d been able to adopt the team’s German shepherd, Ordnance—or Nance, for short. JJ and Nance were both living and working on the ranch.
The team’s beloved service dog had her ear shot off as they’d fought their way through Al-Hasakah in eastern Syria. That’s where Reece had lost his arm above the elbow in one hellacious explosion that pushed the ground away from his boots before it snapped back and bit him in the ass. As he crumpled to the ground, dazed and disoriented by the bomb, radical fighters had dashed out of the buildings like armed roaches and taken him prisoner.
For three days he’d been damn near beaten and tortured to death for information. He’d kept quiet. A SEAL lived to protect his team, his mission, and his country. Every scream, every shudder of pain he’d internalized into a shatterproof reinforcement of the oath he’d taken after BUD/S.
No matter how many times he’d been slashed with knives, whipped with chains, or electrocuted, he hadn’t talked. He’d survived waterboarding in gasping, panicked silence, convinced death was only a waterlogged heartbeat away. His sheer willpower had won against those bastards.
For Nance’s ear, for Dust’s leg, for his arm and the fine line he now walked between sanity and insanity, and for all the women and children Reece had seen beheaded, he hated ISIS with a passion.
His mother had raised him not to hate, to forgive with understanding. Now hate seemed to plague his soul.
Where there was once light, darkness reigned.
“You’re extra tense today, Reece. Want to talk about it? I’m a good listener.”
He grunted, Gina’s words pulling him back from the edge.
She snapped a chemical ice pack, taped it to his ass, and covered him with a sheet. The bed dipped as she lay beside him. He tensed from his hair tips to his toenails. What the hell is she doing?
“Reece, look at me.” Her hand sifted through his hair, an intimate stroke he craved like he craved the rest of his arm, which scared the bejesus out of him. He didn’t want to be attracted, but her silky voice was like a sensual magnet.
She exhaled a long sigh. “Be honest. Is it me you dislike? I want to help you get better and I can’t if you begrudge every word of instruction I give. Do you want me to get you another physical therapist? Because I will. Just say the word.”
He stared at the wall, watched an imaginary crack form and black snakes, with blood-red eyes, slither from the crack in vile orange goo. It had taken him months to realize this repetitive horrific sight was all a deranged specter, a part of his PTSD. Now it barely increased his pulse, while having Gina lying next to him had his heart hammering like machine-gun rounds.
What the hell was she thinking getting in bed with him? He was strong enough to overpower her, to assault her. Hell, he was still a man, even with most of an arm gone.
He’d never hurt her on purpose. How could he when her treatments were the high point of his days? His mania fueled by his PTSD was another factor—unpredictable and uncontrollable. Because he could never ignore that unsolicited part of his psyche, he struggled to keep his fascination for her under emotional lock and key.
“Reece.” She tugged on his hair. “Do you want me to quit working with you?”
He inhaled a deep breath and allowed the truth to quietly exhale. “No.” The woman would never know how much that one whispered word of honesty had cost him.
—
Gina closed Reece’s door behind her as she stepped into the hallway. She pivoted and leaned her flushed face against the cool wall. Her palms flattened on the barrier as if she were still maintaining touch with the man who was in so much emotional turmoil. Except for their initial meeting, he refused to look at her. Normally, he pretended she wasn’t there unless he was snarling.
And, man, could the warrior snarl!
He was like the proverbial lion with a thorn in his paw. He even had the mane of light brown hair to complete the wounded, stalking king-of-the-jungle image.
She was getting too emotionally involved with her patient. Lying next to him in bed had been totally wrong, yet for the first time since that horrific night years ago, she’d felt no fear. She shouldn’t have fingered his coarse hair and, for damn sure, shouldn’t have slapped his mighty fine naked behind. That was totally out of line, but she was trying to elicit a reaction. It was useless. He kept his emotions buried too deep behind the rock-solid barricade of pain and horrific memories—having lived that way herself, she understood.
Over the weekend, in a fit of physical work at her house, she’d accepted that this man was her kryptonite. Damn his mysterious, silent soul to hell. She’d been perfectly fine without a man for years. Now here she was, drawn to him like a double caramel macchiato or chocolate truffle ice cream or a new pair of cowgirl boots. Why him? She’d worked with male patients for years and none had touched her heart the way he had.
None.
She exhaled a long sigh. Dammit. Having my hormones kick into high gear is the last thing I need.
Maybe working with wounded warriors wasn’t such a good idea. Not only could it be emotionally draining, but it drew her personal demons to the surface. For her daughter Piper’s sake, Gina had to keep her shit together.
Her first patient at Eagle Ridge Ranch had been ZQ, helping him adapt to his foot prosthesis. Shortly afterward, he’d asked her to assist his mother, June, or Junebug as everyone called her, with the pain levels of her rheumatoid arthritis in her hands and neck.
Then, over time, the ranch became a healing hub for former SEALs in retired commander Zane Quinlan’s prior team. One by one, they came, and most of them stayed. JJ’s problems were more emotional and Gina had arranged for long-term counseling with Dr. Raymond, an expert in PTSD. Dustin had been a willing patient who wanted normal mobility again, so he worked hard to use his assortment of leg prostheses for walking, running,
and swimming. He was seeing Dr. Raymond, too. Now she had Reece—and she feared he had her.
She picked her two satchels of equipment off the floor and strode through the ranch house, heading for her next appointment. This one was in town with Bill Flemings, owner of Bill’s Boots and Saddle Shop. Unlike Reece, Bill bitched and groused over everything as she treated him for a knee injury. He complained about the price of gas, the cost of leather, and gossiped like nobody’s business. The only way she could handle the old coot was to schmooze him with endearments.
Gina stepped outside to find Junebug planting some seedlings in her garden, singing as she worked. Gina stood at the end of the row, watching her plant onions. “Junebug, don’t you overdo, now.”
The older woman flopped back on her heels, her arms pinwheeling. “Fudge and buttermilk, you liked to frightened the devilment out of this old Texan rose!” She shaded her eyes with a wrinkled hand. “Want to play in the dirt with me for a while?”
“No.” Gina laughed. “As tempting as that sounds, I need to go work on Bill Fleming’s knobby knee. With his high blood pressure, he had no business climbing that ladder. He ought to be thinking of retirement or hiring in younger help.”
“You’re right there.” She stood and wiped her hands on her baggy jeans. “How was he today?” Her silver head jerked toward the house.
Gina knew who “he” was—her worrisome patient. “Well, he didn’t yell. I got three grunts, a ‘no,’ and a ‘hell no.’ ” She hopped aside when a pygmy goat came running in her direction. “I worked up the courage to ask if he wanted another PT person, that it seemed as if he hated me.”
Junebug nodded as she came closer, smelling of earth and sunshine. “Good for you.” She bent to pet the worrisome goat. “It must be terrible to work with a patient every day who pretends you’re invisible. What did he say?”
