by Mimi Barbour
“When do I start banging the drum?”
“That’s beat the drum. Go ahead and pick it up, and make sure the sticks don’t fall out. We need to get at least a hundred paces downwind of the company so as not to disturb them. The colonel is in town, ahem, seeing to some old business, but I’m sure he’d want you to practice out of earshot of the troops. No use stirring them up, although I think they’re all fairly worn out from this morning’s relocation.”
***
Scout and Gunny spent the next two hours going over the various beats and rolls on the old drum that had been sitting in the corner.
“Well, that’s about all the cues I know,” Gunny said. “How about we take a dinner break. And, if you’re willing, you can sneak out and do some real scouting. No telling who’s out in these woods. That so-and-so Briske was worthless for everything ‘cept causing trouble. And we already have enough no-goods around here for any regiment!”
Scout looked over at Dunbar, the rotund sergeant who had demoted him without a word to the colonel. “Aye, I’ll agree with that.”
“And by tomorrow morning, I’ll try to have a new set of drumsticks carved for you. The ones you’ve been using were old when I was a lad.”
End of Preview of Little Drummer Boy, part of
Love, Christmas: Holiday Stories That Will Put a Song In Your Heart
http://bit.ly/LuvXmasAZ
Dani Haviland
Dani Haviland is a feisty female who never believed ‘You can’t do that’ or ‘You can’t do that without a man.’ She has been self-employed, living the life she wants for the past twenty-something years, most of that with her tall, good-looking husband who supports her efforts, whether for writing books or rescuing feral cats. Her indomitable spirit shows up in many of her female characters, the men in their lives a reflection of the confidence and devotion she gets from hers.
THANK YOU!
Thanks for reading my story. If you’d like a chance at getting an ARC (advanced readers copy) of my upcoming books, or find out random (and hopefully interesting) information, please sign up for Time Travelers Anonymous. I promise I won’t plug up your inbox with loads of newsletters and I will not share your contact information with any other person or site. http://bit.ly/dhNewsltr
CONTACT
http://bit.ly/DaniHaviland
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Email: [email protected]
Blog: http://bit.ly/DHbLog
Other Books by Dani Haviland
Most of Dani’s books involve time travel and/or historical fiction. Here’s a list of them in chronological order:
Naked in the Winter Wind: It all began with a tumble back in time where she became involved with the fictional characters of a popular romance novel. A bottle of Fountain of Youth water, amnesia, abandonment, and adoptions complicated ‘Evie’s’ new life in Revolutionary War era North Carolina. The challenges were great, but the men were hot. http://bit.ly/DHnitww
Ha’Penny Jenny (novella) A bit more about the sweet and psychic young lady from NITWW and adapting to a ‘normal’ family. http://bit.ly/HpJAZ
Aye, I am a Fairy: He’s not what she thinks he is, but he can help her in her time travel dilemma. http://bit.ly/AyeAZ
Dances Naked: Directionally challenged British lord is trying to get back to his family in the 21st century when he is found by a Cherokee hunting party. What will it take to get the chief to lead him to the Trees, the portal through time? http://bit.ly/DHdnkd
Little Bear and the Ladies (novella) The gentle 18th century trapper we first met in NITWW steps in to save the day. Now what’s he to do with so many women? http://bit.ly/LilBearUS
The Great Big Fairy: Benji finally returns to his grandparents in the 18th century, but he didn’t plan on acquiring a very strong, and stubborn, female slave who can’t—or won’t—speak. http://bit.ly/DHtgbf
Little Drummer Boy (Historical novella) Young Scout wants to earn money as a scout, but is told he’s only good enough to be a drummer boy. Can he help the others find their way during one of the worst snowstorms of the 18th century? http://bit.ly/lildrmr
Never Too Young (Historical novella) Scout is older now, and managed to earn enough to return to Jenny and provide her with a proper home, but will a con artist ruin his plans? And after the long separation, will she still be waiting for him? http://bit.ly/Nvr2Yng
Pool Boy Wanted: No Experience Preferred (a rather racy novella) He’d do anything to save his friend, and she knew it. Bad cougar! Find out about Benji’s reference to bad experience with women from Luke the Unexpected here. http://bit.ly/POOLboy
BOXED SETS are always fun (and a great bargain)
You’ll find some of the stories above in boxed sets, along with many other great reads by award-winning and bestselling authors. Great prices on all, or read for free with Kindle Unlimited. (Limited release, so download them to your library now).
Rebels, Rogues, and Romantics: Historical romances. Stories by Dani Haviland, Taylor Lee, Katy Walters, Michele Hauf, and Suzanne Jenkins http://bit.ly/RRRmg
Kiss Me, Thrill Me: SEVEN contemporary romance tales by Joan Reeves, Mimi Barbour, Dani Haviland, Alicia Street, Mona Risk, and Patrice Wilton. http://bit.ly/DHKmTm
Mystic Lovers: Paranormal romance tales to start you heart aflutter. Stories by Rebecca York, Mona Risk, Mimi Barbour, Suzanne Jenkins, Jacquie Biggar, Aileen Fish, Dani Haviland.
Sweet and Sassy: The Best Kind of Romance NINE romances by Mim Barbour, Mona Risk, Nancy Radke, Suzanne Jenkins, Jacquie Biggar, Tamara Ferguson, Leanne Banks, Alicia Street, Dani Haviland http://bit.ly/2SwNSas
Sweet Heat – Where Romance and Suspense Meet http://bit.ly/2SwtHeat (Includes Luke the Unexpected plus five other saucy stories). Authors Susan Jean Ricci, Mimi Barbour, Suzanne Jenkins, Jacquie Biggar, Tamara Ferguson, Dani Haviland
Unforgettable Romances: SEVEN stories by six authors: Mimi Barbour, Traci Hall, Patrice Wilson, Mona Risk, Leanne Banks, and Donna Fasano. http://bit.ly/UrUhMG
Unforgettable Heroes: EIGHT passionate romances by Donna Fasano, Patrice Wilson, Mona Risk, Mimi Barbour, Traci Hall, Susan Jean Ricci, Nikki Lynn Barrett, and Leanne Banks. http://bit.ly/UnfHero
Santa Baby
By the Sea Series
Traci Hall
USA Today Best-selling author
Copyright © 2017 Traci Hall
Dedication:
To Destini and Alex for being the inspiration for this story—
I love you and wish you many, many years of happiness.
Praise and Awards
Traci Hall has hit the Amazon bestseller lists, and is also a USA Today bestselling author, three times over. She’s been on Fox and Friends and in Southern Living magazine, but what she loves best is hearing back from readers.
A sampling of reviews for the By the Sea series
“…I'm a longtime fan of Traci's By the Sea series!”~ Kindle Reviewer
“I really enjoy reading the By the Series by Traci Hall but I have to say that this is probably the best book in that series. I can describe the book with two words. Wow and Awesome.” ~ Phylis Carpenter
“A Perfect take you to the beach and love it kind of book . Thanks for the fun Traci!”~ Misti Robin
Julie Ouest “…worth the book hangover I have at work today!”
“…If you want an easy read for a lazy afternoon, this is it.”~ Reader of the Pack
Chapter One
April
Dillon Bakersfield pocketed the key to the hotel room he had to share with his buddy, Keelson Davey. “Just remember that we’re staying at the Sea Grape Hotel, okay?”
“I grabbed a piece of stationary from the desk with the address in case I get too drunk and have to be returned to sender.” Davey grinned with an “aw, shucks” expression that went with his boy-next-door looks and pulled the folded paper from his back jeans’ pocket as proof.
&
nbsp; Just docked in Jacksonville after a four-month deployment up to Bahrain, Guam and Singapore, and along the Pacific coast, the brothers-in-arms were in town for some offshore diving this sliver of beach was famous for. It being a weekend, and Season in South Florida, they were lucky to get rooms at all.
Johnny Mack and Scott Chapman came out of their room to join him and Davey on the second floor landing. The warm spring evening held a touch of humidity saved by the breeze off the water. “The woman at the registration desk mentioned a bunch of bars, about three blocks down.” Mack, the only blond of the four, stuck his key in the side pocket of his cargo shorts. “She gave me a ten percent off coupon.”
“Cool,” Chapman said, sliding on his Ray Bans. Probably out of habit, Dillon figured, since the sun was close to setting. “I’m ready for a drink.”
“Bakersfield, you drive worse than you fly,” Davey joked. “Didn’t think that was possible.”
Dillon shoved past Davey toward the stairs down to the street. “My truck is the only one of our vehicles that would fit us all, and our dive equipment, so suck it up, buttercup.” There was no hiding the fact that despite t-shirts, shorts or jeans, the four men were military. Matching haircuts gave it away.
“We made the four and a half hour drive in under four. I say that’s excellent driving.” Chapman added, “And without a ticket.”
Jacksonville to Ft. Lauderdale was a straight shot south on I-95, so it had been an easy ride. Dillon kept on the sidewalk to the right, along the strip of hotels, but gestured to the turquoise ocean on their left, visible between breaks in the sea grape hedge. “There’s the beach. The coral reef is a hundred yards out.”
Born and raised in Jacksonville, he’d grown up on the Atlantic Ocean and the Saint John’s River but the Gulf was just a few hours across the state. He’d spent his youth surfing, scuba diving, snorkeling. Joining the Navy right out of high school had made sense, what with the Naval base there heavily recruiting. He’d tested to be a Navy Seal but fell in love with flying helicopters. Taking off and landing on the aircraft carriers or destroyers took precision and skill, and offered a thrill he’d never found anywhere else.
“Hear that?” Davey asked, cupping his hand around his ear. “Sounds like Jimmy Buffet. And that means tequila.”
The synthesizer music grew louder as they neared a long pier that had a covered bar with panoramic ocean views on either side. Palm trees surrounded the wooden deck, with cheerful tiki torches flickering at the corners.
They’d reached a roundabout in the center of town where it looked like a stage was being put up for live music, probably later on that night. In between the two streets of restaurants and tourist shops was a paved area with chairs and benches. Alternating yellow, blue, green and pink, the seats were all filled with folks drinking and eating ice cream. Families with little kids played giant Jenga or Connect 4.
Dillon preferred adult entertainments and faced the bar. “If the diving sucks tomorrow, we can always go to Miami, or Key Largo.”
“Nude beach?” Chapman asked hopefully.
“If we wanted to go the Keys, we could be there in four hours,” Mack said. Like Dillon, he was a Florida native. Their state was thin, but long.
“Even with the way Bakersfield drives?” Davey asked. “I smell burgers. I’m starving.” He thumped his flat stomach.
“You are always starving,” Dillon said dismissively. “Drinks first. For Anderson.” He pointed toward a dude with purple dreadlocks playing the keyboard. “That’s where the music is coming from. Should we try it?”
“We’re following you,” Chapman said.
Dillon led the way up the stairs to the deck. They sat on stools around a high top and he waved to a middle-aged waitress with starfish earrings and a blue apron.
“What can I get you?” she asked, her lipstick too pink against her tobacco-stained teeth.
“A round of Jamison. It has to be Jamison,” he said. It had been Anderson’s favorite whiskey and if the bar didn’t have it, they’d go somewhere else.
“No problem. Water, too?” She nodded though he hadn’t said anything and hustled off behind the bar. When she returned, she passed out the drinks, then, as if sensing the somberness of the moment, she ducked away.
“To Anderson,” Dillon said. Chapman, Davey, and Mack raised their shot glasses.
“To Anderson,” they chorused, smacking the bottom of the glass to the wooden table before dumping the amber liquid down their throats and plunking it rim-side on the varnished top. Over this last deployment, a red female hawk, with a four foot wingspan, collided with an MH-60 Seahawk, destroying the rotor and bringing the helo down. Commander Ramirez ejected in time, but Lieutenant Anderson did not.
Death had a way of bringing things into sharp focus. He and Anderson had trained as pilots together, each prodding the other to stretch their skills without putting the helo at risk. If there had been a way to save the helicopter, Anderson would have found it.
Mack wiped his mouth with the back of his broad hand. “So stupid, downed by a real bird during routine maneuvers. That hawk came out of nowhere.”
“Commander said his family appreciated the pictures we sent.” Davey swiped his thick finger through the puddle of condensation pooled around his water glass.
“Anderson was always a joker.” Chapman took off his Ray Bans and squeezed the bridge of his nose, his jaw tight. “I kept expecting him to pop up out of the water.”
Dillon waved to the waitress, who immediately brought another round.
Davey lifted his Jamison and said, “To life. It’s damn short.”
“To life,” they all said.
“I feel bad for his wife, man.” Mack scrubbed his palm over the top of his short hair, the blond bristling. “They just got married.”
“Yeah. Sucks. Good thing they hadn’t started a family, I guess,” Chapman said, hanging his sunglasses in the collar of his t-shirt.
“Definitely.” Dillon took a drink of water. He planned on a Navy career—no kids, no wife. No hassle.
The waitress brought another round, this time asking, “Anything to eat tonight? We’ve got lobster nachos, fish tacos, flatbread. Parmesan sweet potato fries.”
Davey rubbed his hands together. “Now we’re talking. Lobster nachos.” He glanced around the table. “What are you losers gonna have?”
Dillon rested his forearms on the table. “Fish tacos for me. And a Guinness.”
By the time they’d finished eating, the keyboardist had packed up but they could hear the sound check from the stage they’d passed on the way. “Should we hang out and listen to the band? I hope its classic rock.” Unlike his pals, Dillon was not a country music fan.
“Sure,” Mack said, his eyes tracking the variety of women passing by. He’d been in a relationship for the last two years that his girlfriend had just ended because Mack wasn’t rushing marriage.
Dillon doubted Mack would be lonely tonight, and didn’t blame the guy. Four months out to sea was a long time. For all of them. Davey was already on his feet, followed by Chapman.
Dillon snagged the check and added a thirty percent tip for the intuitive waitress. His mom had occasionally bartended and always had nightmare stories about asshole customers, so he tried to over-tip when possible. Now his mom was shacked up with hubby number five in Atlanta. To say he and his mom weren’t close would be the understatement of the year.
He walked down the steps to the paved area where the guys waited. A cute blonde in sparkling red cowboy boots and Daisy Duke short-shorts was warming up at the mic on a ten-foot stage. A drummer twanged his sticks against a cymbal as the guitarist tuned an electric Fender.
“Even if the music sucks, she’s hot.” Davey rubbed his hands together, ready to satisfy a different appetite.
The four men wandered toward the band, getting 24 ouncers in plastic cups from a beer kiosk. Now 8:30, the evening was the dark blue of twilight. He gravitated toward the right side of the square, keeping the ope
n area with chairs between him and the tourist shop across the way. A gust of wind off the ocean at his back brought the smell of saltwater, and felt like home.
The women here seemed more cute, in flip flops and sundresses, compared to sexy Miami, where bikinis and heels were the dress code—maybe tomorrow night. Sweet wasn’t his type. The music started, a country song that he recognized from the radio, and the ladies immediately started dancing. He stepped back before a blonde in shorts and a tank top bumped his beer.
Dillon scanned the crowd, his gaze zeroing in on a slender, pale woman in a sleeveless black silky top, skinny jeans, and black strappy sandals. One arm was a profusion of floral tatts. Her silky hair was the color of licorice and his gut clenched with immediate interest. Different from the tanned beach babes around her and not afraid to be unique. Sexy.
As if she felt the pull of his stare from across the street, she looked up from her plastic cup of beer toward him. Smoky shadow made the teal of her eyes pop an electric blue, and the glossy red of her full lips made him hunger to taste.
He leaned into the back of a yellow Adirondack chair, shaken to his core. Dillon was no stranger to lust. Or want. But this craving, this desire, amped up need a hundred degrees. Someone so smokin’ hot had to be taken. She stood with a group of friends—no male attached to her side. Dillon imagined throwing her over his shoulder and running back to the hotel with her. Davey could sleep in the truck.
