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Never Forgotten Love,
A Story of Second Chances
***In a Book Review!***
Character Descriptions
Harlow Bennett
Owner Let’s Talk Sweetie’s Bakery/Deli
Hair: Blonde
Eyes: Crystal Blue
Height: 5 feet 5 inches
Age: 24
Beckett Dalton
1/2 Owner of Stonework’s
Hair: Dark Brown
Eyes: Midnight Blue
Height: 6 feet 3 inches
Age: 23
Richard Stone
1/2 Owner and Founder of Stonework’s
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Blue/Green
Height: 6 feet
Age: 40
Cheryl Dalton
Beckett’s Mother
Hair: Bleach blonde
Eyes: green
Height: 5 feet 7 inch
Age: 45
Rachael Bennett
Harlow’s Mother
Hair: Light-brown
Eyes: Blue
Height: 5 feet 6 inches
Age: 42
Michael Bennett
Harlow’s Dad
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Grey
Height: 6 feet 1 inches
Age: 43
Nicole House
Harlow’s Aunt, Rachael’s sister
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Blue
Height: 5 feet 8 inch
Age: 40
Computer Programmer
Carson Smith
Works for Stonework’s
Hair: Dirty Blonde
Eyes: Brown
Height: 6 feet
Age: 25
Computer Geek
Toby Mitchell
Owns a Security Business
Hair: Dark Brown
Eyes: Green
Height: 6 feet 4 inches
Age: 28
Krav Mega
Raven Whitehorse
Receptionist Stonework’s
Hair: Black
Eyes: Green
Height: 5 feet 1 inch
Age: 22
Karate Black Belt
Stacey Jones
Let’s Talk Sweetie’s Bakery/Deli
Hair: Blonde
Eye: Blue
Height: 5 feet 10 inches
Age: 22
Knows Brad
Brad Dillon Thomas
Hair: Dark Blonde
Eye: Brown
Height: 6 feet 1 inches
Age: 24
Shannon McCoy
Let’s Talk Sweetie’s Bakery/Deli
Hair: Auburn
Eye: Green
Height: 5 feet 7 inches
Age: 22
Keeland Davis
Mitchell’s Security
Hair: Black
Eye: Blue
Height: 6 feet 2 inches
Age: 25
Krav Mega
Kiley Masterson
Let’s Talk Sweetie’s Bakery/Deli
Hair: Brown
Eye: brown
Height: 5 feet 6 inches
Age: 25
About the Author
S.M. Stryker grew up on a small farm in Oregon with parents and her two brothers.
She married her husband 27 years ago. It was important to her to be able to stay at home to raise their four daughters.
She wasn’t an avid reader, although she always thought her life would make a good book. A few years ago, she picked up FSOG and The Crossfire Series and was drawn to the characters; the storylines moved her more than anything. Her life changed at that point. She could relate to the characters and what they had gone through. She devoured books after that, sometimes reading 8-10 books a week, and finding new authors that she enjoyed reading. She could not be without a book, her iPad, or iPhone anything that she could download her kindle app onto.
Knowing she had always wanted to write but kept putting it off, she emailed a few of her favorite authors that gave her some very good advice. So she finally went for it.
I hope you enjoyed her story.
I really appreciate you reading my book! Here are my social media coordinates:
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Recipes
Beckett’s Favorite Malt Chocolate Cupcakes – EASY recipe:
1 PKG Devil’s Food Cake Mix
1 PKG 5.9 oz Instant Chocolate Pudding mix
1/3 C Malt Powder
1 C Sour Cream
1 C Vegetable oil
4 eggs, lightly beaten – room temp best
2 tsp Vanilla
1 T instant espresso in 1/2 C warm water, or warm coffee or water – Coffee brings out more of the chocolate flavor
1. Preheat oven to 325 degrees. Line Muffin tin with paper liners or spray with non-stick spray
2. In bowl beat cake and pudding mixes, Malt powder, sour cream, oil, eggs, vanilla and espresso, beat for about two minutes on medium until well combined.
3. Using 1/4 C cookie scoop or 1/4 C measuring cup, distribute the batter – approx. 24 cupcakes
4. Bake for 18-22 minutes or until the top spring back when lightly touched. Allow to cool in tin for about 10 minutes.
5. Remove cupcakes from muffin tins and allow to fully cool on wire rack.
Chocolate Malt Buttercream
4 sticks, (2 C) of Unsalted Butter – room temp.
2 tsp Vanilla
1/8 tsp Salt
2/3 C Malt Powder
2/3 C Unsweetened Cocoa Powder
4 1/2 C Confectioners’ Sugar
3-5 T Heavy Cream
1. In large bowl beat butter, vanilla, and salt on medium speed until creamy
2. In large bowl, sift together malt powder, cocoa powder, and confectioners’ sugar
3. Gradually add the dry ingredients to the butter and mix at slow speed until fully incorporated, scrape down the sides of the bowl as needed.
4. Once all of the dry ingredients have been incorporated, add 3 T heavy cream. Turn the mixer up to medium speed and beat the butter cream about 5 minutes, scraping down the sides.
5. Frost and add a malt ball on top. I also use pixie dust.
By Scratch:
Beckett’s Favorite Malt Chocolate Cupcakes
1 2/3 C Flour
3/4 C Unsweetened Cocoa Powder
1 tsp Baking powder
1/3 C Malt Powder
1/2 tsp salt
1 C Sour Cream
2 T Milk
1 tsp Vanilla
8 T unsalted butter – room temp
1 1/2 C Sugar
2 Eggs
1. Combine flour, cocoa, malt powder, soda, and salt in medium bowl with Wisk. In a liquid measuring cup, stir in sour cream, milk and vanilla. In large bowl, beat butter and sugar in medium-high until light and fluffy, about 2 minutes. Beat in the eggs one at a time, scraping down bowl as needed with mixer on low speed. Alternately, add dry ingredients and sour cream mixture, beginning and ending with dry ingredients. Mix just until incorporated.
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br /> 2. Into liners, Using 1/4 c cookie scoop or 1/4 c measuring cup, distribute the batter – approx. 24 cupcakes
3. Bake for 18-22 minutes or until the top spring back when lightly touched. Allow to cool in tin for about 10 minutes.
4. Remove cupcakes from muffin tins and allow to fully cool on wire rack.
A Preview of Loving Redemption
Chapter One
MY EARS ARE RINGING, my head hurts, and I feel something wet trickling down my face. “Shit!” I turn and see Michaels crumple to the ground, his pants turning crimson. The sun is hot. It’s beating down on me. I feel the sweat running down the side of my face, chest and back. As the wind kicks up, I feel the sand stick to my wet face. I bite down from the pain and my teeth crunch from the sand. The smell of hot burning metal and rubber infiltrate my system as I look at my best friend. My heart is racing, I can’t catch my breath. “Michaels! Michaels!” I try to pick him up, but I can’t move, sweat is running down my face, or maybe it’s blood. I don’t know. I can’t breathe, shit, I can’t breath.
I shoot up in bed, gasping for air, blinking to find something familiar to focus on. I unconsciously place my hand on what remains of my wound, still trying to catch my breath and erase the memories of the all too common nightmare. I pull my legs over the side of the bed and sit there, leaning over, my elbows on my knees, as I run my hand through my sweat-dampened hair, then down my face. I walk to the bathroom and turn on the cold water to splash on my face. I stand there looking in the mirror, wondering if things will ever get better. It’s been four years since the IED and ambush, four fucking long years. How long are these nightmares going to last?
I walk back to my bed and turn on the nightstand light. I glance at the clock that shines bright orange numbers. 1:48 a.m. I pull out my journal and pen from the nightstand drawer and start to jot down what I remember of the nightmare.
Then I look at what has happened since my last one. I started to work with Beckett Dalton.
I met Beckett about nine years ago, at Krav Maga. He was still in high school; I think he was a junior. He was small for his age, nice looking kid, and smart as shit, but only stood maybe five foot five inches. He was the kind of kid that would have a ‘kick me’ sign on his back and not know it. I didn’t know it then, but he had a real bad childhood. Verbally and physically abused and neglected by his mother all of his life. He was a very proud kid; I would ask where he got some of the bruises I saw on him and he would play it off as being clumsy, but after watching him in class, I knew that wasn’t the case.
When I was on leave, you could always find me in the Krav gym. There was something about Beckett; he was a good kid, and nice, which surprised me given what was waiting for him at home and school. He lacked self-esteem and confidence, probably because he had it beaten out of him. One day, I went up to him and asked if he would like to workout with me, so I could help him focus on specific moves to develop his skill faster. He was graceful and efficient. He picked it up as if he had been doing it all of his life. He was a natural.
I would see him once or twice a year, depending on if I was deployed or not. Our unit was deployed right before he graduated from high school. When I returned, I went to the gym to check up on him, but couldn’t find him. I actually asked the guy at the front desk where he was.
I had looked right past him, I hadn’t even recognized him. Shit, he was almost as tall as I was; he had to be close to six-three. He saw me, though, and had a big smile on his face. I guess he wanted to see if I would recognize him. He looked good. He had started working for Richard Stone, building software and apps for phones and computers.
Beckett had brought Richard into the gym to start working out too. Richard’s a really great guy. He lost both of his parents in a plane crash and had a hard time getting over their deaths. Story is, he tried to find his way at the bottom of a bottle, but like everyone else who tries it, found it didn’t work. He hired Beckett at about the same time as I met him. Beckett evidently talked Richard into joining the gym, which helped him focus on what was important.
I could see how Richard could choose that path. I know I almost did. I was on my third tour, that time in Afghanistan. We were stationed out of Leatherneck.
Trent Michaels is my best friend; we met in boot camp and didn’t like each other at first. I had an attitude just because that’s the way I am. We fought a lot in boot camp, but one night a couple of dick-fuckers started screwing with him, hassling him for no fucking reason. We might not have liked each other, but he was still my brother in arms and I had his back. After that, we were thick as thieves, the proverbial Mutt and Jeff. We found out that we didn’t live too far from each other, just a few hours.
Anyway, we were in a convoy, on the way to another FOB (Forward Operating Base). It was hot and dusty, dustier than usual. We were on our way to pick up some equipment. The next thing I knew, I must have run over an IED pressure plate that led to my best friend almost dying. Then came the bullets. I could hear them pinging off the metal of our RG-31. We had been ambushed.
We took cover on the other side of our rig as I tried to help Michaels. The blast had been directly under him. I picked him up and carried him to the safest spot I could find, where we waited for the QRF (Quick Reaction Force) to show up and get us out of there. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t been in that type of situation before, but this time was different. I had a hard time catching my breath, almost like a stitch in my side. I knew I was winded from carrying Michaels, but I had trained for that. It wasn’t until I was getting out of the MRAP (Mine-Resistant Ambush Protected) vehicle, at base, that I collapsed.
I don’t remember a lot of what happened over the next few days, other than I had been hit in the side by shrapnel that had grazed my liver. No one, including myself, knew I had been wounded. I had been covered in Michaels’s blood and although I hurt, I just thought it was from the blast.
They shipped me to Germany then back to the states to recover from the wound and PTSD. Due to the type of injury, I was discharged from the service.
Up to that point, the military was all I knew. I didn’t have family; I had been raised in the foster system after being taken away from my crack-addicted mother, and who knew who my father was. All I ever wanted to do was to protect my country. Now, I can’t even do that.
I came home feeling sorry for myself and would find myself at the local bar. Somehow, Beckett knew. He came down to the bar, dragged me out, and took me back to his place. He wouldn’t leave my side. He said that he wasn’t going to let a friend kill himself when he had so much to live for.
Beckett got me thinking about starting a security business. He had actually planted the bug in my ear months before. I had been feeling sorry for myself and was floundering. I would go to the gym and beg to spar with someone, preferably someone big, who could beat the shit out of me. I had been doing security in the Marines for six years; it was my MOS (Military Occupational Specialty).
“Why don’t you start your own security business?” Beckett had asked. “You’ve been doing it for years. You know everything there is to know about it.”
“I don’t know. It’s different in the real world, Beckett.”
“What, are you afraid of failing?”
“I just don’t know. I don’t know if I am capable of protecting someone.”
Out of nowhere, Beckett threw a punch at my face. I hadn’t been prepared for it, but I saw it coming towards my face and blocked it as he threw another. Then he tried to swipe my feet out from under me as I jumped over them before throwing another couple punches. I blocked them all.
He stopped and looked at me. “As I see it, you have quick reflexes, even when your mind is on other things. You were trained for this Mitchell. The only way you will fail is if you don’t try. You can’t succeed without failing at something. Failure teaches you what mistakes not to make again.”
“But Beckett, this is something that I can’t fail at. People’s lives depend on it.”
“
Mitchell, it wasn’t your responsibility to protect Michaels, correct?”
“Correct.”
“But you were there for him, weren’t you? You stopped his bleeding and you protected him until additional help came, correct?”
“Yes.”
“You risked your life for him, correct?”
“Yes.”
“He survived because of you, correct?”
Looking down, I understood where Beckett was going with that. “Yes, he did.”
“Mitchell, this is the perfect profession for you. You have the insight, knowledge, and expertise to make this work. Could you imagine if Michael Jordan had listened to his high school coach? He was kicked off the team because he was told he didn’t have talent. I bet his coach would hide under a rock now for making that statement. I’m not saying that you won’t have problems, but you will learn from them.”
* * *
I remember that day as if it was yesterday; Beckett has a way of seeing all the good in you and encourages you to find it in yourself. He sees things in people that they don’t see in themselves.
Beckett hired me recently to help protect his girlfriend, Harlow. From what Beckett had told me a few years ago, Harlow was his only friend as a small child. She actually protected him in grade school and junior high, but then he had to move and they lost touch with each other. I never see that part of Harlow. What I see is a scared woman who was brutally attacked by an ex-boyfriend, a guy who has threatened to come back and finish what he started five years ago. He even beat her father up, breaking his nose and bruising ribs. If her father hadn’t come home, though, the ex-boyfriend, Brad, would have raped her. How sick is that?
Ten years later, Beckett finally reconnected with Harlow after running into her at the deli she owns. Beckett is concerned about Brad and where and what he has been up to. That’s where I come in. Beckett wants me to find him and see what he is planning, but the guy is off the grid. There isn’t any information on him. He hasn’t used his bank accounts or credit cards, hasn’t made a change of address at the DMV, shows no work, or school history, nothing. It is as if he stepped off the earth. He is smoke.
Most of the time, Beckett and I just talk on the phone, but he asked me to come sit down and talk about the ex-boyfriend. He and Richard are also looking to hire additional staff and want background checks done on the final applicants.
Never Forgotten Love Page 18
