Reckless Endangerment
Amber Lea Easton
Mountain Moxie Publishing (2013)
* * *
Rating: ****
Heroes come in many forms--soldiers who fall and rise, ordinary people doing extraordinary things, women who battle for their marriage, reporters who fight for truth and justice, and men who put it all on the line for the women they love.
Sometimes heroes fall.
Colonel Michael Cedars is a decorated war hero returning home from Afghanistan. Wounded, unsure if he’ll walk again, he’s not sure how he fits in civilian life, and he definitely questions if he wants to remain married to the feisty redhead, Hope Shane.
Hope’s never been one to play it safe. She met the Colonel while working as a war correspondent, fell in love with the man in uniform, watched him get blown up, and isn’t willing to give up on him now.
Back in Denver, Colorado, she’s working as an investigative reporter who becomes entangled in a human trafficking story. As the danger of her story intensifies, Hope and Michael are tested more than they ever imagined. Will Michael be able to see beyond what he’s lost to embrace what remains? Is he still the man she married or has he become a liability that could get her killed? Is he still the hero she claims him to be? Will her reckless pursuit of justice endanger the life they’ve pieced together?
About the Author
Amber Lea Easton is a multi-published fiction and nonfiction author. For twenty years, she's worked in the fields of journalism and advertising with a brief detour into the financial industry. Although she holds a BA in Communications & Journalism, she is a perpetual student of life who enjoys taking classes on a wide variety of subjects when time allows. Smart is sexy, according to Easton, which is why she writes about strong female characters who have their flaws and challenges but ultimately persevere. She currently has three romantic suspense novels out in the world, Reckless Endangerment, Kiss Me Slowly and Riptide, with three more slated for publication in 2013. In addition to fiction writing, Easton also edits and writes nonfiction. She also speaks on subjects ranging from writing to widowhood. Some of her videos on romance writing have appeared on the international Writers & Authors television network. Current radio appearances are linked via her website at http://www.amberleaeaston.com. Easton currently lives with her two teenagers in the Colorado Rocky Mountains where she gives thanks daily for the gorgeous view outside her window. She finds inspiration from traveling, the people she meets, nature and life’s twists and turns. At the end of the day, as long as she's writing, she considers herself to be simply a lucky lady liv'n the dream.
RECKLESS ENDANGERMENT
by
Amber Lea Easton
Mountain Moxie Publishing
Copyright © Amber Lea Easton 2013
Reckless Endangerment
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real life people, names, places or situations is simply a coincidence. No parts of this novel may be replicated without express permission from the author.
Genre: Romantic Suspense, Contemporary Romance
First Printing April 13, 2013
ISBN-13: 978-0615801612
ISBN-10: 0615801617
DEDICATION
Heroes come in many forms, from the ordinary person who does extraordinary things, the friend who shows up when you feel alone, the parent who never gives up believing, soldiers guarding our front lines and doctors saving lives. This book is dedicated to all those heroes and more, many who would never consider themselves in that role.
My personal heroes are individuals who have inspired, consoled, motivated, and brightened my life by their mere existence. Their impact on my life is embedded deep in my heart. Without going into why they’re heroes to me, I will simply dedicate this novel to them. Thanks for your inspiration, Bill Thompson, Merle Ordal, Judy Ordal, Sheila Lukes, Tanja Bruner, Michelle Ross Logsdon, Molly Davenport, Lisa Wagner, Tammy Dennings Maggy and Kasey Grantham.
Chapter One
Torture would have been kinder than this. Seven surgeries in five months had led him here...the dead end.
“Having you closer to home will help all of us, Michael,” his mother rattled on until he tuned her out.
He gritted his teeth as she wheeled him inside the New Horizons Institute, the world-renowned physical therapy center intended to transition him back into his life. His life. He snorted. Paralyzed on his left side from the waist down with minimum feeling in his right leg, he failed to see the reasons for trying to change either his condition or his attitude about it by coming to this place. Transitional facility. Just another word for hell as far as he was concerned. He squeezed the arm on the wheelchair. The fact that he, a decorated officer in the US , Corps, needed to learn “basic life skills” as they called it, fueled his anger.
“Hi, I’m Becky Shane-McGill, your new physical therapist. Welcome, Colonel.” Black hair spiked from her head at odd spurts as if she had recently had a breakdown of some sort and emerald eyes snapped with too much cheer for his current attitude.
Her name rattled his nerves, reminded him of a redheaded journalist who had saved his life and stolen his heart in a desert a world away. Hope Shane. His heart jumped as if waking from a deep sleep as he wondered if this woman with the crazy hair could be her sister.
God, he hoped not. That would be the last straw.
An image flickered in his mind of a woman covered with sand and streaked with blood, flame-colored hair stuffed beneath the ugliest hat he’d ever seen and a smile wicked enough to make him forget the bombs exploding around them.
“Shane-McGill?” His voice sounded strange even to himself. Strained. Devoid of emotion. “Hope Shane’s sister?”
“Yes.” Becky cringed before shooting him a half-smile. “It’s true. After the story she did on you, how could I not request to work with you myself?”
“The story...right.” He squeezed his eyes closed and clenched his fists. So that’s all her sister knew of their connection, a bit in a magazine about fallen heroes. His heart twisted at the confirmation that he’d been left behind after all.
“She wrote of you like you were the biggest hero she’d ever met.”
“I’m not a hero, far from it,” he said, unable to meet her gaze. “I’m not supposed to be here.”
“Timing worked in our favor.” His dad slapped him on the shoulder. “C’mon, Mike, the sooner we get you settled, the sooner you’ll be able to come home.”
Home. He had no idea what that meant anymore. He clenched the box in his hands, thumbs stroking the worn wood at the edges. He hated this entire situation. None of this had been in his life plan and he simply didn’t know what to do.
Coming to the New Horizons Institute in Denver, Colorado, had been his family’s idea and he’d opposed it from the beginning. Close to his parents and son in Colorado Springs, yes, but the connection to Hope Shane concerned him. He knew her well enough to suspect she had more to do with this transition than anyone would admit. Damn her. She was like a pit bull wearing lipstick when it came to her determination to interfere with his life.
Maybe she hadn’t returned to her hometown. He’d seen her on NBC several times while he recovered in a hospital bed. Perhaps she was still putting herself in danger’s way or—worse yet—dancing with another man in an exotic location, making love with him, laughing with him, and holding him.
Good. Fine. He didn’t want her anyway. Good-bye once and for all.
He clenched the box like a football and watched Becky lead the way down the hall. He had left too many loose ends and worried that the great unraveling would take place any minute.
When his mother steered him into his suite, he glanced at the extra-wide door, low coun
tertops, yellow walls and denim-covered sofa. End tables were covered with family photos and Dalton’s drawings. Homey, he believed his mother called it. Sweet hell would be more accurate.
Dalton shifted from foot to foot, his six-year-old self looking uncomfortable in this adult situation. Shaggy brown hair fell over his eyes when he glanced over his shoulder at him. “Do you like it, dad?”
He nodded even though he wanted to scream.
“Let’s go check out the bedroom,” his father grabbed Dalton’s hand and led him away, but Dalton kept his eyes on him as if challenging him to say more, do more, and be more.
He watched his son and wanted to explain. But how do you explain war was more than a video game to a six-year-old?
“As you know, Colonel, this is a transitional facility not a hospital. Although we will continue with your physical therapy, our main purpose here is to prepare you for life on your own with your new challenges,” Becky said with her perpetual grin.
Challenges. Right. He stared at his unmoving legs. Everyone was too politically correct for his taste.
“Oh, it’s going to be great having you so close. We’ll come up every weekend to see you. Dalton is very excited,” his mother, Gwen, said in that too-fast-too-cheery-too-desperate voice of hers that was driving him nuts.
He closed his eyes. He dreaded the idea of spending every weekend with people who expected him to be the guy he was before Afghanistan. He saw it in the eyes...the expectation that he’d snap out of it and be the son they’d once known. But Dalton deserved a father, he knew that, so he’d try. That’s all he could do, try.
And somewhere out there was that damned redheaded journalist pulling strings to get him here and waiting to pounce, he knew it even though no one would confirm it. Just thinking of the expectations she’d hold made him sick to his stomach.
His father and Dalton returned from the bedroom, beaming smiles and good will. As they chattered about how wonderful it was, he realized they had all gone insane. Completely nuts. The plant was just a plant, no adjective needed. The place was another trap, another illusion of progress and healing.
He wanted out. What he would give for a drink, a cold beer or a shot of whiskey. God, what he wouldn’t give for one day of freedom. One day with no one telling him what to think, when to roll over, what to eat, when to shower, what to say. One day of normalcy. One day without sympathetic looks or discussions about his injuries. One day when he wouldn’t think about war and loss.
“Dad,” Dalton approached him with a toothless grin, pulling up his jeans as he moved. “Grandpa and I set up the XBOX in your bedroom. Wanna play me sometime? I’ve been practicing.”
“He would love to play, wouldn’t you, Michael?” Gwen squeezed his shoulder.
“Sounds good.” He looked at his son and hated the awkwardness between them. He had been overseas so long…too long…and now he didn’t know what to do or how to be.
Again he thought of Hope, felt her arms around his waist as she had half-dragged, half-carried him to safety from a burning Humvee, her husky voice warning him not to pass out, pleading with him to stay alive, promising him a bottle of ouzo if they ever made it back to the States together. She had saved his life.
He would never forgive her for that.
“Michael?” Gwen leaned over him, concern shadowing her eyes. “Are you okay? You look exhausted.”
“Long flight, long day.” His gaze flicked over the wrinkles that had deepened on her forehead. Being his mother had aged her beyond her years. He looked away.
“Colonel?” Becky’s turn to hover.
“I’m tired. I have a headache.” He wheeled his chair toward the windows overlooking a courtyard. The front range of the Rocky Mountains framed Denver’s skyline. Aspen trees with leafless branches swayed in the cool breeze.
“We need to leave dad alone, grandma. Let’s go,” Dalton said to Gwen as he tugged her long skirt. “Let’s leave dad alone.”
He glanced at his son. More than anything, he wished he could undo his time away from his boy. When he thought he would die, he’d made Hope promise to come back to the States, find Dalton and tell him how much his dad had loved him. Now here he sat within five feet of his son and couldn’t say the words he felt in his heart.
Once a Marine, always a Marine. That’s what people said, but for the past five months he hadn’t felt much like a warrior. He didn’t know how to feel anymore, what to be, how to act, or what to say. He had no idea how to stop the downward spiral.
“Where is Hope?” He needed to know, instinct cautioning him that all hell was about to break loose. “She isn’t here, is she? I mean, she’s not going to walk in the door any minute…is she?” He looked at the wooden box he held in his lap. She had written him every day. Postcards. Notecards. Backs of napkins and receipts. Whatever she could find, she had written on and mailed. Every day until about six weeks ago when she must have given up. He had written back, but never mailed his responses because they had been filled with too much pain, too much self-pity. “Is she in Afghanistan? Did she go back?”
“She isn’t in Afghanistan, Colonel.” Becky chewed her lower lip, arms folded across her chest as she studied him.
“No? South Korea? Tell me she didn’t take that assignment.” His thumbs tapped on the box. “It’s too dangerous over there, unpredictable.”
“She didn’t go to South Korea.” Becky studied him with those too-similar eyes and frowned. “How close are the two of you?”
“Did she have anything to do with me being transferred here? You’re her sister…that’s too much of a coincidence. Hope and I…” He shook his head, finding it impossible to describe who her sister had been to him. “I think it’s too much of a coincidence, that’s all.”
“No, Michael, we thought it would be best. This was our decision, especially after Callie filed for custody of Dalton. Ms. Shane did send us the information, even recommended Ms. Shane-McGill, said she’d call in a few favors to move you up the list, but we made the decision.” Gwen glanced at his father who hovered uncertainly behind everyone else. “Like I said, your father and I—”
“I know what you said, but I also know Hope. She always gets what she wants.” A familiar swell of dread sloshed in his gut. Not that she would want him anymore, not like this...damaged beyond repair.
“We brought up some family pictures and some other things to make this more comfortable for you…” His father faltered and looked toward his mother. “We plan on getting up here as often as possible. Dalton’s in school and doesn’t have a break until Thanksgiving, but we’ll try to make it up as many weekends as possible until you can...”
He glanced at his father as his words trailed off. That summed it up right there--uncertainty. Until he could what? Go home? Where was that anymore? With them? On his own? Where?
“I started playing hockey this year,” Dalton said with a cautious look at him. “I suppose you can’t come see me play, huh? Do you have to stay here all the time? Grandma said you were gonna be home now.”
God, this sucked. He wished his life had a rewind button.
“We’re driving back to the Springs tomorrow. Dalton can’t miss too much school. We want to give you time to get settled into the routine before we start pestering you too much.”
“Yeah, Dad,” Dalton said, taking a step toward him. “Grandma and grandpa said we’re going to stay in a hotel that has a water slide this weekend, isn’t that cool? Can you come see me there?”
He nodded, afraid he no longer knew the right things to say to his family.
“Captain McGee from your unit is in town. He said he was discharged a few months ago, has a job driving between San Diego and Denver. He’s been good about keeping in touch.” Gwen hugged him again and lingered. “We’re all so happy to have you here, Michael, so close to home again. It’s a miracle.”
He fingered the lid of the box resting against his thigh. Hope’s letters had been postmarked everywhere from Pakistan to Libya. All with
her PO box in New York as a return address. She’d written about the mundane observations of her day, just as if they’d been lying in bed together like they used to do. He’d read them at all hours of the day and night until some of them had torn at the creases.
“If Hope’s not in Afghanistan, where is she?” he asked.
“She’s in Denver, working at Channel 9 news. She moved back a little over a month ago,” Becky answered, her grin slipping. “Would you like to call her?”
“God, no.” The thought of calling Hope Shane--technically Hope Cedars—his estranged and apparently still secret wife, crippled him more than his injuries ever could. “Does she know I’m here? Tell me what to expect. I don’t want to be ambushed.”
“Ambushed? I doubt it. Since returning to Denver, she’s been working non-stop. You know how she is, always chasing a story. I don’t see her much.” Becky looked at his family for support but they still wore their strained, awkward smiles. “Your move here came about rather suddenly. I don’t know how she’d know about it.”
It was obvious from her sister’s blank expression that Hope had kept their secret. Of course she had. A woman like that didn’t need to be saddled with a disabled Marine as a husband. Maybe she had never filed the marriage certificate. Maybe she had finally given up but hadn’t been able to tell him in the letters. Maybe she had already found someone else. Maybe that’s why the letters had stopped.
He wanted to scream at the top of his lungs, punch something, throw something; instead he turned his chair and stared out the window.
* * * *
“Are you sure this is the right place?” Devon asked, peering over the steering wheel of her Prius.
Hope looked at the address scrawled on the back of the picture that had been sent to her office. “Yep, this is it.” She flipped the picture over again and winced at the sight of illegal immigrants piled into the back of a van like pellets of produce. “I’m going to snoop around, you stay here.”
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