by Snow, Nicole
Accidental Shield
A Marriage Mistake Romance
Nicole Snow
Ice Lips Press
Content copyright © Nicole Snow. All rights reserved.
Published in the United States of America.
First published in January, 2020.
Disclaimer: The following book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance characters in this story may have to real people is only coincidental.
Please respect this author’s hard work! No section of this book may be reproduced or copied without permission. Exception for brief quotations used in reviews or promotions. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. Thanks!
Cover Design – CoverLuv. Photo by Blake Ballard.
Contents
About the Book
1. A Little Bop on the Head (Valerie)
2. What Friends Are For (Flint)
3. Turtle Tracks (Valerie)
4. Secrets On a Stick (Flint)
5. Safe For Now (Valerie)
6. A Rare Bird (Flint)
7. Balancing Act (Valerie)
8. Broken Wing (Flint)
9. Two Against One (Valerie)
10. Change of Scenery (Flint)
11. Old Confessions (Valerie)
12. Here Comes Trouble (Flint)
13. Birds of a Feather (Valerie)
14. Prized Bird (Flint)
15. Under Wing (Valerie)
16. The Thrill of the Chase (Flint)
17. A Little Heart-to-Heart (Valerie)
18. When Canaries Sing (Flint)
19. Black Pearl Muse (Valerie)
20. Tough Stuff (Flint)
21. Open Mic (Valerie)
22. String of Pearls (Flint)
23. Turtle Magic (Valerie)
Accidental Rebel Preview
About Nicole Snow
More Books by Nicole
About the Book
Accidentally married to a human stallion.
And I can't even remember our wedding.
It's awkward, okay? I didn't plan on waking up hitched to Hubby of the Century.
Or one little misadventure erasing every memory of us.
No sweet nothings. No ugly cry vows. No flipping honeymoon.
But every time I see Flint Calum, I wonder.
How did I get so lucky?
Let's forget all six foot something of his oh-so-bad superdad self.
His flashing eyes and SEAL perfected whip of a body aren't why I'm dizzy.
It's the bittersweet way he smiles when I poke at my past.
And something's very wrong.
He tells me I'll be fine.
He says he'll get this sorted.
He promises to be my shield.
Totally not the pretender who'd scheme up an illusion to save my life.
Oh, but that's the thing about memories.
Sometimes they come back with bitter truths wrapped in dilemmas.
What if I can't stay mad at him?
What if I need Flint to hero me back together?
What happens when you fall in love with a beautiful lie?
1
A Little Bop on the Head (Valerie)
Every freaking bone in my body feels like it’s just been used as a drumstick.
What on earth did I do? I can’t move anything without this stabbing pain. Even breathing hurts. I reach up to touch my chest, but my arm barely moves.
Why?
What happened?
I don’t remember signing up to get flattened by a truck.
Actually, I can’t remember anything.
My mind is a total blank. This weird, clean, whiteboard kind of blank, without a single marker in sight.
I swallow hard, but nothing goes down.
Big mistake. Bile churns up instantly, burning my throat. Oh God, if a shot memory isn’t bad enough, I’m going to—
Yep. I can’t stop it.
My stomach revolts and turns itself inside out.
Despite the agony, my body jerks up and I let go.
Dear God, I hate barfing.
Always have. Always will. Whatever blanked out my brain isn’t strong enough to hit the reset button on that.
I suffer through a few more seconds and wipe my mouth. Then I look up at a large hazy silhouette standing over me. I’m not alone.
“Don’t fight it. You drank a lot of seawater,” a man says. “It’s good to let it out.”
Seawater? Is that why I woke up with this insane roar in my head like an angry waterfall? Can’t say I remember pissing off Poseidon enough to deserve this, but maybe—
Oh. There’s that queasiness again. Round two. Hopefully the last.
I follow the stranger’s advice and just let go. There’s the faint sense of him gently helping hold my head up, right over a bucket he has in his other hand, but I’m tearing up too much to see. And suddenly, I feel like I could walk on air.
It hurts, but by the time I’m done ralphing so loud I think I’m speaking bear, it isn’t so bad.
There’s just this warm, fuzzy, free-falling lapse into darkness.
“There. You’re gonna be just fine, lady. Rest all you want.” That voice again.
It’s deep, strange, but soothing.
I think I smile, wondering if I’ve just met my guardian angel.
Then I tumble backwards into the cloud of pillows under my head and shut my eyes.
* * *
I hear voices again, faint and faraway, yet also close by.
How does that work?
Oh, but I guess it does when you’ve lost your sense of direction.
My heart starts racing when I make out a word. Valerie.
They’re saying my name. Calling to me. I can’t open my eyes. My eyelids just won’t pull apart. I have to work to force them open.
Valerie. I hear it again.
That’s my name. No doubt about it.
I think?
Honestly, I’m not so sure. If I’m hazy on dang near everything else, how can I be so sure I’m right about my own name?
But my heart pounds faster, making it hard to breathe. That’s when I freak.
I’m a shaking, panicked, mumble-mouthed mess.
Why? What’s wrong? What’s happened?
Wrenching my eyes fully open, I blink at the brightness, and then freeze at the huge man staring at me. I can see him clearly this time. Air sticks in my lungs until I slowly remember to push it out.
He smiles. All six-foot-something of his tall, chiseled, Hercules-chested self. Those angel fantasies don’t seem so wild just looking at him.
But he’s a total stranger. For all I know, he could be the devil himself in a sinfully handsome disguise.
I roll my shoulders, more air rushing out of my lungs.
“Hey, sleeping beauty,” he says with a deep, rich voice I recognize. One that’s far too velvety for a man his size. “How you feeling?”
“Like...like a crap sandwich.” I pinch my lips together. Wondering why I’d answered.
Why I’d said that. I sure have a way with words.
He chuckles. “Never worked up an appetite for those sandwiches. Damn if I can blame you, though, considering...well, this shit.”
This shit? Very helpful.
Who is he?
His beaming smile returns. It reaches the brightest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. They’re almost sea glass blue.
I love sea glass. I’ve built up a collection of it. Sometimes I hunt for it on the beaches when I’ve got nothing better to do.
“Don’t mind me, just came to change the sheets,” he says with that smoked bourbon voice. Then he smooths a perfectly cozy blanket
over my legs.
Um, blanket? I’m still in bed. Why?
Goosebumps rise wild up and down my arms.
Why’s this stranger sitting on my bed? Or is it his bed?
I don’t know him. I don’t know this room or this bed. The wheels turn in my head, but can’t get traction.
I just...
I don’t know anything. There’s a gaping black hole where my life should be.
A freaky, nightmare-worthy, bottomless pit kinda black.
My mouth turns into cotton. I try to swallow through the dryness but just gag. Attempt number two makes my stomach throb angrily.
Ugh. I so don’t want to throw up. I hate barfing with a passion.
I groan at the thought and a flicker of memory I could do without.
I manage to swallow, slowly looking up at him. “I threw up on you, didn’t I?”
His blue eyes sparkle, and he flashes me another one of those smiles that could make the most rotten day smell like roses.
“Nope,” he says. “Lucky for both of us, your aim sucks big time. You missed me and got the bed.”
“Oh, God. Like that’s any better?” I mumble.
“Wasn’t much. I came prepared.” He kicks something lightly beside the bed, and there’s a metallic rattling sound that screams bucket.
Crap. I remember now. Mongolian throat singing into the bucket and just barely spattering the covers, but that’s probably why the handsome help woke me up, bringing fresh new sheets.
Of course I remember that. Just like every other infamous, embarrassing thing the brain loves latching on to.
Sooo, where’s the rest of my life before I spent my time defiling strangers’ beds?
Why can’t I remember anything? Like how I got here? Where here is, and who Mr. Sea Glass is?
A face like his seems hard to forget.
How can a girl just have her marbles snatched away overnight?
“Don’t worry. I washed the bedding,” he says. “You’ve been holed up for a few hours dreaming your pretty little heart out.”
Something about the way he talks makes me snort. “Don’t humor me. I’m a far cry from pretty anything right now.”
That piercing blue gaze of his narrows, studying me. “We’re a far cry from Exorcist pea soup territory, honey. Both of us better thank our lucky fucking stars it’s not worse. You could’ve died.”
A second later, I realize how much worse he means. I grimace and instantly feel the side of my head stinging.
Reaching up, I touch my temple. My pain goes from annoying slow burn to frying pan hot.
“Careful,” he growls, grabbing my hand and easing it back down. “You’ve got a nasty gash there.”
“How? Did I fall off a cliff or something?” I ask, one of a thousand frantic questions zooming through my mind. “Where are we? Who are you? How’d I get here, anyway?”
“Shit.” A frown knits his dark brows into a V. “You really don’t remember, huh?”
I try.
Really, truly try to dredge up something. But I’m not even sure if I know how to remember.
What the hell is going on here? It’s like someone took a pressure washer full of bleach to my whole brain.
Mr. Sea Glass just stares. Somehow that makes my cheeks heat.
Rolling the back of my head against the softness of the pillow, I try relaxing again. Searching for another flicker of a memory. One that doesn’t involve me getting sick in this bed.
Nada.
It’s like my life started here.
“No,” I finally sigh out, holding my breath at the cold panicky shiver rolling through me. “I just can’t remember anything.”
Crud. I shouldn’t have said that.
I still don’t have the foggiest idea who my mysterious caretaker is. Good looks could be deceptive. Stranger danger should be my new motto. This is a strange place.
Isn’t it?
The fact that I can’t tell makes this even more worrisome.
Mr. Sea Glass reaches over and pats my hand. “Don’t freak. You’re alive and breathing. That means there’s a good chance the rest will come back sooner or later. You, uh...you had an accident.”
He looks away when he says the last part. Why?
“What kind of accident?” I whisper slowly, my free hand balling into a nervous little fist.
I’m scared. For all I know, this guy had something to do with it. If he wants to set me up for another untimely 'accident,' I wouldn't stand a prayer. Not against a human wall like him.
“A boating accident,” he says, his gaze snapping back to me. “The ship went down and you're lucky you didn’t go with it. Barely managed to get you back here in one piece.”
Searching his eyes, I find a flicker of truth. I hope.
For now, it’s enough. So I look past him to a set of French doors framed with long, flowing, translucent green sheers. They’re hanging open, and beyond them is a concrete lanai with a white brick wall. Past that, there’s a faint hint of a sandy beach, the ocean, all murmuring waves and soft breezes.
My heart thuds. I couldn’t forget that scenery if I tried.
Nothing says breathtaking like the Oahu landscape. I love Hawaii. Maybe that’s why just looking out there feels like I’m home.
But how do I know?
This is bonkers. The things I know, the things I don’t.
Panic creeps back into my system, pinching my chest.
“When?” I ask him, clearing my throat. “When did I have this boating accident?”
“Just yesterday. Pretty late in the evening. Hasn’t even been a full day since.”
I remember boats. Sort of. I like them, I think, getting out among the ocean air and the shimmering waves and slow passing beauty.
Yeah, there’s something familiar there. Something in the back of my mind, pulling at my memory like a brick on a yo-yo string, but...it’s like having a word stuck on the tip of your tongue and not being able to verbalize it. Imagine that in your whole brain.
This is so flipping weird.
I pull my eyes off the water and look at Mr. Sea Glass again as he looks past me, taking in the same outdoor beauty. My first impressions weren’t wrong.
He’s good-looking. Not young and not old. Mid to late thirties, maybe?
He’s a whole lot of muscle and big bones stuffed in a beige button-down shirt with brown palm trees printed across it. The color suits him. Shows off his tan, his buff edge, his broad shoulders. There’s a tattoo on his forearm, deep black lines in the shape of an eagle holding some kind of fork.
How do I know him?
I stare harder, examining his face. If he’d meant that sleeping beauty remark literally and woke me up with a kiss...well, I don’t think I’d have any reason to protest.
He’s got the Captain McHottie thing going on in spades. His face looks downright princely, set with a strong, square chin, wide-set eyes—yes, that unforgettable azure blue shade again—and topped with perfectly arched dark-brown eyebrows.
His hair is dark brown, cropped, but not too short. His nose is straight, a bit on the wide side, but it fits his face. There are fine, tiny wrinkles around his eyes. Laugh lines. Or is it from stress?
He’s not laughing now, but the fine lines are prominent because he’s looking at me some kinda way.
Is it kindness? Empathy? Or is it just a why me? burdened look?
I can’t tell to save my life.
I don’t know if I know him, either.
Pressing my lips together, I close my eyes, trying to clear my head so I can think. Remember.
No dice.
“Something’s wrong. I just can’t remember...anything.” I whimper, squeezing my shut eyes tighter against the sting of tears. “What’s wrong with me?”
His hand settles on top of the back of my hand. Warmer this time, stronger, his fingers snare mine like a thick, calloused shield. “Think you’re trying too hard. Just relax, woman. You took a big damn blow to the head, and it must’ve rattle
d something loose. Your shit’s not gone. It’s just not together.”
Lovely. Mr. Sea Glass must’ve used up all his happy points on those Adonis good looks. He’s sure got a way with words.
A Neanderthal’s way. But is he wrong about the relax part?
My shoulders tense. Considering his advice, I try easing my shoulders, arms, and neck, then turn my attention on breathing. Slow, deep breaths, holding it, letting it out slowly. I do a slow count, thankful I can remember my numbers.
One.
Two.
Three.
“That’s it,” he says. “Breathe.”
I nod and keep on breathing, squeezing his hand as I keep counting.
Four.
Five.
It’s helping, little by little. The tightness in my chest, the panic, slowly subsides.
Hissing out a long breath, I open my eyes and stare up at the ceiling. A big tan paddle blade fan swoops through the air, slowly whooshing around.
The room is tranquil. The walls are a pale olive green with white wood running along the edges, including the doors, and the floors are a light natural wood. The king-sized bed in the center of the room I’m in is decked out in white sheets, a white blanket, and a folded pale-green duvet draped over the end.
There’s a big TV mounted on one wall above a dresser. Then two doors, one on each side of the dresser, both open. One goes to a bathroom, and the other juts off to a hall. On the other side of the room, there’s a set of huge double doors. Both closed. A closet, I’d guess.
Ugh.
How do I know what a closet is, a TV, a bathroom...but not who I am?
He mentioned an accident. Am I dead? Is this some sort of odd heaven?
