by January Bain
He gave a slight shrug, resuming our kiss. Yes. My soul swelled up inside me, seeming to meld with his in some kind of swirling, divine cloud dance. It felt as if all our atoms were aligning, setting things in their proper order.
Life. It just doesn’t get any better than this…
Epilogue
Auntie T.J. came flying into the café, jarring the angels overhead and making them squeal in wild delight. Our auntie’s round face was aglow with news. Must be important. She usually just called.
“Guess who bought an early home pregnancy kit?”
The three of us had just sat down for a coffee to check out the new wedding photos. The past two weeks had been insane since Melody and Mick’s wedding. Only one fight at the reception, so it hadn’t even come close to the most memorable event in recent history. A knock-down, drag-out fight between the groom’s mother and Melody’s Auntie Beth over the choice of topper for the groom’s cake hardly registered on anyone’s radar. Probably best not to choose chubby figurines that insult the bride’s robust figure. And we did have the luxury of each stage of the event captured in living color, right down to the cake-in-the-face part when Auntie Beth got the upper hand over her rival. But between catering at the movie set, where I’d been putting up with Mimi’s barely concealed hostility, and keeping up with business in the café while worrying about the future for Star and my family, I’d hardly had time for my favorite Mountie. Just thinking about him, though, brought a smile to my lips. And have I said what a great kisser he is…?
“Who, Auntie?” Tulip bit for the three of us.
“You have to guess! No fun in just sayin’ it.” She placed her hands on her ample hips and gave a snort.
“What do we get if we guess it right?”
Auntie T.J. narrowed her eyes at me. “You know about this?”
“Maybe,” I said with a coy smile. “Let’s see—I’d bet Christine Blackmore. Right?”
“Harrumph. You must have cheated.” She pursed her lips.
I shook my head. “Nope.” Healing her certainly hadn’t been cheating in my opinion. The gift was goddess given and approved.
“Well, I think that’s great. Doesn’t matter how it happened. I’m so happy for her and Sean. They’ve been wanting a baby for ages,” Tulip said.
“Me too,” Star said.
“Me three,” I added with a wide grin. I looked around the café, enjoying watching Tom and Charlie argue about whose turn it was to pay. Ah, normalcy. Everything was all right with the world. At least for this moment. And tomorrow could take care of itself—with the help of a little magic, of course.
Want to see more from this author? Here’s a taster for you to enjoy!
The TETRAD Group: Racing Peril
January Bain
Excerpt
Jake Marshall squinted behind his dark sunglasses. What was that? Even with the world’s worst hangover, he’d caught the glint of light reflecting from a distant object. Discreetly pulling out his Steiner Ranger Xtreme binoculars from his jacket pocket, he brought them up to his face, focusing their ultra-high resolution on the roof of what looked like a strip mall a full city block away from the courthouse. He moved the optical device back and forth, checking all along the flat roofline and the squat structure of an air conditioner and vent, watching intently for another glimmer. It didn’t come, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that had settled in his gut. And his gut never lied.
I should have listened to it the day I met Racheal. Note to self, never override instinct again. He’d been flattered such a gorgeous woman had come on to him, acting as if she couldn’t live without a tumble in the hay. A man can’t be blamed for the direction his cock takes him in, right? But it had turned out to be a very bad decision. Worse, he’d known better. And no amount of drinking was going to stop the pain caused by her having ditched him while he was away doing his duty for his country. Coming home to surprise her and catching her in bed with some guy named Sean Shithead Kincaid—that had hurt like hell. And still did. And now here he was on leave from his military regiment in Canada, filling in for a friend on the steps of a LA courthouse.
And this job. He shook his head at the stupidity of some people. Why would the guy expose himself to a press conference when slinking away into the night would better suit the situation? The asshole had gotten off on a technicality, after all. Nothing to be proud of unless it was the fact that his rich father could afford the best lawyer in town. Gloating was not smart. Jake’s gut agreed.
The job of guarding the asshole they were presently waiting to escort to his daddy’s hideaway had fallen to him when his school chum had come down with the worst case of flu Jake had ever witnessed. He’d stepped up. Had to and wanted to. As if he could have done otherwise, when Max had taken him in when he’d turned up on his doorstep a week ago, needing a change of scenery. And not today he was filling in for Max’s own private firm, Sterling Security, as payback for all the guy had done for him, and he didn’t intend to fuck it up. Jake’s hangover made no odds, not when Max Sterling deserved Jake’s A-game.
Max’s change in direction had gone smoothly—hell, maybe he should start thinking seriously about leaving the army now. Three tours had taken it out of him. And that sent him, just like that, back to Afghanistan, back to the worst horror of his life, back to the reason for his PTSD.
* * * *
They’d landed outside the wire enclosing the compound of Joint Task Force 2, the special operations branch of the Canadian military he’d been assigned to in Afghanistan, ready to dig in and do his part, tasked with toppling the Taliban regime. Operation Scorpion. Capable of doing exactly what it implied—to both sides. Just the how and the when were beyond his control.
A remote shriek sounded as he walked toward the compound. It grew in intensity, an unstoppable freight train, hurling closer by the second. An aircraft flew directly overhead, its wake disturbing the air, then a second later, a dull thud came. The ground trembled. A small pall of smoke rose in the distance. The shriek faded.
Then another shriek ripped the air. One he could pinpoint this time, coming from a northern ridge. The shriek grew to a wail, a harpy screaming in retribution. The ground shook uncontrollably and men began running.
Lieutenant Gibson, a junior officer and squad leader, shouted, “Incoming! Get inside the wire! Run! Now!”
His words threw ice water into Jake’s face. A single word connected with his brain. Run.
Racing to the side entrance to get inside the camp, he struggled for each breath. He was not used to the lack of oxygen at the high altitude. Oh, God. What needed doing first?
Captain Krill raced into view, gesturing for him to follow. “Some kids got hit from these rounds. They’re at the front gates.”
His began moving, running after Krill, wanting to go faster still, lungs burning. He followed the captain around the corner and thirty yards away some of his fellow soldiers were opening the front gate. Crying, distraught Afghan civilians began pouring through. He kept running.
Then he saw the kids. Heard their screams. Some thrashing in agony in their parents’ arms, others lying still. He dropped his rifle, tore off his helmet and dumped his body armor in the dirt. Sprinted the last stretch.
“Grab them!” one of the soldiers screamed over the din.
A loud argument broke out, slowing them down.
“They’re insisting you take the boys first,” one of the soldiers explained, a translator who understood what Jake couldn’t.
“Take them all!” Krill ordered.
Other soldiers picked up the few left alive while Jake scooped up the nearest child, turning to follow the others to the aid station. He glanced down at the child after a few steps. A little girl, no more than five, so light in his arms he almost thought he’d imagined her. She wore a dress made of burlap, rough to the touch, and had bright emerald-green eyes, deep and filled with pain, and long raven hair plastered to her skin from tears and blood.
He kept
running, cradling her head and shoulders in his right hand, her slight body pressed against his ribs, a thigh by his left forearm. Her tiny arm flailed about. She gasped, screaming again and again, never stopping.
“Shush, it’s okay. It’s okay, little one,” he said it over and over as he ran, each step an agony of taking too fucking long.
An image of his niece seared his brain. Cute as a button with big blue eyes and long brown curls. Dressed up in a fancy dress for Sunday School and giving him the biggest grin. Emily was about this girl’s age. Maybe a little older.
Keep moving.
Her breathing changed. Grew ragged. Her screams lessened. Her eyes were growing dull. She stared up at him, this stranger in the uniform, and her abject terror faded.
Warmth spread down his chest. What was it? His legs operated on autopilot as he ran, his eyes fixed on hers.
She screamed one last time, the sound hoarse and weak. The warmth spread to his hip and trickled down his thighs. What was it?
He had to look. When he did, his brain shut down. Horror consumed him at the one tiny bare foot, perfectly formed and covered in brown dust, and the other a torn chunk of burnt flesh below her dimpled kneecap. A bloody stump. A white bone jutted through the ruined skin and muscle. Horror. Beyond all horrors.
He stumbled, lost his stride. The little girl let out a shaking breath, dark and raspy.
“It’s-okay-it’s-okay-it’s-okay.”
One more step. One more step.
Her neck grew slack under his arm. The warmth spread down his body.
He glanced down once more. Her fear gone, the spark of life gone. All gone.
The world around him dropped away. Muffled. Soldiers ran by in slow motion. Parents cried in the distant. Others barked orders he could no longer hear, the horror in his head masking everything else.
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About the Author
January Bain has wished on every falling star, every blown-out birthday candle and every coin thrown in a fountain to be a storyteller. To share the tales of high adventure, mysteries, and full-blown thrillers she has dreamed of all her life. The story you now have in your hands is the compilation of a lot of things manifesting itself for this special series. Hundreds of hours spent researching the unusual and the mundane have come together to create a series that features strong women who don’t take life too seriously, wild adventures full of twists and unforeseen turns, and hot complicated men who aren’t afraid to take risks. She can only hope the stories of her beloved Brass Ringers will capture your imagination as much as they did hers when she wrote them.
If you are looking for January Bain, you can find her hard at work every morning without fail in her office with two furry babies trying to prove who does a better job of guarding the doorway. And, of course, she’s married to the most romantic man! Who once famously replied to her inquiry about buying fresh flowers for their home every week, “Give me one good reason why not?” Leaving her speechless and knocking her head against the proverbial wall for being so darn foolish. She loves flowers.
January loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website details and author profile page at https://www.totallybound.com
