by Kate Kinsley
Also by Anna Blakely
R.I.S.C. Series:
Book 1: Taking a Risk, Part One (Jake & Olivia’s HFN)
Book 2: Taking a Risk, Part Two (Jake & Olivia’s HEA)
Book 3: Beautiful Risk (Trevor & Lexi)
Book 4: Intentional Risk (Derek & Charlotte “Charlie”)
Book 5: Unpredictable Risk (Grant & Brynnon)
Book 6: Ultimate Risk (Coop & Mac)
Book 7: Targeted Risk (Mike & Jules)
Book 8: TBA (2021)
Book 9: TBA (2021)
Book 10: TBA (2021)
Bravo Team Series
(A R.I.S.C. spin-off series written as part of Susan Stoker’s Special Forces World)
Book 1: Rescuing Gracelynn (Nate & Gracie)
Book 2: Rescuing Katherine (Matt & Katherine)
Book 3: Rescuing Gabriella (Zade & Gabby)
Book 4: Rescuing Ellena (Gabe & Elle)
Book 5: TBA (2021)
Also coming in 2021:
Overwatch
(A new black ops series by Anna Blakey)
About Anna Blakely
About Anna Blakely
Author of the bestselling R.I.S.C. Series, Anna Blakely brings you stories of love, action, and edge of your seat suspense. As an avid reader herself, Anna writes what she loves...strong, Alpha heroes and the intelligent, independent heroines they love.
Anna's dream is to create stories her readers will enjoy, and characters they'll fall in love with as much as she has. She believes in true love and Happily Ever After, which is what she will bring to you.
Anna lives in rural Missouri with her husband and children, as well as several rescued animals—including a donkey named Fred! When she's not writing, Anna enjoys reading, watching action shows and horror movies (the scarier the better), and of course, spending time with her amazing family.
Stay
After three tours overseas former Marine, David Beckett was ready to settle down. . . with a dog. First things first, David needs a house.
All Veronica Murray wants to do is raise dogs and help Veterans. When the opportunity arises to purchase the perfect home, her tall, dark, and handsome client is trying to outbid her.
David and Veronica battle it out, in more ways than one, in this paw-perfect romance.
Chapter One
David
I finally made my way down the highway toward central Florida after what felt like a thousand years in my RV. It had been a relatively fun year, traveling the country, camping and having my little retirement adventure after I got out of the Marines, but it was definitely time to settle down someplace, and I couldn’t think of anywhere better than Florida. The weather can’t be beat, it’s warm practically all the time, and after growing up in Minnesota, my days of shoveling snow were in the rear view for good.
As the concrete ribbon of I4 stretched out before me, I thought about everything I’d done in the last year, and while it was an enjoyable road trip, and much needed time to think and reflect on my life, it was also lonely. The best thing about finally settling into my new home was that it coincided with something else I’d been waiting for. My number had finally come up for the dog I applied for. Not just any dog, but a service dog. I chuckled and shook my head. I’d accepted a long time ago that serving twenty years in the military had done a number on me, and the constant panic attacks, night sweats and terrors, and overall anxiety were the tip of the iceberg at one point.
But my therapist helped me get on a list for a PTSD dog about a year ago, and there was finally a dog with my name on it—more or less. While the cost of the dog had been covered by a Veteran’s assistance program, I still had to show I was capable of providing a loving and stable home for him, and that was not an RV. So, once I realized that the organization training and providing the dog was located in Florida too, I reached out to my old buddy Seth Jackson, “Jax” to most of us, who I served a few tours with, and he offered to help me get settled nearby. Well, he actually offered the services of his real estate agent fiancé, Vivian, but same difference.
As I neared their neighborhood, the squealing of a siren took me by surprise and I scanned around, looking for the emergency vehicle it was coming from. My hands started to shake a bit and my heart rate picked up, causing me to take short, rapid breaths. I’d gotten better at controlling the panic attacks, but when they came on unexpectedly like this, I had to concentrate harder on leveling myself out so I wouldn’t have to take a pill to calm down. I didn’t like the way the pills made me feel, and frankly, the foggy place they sent my mind had almost become an addiction at one point, so I became particularly careful not to use them unless it was an absolute emergency.
I still couldn’t tell where the siren was coming from, and I was a little bit lost, so I pulled into the nearest gas station where I could regain my composure. My GPS said I was only ten minutes away from Jax’s house, and I didn’t want to look like the guy who just drove a thousand miles and had a panic attack four miles before arrival. I parked along the side of the convenience store and got out of my seat, making my way back to the tiny bathroom of the camper. Outside, I could hear the siren had come closer and gone by, and I again, shook my head at myself as I splashed some cool water on my face.
You’re just a little tired, Beckett. No big deal.
After blowing a bit of smoke up my own ass and blaming road trip fatigue on my current mental state, I ran inside the store to grab an icy cold fountain soda. It was my weakness, and wanting some sugary caffeine in my life was a far less dangerous vice than others, so I didn’t feel bad about it.
The humid Florida air practically knocked me on my ass when I opened the door and stepped out into the sunshine. I’d been to Florida a few times, and even at different times of year, so I knew what I was getting myself into, but going from arctic air conditioning to the heavy afternoon heat of a Florida afternoon in July was something I realized would take some getting used to.
After taking my quick break, I checked myself in the rear view mirror—okay, you look normal—and drove the ten minutes to Jax’s place without another thought. When I pulled up in front of his house, I spotted his massive truck parked next to what was probably a normal sized car, but looked like a toy right next to it. The couple was sitting on their front porch, likely because I’d texted to let them know I was getting close about a half hour prior.
“Beckett!” Jax jumped up and made his way over to the RV. “Look at this fucking thing. I can’t believe you’ve been touring the U.S. like you’re in a fucking band in this piece of shit,” he teased me.
“Fuck you man. This is a palace on wheels!” I laughed and greeted him with a long overdue bro hug. The relief of being off the road for a bit, and being in the company of someone I had a long history with made me feel physically lighter. As I let go of our embrace, I realized what must have been his fiancé was standing there sheepishly watching us. “I’m so sorry. You must be Vivian?” I extended my hand to her.
Ignoring the gesture for a handshake, the little thing came right in for a hug too. She barely stood as tall as my chest, but she squeezed me hard enough to take my breath for a minute.
“You can call me Viv. You’re family! We don’t shake hands around here.” She pulled back and smiled. In thirty seconds I could tell Jax was one lucky motherfucker.
“Yeah, I guess we’re huggers,” Jax said with a chuckle. “Well come on inside, it’s hot as fuck. You thirsty? We were about to have some afternoon cocktails. You can fill us in on your adventures.” He waved me to follow them inside.
We got ourselves into the house where the rush of cool air almost gave me a headache from the sudden shock after being outside. I’m definitely going to need to get used to that. I stared at the beautiful home, clearly decorated by the lady in this couple and chuckled audibly.
“What?” Jax asked, handing me a cold beer after opening one and handing it to Viv.
“This place,” I said.
“What about it?” h
e asked.
“It’s fucking nice bro. Like way nicer than I would’ve thought for you.”
He laughed a deep belly laugh. “What did you expect? I’d be living in a fucking tent like we did in Iraq?”
I chuckled back, flashing to a memory of us on adjacent cots reading books. An activity we got teased for incessantly, like not being a dummy was some kind of insult. “I don’t know what I expected. It’s just so adult I guess. I sometimes forget we’re all grown up now.” Jax and I met in our early twenties, and served closely together for a long time before he got out and went back to firefighting.
“Time does fly, doesn’t it?” Jax said. “The good taste is all Viv’s though. If it were just me, there would be a pool table in the living room, and the beer would probably be in a cooler on the porch.” He laughed and Viv rolled her eyes.
“Don’t let him bullshit you. He picked out plenty of this stuff.” She bumped him with her hip, and he pulled her in tight and planted a kiss on top of her head.
“Come on, let’s sit. You can tell us about your trip, and you guys can catch up on the properties she’s found for you.” Jax waved me to follow him into a huge open area living room with massive oversized couches and what looked like the most comfortable chair in the universe. It definitely was meant for lounging and probably more than one person.
I took in the surroundings, noticing how white and fresh everything looked, definitely a woman’s touch. But, there was some Jax there too. On the mantle was a plaque, I couldn’t see what it said, but it had a Maltese cross on it, clearly an award of some kind that Jax had received. By the back door, large muddy boots sat next to a pair of tiny boots on a little rug.
After getting comfortable, I opened up the conversation about the houses Viv had found for me. “Well, first of all, I cannot thank you enough for doing the legwork on finding me a place. As much as I love the RV, it’s not a real home, and it’s definitely no place for a dog. In fact, they won’t let me have the dog unless I’ve got a permanent address.”
“Oh, it was nothing. Did you get a chance to review them all? I figured tomorrow we could go look at the ones you like and get an offer in whichever is your favorite, or hit the listings again and see if there’s something better.”
I’d looked at the listings she sent me and already wanted to put an offer in on one of them. It was only five minutes from Jax and Viv, it had a fenced in yard, and was within my price range. Since I’d spent the last year with minimal bills, living out of the RV, I’d managed to save plenty of money, and I had my retirement income as well. The only thing I spent any significant money on was the RV, and I’d already considered selling it when I found a permanent address.
“Well, I want the house over on Fern. It has absolutely everything I’m looking for, and I think Sasha will like the yard.”
“Sasha?” Jax asked.
“The dog?” I reminded him.
“Oh yea, the dog! I didn’t know you already knew its name and everything.”
“Yea, the way it works because it’s such a long waitlist, you get paired up with a specific dog once you’re approved and the dog makes it through the training. The last part of the process for me is having an actual home, then Sasha comes with me.”
“Have you met her? I assume it’s a her,” Viv asked.
“I have not, but I have a picture of her,” I replied and pulled out my phone. Scrolling through my pictures, I found the photo of the black lab the agency sent me. I handed the phone over to Viv, who showed Jax.
“She’s adorable!” Viv exclaimed. “Is she full grown? She seems small for a lab, I mean not that I’m a dog expert. She just looks kinda puppyish,” Viv said as she handed me the phone back.
I laughed. I had asked the same question when I got the photograph. “She is eighteen months old. I thought the same thing when I saw her. She’s just small and has a baby face.”
“Like you!” Jax said to Viv, teasing her.
She just shook her head and ignored him. “Well she’s a cutie. I can’t wait to meet her. Anyway, so the house on Fern Street, it’s right near here. We can go look at it tomorrow if you want and then get the offer in. It’s not occupied, so we can tour around it and you can make sure first.”
“Sounds great,” I replied. “The other houses were nice, this one is the one though. I’m sure of it.”
We continued to chat about the house, the area, and how great it would be once we’re neighbors. The nagging anxiety usually weighing me down was still present, but I felt like I was just over the hump and peace was within reach.
Chapter Two
Veronica
It was days like this one I wished I had a partner to help me with…well, with life. Getting my coffee brewing, I tapped my foot willing the beans to magically brew at lightning speed while I thought about all the shit I had to get done. Working for a nonprofit placing service dogs with people in need was a dream come true, but it was also a lot of work. Not to mention the fact my apartment was a mess and I was in the process of trying to find a new house to move into. My two dogs, Smokey and Bandit, both service pup dropouts, needed more space to run and play, and I needed to make that happen as soon as possible. Not to mention the fact I wanted to adopt more. I’d been working with a local real estate agent to find the right place for us, but juggling appointments to look at houses and doing my job had become damn near impossible lately.
I started working for the organization, Dogs for Veterans, as a volunteer when I was in college, and after I graduated, a position opened up and took it immediately. I’d always been a fan of the group, they worked with veterans across the country placing them with service dogs trained to meet their particular needs after they got out of the military. While it wasn’t a particularly clever name, the organization had placed hundreds of dogs over the years with veterans in need, and for a variety of services. We had trainers that focused on PTSD and helping cope with day to day activities—those dogs were similarly trained to the dogs that helped with panic attacks—and there were also service dogs for veterans with physical disabilities as well. My job, after years of working my way up, was placing anxiety and PTSD dogs with new owners. I evaluated applications, and also worked with various funding sources to pay for the dogs, so that the new owners didn’t have to take on that burden.
Training for a service dog of any kind could cost upwards of ten thousand dollars, if not more, and that’s not money most people have just laying around. I work with various grants and other nonprofit organizations to get funding to pay for the dogs and the training, and most of the fosters in the beginning of the pup’s life are volunteers. It takes a village to raise a service dog, and almost as much to get them placed. I had several people’s cases I was working on, but it was also an exciting time.
It was doggie graduation season, and we had a lot of pups to place with their new owners and then there was the doggie dropouts that needed new homes too. All of us down at my offices had adopted as many as we could handle ourselves at this point, so that wasn’t an option, but I’d hoped that once I got the house I’d be able to take more. I had three dogs currently that just didn’t make the cut. They weren’t bad dogs, in fact, they were more well behaved that most pups you’d find up for adoption anywhere. Unfortunately, they just didn’t meet the stringent standards for service dogs.
Dogs can fail out of the program for a multitude of reasons, usually their lack of focus was the deciding issue. Some dogs take to the training like second nature. They don’t bark unless supposed to, they sit and stay focused, following instructions and taking care of their handlers with ease. But there are some, who for whatever reason, just never quite get it. They want affection constantly, they don’t stay in proper walking position with their handlers, or get distracted by every squirrel they see jumping around in a tree. When their responsibilities are lifesaving, they’ve got to be focused.
I was supposed to meet with a veteran by the name of David Beckett; he’d been on the list for
just under a year, waiting for a PTSD and anxiety dog. We’d matched him up with Sasha, an eighteen month old black Labrador, but David’s paperwork wasn’t finalized. He didn’t have a permanent residence which was a requirement for having a dog. It troubled me when we weren’t able to get the dog to the new owner because of things like this, but we had to have standards in place to ensure the dogs were going to good homes. All of our correspondence had been via email over the last few months while he was working on a relocation to the area.
It wasn’t necessary to live in central Florida, but it would make the transition easier for both he and the dog theoretically. As I looked at David’s application in his file, I wondered what happened to him that made him want a service dog. Often, a therapist recommended us to their clients, and I’d never ask anyone what their specific needs were outside of what I needed to know to find the right dog, but I still wondered. The fact that David had been traveling the country the past year was fascinating to me. I didn’t travel as much as I often daydreamed about. I think growing up we all assume we’re going to see the world, then life happens, and we get jobs and we work our butts off doing whatever it is we do, and time flies on by. Ah, the joys of being a responsible adult.
I emailed Mr. Beckett, letting him know I would not be able to keep our appointment and asked when he could reschedule. While I felt bad, I knew he was working on securing a home, and I needed to do the same.
My real estate agent wasn’t that great, he’d been giving me homes that didn’t have any of the things I wanted, so I brought a friend with me to the latest showing, which looked far more promising than any of the last several.
