Keeping Guard

by Sandra Owens

  He heard the tremor in her voice, knew she thought he would leave again. “For as long as you’ll have me.”

  “Do you mean that?”

  “Yes.” He rubbed his thumb over the top of her hand. “I’m opting out of the navy.”

  “I would never ask you to do that.”

  “It’s time. For several reasons.” He reached behind him and picked up the champagne bottle he’d already uncorked. “I have a lot to tell you. The first time I met you, we shared your champagne. Thought we could re-create that day a little.” He waggled his eyebrows. “If you want to really reenact that day, feel free to strip down to your underwear.”

  She punched his arm. “That was a one-time show in public, SEAL boy.”

  “Pity.” He handed her the bottle, then took his own drink when she gave it back. “I missed you, Peyton. So much.”

  “If you missed me so much, how come I never heard from you? It hurt, that you could just walk away without a backward look.”

  “You were in my thoughts every minute of my days.” He brought her hand to his chest, pressing it over his heart. “And here. You’re in my heart. You are my heart. When I left, I thought I had who knows how many deployments ahead of me. I didn’t want that for you. I wanted better for you than a man as messed up as I am.”

  “Shouldn’t I have had a say in that?”

  “Absolutely, and as for the messed-up part, I’m better than I was when I first arrived, but I’ll continue to see Dr. Meadows. In all fairness, though, you never gave me any indication you wanted more from me than guard duty and the tingles I could give you.” He smiled. “They were pretty incredible tingles if I do say so myself.”

  “Can’t deny that. I wanted to ask you for more, to tell you that I’d wait for you, but I was afraid. You never gave any hint you wanted more, either.”

  If she had told him she’d wait for him, at the time he left, he wasn’t sure it would have made a difference. He likely still would have thought he was doing what was best for her by walking away. Maybe he’d needed to do that for both of them to realize what they meant to each other.

  He’d told her he loved her, and she hadn’t said it back. He thought she did, and he badly needed those words from her, but he wanted them to come because she wanted to say them.

  “When did you get back?”

  “Late last night. Jack picked me up, and I stayed with him and Nichole. We had things to talk about, like my new job.”

  “You have a new job? Here?” There was so much hope in her voice.

  “Yep. That make you happy?”

  “So happy. What kind of job?”

  He told her about Jack’s plan for the center for their military brothers and sisters, and his role in making it happen. The more he and Jack had talked about it last night, and the things they wanted to accomplish, the more excited he got.

  He’d always thought they’d have to drag him kicking and screaming from his SEAL team, but a future he’d never expected and never dreamed he could have was his for the taking. A job that would give him tremendous satisfaction—one where he wouldn’t risk being the reason someone was hurt or died because of him—and a beautiful, amazing girl at his side. It didn’t hurt that she could brew some damn fine beer.

  “That’s awesome, Noah. Not just that it means you’re moving to Asheville, and I can’t tell you how happy that makes me, but that you’ll be doing something that I think will mean the world to you.”

  “You mean the world to me,” he said. “The days I was away from you—”

  She kissed him.

  Well, that was supposed to be his move, but he wasn’t about to argue with a princess.

  “I love you, Noah. So much.” Then she claimed his mouth again.

  In his mind, he sang Faith Hill’s “This Kiss.”

  Epilogue

  Eight months later...

  “I do.”

  The minister turned from Jack to Nichole. “Do you, Nichole Masters, take this man to be your lawfully wedded...”

  Noah tuned out as his eyes locked on Peyton standing on the other side of Nichole, and he smiled at the woman now wearing his engagement ring. In the near future it would be them exchanging vows. He shifted his gaze back to Jack and Nichole, and when the minister nodded at him, he handed his best friend Nichole’s wedding band.

  His attention returned to Peyton. How had he gotten so lucky? She was everything he hadn’t known to wish for. Things were going unbelievably well. Their relationship was stronger than ever. A big part of that was thanks to his head doc. Dr. Meadows had helped him learn how to forgive himself, and for that, she would always have his gratitude.

  As for the other things that were good, Peyton’s father was in remission, her ex was out of her life for good, having been found guilty to the charges against him, and he and Jack had started construction on Operation Warrior Center. Jack had accepted Noah’s offer to invest in the center, so he was now a partner instead of an employee.

  The wedding was taking place on the land he and Jack had bought for their new venture. A white trellis with pink roses woven through the slats had been erected next to the river that flowed through the sixty acres.

  The guest list had been kept small, only family and close friends. Rachel, Nichole’s friend, had flown in for the ceremony, serving as the maid of honor. And, of course, the dogs were here, obediently sitting where Jack had commanded them to park their butts. Dakota, Rambo, Maggie May, and Lucky formed a semicircle in front of the bride and groom, their gazes fixed on the minister as if soaking in his every word. How Jack got these dogs—any dogs—to obey the way they did still amazed him.

  Jack’s only disappointment was that their former SEAL team was on deployment and unable to attend his wedding. The team had pooled their money and sent Noah a thousand bucks to cover the cost of Jack’s bachelor party with the instructions to get him good and drunk and then send them pictures. Jack had refused to get wasted and Noah wasn’t about to push him. However, Jack had faked being drunk and Noah had emailed the team some pretty funny photos.

  As it had all during the ceremony, his gaze returned to Peyton. She was Nichole’s only bridesmaid. He smiled again, thinking about how excited Peyton had been when Nichole had asked. She and Rachel had bonded over their duties as maid of honor and bridesmaid. His girl had been like a kid in a candy store, and he’d been thoroughly amused by her excitement and determination to help make Nichole’s wedding perfect. He was more than ready for his own wedding, though.

  Life was good.

  Afghanistan

  As he had each time he’d been interrogated by his Taliban captors, Dallas Manning answered their questions as required by the military’s Code of Conduct and the Geneva Conventions: name, rank, service number, and date of birth. Nothing more, nothing less.

  For his insolence, his captors broke another finger. That made three now. On the positive side, he still had seven that worked. Back in his cell, he tore another strip from his tattered and filthy navy-issued T-shirt and wrapped the finger as tightly as possible.

  The burns worried him more than the broken fingers. Plus, they hurt like a son of a bitch. He used a little of his precious water—he was only given a cup a day—and dirt from the floor to make mud. He couldn’t reach some of the burns on his back, but on the ones he could and on the ones on his arms and legs, he covered with a layer of the mud to keep the sand flies out of the open wounds.

  When he finished his doctoring, he slid his index finger along the dirt floor, then lifted the paper-thin pallet and marked another day. He stared at the dirt lines. Nine days of hell on earth. When he’d first been thrown into the cell, he’d marked the days on the wall with a line of smudged dirt. The bad guys hadn’t liked that and had punished him. They wanted him to lose track of the days, to lose hope that his team would find him.

  Well, to hell with them.
He would never lose hope that his team was not only looking for him, but that they would find him. They would. It was just a question of how long. What his mental state would be, that was the question. The assholes were getting entirely too creative in devising ways to torture him.

  He was the Ghost. He sure wished he was literally his call sign so he could float through the walls, right out of this hell hole. As he did at the end of each day, he dropped to the floor and did one-arm push-ups while repeating his name, rank, service number, and birthdate over and over until his trembling arms couldn’t take any more. It was worrisome that the number was fewer each day.

  Lack of sufficient food and water, the tortures, and the interrupted sleep each night—the bastards loved waking him up every twenty to thirty minutes—were taking a serious toll on both his body and mind. There wasn’t much he could do about that other than to try to stay strong with the exercises, but he absolutely had to keep his mind sharp. He couldn’t allow himself to go to that dark place his brain seemed to want to travel to the last few days.

  As he did each night, he closed his eyes and imagined that he was at his family’s Montana ranch, riding his favorite horse over the hills until sleep took him. He was awoken by a guard banging on the cell bars with a metal pipe.

  “Fucking asshole.”

  The man laughed.

  The one thing he knew and held fast was they weren’t going to be laughing when his team got here.

  Until then, life sucked.

  * * *

  Acknowledgments

  Here I am, again writing an acknowledgment after finishing a book...and this one makes number twenty. I have truly been blessed on this journey and have so many people to thank for their love, support, and help when I needed it.

  First up, Sandra’s Rowdies. My Facebook reader group is awesome! Thank you, ladies, for the love and the laughter (and the hot guy pictures, especially those). I love every single one of you and look forward to many more years of fun.

  To my readers, thank you all for loving my books, for the reviews, for sharing my book news on social media, and for recommending them to your friends! All of that is so much appreciated. I’ve met some of you, wish I could meet all of you, and consider many of you my friend. Just so you know, my favorite question is “When’s your next book coming out?”

  To all the great book bloggers, thank you for reading my books, reviewing them, and talking about them. Y’all rock!!!

  To Jenny Holiday, my friend and critique partner, remember when? We’ve come a long way, baby, since sharing our dreams of being published one day, and there’s no one I’d rather have taken this journey with than you. Love ya!!!

  AE Jones and Miranda Liasson, my Golden Heart sisters, I was beyond thrilled to get that phone call in 2013 that I was a Golden Heart finalist. I wasn’t expecting to find two awesome friends because of that phone call, but that’s exactly what happened. I love that you’re just a phone call away to plot talk, give encouragement when needed, and to talk about the business side of writing. Love you both!

  Editors...those people authors love most of the time. Ha! Just kidding. I always love you, even when you tell me I need to kill my darlings (a favorite scene). To my Harlequin/Carina Press developmental editor, thank you Deborah Nemeth for showing me how to put a beautiful shine on my story. To my acquiring editor, Kerri Buckley, thank you for believing in the Operation K-9 Brothers series.

  To my agent, Courtney Miller-Callihan, what an amazing eight years it’s been! A huge thank-you for all you’ve done for me. You’re a rock star!!!

  Last, but definitely not least, a big thank-you to my husband, better known to my readers as Mr. O. Thank you for your love and support. You’re a funny guy, so also thank you for all the laughs. Love you, babe!

  About the Author

  Bestselling, award-winning author Sandra Owens lives in the beautiful Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina. Her family and friends often question her sanity but have ceased being surprised by what she might get up to next. She’s jumped out of a plane, flown in an aerobatic plane while the pilot performed death-defying stunts, gotten into laser gunfights in aerial combat, and ridden a Harley motorcycle for years. She regrets nothing.

  Sandra is a Romance Writers of America Honor Roll member and a 2013 Golden Heart Finalist for her contemporary romance Crazy for Her. In addition to her contemporary romance and romantic suspense novels, she writes Regency stories. Her books have won many awards including The Readers’ Choice and The Golden Quill.

  To find out about other books by Sandra Owens or to be alerted to cover reveals, new releases, and other fun stuff, sign up for her newsletter at bit.ly/2FVUPKS

  Join Sandra’s Facebook Reader Group:

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  Facebook: bit.ly/2ruKKPl

  A woman on the run. A wounded SEAL who wants to become invisible.

  Two strangers, one mountain cabin.

  Keep reading for an excerpt from Mountain Rescue, the upcoming third book in the Operation K-9 Brothers series by Sandra Owens.

  Chapter One

  The passengers on the red-eye from Salt Lake City to Atlanta were asleep. All but Dallas Manning. He didn’t trust his nightmares. They were persistent fuckers, rarely allowing him to sleep through the night. The three weeks he’d been home at his family’s ranch in Montana, his screams had disturbed his family’s sleep, too. He wasn’t about to chance scaring the hell out of a plane full of strangers.

  Unable to take another day of his family alternating between smothering him and tiptoeing around him, he’d jumped on his friend’s invitation to come to Asheville, North Carolina. Not that he blamed his family for their worry. He was damn lucky to be alive after enjoying a two-week stay at Hotel Hell on Earth as a guest of the Taliban. He snorted. Enjoying. Yeah, right. But he’d survived the torture, the starvation, and the mind games.

  His body was a bit messed up, and he’d have permanent scars, but he’d held strong, never giving his captors more than his name, rank, service number, and birthdate. If his SEAL team hadn’t found him when they did, he didn’t doubt for a minute that he’d be dead by now. His captors, frustrated and angry that he wasn’t spilling his secrets, had been growing more creative by the day in their efforts to make him talk. The bastards’ last gift to him was the damn nightmares. After the first one his family witnessed, they’d treated him differently.

  He couldn’t take their pity, their need to baby him, never mind that he was the youngest. He was a damn SEAL, not a baby needing coddling. He loved his family, would willingly die for them, but when his friend and former teammate issued the invitation to come for a visit, he’d grabbed on to what felt like a lifeline.

  Jack Daniels had started a foundation, Operation K-9 Brothers, training therapy dogs for their military brothers and sisters suffering from PTSD. Another former teammate was also in Asheville, working with Jack. If anyone could understand what he’d gone through and what he was dealing with now, it would be his SEAL brothers. One thing he could count on, neither man would try to baby him.

  In Atlanta, he changed planes, cramming his body into the seat of the commuter plane that would take him to Asheville. Fortunately, the last leg of his trip only lasted an hour since he had difficulty being in small places thanks to the two weeks he’d spent in a cell where he could stand in the middle and reach all four walls. After deplaning and getting his suitcase, he headed for the short-term parking lot. The Jeep was where Jack had said he it would be. When he had refused Jack’s offer to pick him up, since he was arriving in the middle of the night, Jack had insisted on loaning him one of Operation K-9 Brothers’ vehicles.

  After tossing his suitcase and carry-on in the back, he got in the Jeep, then reached under the seat for the envelope with the keys and address to the cabin. That was another thing. Jack had invited him to stay w
ith him and his new wife, but Dallas needed a place of his own, where he could get away from people when he needed to.

  Turned out Operation K-9 Brothers owned a cabin, and Jack had said he could stay there. He programed the cabin address in the GPS, adjusted the seat and mirrors, then headed out.

  Thirty-five minutes later, he pulled to a stop in front of a small log house. He couldn’t see much of it in the dark, but he didn’t care what it or the surrounding area looked like. It was a place to crash and hide out for a while.

  Inside, he dropped his suitcase, found a light switch, and glanced around. It was an open floor plan, living room, dining room, and kitchen. The place wasn’t as rustic as he was expecting, and he was kind of disappointed. A stone fireplace on one wall with floor-to-ceiling windows along both sides was the best part of the place. The furniture was sturdy and basic. Brown leather couch, two leather recliners, TV, and coffee table in the living room, and a dinette with four chairs around it next to the kitchen. Deciding he’d unpack in the morning, he left the suitcase where he’d dropped it, and taking his carry-on, he headed down the hall.

  The first room he came to was a bathroom, and he made a pit stop, then checked out the next room. The bedroom had twin beds, a dresser, one chair, and a TV mounted on the wall. He didn’t think it was the main bedroom, so he continued on to see if there was a room with a bigger bed.

  He’d taken two steps into the next room and was reaching for a light switch when something came at him. Instinctively, he dropped his carry-on and put a hand up, wrapping his fingers around what felt like the rough bark of a tree branch. He pulled it to him, bringing his attacker with it, and found himself with an arm full of enraged wildcat in possession of a woman’s body.

  She went for his eyes, and he grabbed her wrists, gentling his hold so that he didn’t bruise her. When she tried to knee him, he flipped her around and wrapped his arms around her, her back to his chest.