Mac (HC Heroes Series, #1)

by Donna Michaels

  Stefanie was where she wanted to stay. This was where she belonged. With Mac. In his arms

  She slid her palms up his chest. “I’m a stronger me, when I’m with you. You are my heart, Mac.”

  “Always.” He brushed a thumb over her jaw.

  She felt her throat tighten. “And I’m a better me because you love me.”

  “So damn much.”

  Then he was kissing her with everything he had, everything he felt, and she happily gave as good as she got, her body coming back to life, her shattered heart suddenly whole and beating rapidly. He drew back just enough to lightly brush his lips across hers one more time, as if he were afraid to break the connection. As if she was his lifeline.

  He certainly was hers. It was never more clear.

  “So,” he murmured, his warm gaze holding hers. “You ready to go camping with me?”

  Her heart rocked, and her mind immediately remembered the sign. “At the Grand Canyon?”

  He nodded. “Yes. I know you were supposed to go with your father, but I think he’d be happy just knowing you—”

  She surged up and cut him off with a kiss, never loving the man more than she did at that moment. He was her world, indeed that lifeline, but most of all...was her family.

  If you enjoyed Mac, please consider leaving a review. Thank you.

  Get ready for the next HC Hero to find his match!

  Carter releases 6/2019

  You can Pre-Order HERE

  Visit www.DonnaMichaelsAuthor.com to check out all her books.

  Sign up HERE for her Newsletter and enjoy a FREE book, exclusive reads, enter subscriber only contests, and be the first to know about upcoming books!

  If you enjoy military heroes, I have another releasing real soon!!

  SEAL IN CHARGE releasing: 4/09/19

  Part of the Silver SEALs Series

  A multi author series, each written as stand alones.

  Pre-Order SEAL IN CHARGE HERE

  Turn the page to read the First Chapter of

  SEAL IN CHARGE

  Chapter One-SEAL in Charge

  Deep blues and dark purple bleeding into orange and yellow with dawn, haloed the bright orange sphere as it appeared to slowly rise out of the ocean.

  There was nothing like an East Coast sunrise.

  Archer Malone, U.S. Navy SEAL Commander, (Ret.), had witnessed them all over the world. Some were more vibrant, some more colorful, but none took his breath quite like the ones he’d had the privilege of witnessing from this back deck since he was in diapers.

  He shifted the large Adirondack chair holding his two-hundred-five-pound frame to meet the vista head on. Coffee steamed in the mug from which he sipped, while the sound of waves slapping the shore before receding to do it all again hit his ears.

  Serene. Peaceful. Heaven.

  His little slice of heaven.

  A well-earned slice. He’d given Uncle Sam twenty-eight years, twenty-seven of them as a Navy SEAL. Been sliced, shot, battered, bruised and broken, all for the country he loved. The last injury—he rotated his right shoulder and grimaced—got him booted. So, he’d returned to his favorite place.

  The small N.J. cottage on Brigantine Beach had been in his family for decades. Many fond memories of spending weekends and a majority of summers here with his parents and older brother had kept him going while trying to survive in some of the world’s worst shitholes, dealing with the darker side of humanity.

  Those days were gone. So was most of his family.

  No one left but his mother now. Born and raised in Queens, she was a New Yorker through and through. He knew that although she used to love the shore, the memories surrounding this place were too hard for her to bear.

  Not for him. They were exactly why he’d taken it off her hands seventeen years ago. His father had worked odd side jobs when not on shift at the fire station just to afford this place. No way was Archer going to sell his dad’s dream. His blood, sweat, and tears.

  It was his house now.

  His home.

  Over the past seven months, since Uncle Sam no longer had use for him, he gave his time and muscle to fixing up the place. The house had sat vacant since he’d purchased it and had been in dire need of repairs. He set his mug on a side table then jogged down to the shore before he turned to eye his handiwork.

  The new roof and fresh coat of weatherproof paint made a huge difference to curb appeal. Working on the house had been cathartic, just like his morning jogs. He pivoted and headed south, adopting a fast, steady pace. The cool morning air and fresh ocean breeze clung to him as he ran two miles down and two miles back to complete his four-mile morning run.

  Panting, wet, and invigorated, he grabbed his mug and removed a key from the side pocket of his sweats to unlock the floor-to-ceiling sliding glass doors. Nothing like starting off the day with a brisk run after watching a beautiful sunrise.

  Once inside, he rinsed his cup in the sink of the kitchen he’d updated with high oak cabinets, stainless steel appliances, subway tiled backsplash, and granite countertops, as well as a small island snack bar.

  It was open now. Not cramped. He wasn’t a fan of cramped spaces.

  Yanking his T-shirt over his head, he walked to the bathroom, removing the keys from his pocket before tossing his clothes into the hamper. His bathroom was now bigger, too. He stepped into the large walk-in shower he’d added by tearing down the wall to the small, adjacent bedroom, and considered all he’d done to the place. Even though the bungalow only had two bedrooms now, the updates inside brought the place out of the eighties and into the twenty-first century.

  Done with his shower, he got dressed to head down to the marina. Archer always knew he wasn’t an idle person but had thought perhaps retirement would slow him down a little. Kind of a “smell the roses” type of thing. That was a big negatory. He was a doer. Had to keep his hands busy. So after renovating the house inside and out, he went stir-crazy. He was a man of action, not inaction.

  Thankfully, his old SEAL buddy, Jameson Knight, owner of the Knight Agency, threw a few bodyguard and security detail jobs his way. But when there weren’t any assignments to keep his marksmanship sharp, or challenges for his physical abilities...boredom would set in.

  So he’d bought a boat.

  The one he used to fantasize about while on missions overseas. He’d always knew that if he didn’t die over in the sandbox, when he retired, he wanted a boat. But not just any boat.

  A beautiful Pursuit OS Fishing Boat with its own bathroom, bedroom, and tiny kitchen. Great for when he’d needed to escape from the world.

  Like now.

  He parked his truck and headed down the dock to his slip. Only two years old, his boat—Liberty—didn’t require much maintenance. Only routine. Today, he was going to check the hull for corrosion above the water. Yesterday, he’d checked below.

  Starting at the bow, he dropped to his knees, slowly working his way aft, utilizing the sun to help on the starboard side.

  Although the footsteps were practically silent, he heard the sure-footed approach of what he estimated to be a large male, over two-hundred-twenty-pounds. Couldn’t be for him, though. He wasn’t expecting visitors. Hell, he never got company, and that was just the way he liked it. Must be for the chartered fishing boat in the slip at the end of the dock.

  When a pair of expensive, shiny, un-scuffed loafers came into his peripheral view and stopped, he returned his attention back to his chore. All right, so not for the fishing boat, but whatever the guy was selling, he wasn’t buying.

  “You’re blocking the light.” He refrained from adding “asshole.” That was yet to be determined.

  “That’s the idea.” The deep, very familiar voice had him immediately straightening.

  “Crash?” He shot to his feet and turned to properly greet one of his former SEAL buddies. “Good to see ya, you son-of-a-bitch” he said, deploying the old hand-shake-shoulder-bump maneuver. Releasing him, he stepped back and scowled at t
he guy’s attire. A well-fitting black monkey suit, white shirt, black tie, and dark sunglasses. “Ah, hell. The rumors are true. You’ve been assimilated. Man, I never thought I’d see the day you traded in your uniform for bureaucratic duds and a pencil-pushing government job.”

  His friend folded his arms across his chest and cocked his head. “And I never thought you’d ever retire out of the Navy.”

  Archer’s scowl deepened to tighten his face. “Wasn’t by choice,” he grumbled, smacking his left palm off his right shoulder. “Taking a round last year, saving some rich politician’s spoiled kid, earned me a one-way ticket out.” He’d received a pat on the back from Uncle Sam, a medical discharge with no chance to contest, and nothing, not even a thank you from the ungrateful brat.

  He still had the use of his arm and eighty-five-percent of his strength but it wasn’t enough. Not when a-hundred-and-ten is required.

  “Well, the rumors about me are true,” Crash said, changing the subject, wisely knowing Archer wasn’t the type to look for pity. “So, no more call signs or rank. I’m just Silas, or Si, now. And I can assure you, I don’t push a single goddamn pencil in my position at DHS.”

  Navy SEAL Silas Branson and his famous joyride escapade during BUD/S would always be Crash to him. But he sensed a serious undertone to his old friend’s demeanor, so he kept that to himself and nodded instead.

  “Which is why I’m here.” Si removed his sunglasses and waved them at Archer’s shoulder. “Can you still shoot?”

  He stiffened, aggravation pinching his shoulders. Retired didn’t mean dead. Or useless. “Fuck, yeah, I can still out-shoot any of you yahoos. You know as well as I do, the Navy trained us to shoot accurately with either hand. So now my left is my lead hand.” He halted his rant as a slight grin tugged Si’s lips. “You son-of-a-bitch. You knew all of that, so why are you egging me on?”

  “Just wanted to see if the Archer Malone spark was still in existence.”

  He snorted. “It existed well before you were born, boy.”

  Si lifted a brow. “Then you were one hell of a six-year-old.”

  “Damn straight.”

  They both laughed, and he used the time to really assess the man before him.

  Silas had changed, but the loss of a son would change any man. Archer had been with him when he’d gotten the call, and although he knew that loss on a smaller scale, he couldn’t even begin to imagine the depth of the pain the man carried.

  Lines around his eyes and mouth were visible but not quite as deep as Archer’s, and a few streaks of gray peppered Silas’ black hair—the exact opposite of the black hair peppering his gray.

  “How’s Maggie? I heard you two got remarried.” Archer had always liked her. She was meant for Silas. Grounded him as only a good woman could.

  A smile spread across the guy’s face and chased the shadows from his eyes. “Yeah, we did. And she’s good. She’s pregnant.”

  “No shit?” His brows shot up, and happiness made a long-overdue appearance. “That’s wonderful, man.” He extended his hand for another shake, this time, with a shoulder slap. “Congratulations!”

  A long time ago, he’d felt the elation he saw on his buddy’s face. Then helpless, complete and total devastation, and fury when he’d discovered his girlfriend at the time had an abortion while he’d been on a mission. He understood it was the woman’s body, but he was the father and hadn’t been given a choice. It fucking sucked.

  Those feelings stayed with him, and always would, but now wasn’t the time to dwell. He had a bottle of JD at home to help drown his sorrows when needed. Right now, though, it was about his friend, who truly deserved this joy.

  “Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?” He released him and stepped back.

  “A girl.”

  “Well, no offense, man, but I hope to hell she looks like your wife,” he joked. “Maggie’s a lot prettier than you.”

  Silas laughed. “Roger, that.”

  Archer scratched the bridge of his nose then re-crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s been nice catching up and shooting the shit and all, but I think it’s time you told me why you’re really here.”

  Shoving the glasses back on his suddenly serious face, Silas straightened his 6’3” frame. “That conversation needs to be done in private.”

  He unfolded his arms and nodded to the ocean behind him. “We’ve got the whole Atlantic at our disposal.” Without waiting for a reply, he gathered his stuff, boarded his boat, and stared down at the man. “Unhook the moor...or are you afraid to get your pretty suit wet?”

  Silas flashed him the middle finger before removing the line and climbing on board.

  Archer was still grinning when he started the engine and piloted them out to open ocean. Ten minutes later, he glanced to his silent passenger standing next to him, gripping the rail that bordered the ceiling of the cockpit. “This good enough?” he asked.

  At Silas’ nod, Archer cut the engine, secured two beers from the fridge and handed one to Mr. DHS. “Go on,” he said, popping the cap on his longneck. “Pitch whatever it is you’ve come to pitch.”

  “What are your thoughts on robbing the Federal Reserve in New York City?”

  That immediately dislodged the beer sliding down his throat. He coughed and smacked his chest. “Look, man, I spent most of my savings on this beauty.” He caressed his boat. “But if you need money, I can probably scrape some up for you. No need to get drastic.”

  “Appreciate the offer.” Silas held up his free hand, a slight twitch to his lips. “But I was talking hypothetically. Could someone do it?”

  “Oh.” Archer took another swig of beer and shrugged. “Sure, I guess. Robbing is the easy part, it’s getting out that could prove tricky. Why? Has there been chatter?”

  “Yes, involving the bank.” Silas flipped the cap on his longneck and finally took a pull.

  Archer waited for the man to continue, because his sixth sense told him there was most definitely more. The sinking feeling in his stomach told him that he was not going to like it. But after silence stretched for over thirty seconds, he raised a brow. “And why are you telling me, instead of the F.B.I.?”

  “Because we don’t know if this impending threat is to rob it or blow it up.”

  Shit.

  Unlike his firefighting father and brother, Archer had lived through the last time someone leveled a building in the city in which he grew up. He’d been home on leave, visiting his family in the Big Apple on 9/11, and scars from the gut-crushing massacre of that day never left him.

  “You in?”

  “Oh, hell, yeah. I’m in.” There would not be another massacre in NYC.

  Not on his watch.

  Silas gave a curt nod. “You can put together a team as big or as small as you want, to uncover the identity of these rogue bastards and take them down.”

  “Done.” He already had two former military locals in mind. They worked out of Atlantic City for the Knight Agency, run by his former SEAL buddy, Jameson Knight.

  “Good, because there’s someone from DHS that I want on the team. She works out of our New York office, and is one hell of an investigator. She used to work for the D.A.” Silas was staring at him as if waiting for a reaction.

  “Okay...if you’re recommending her, then she’s got to be good.” The hair on the back of his neck stood up. He narrowed his eyes. “Why do I get the feeling there’s something you’ve yet to tell me?”

  “She’s a Navy SEAL mom, so I’m glad you’re going to take point on this mission, because I can trust you to protect her.”

  Mother of a SEAL...

  His mind immediately jumped to a mother of a froglet under his command three years ago. A widow with honey blonde hair, bright blue eyes, warm smile, great wit...he’d felt an instant connection, and intentionally kept his distance.

  In all his years in the Navy, she was the only family of the team to ever spark his interest. Other than hearing she was a widow, he’d made it a point not
to find out anything else about her. Christ, that had made her doubly dangerous, so he’d made damn sure they were never alone whenever she came down to Virginia to visit her son.

  It hadn’t stopped his attraction, but it had stopped him from acting on it.

  No reason to even think about her now. This wasn’t her. There were plenty of SEAL mothers out there.

  Still, that sinking feeling in the pit of Archer’s stomach grew larger. “Who is she?”

  “Sandy Vickers.”

  Son-of-a-fucking-bitch...it was her.

  Pre-Order SEAL IN CHARGE

  Rel. 4/09/19

  Also by Donna Michaels

  ~HC Heroes Series~

  (Harland County Spinoff Series)

  Mac

  Carter (6/2019)

  ~Harland County Series~

  Harland County Christmas (Prequel)

  Her Fated Cowboy

  Her Unbridled Cowboy

  Her Uniform Cowboy

  Her Forever Cowboy

  Her Healing Cowboy

  Her Volunteer Cowboy

  Her Indulgent Cowboy

  Her Hell Yeah Cowboy

  Her Troubled Cowboy (Citizen Soldier Crossover)

  Her Hell No Cowboy

  Her Doggone Cowboy

  Harland County Epilogue

  ~The Citizen Soldier Series~

  (Harland County Spinoff Series)

  Wyne and Dine

  Wyne and Chocolate

  Wyne and Song

  Wine and Her New Year Cowboy

  Whine and Rescue

  Wine and Hot Shoes

  Wine and Scenery

  ~The Men of At Ease Ranch Series~

  ~Entangled Publications~

  In An Army Ranger’s Arms

  Her Secret Army Ranger

  The Right Army Ranger

  Army Ranger with Benefits

  The Army Ranger’s Surprise

  ~Dangerous Curves Series~

  Knight’s SEAL

  Locke and Load

  A DAYE with a SEAL

  Cowboy LAWE

  Connected to Dangerous Curves:

  Elite Protector (Elle James’ Brotherhood Protectors)