In His Good Hands

by Shanae Johnson

  In His Good Hands

  The Brides of Purple Heart Ranch Book 9

  Shanae Johnson

  Copyright © 2019, Ines Johnson. All rights reserved.

  This novel is a work of fiction. All characters, places, and incidents described in this publication are used fictitiously, or are entirely fictional. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means, except by an authorized retailer, or with written permission of the author.

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  Edited by Alyssa Breck

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  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition October 2019

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  Also by Shanae Johnson

  Chapter One

  "My grandfather was in the military."

  "Mine, too." Corporal Colin Chase grinned down at the freckle-faced young man standing at his table. Good, thought Chase. This was an excellent start. Historically, kids with military members in their families were more likely to enlist.

  "But not my dad," said the kid. He made a fan of the glossy pamphlets on the exhibit table and then shoved them all back into a single queue. “He thought military service was a waste of time and too dangerous. He decided to start a business instead."

  Chase didn't repeat the mine too this time, even though this kid was narrating his life.

  "But the business failed a couple of years ago,” the kid continued, “and we had to move back in with my grandparents."

  Chase winced. Not at the thought of living with his grandfather. Moving in with his grandfather would've been a delight for him as a kid. His grandfather had been his idol even after his death a few years ago. What was cringe-worthy was the idea of moving back in with his parents. It was absolutely unthinkable for Chase.

  Luckily, Chase’s grandfather had made sure he would never have to do that. General Charles Chase had left his grandson a healthy trust, which Chase had never needed to touch. What Chase had reached for instead was following in his grandfather’s footsteps of serving his country in the Armed Forces.

  "I've always thought about serving," the kid was saying. "But my mom wants me to go to college."

  "No reason you can’t do both,” said Chase. “The Army offers excellent education benefits and job training."

  "Yeah?" The young man’s voice raised an octave as he scratched at the tiny hairs on his chin.

  Chase couldn’t hide his smile. He just knew the Army could make a man out of this boy. He was a perfect candidate. He hadn’t made a single comparison to the military and video games, meaning he had some level of maturity. He hadn't asked Chase how many people he'd killed, meaning he wasn't a psychopath. And he’d wandered over to the table without being corralled.

  Yes, here was an excellent prospect. Chase just needed to close the deal. He had never thought he'd be a salesman. That was his father’s realm. But in this, recruiting for the service, Chase was selling something he believed in.

  Even before his years in the Army, Chase could've sat on his rump and lived off his family's money. Instead, he'd wanted to do something important with his life. His years in the service had accomplished that.

  Unfortunately, Chase was no longer able to go into combat with his injuries. But he didn't want to leave the service. This new job of recruiting young men and women into the service was the perfect new career for him. However, there were drawbacks.

  "Timothy.” An older woman yanked at the elbow of Chase’s young prospect. “The recruiter from the university wants to talk to you."

  "I'll be over in a minute, Mom,” said Timothy.

  Timothy’s mother pinched her mouth in that universal language of mothers that said do what I say before you get a spanking. “He doesn't have much time. He'll be leaving soon. You should go now."

  Timothy clearly read mom-speak. He huffed, but he obeyed his mom. “All right. I’m going.”

  Chase offered the young man his hand before he could step away. "Think about what I said, Timothy, and take my card."

  His mother’s hand snatched the card before Timothy’s fingers could reach it. "Oh, I'll take that, honey. You go on now, the recruiter’s waiting.”

  Timothy gave Chase a nod. The kid turned on his heel and headed over to the other side of the room, where the state college booths were set up.

  Chase braced himself on the table. His palms touched down on the recruitment pamphlets, spreading them out into a fan, like a front line defense. He steeled himself for the attack to come.

  Timothy’s mother turned to him with a smile. It was genuine. They always were.

  "Thank you for your service," said the woman. "But I'll thank you to keep your hands off my son."

  With a glare that rivaled his own mother's, the woman turned and walked to her son, who was shaking the hand of the college recruiter.

  A pulsing knot began at the base of Chase’s skull. The headache was dull, but he got the feeling it would persist for the rest of the day.

  Chase collected the pamphlets into a single queue. Not a single one of the glossy brochures had left the table today. He could understand parents being protective of their children. But, on the whole, the military wasn't any more dangerous than a college campus. In fact, he was sure there was more danger at a frat house or a college tailgate than at a base.

  "Another one bites the dust?"

  Chase turned to his partner in crime.

  Mark Ortega’s dimpled grin was grim as he eyed their empty table. His gaze lifted to the kids and parents meandering around the many college and trade school booths. "Looks like the college got him instead."

  “I was so close to closing that kid,” said Chase. “He's exactly what the service needs."

  The kid leaned into the college recruiter. His mother patted him on the back encouragingly. The card Chase had given her slipped from her fingers as her kid shook the recruiter's hand.

  Chase didn't begrudge the kid for getting an education. But couldn't his mother see that in the military he could do both and come out ahead? As a vet, Timothy would’ve come into the workforce with proven skills and leadership experience. And no debt.

  "How many does that make for us today?" asked Ortega.

  "A big fat goose egg," moaned Chase.

  "And for the week?"

  "Two."

  The corners of Ortega’s mouth lowered into a grimace. “Well, those stats at least put us on par with the national average."

  Chase blew out a harsh breath. The national average for recruitment was down by the thousands. Chase was used to succeeding. He did not like to be anywhere but at the front of the pack, and now he was lagging behind.

  "If we could just get into the schools again, we could get our numbers up." Chase dumped the pamphlets into a carrying container.

  "Fat chance,” said Ortega as he folded the table. “I can't get any guidance counselors to return my calls. And the one time we did go this year, students met with an anti-war protest."

  Even now, they had been relegated to the back corner of the post-secondary fair. The only reason people had come to visit their table was for the raffle of a new pair of wire
less earbuds. No one had actually stayed up to chat. They all thanked him for his service.

  “Let's get out of here.”

  Chase was ready to go, but he wasn't giving up. The two men had spent half the day at this college and career fair sponsored by the city. They could head back to the recruitment center and make those phone calls. At some point, someone had to pick up.

  In fact, Ortega was doing just that. The moment they stepped out of the doors, a blonde woman threw herself at Ortega. Mark dropped the table and scooped up his wife.

  “Hey, Honey. What are you doing here?"

  Honey Ortega’s bright eyes lit as she gazed down at her husband. Chase would’ve sworn he saw red hearts coming out of her eyelids.

  "I told you,” said Honey, “my sister’s speaking. Hey, Colin.”

  Chase forgot his manners. His ears perked at the mention of Honey's sister. Prickled was more like it. The last thing he wanted to do was to run into her. Ginger Dumasse was one of the reasons he was having trouble recruiting.

  "Education, tech jobs, higher minimum wages, these are the wave of the future for our city."

  Too late.

  Her authoritative voice carried over the speakers set up in the courtyard. The woman didn’t need the amplifier. Her very presence made everyone stand up and take notice.

  Strawberry-blonde hair. A defiant chin. Square shoulders. Chase couldn't help but stare. How could someone so breathtakingly beautiful be so rigid?

  Her gaze caught his. Did he imagine it, or did her breath catch in a gasp? Did he fantasize it, or did her nostrils flare? In the next blink of his eyes, wide blue eyes narrowed, and perfect lips pinched in distaste.

  Ginger Dumasse leaned into the microphone and proclaimed, “College should be the first push for all youth.”

  Yup, it had been a figment of Chase’s imagination. Ginger Dumasse clearly stood on the opposite side of the way from Chase on the issue of higher education versus military experience. Among other things.

  Around him, parents nodded their heads in agreement with her.

  "That's why I intend to invest in your children's future if elected. I'm a warrior for this state. I'll do it with nothing but my wits. I'm a sharpshooter, be it with a firearm or a pen.”

  The audience whooped and applauded at those choice words.

  “My aim is perfect. And what I'm fighting for is to become your next state senator."

  Applause boomed. He didn’t agree with her, but her speech was rousing enough that his hands itched to add to the applause. Too bad his hands were full of his own interests. Chase hefted the container of pamphlets and turned to his car.

  Chapter Two

  Ginger lived for this. She lived for the podium, for the talking points, for the questions, even for the defiance.

  “What are you going to do about the C&C Factory moving jobs out of state?”

  She had notes in front of her, but she didn't need them. Ginger spoke from her heart because that’s where her ideas came from, that's where her platform had been built.

  “That is a shell company from out of state. I know many in the community are employed there, but I’m a firm believer in investing in our community with neighbors who own businesses here. We can’t expect others to do it. We must become self-reliant. That’s why I have a plan to give tax incentives to local businesses and startups.”

  She watched as the man took a deep breath. His head tilted back, and his gaze squinted. She didn’t have him yet. She knew why.

  People didn't want talking points, they didn't want politics. They just wanted someone with a solid plan that reflected their needs. She had loads of those.

  It wasn’t an immediate solution. It would take time for her plan to work. But people needed relief now.

  Ginger opened her mouth to win the voter over, but her heart skipped. She didn’t shake. She never choked. But she did take a moment to swallow the excess saliva in her throat.

  He was staring at her. Not the voter. Well, the voter was staring because he was waiting for her to continue on her stump. But behind him was a tall, thick-limbed, oak tree of a man.

  Sergeant Colin Chase glared at her.

  Did she imagine it, or was there a softness to his stern features? Did she fantasize it, or did his lips part? Dark brown eyes narrowed, and his kissable lips pinched in disapproval.

  Yup, it had been a figment of her imagination.

  Chase had thrown her off her game. And he saw that he had. He might have big muscles, chiseled cheekbones, and a gaze that pierced right through her. But she had the megaphone.

  "What you all really want to know is why you should vote for me over an incumbent of twenty-five years. It's not because I'm younger with fresh ideas, although that's true. It's not because I'm a woman, and you want to show progress, although that's not a faulty idea since women are rising business owners and gaining more wealth.”

  For his part, Chase raised a brow and turned to leave. Her heart thudded again. This time it left behind an empty, hollow feeling. She didn't want him to leave. She wanted him to stay and fight, to argue with her. She ached to prove him wrong. But she couldn't do that if he was walking away from her.

  Someone cleared their throat. Ginger turned to look at her campaign manager, Carla, who was also her best friend. Carla raised a perfectly trimmed brow with meaning.

  Ginger turned back to the sea of faces waiting for her next bit of speech. She pulled on a smile. What was she supposed to say? It was all Chase's fault. He'd distracted her.

  She pulled the cards from her pocket. She looked down at her notes. The documents were all out of order. No matter. She knew what was in her heart.

  “You should vote for me because, at my core, I believe we should all live in a world that is fair and just. It should be that way in our families, in our work environment, and in our government. It doesn't matter what interest groups or red tape come at me. That's who I am at my core. If that's you, then I'm the candidate for you."

  There was a moment of uncertainty. Then the crowd broke off in applause and whoops and cheers for Dumasse.

  She'd done it. She'd won them over. Just a few more thousands to go.

  "That wasn't in your speech,” said Carla as Ginger came down off the podium.

  “It was in my heart,” insisted Ginger.

  "Cute. Let's put that in your stump. It's playing well with the suburbanites and industry workers.”

  Ginger loved her bestie. Carla had majored in political science, where Ginger had majored in graphic design. A fat lot of good it did her.

  A year out of college, Carla had talked Ginger into doing pro bono work for her first campaign. The client, a local mayoral candidate, had a message that captured both Ginger’s imagination and her interest. Ginger designed posters for the candidate, only to realize she wanted to say the slogans she was designing.

  She ran for local office the next election cycle and won a seat on the city council. Now she was ready for the big leagues. There was so much more she could do as a state senator.

  "The polls are still showing you down amongst housewives and males,” Carla said as she tapped on her tablet.

  Argh. Ginger hated the polls. But if she wanted to win, she had to listen to them.

  “Voters don't trust your unmarried status."

  "Well, I'm not getting a husband just to win an election." Ginger shuddered.

  She wanted a husband. Some day. But the qualifications for her partner were high. He’d need to be man enough to contend with a woman in power. And let’s face it, there weren’t many of those around.

  "You don't need a husband, per se,” said Carla. “You could just date until after the election."

  Ginger stopped walking. They'd been down this road. She had no plans to take a single step in the direction her best friend was suggesting.

  Carla shrugged, still tapping away at her handheld. “There was a lot of interest when you were linked with a certain sergeant"

  Two months ago, Ginger had b
een photographed in the arms of Sergeant Colin Chase. It had been innocent. Not like he'd kissed her or anything. Even though he might have stared at her lips. But he didn't do anything about it.

  "Isn't he here today?" Carla looked up finally.

  "He's gone."

  Ginger bit her lip when she realized her mistake. But it was too late. Carla was grinning the smug grin she’d worn when she’d gotten the highest score in the Psychology 101 class.

  "What?” shrugged Ginger. “I saw him with Honey. I was checking on my little sister.”

  “Hmmm.” That was the sound Carla had made when she’d gotten the highest grade in their Sociology 101 class.

  “It would never work between us. We're on the opposite ends of … well, everything."

  "Isn't that what your whole platform is about? Bringing two sides together."

  Ginger rolled her eyes. "Don't we have real issues to talk about?"

  And not the nonsense of dating a sergeant who couldn't even offer her a smile today. Or anytime they’d been breathing the same air.

  It didn’t matter. She didn’t need his appreciation. She was a strong, confident, independent woman.

  Even if when she'd been in his arms for that brief moment, her strong back had gone to goo.

  Chapter Three

  “Ellie Wilson,” said the announcer.

  The young man in question winced as he climbed the stairs of the stage. The announcer had butchered Eli’s name, but his parents still applauded. Their applause was amplified by the two teams of soldiers, the soldiers' wives, and the ranch children taking up an entire wing of the audience in the gymnasium.