The Marine's Holiday Harbor

by Kirsten Lynn

  THE MARINE’S HOLIDAY HARBOR

  KIRSTEN LYNN

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  About the Book

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Epilogue

  Military Terms

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Also by KIRSTEN LYNN

  COPYRIGHT

  Copyright © 2019 Kirsten Lynn

  Kindle Edition

  THE MARINE’S HOLIDAY HARBOR

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any print or electronic form without permission.

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing 2019

  Editor: Mackenzie Walton

  Proofreader: Yvonne Ray

  Cover Design: Lee Ching, Undercover Designs

  Formatted by: BB E-books

  Lighthouse Icon made by Eucalyp from www.flaticon.com

  ABOUT THE BOOK

  We made a deal.

  Ten years in the military, then we’d find our own home and start a family. Ten years later, I transitioned out of the Navy. Caleb Quinlin stayed in the Marine Corps and broke my heart. A year ago, life capsized again. Now, I’m a single parent to my niece and nephew doing my best to make this lighthouse a home. This holiday season is supposed to be peaceful and perfect. Instead of Santa’s sleigh on the roof, a Marine almost crashes a boat on the rocks.

  He has a letter giving him co-guardianship.

  He says he wants us forever.

  But can he call a town where his past haunts him home?

  A life with him has been my Christmas wish since we were children.

  Because Caleb…Caleb is my Heart.

  We made a deal.

  I broke it, and both our hearts. But the deal never included coming back to Camden, Maine. Anywhere but here. So, why am I risking my life sailing through a Nor’easter to a lighthouse off the coast of the one place I swore I’d never live? A letter I’ve been carrying for over a year in combat zones throughout the world. Two small children.

  Number one reason. Brynn Reilly.

  She’s my first love, best friend, and the Devil Doc who patched me up more times than I want to admit.

  I need her to trust my past won’t stop my forever with her and the children.

  Come on Christmas magic give this Marine one more chance.

  Because Brynn…Brynn is my Home.

  PROLOGUE

  Caleb

  Camp New Garm Ser (formerly Camp Dwyer, Afghanistan)

  A knock on the door followed by an “It’s me” turns my attention from the ceiling of my plywood palace to the one diamond in this sand pit.

  “Yeah, come in.” Our corpsman slips inside. I sit up on my rack and nod to the open door. “You were headed out, Hanson.”

  Staff Sergeant Collin Hanson cuts a glance to the corpsman and back to me. “Yeah, I wanted more pie. Is that right?”

  “Whatever gets your ass out of here.”

  He walks by Brynn and smiles as he tugs on his utility cover and she removes hers. “Merry Christmas, Devil Doc.”

  She returns his smile, and a part of me hates I have to even share that much of her with other Marines. “Merry Christmas, Hanson.”

  When Hanson adds some drama by trying to slam the thin door, she chuckles and focuses on me. “Merry Christmas, Caleb.”

  “Merry Christmas, Angel.”

  “The other Marines call me Doc.”

  I scan her from toe to head, not hiding that I’m picturing her naked under those desert utilities and combat boots. “You haven’t taken the other Marines to heaven inside that body.”

  Her forehead wrinkles, but gold sparks shoot through her hazel eyes as they change more green than brown, a sure sign she’s turned on. “You shouldn’t talk about that out loud.”

  “I think about it every fucking second. From our first time in high school to this Thanksgiving up against that wall you’re leaning against.”

  She pushes off the wall. “Caleb!”

  I wave away her false outrage. “Sit with me, Angel.”

  Hospital Corpsman First Class Brynn Reilly sets the saddest-looking Christmas tree on what constitutes a desk, then crawls on the cot and sits next to me using the wall as a back rest. Brynn has been mine since we were fifteen; she became all mine when we were seventeen. If we’re honest, we’ve been fated since our mothers had a playdate for us when we were one.

  When I joined the Marines, she joined the Navy. She had one purpose for enlisting and that was to become a corpsman and go green to save as many Marines as possible. How we ended up in the same regiment, battalion, and platoon is a miracle I thank God for every day. The fact she was assigned as a corpsman for an RTC comprised of Marines from various battalions, including the 2/8, makes me wonder if somewhere, somehow I did God a solid.

  I nod to the green triangular “tree” in a plastic pot. It stands about a foot tall with a few bright bulbs dangling precariously from the limbs that are more wire than fake pine now. “Where’d you get that thing?”

  “It’s not a thing. Don’t be an asshole—it’s our Christmas tree.” Her gaze sweeps the room. “You need at least one decoration. Mom sent it to me, I’m giving it to you.”

  “Looks like the kind of tree that’d grow out here. Christmas in Hell-Man again. Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye never wrote about dreaming about this place. And people say lightning can’t strike twice.” Even as I grump, the words, our Christmas tree, seem to transform the shrub; filling out branches and making the tiny ornaments sparkle.

  “Better than Ramadi, worse than San Diego.”

  “Helmand is not better than shit. And no comparison to our Christmas together in San Diego. Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye would definitely dream of you in that bikini.”

  She caresses my cheek with the backs of her fingers, and I lean into her touch It’s a tightrope we walk, but for her touch I’d chance everything I have. “Did you get any chow?”

  “Aye. I loaded down. The pie just made me miss your pies more.”

  I smile and count it a win when she scoots closer to me. A tight regulation bun keeps her hair off her collar, but it hides the waves of chestnut silk I’d love to run my fingers through.

  “Missed having you there, Angel.”

  “Sorry, I had to assist at the hospital. I missed sharing Christmas dinner with you, too.”

  “You eat?”

  “Aye. Shoveled it in and came here.”

  “Glad you did.”

  She releases a deep breath.
“I’m missing Christmas in Camden more than ever this year. From the smell of balsam to snow to you singing carols off-key, and Mom over-decorating until you’re afraid to sit still or be wrapped in tinsel. Don’t you miss home?”

  “I did…and then you came to me and now I’m home.” She slides her fingers between mine linking our hands. I squeeze her hand. “You better watch it, if we’re caught we’ll face a shitstorm.”

  “Hanson wouldn’t say shit. And funny, you didn’t care if he walked in while taking me from behind after Thanksgiving dinner.”

  “At that moment they could burn me alive for transgressions. I thought we weren’t talking about that.”

  “We’re both thinking about it. I gave in.”

  “You want a repeat.”

  She doesn’t laugh, recognizing how serious I am. “We can’t, Caleb. We seriously can never let that happen again over here, because joke or no joke, if we were ever caught that’s it for our careers. And the fact you came inside me…I can’t risk going home because I’m knocked up.”

  I rest my head back on the wall, but hold her hand like it’s my only tie to earth. “Understood and agreed. It’s just wicked good holding your hand.”

  “I hope Liz records Michael and Ella opening their gifts for us. What did you get the kids?”

  The thought of our niece and nephew tearing into their gifts brings a smile to my face, and works as the distraction she wanted. Christmas through the eyes of a two and five-year-old could even bring a little peace on earth out here. “Got Little Bit, a stuffed Chesty bulldog, and for Michael a chess set. You?”

  When she doesn’t answer, I open my eyes. My gaze collides with hers, filled with such adoration that I shift, uncomfortable with the hero in her eyes compared to who I really am.

  “You are so sweet when it comes to them. You call Ella Little Bit?”

  “She’s a little bit of everything; sweet, sassy, sunshine, and storm…she’s a little bit like you.” I caress the back of a finger over her cheek and catch a drop of moisture from her eyes. “Come on, Brynn, what did you get them?”

  “Ella is getting Disney princess pajamas, complete with all the princesses. I can’t remember her favorite. I included slippers. For Michael an Osprey model; Liz says he likes models even though he’s young. Hopefully Mark will help him.”

  I huff a humorless laugh. “Yeah, don’t hold your breath. But those are outstanding gifts.”

  “Thank you, but you’re their hero, so mine will be tossed aside.”

  I frown. “What’s that pouty bullshit? It’s not some fucking competition.”

  She laughs and she might as well rip out my heart and take it. “No, it’s not. And I’m not being pouty. They adore you, Caleb. You should come home on leave more and hear them. It’s Uncle Caleb does this and Uncle Caleb puts four spoonfuls of chocolate in our chocolate milk and Uncle Caleb can fight off a million alien soldiers from Pluto.”

  Chuckling, I scrub a hand over my face. “A million aliens, huh? Might feel like it after Uncle Caleb’s patrol tomorrow. And Plutoians, or whatever, might be an easier fight.”

  She nudges my arm and shakes her head. “Don’t talk about tomorrow in Afghanistan. All of that doesn’t exist right now. Dream with me a little bit longer. Let’s stay in Maine a few more minutes. Do you think Liz will cook the turkey too long again?”

  My frown returns at the longing in her voice. I ignore her question about Liz and the turkey; dragged out of the warm dream by a cold reality. “Why do I get the feeling you’ll be staying in Maine forever once this deployment is over?”

  “Stay there with me, Caleb.”

  “I’m where I should be, and Maine will never be home. You picked the wrong brother if you want all that, but then again, compared to Mark, I’ve always been wrong.”

  “Fuck you, Caleb, I don’t deserve that. I don’t deserve to have your father’s words put in my mouth. I love you with all I am and you will always be my choice. But I want to be more than your fuck buddy. And yeah, how horrible, I want a family, a house, to wake up in the same bed every morning. That was the deal. Remember? Ten years is up. Now you’ve got to decide if you’re going to choose me, or let me go.”

  I tug her hand bringing her closer to me. “You have never been just a fuck buddy and you damn well know it. As for letting you go…never…you will always be mine, Brynn.”

  I give her hand another tug, and capture her mouth. The second her soft lips mold to mine, I don’t give a holly jolly fuck if the whole regiment catches us. Releasing her hand, I cup the back of her head, keeping her to me, and run the tip of my tongue over her bottom lip, sliding it inside the sweet, wet warmth of her mouth when she sighs. I slant my mouth over hers and guide her head so we fit like puzzle pieces. Home. Home tastes like Brynn, smells like Brynn, feels like Brynn. She is the only shelter I need.

  I brush a kiss to one side of her mouth and then the other. “Mine.”

  “Yes.”

  “Maybe La Jolla, little bungalow, going at it whenever we want, and naked weekends.”

  “That works, but Christmas in Maine.”

  “Angel.”

  Heavy boots outside the door snap us apart and she breaks from me, standing. “Merry Christmas again, Staff Sergeant.”

  With a chuckle, I nod. “It sure was a second ago. Merry Christmas to you, too, Doc.”

  She pivots on her heels with a precision that would make any Marine proud and almost runs over Hanson. “Good night, Staff Sergeant Hanson.”

  “Doc Reilly.”

  He barely gets the words out before the door closes behind her. She brought the light, love, and hope of Christmas in with her. With her gone, the room fades back into a dingy barrack. Even the small tree reverts to its former ratty, wiry self. I scrub a hand over my face and give my head a vigorous shake. Brynn. If anyone can have me imagining an inanimate object puffing up then slinking down, it’s her. Hanson smiles. “You have a nice time?”

  “Shut the fuck up.”

  “Well, it’s just a marshmallow world in here.”

  “You know I don’t allow that kind of bullshit innuendo about Brynn.”

  “Fuck me, man, I’d never talk about Doc with anything but respect. She’s earned it. Just asking if you two had a nice time.”

  I grunt, not convinced, but I have more important thoughts running through my mind. Brynn’s really transitioning. We’d made the deal when we were seventeen. Ten years, then we’re out and settling down. We discussed it again a few months ago, but I didn’t think she was already making plans. I wonder how long she’s been processing out and how much time I have with her. Because when Brynn leaves she’ll be leaving me.

  “Brought you another piece of pie.”

  “Thanks, Hanson, but go ahead and chow down. I’m good for sweet things this Christmas.”

  “Sure thing.” Hanson glances to where Brynn exited, but chooses the wise course of not commenting.

  Brynn

  December 26, Helmand Province

  Nothing brings home the fact the holidays are over like patrolling with Afghan forces through a town in the Helmand Province. Helmand carries a reputation for being deadly and it has lived up to that reputation since U.S. troops first arrived over sixteen years ago. The economy here is driven by vast fields of opium poppies. The Taliban in this province acts like the mafia as it processes and smuggles drugs, funding its operations.

  As our patrol moves past the buildings, a few concrete, most made of mud bricks, the occupants either stare as we walk by or duck into the doorways. It has the feel of an old Western; only here both the townsfolk and the bad guys hide in wait for attack, leaving us uncertain who is who as we patrol. All that’s needed is some ominous music. Caleb holds up a hand for the squad to stop at a local shop. A man steps out of the building wearing the tradition khet, or top portion of the garment, and partug, the lower portion, along with a turban.

  Caleb waves one of the Afghani troops over and begins a conversation. I pick up bits a
nd pieces, mostly he keeps it small talk introducing the man to the new Afghani commander. We should be only advisors, but with the new commander Caleb was put in charge of the patrol.

  The shop owner keeps glancing to Caleb’s M-4 and then down the street. Caleb is, of course, in full combat gear, the carbine in one hand. I watch him for a second. He’s a Marine’s Marine, the kind who should be in recruiting ads. Oh, that’s right, he is in recruiting ads. I shake my head, and allow a brief smile.

  Children begin to edge toward us. This could be a good sign or bad, as they’ve been used as sacrifices; sent to get the candy or soccer balls we sometimes carry only to be blown up with Marines.

  One little boy steps within Caleb’s view, and Caleb reaches into a pocket, offering the child a few pieces of candy. I keep an eye on the children, but keep my gaze constantly moving. The scent of spices mixes with other, not so pleasant scents, and feral dogs roam the streets. A woman scurries across the street, her gaze over her burqa cutting from the patrol to the man speaking with Caleb. Even though the day is a decent sixty degrees, not the triple digits of summer, I feel sweat trickle down my neck. There is something off here today.

  He asks the man again about any Taliban. The man shakes his head no. Caleb waves us forward, and I can tell by the way he’s walking he doesn’t believe the intel he was given.

  The man from the shop eyeballs me as I fall into step. Even the Afghanis with us tend to give me either hostile glares or a wide birth. As a woman I shouldn’t be here. As full-fledged part of the Fleet Marine Forces, I’ve received a warmer welcome from my Marines. Some I’ve butted heads with and a few have been buttheads. I stay in my lane, and once we serve together, the majority welcome me as a sister-in-arms. When they started calling me the unofficial title, Devil Doc, I knew I’d made it. I am seen as a Marine; the only difference between me and them is the Navy rate chevrons on my Marine Corps utilities. Even earning my FMF device didn’t mean quite as much.

  I flip the Velcro on the holster for my Sig Saur, and bring my M-4 a little higher as I watch the Marines bring theirs to their shoulders.