Frankly, she’d preferred her nanny’s quarters and had spent more time at Ella’s than at home. She’d loved it so much her father had built a replica of Ella’s small cottage for her next door to her beloved friend after Nicky had died. The older Cajun-French woman had always been more like a grandmother to her than hired help and Sapphira knew Ella loved her regardless of her paycheck. True, Ella had been reimbursed for caring for her day to day needs when she was growing up, but Sapphira knew she’d genuinely cared for her all the same. She’d always been able to draw comfort from that, to know that she was loved unconditionally.
When she’d gotten too old for a nanny and had heard her parents discussing the need to let Ella go, Sapphira had become inconsolable. She’d always had a strong bond with her nanny, one that she knew her mother had resented. Clarise Stravos had kept insisting that Ella had to go, but thankfully her father had taken pity on her and kept Ella on in a household management capacity.
Her mother had never been particularly...motherly. She wasn’t affectionate, didn’t want her clothes being mussed with hugs. She’d always kept her children at a polite distance, preferring to take them out to show them off during dinner parties, then eagerly shooing them away the moment the ooo’ing and ah’ing had subsided. She might have been her biological mother, but she’d never been truly there for her.
She’d never been a Momma.
No, Ella had been and was her rock, had nursed her through the chicken pox, scraped knees, first heartbreak, second heartbreak, and even third heartbreak, Sapphira thought wryly, not to mention the miscarriage. She’d been a soft shoulder to cry on when she’d lost Nicky and the rest of her family. “Come here, ma cher,” she’d said. “Everythin’s gonna be all right.”
And she was the only person who knew exactly what she did with her time and money. And why.
“Ella’s right next door,” Sapphira pointed out, knowing it was a weak argument.
Her father snorted. “Ella’s an old woman. She can’t protect you.”
“We live in a freaking fortress,” she told him, exasperated. A ten foot stone fence surrounded their estate, as well as a gate at the only entrance to the property. Her father had a top-notch, high-tech security system complete with motion detectors and closed-circuit cameras. “Short of a person parachuting onto the grounds, I’m safe here, Dad.”
“You’ll be safer with a bodyguard. End of discussion, Sapphira,” he said, picking up his newspaper. And just like that, she might as well have vanished. She felt her jaw ache and narrowly avoided grinding her teeth.
Furthermore, it might be the end of the discussion, Sapphira thought, bristling at his oh-so-gallingly-familiar autocratic tone. But it sure as hell wasn’t the end of the battle. She might not be able to change her father’s mind, but she could certainly play the spoiled debutante to the point that her bodyguard would want to quit. If there was one thing she’d learned as a Stravos captive it was how to outmaneuver a master.
Bring on the former Ranger, she thought, warming to her plan as she fed Trixie a bite of kibble.
She’d be his worst freakin’ nightmare.
ABOUT RHONDA RUSSELL
A New York Times best-selling author, two-time RITA nominee, Romantic Times Reviewers Choice nominee, and National Readers' Choice Award Winner Rhonda Russell writes hot romantic comedy for Harlequin Books and Firefly Press, her indie press. With more than forty-five published books to her credit and many more coming down the pike, she's thrilled with her career and enjoys dreaming up her characters and manipulating the worlds they live in.
Rhonda previously wrote as Rhonda Nelson, but getting married necessitated a name change. She and her husband (aka The Sweetest Badass in the World) and their menagerie of pets happily make their home on a 166-acre farm in the middle of nowhere in a small town in Northern Alabama near the banks of the Tennessee River. If you’d like to see videos of baby ducks, spoiled turkeys who like to ride in the car, guineas who think they’re turkeys, then be sure to check her out Facebook Page Author Rhonda Russell.
More from Rhonda Russell
Men Out of Uniform Series
The Player, #1
Major Perfect, #2
The Maverick, #3
The Loner, #4
The Hell-Raiser, #5
Letters From Home, #6
The Soldier, #7
The Rebel, #8
4-Book Romance Omnibus
Love You More
Bless Her Heart Series
The Future Widows' Club, #1
Disenchanted: A Witchy Business Novella
THE LONER
New York Times & USA Today Bestselling Author
RHONDA RUSSELL
Text Copyright © 2017 Rhonda Russell
All Rights Reserved
2nd edition, Rhonda Russell.
Published by Firefly Press
No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, copied, or stored in any form or by any means without permission of the author. Your respect and support of the author is appreciated.
All characters, events, brands, companies, and locations in this story are used fictionally and without intent of slander. Any resemblance to actual people are purely coincidental.
More from Rhonda Russell
Men Out of Uniform Series
The Player, #1
Major Perfect, #2
The Maverick, #3
The Loner, #4
The Hell-Raiser, #5
Letters From Home, #6
The Soldier, #7
The Rebel, #8
4-Book Romance Omnibus
Love You More
Bless Her Heart Series
The Future Widows' Club, #1
Disenchanted: A Witchy Business Novella
PROLOGUE
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
EPILOGUE
THE HELL-RAISER - Sneak Peek!
CHAPTER 1
ABOUT RHONDA RUSSELL
PROLOGUE
“Oh, shit,” Lucas “Huck” Finn muttered, using every trick he’d learned as a U.S. Army Ranger--particularly those in Jump school--to guide his parachute toward the drop zone he instinctively knew he was going to miss. Call it a sixth sense, a premonition, a damned psychic moment, hell he didn’t give a damn.
He just knew he was screwed.
And on a friggin’ training mission at that, one he was running point. Because he’d been thinking about his father again, a man he’d never even met. Why? Who knew? Curiosity? Closure? He didn’t have any idea, but he couldn’t deny the faceless parent had been on his mind a lot in recent months. He’d even begun making inquiries, trying to find out the identity of the man. No luck yet, but the PI he’d hired assured him that it was only a matter of time.
Cheeks burning, he hit the call button on the radio. “I’m north of the DZ,” he said tightly.
“North, sir?”
Bloody hell. “I’ve overshot the drop zone,” he clarified, mortification making his voice gruff. Two-hundred plus drops, HALO training--High Altitude, Low Opening--almost a decade of experience and, while he’d had some pretty scary things happen while stealthily floating through the skies for Uncle Sam, this was the first time in years he’d scuttled a training exercise. He’d landed in an eight-by-eight square of beach at high-tide between two rocky outcroppings amid enemy fire and still stuck the landing, for Pete’s sake. He swore again and struggled with the lines to pull himself back on target.
In vain, he knew. Still...
“You’re going to be in the trees, Major,” Dennis Jenkins told him, as if he didn’t know. Even if it wasn’t nearing midnight and even if he didn’t know every inch of
Fort Benning, GA like the back of his hand, it was hard to miss the looming shadows of the tree tops reaching up from the ground like ragged fingers trying to catch him.
The last damn thing any paratrooper wanted to do was land in a tree--too many chances for injury--but in this case, given the rocky terrain, steep hills and valleys on this particular stretch of ground, something told him he’d be better off kissing an oak tree than landing on uncertain terra firma.
“I’m coming in,” Huck told him as the earth loomed ever closer.
“You want me to send a crew?”
“Hell, yeah. I don’t want to walk out of here, dammit.” He could cut himself free and get out of the tree, but hoofing it several miles back to the heart of the base in the dark was unnecessary. Doable, of course, but unnecessary.
“Roger that,” Jenkin’s said.
Huck tripped the switch on his flash light illuminating the bit of air right above his feet, trying to gauge the best place to come in.
Unfortunately there wasn’t one.
Trees, trees and more trees.
He swore again, worked the lines to slow his descent and drew his legs up in an attempt to keep them out of harms way. He felt the first branch scrape his thigh, a second scratch his face as he plunged into skinny pine tree. Soft wood, weak branches, he thought dimly as his parachute finally snagged and took hold, momentarily jerking him upward again, pushing the breath from his lungs.
Before he could take stock of the situation, he heard an ominous crack and was free-falling once more. His flashlight swung in an illuminated beam through the forest as he plunged downward. He felt his right arm break as he tumbled from branch to branch, a stinging sensation in his side--no doubt a puncture wound--then a horrible mind-blowing, gut-wrenching pain so intense it made his mind go white then black and then back to gray, and then another ominous crack as his knee struck another limb and bent at an unnatural angle.
Huck suddenly stopped falling, hovered upside down roughly ten feet from the ground. He could hear the hum of the jeep motor powering on in the distance. Under ordinary circumstances he would have pulled his knife and sliced the lines, but considering the extent of his injuries he knew better.
So much for walking out of here, he thought with bitter irony, struggling to stay conscious. His world faded in and out of focus and his strained, breathless curses turned the air blue around him. Given the stupid mistake he’d just made, he knew he would be lucky to ever walk again.
Years wasted, he thought fighting the pain, panic and blackness threatening to consume him.
Career over.
And with that thought...nothing.
CHAPTER 1
Three months later...
“Are you absolutely certain this is what you want to do?” Colonel Carl Garrett asked, his tone as grave as his expression.
Seated in an uncomfortable chair in front of the Colonel’s desk, Huck nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“You could still be an asset to the military, Major Finn. Just because you’re no longer physically able to meet the demands of an active Ranger doesn’t mean that you are no longer of value to your country. You have other talents as well,” he said, carefully perusing the documents on his gleaming mahogany desk. “You could be very useful in an instructional capacity if you--“
Huck bit back a blistering curse. “With all due respect, sir, I didn’t join the military to teach. I joined to defend.”
And he couldn’t do that anymore. Would never be able to do that again.
He swallowed, pushed back the despair, anger and absolute fury roiling in his gut. How could he have been so stupid? Have made such a rookie mistake? His knee twinged, remembering, and his fist involuntarily tightened around his cane. “I know that there are lots of other men who make the transition that you’re talking about, Colonel, and I respect their decision. However, it’s not the path for me. I’m a man of action, sir, and since I’m no longer capable of acting, I know that leaving the military is the best route.”
For him, it was the only route.
Because Huck had never considered a life outside of serving Uncle Sam, he’d never recognized the need to draw up a contingency plan. Lots of fellow soldiers had made inquiries as to his plans once he’d decided to leave, but he could hardly tell them when he didn’t know himself. All he knew at this point was that he had to get out. That being here, being wounded, being unable to perform his job was slowly eating away at the few tangled shreds of sanity he had left.
No matter what Garrett said, he was useless now. Dead weight. A liability to his unit.
And just like when a lady always knew when to leave--the kind he made it a point to date--a has-been Ranger knew to heed the exit cue as well.
Where would he go? Hell, who knew? At this point he didn’t even care. He just wanted to get away from here. Thankfully he had enough money in the bank to coast for a while until he could figure out the next chapter in his life. He could always go home, he knew. Home being Red Rock, Georgia, a little town which sat right outside Savannah. Close enough for his mother to drive in every day to clean and cater to the city’s upper crust, but far enough away to always remember his place, Huck thought bitterly.
And God knows he never forgot.
Between the snotty rich kids he sometimes crossed paths with while his mother was working and the efficient grapevine of a small town, Huck had never had a problem forgetting he was a bastard child borne to a young unwed mother, one he grimly suspected had been taken advantage of by one of the smug, entitled bastards she’d cleaned up after. Had his mother ever told him this? No. But he’d caught enough snippets of conversations between his mother and grandmother while he’d been growing up to rouse his suspicions.
Following her lead, Huck had never asked about his father. He’d been loved enough without a father--it had seemed to be her personal goal, a guilt she’d carried and couldn’t shake--and he’d instinctively known that asking about someone who clearly hadn’t given a damn about either of them would cause her undue grief.
And that, of course, had been unacceptable.
His mother would welcome him back with open arms, but somehow burdening her with his new problems--when he’d joined the military to free her of them to start with--seemed particularly counter-productive.
After years of cleaning up after the idle rich, Beth Finn had finally saved enough money to start her own business and no one was prouder of her than Huck. A firm believer in the power of sugar--of the perfect cookie, specifically--his mother had opened a cookie bakery. Snickerdoodles specialized in its namesake, of course, as well as beautiful iced cookies which were packaged as cookie bouquets. Her online business, in particular, had taken off. He inwardly smiled. He received a care package from her every Friday like clock-work.
Keeping her in the dark after his injury had been particularly hard, but Huck simply hadn’t been able to tell her and had forbid anyone else from sharing the information with her as well. She would have put everything on hold--including the brand-new business that needed her--in order to come to Fort Benning and take care of him. He’d let her help take care of him until he’d turned eighteen, then he’d earned an ROTC scholarship, joined the program at the University of Alabama--Roll Tide!--and the rest, as they say, was history.
At fourteen he’d watched her tiredly sit at the kitchen table--the familiar scent of bleach and starch clinging to her small hands and curly hair--and wryly debate the merit of buying him new shoes to replace the ones he’d outgrown within a month or pay the phone bill. “The phone’s a nuisance, anyway,” she’d said, ruffling his hair while he’d burned with shame, mad at his feet for having the audacity to grow and put another burden on her slim shoulders.
To be so small, she’d always been a remarkably strong woman.
The next day after school he’d gone down to the local co-op and hung around, pestering the local farmers until he had enough work lined up to cover the phone bill and then some. Initially she’d protested, had told
him to save his money, that she’d take care of them, but Huck had insisted. He was young and strong, perfectly capable of mucking stalls and hauling hay, all of which he’d done. There’d been a sense of pride along with the accomplishment, a measure of satisfaction in knowing that he could contribute.
And he still contributed, unbeknownst to her.
Despite the fact that he no longer lived at home, he’d set up a retirement account for his mother and had been making monthly deposits for the past ten years.
As for the mystery surrounding his father, he found it highly ironic that his preoccupation with the man had ultimately cost him his career. It was funny, Huck thought now. He’d never really given the man a second thought until a fellow trooper had lost his father and then Huck had suddenly been consumed with curiosity. What sort of man got a girl pregnant and just walked away? Had he married? Had children? Had he ever spared a thought for him and his mother?
No matter how much he tried to tell himself none it mattered...he couldn’t quite put it to rest. He hated himself for it, but couldn’t deny it all the same. That’s why he’d ultimately hired an investigator. He had to know. And now, thanks to his accident, he’d get to find out who the bastard was and hopefully administer a belated payback. He warmed with purpose, felt the first stirrings of adrenaline hit his bloodstream. God, how he’d missed it. Could it rival jumping headfirst out of a plane at twenty-thousand feet? No. But it would do.
It had to.
Garrett stared at him for a full five seconds longer, waiting for more of an explanation, Huck supposed. But one he wouldn’t get. “You’re set on this?”
“I am.”
“And I can’t change your mind?”
Huck looked him dead in the eye. “No, sir.”
“In that case--“ He scrawled his signature across Huck’s release papers. “--might I make a suggestion?”
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