Heroes in Uniform: Soldiers, SEALs, Spies, Rangers and Cops: Sexy Hot Contemporary Alpha Heroes From NY Times and USA Today Bestselling Authors

by Sharon Hamilton

  “Pretty.” Nic looked out over the rise of the hill. “Want to get out, walk around?”

  Hell yes. Did he ever.

  High grass waved in a summer’s breeze, its sweet smell permeating the warm air. The western sky still held a touch of orange. In the disappearing late summer light, everything was cast in a light purple hue. Fireflies floated and swirled low across the hill, surrounding them in gold bursts of light.

  Nic didn’t walk anywhere but into his arms. They stood and swayed on the sloped field. Her arms draped over his shoulders as they slow danced to nature’s symphony. With her head pressed against his chest, his strong heartbeat reached for her.

  “I need to show you something,” he whispered, breathing against her ear. She pulled back, and even in the cascading shadows, her brown eyes melted through him. “It’s my secret, and I need to share it.”

  His hands slowly ran up and down her back, as if his fingertips were on a mission to scan and memorize. A breeze whispered by, and their hands found one another, fingers entwining. “C’mere, sweet girl.”

  He led her to the back of his Rubicon, popped the hatch open, and stared at Miss Betty’s case. For years, that gun had gone almost everywhere with him.

  “Your secret is your rifle?” Nic teased and leaned into him, kissing his bicep. “It’s not a secret. I know what you do.”

  He didn’t say anything, just stared at the gun case, searching for the right words.

  She stepped closer, two fingers grazing over his cheekbones. Her fingers drifted across his skin, leaving a trail of heat, and stopped over his lips. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

  Cash kissed her fingers and turned them both toward the case, clicking it open. He pulled the rifle out, cradling it as he had a thousand times. “Have you ever heard the Rifleman’s Creed?”

  She shrugged. “Probably. I’m not sure.”

  “This is my gun. There are many like it, but this one is mine. My rifle is my best friend. It is my life… That’s how it starts. The whole Creed isn’t important, but its symbolism is.” He took a breath, turning to her. “Before you left, I wanted to marry you, but life changed in ways we couldn’t control, and my rifle became my world.”

  “You’re a sniper. I understand how important your weapon is to you.”

  He stepped closer to her, needing to press against her. “I still had your ring, and you were my best friend. You were my life, my whole world. I graduated college, and before I knew it, I had a rifle that kept me alive. That I chanted about day in, day out. My best friend. My life.”

  Nic started to say something, but he took her index finger in his and smoothed it over the trigger. “I didn’t know what to do with your ring after you were gone. And this gun was with me everywhere. This is what I did: the trigger’s gold plated. I couldn’t get Roman’s tattoo. I couldn’t scream from the rooftop that the woman I loved was gone. But I could have this with me, no matter where in the world I was.”

  “Cash…”

  He looked at her in the dark, trying to make out her features and read her mind. “The Creed goes on to say My rifle, without me, is useless. Without my rifle, I am useless. It just fit. You’d always been with me. And somehow, thinking about us together in spirit, trenched out in the hellholes and kill zones I’d been sent to, it was nice to know you were in my foxhole. And Nicola Beatrice became… Miss Betty.”

  She paused, then her voice was strong and powerful. “I love you, Cash. And I love that you did that.”

  “Miss Betty kept me sane. Safe. I talked to her. Trusted her. She defended my life, my country. But it was always you, and I’ve always loved you.”

  Nicola palmed his face. She drew him in for a kiss that warmed his soul, reinvigorating his belief that no woman on the planet was more perfect than her.

  He placed the rifle back in its case and put it away. Crickets chirped, and a night owl sang. Taking care to remember every moment, he turned back to her, and a smile curled his lips.

  “I love you, Nic. But gun, or no gun, I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I loved you years ago, I loved you when you were gone from me, and I love you still. Always have and always will.” He slipped a ring out of his pocket and took her left hand in his, sliding it onto her finger. “I’ve grown up with you, fallen in love with you, and I want to marry you. I hope to God you want the same thing.” He cupped her face in his hands. “What do you say, sweet girl? Think Nicola Garrison could be more than just a name on paper?”

  A smile so bright he didn’t need the sun blossomed across her face. “Of course I want to marry you. That’s my dream come true. I’ve wanted to since the first day I met you.”

  With her in his arms, with those words, life was perfect. She softened into his embrace, pushing into his kiss. This was more than a dream come true. This was his woman, his life, molding into what it should’ve been.

  “It’s a new house, but if you don’t like it, it’s on the auction block tomorrow.”

  “I love it.”

  “Good. Though I do have a lot of rooms that need to be christened.”

  “I’m pretty sure you have a big new car that hasn’t been…” She pulled him toward the passenger door, giggling.

  “Hot damn, I love you, woman.”

  Garrison’s Creed: Epilogue

  Somehow Cash should’ve known that sporting a tux was part of the deal. Can’t have a wedding without a tux. Well, you can. But that’s not what Nicola wanted, and what she wanted today was priority number one. The tux could be considered mission critical.

  He tugged at the black silk bowtie. Not his style. And standing in front of God and everyone, grinning like an asshole, it made him more than a little self-conscious.

  The church doors flew open. The dramatic organ notes bounced off the cathedral ceiling, filling the room with the powerful processional they’d chosen. The most gorgeous vision of beauty and white lace emerged, rendering him love-struck all over again.

  Yeah, for Nicola he could sport a bowtie and monkey suit. Hell, he’d do a top hat and a cane. Anything to get to, “I do.”

  The walk down the aisle was almost too much. How the hell was he this lucky? The only thing Cash wanted was Nicola in his arms. But her slow procession had a payoff. Her hand landed in his, and everything felt perfect.

  The preacher droned on, talking to the filled church pews. Cash wasn’t listening, totally entranced by his bride. Love swelled, thumping loudly throughout his body, and an excited constriction struck his throat. The only thing he had to do, other than stare at Nicola, was recite his vows. He’d easily agreed to write them without thinking over the consequence of that decision. Could he put into words his dreams of the future? His promises to take care of her, partner with her? Hell, worship her for the rest of their lives?

  And then the preacher’s eyes were upon him. Show time. Cash unfolded the paper with his neatly printed vows. If he thought his smile couldn’t get any bigger, he was wrong. And then it was just them. He saw no one else in the church besides Nicola Garrison, his soon-to-be wife.

  Nothing he wrote would do justice to what he wanted to say. Screw it. Crumbling up the paper with his vows, he shoved it back into his pocket and clasped her hands in his.

  “Hey, sweet girl.” He thumbed the tops of her knuckles.

  “Hi,” she whispered, smiling. “I love you.”

  God, did he love this woman. Needed her too. And no pre-written vows, no matter how authentic, could encapsulate how he felt in this moment. Cash cleared his throat, pressed her knuckles to his lips in a kiss, and breathed out.

  “Nic, my farthest reaching memory is you. My farthest reaching dream is this: marrying you. Promising my love, honor, and faithfulness until I take my last breath… Whether that’s from old age or from my enemy’s bullet, whether we’re on opposite sides of the world or working in the trenches together, know that you are my best friend, my truest love, the center of my existence. Every day I have with you is a gift. />
  “I vow to be your partner, to always have your back. I vow to hold your hand when no words are needed, hold you tight if you need comfort, and kiss your lips just because. I’ve always been yours, sweet girl. And I’ll always be yours. Today. Tomorrow. Forever.”

  Nicola wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. A soft chuckle ran through the church, reminding him that they weren’t really alone. But he didn’t care, and she obviously didn’t either because they weren’t anywhere close to, “you may now kiss the bride.”

  Somewhere behind him, the groomsmen were getting rowdy. Someone let out a, “hooyah.” And Beth—he was sure of it—aww-ed. Loudly. But they all faded away. Nic’s lips were on his, and the kiss reached into the depths of his soul.

  Nic drew back from their too-hot-for-church kiss. “My turn.” She held out her small white paper, then ripped it, tossing the paper pieces into the air like confetti. Another chuckle ran through the church. “Here I go… Cash Garrison, I took your last name when I never thought I’d see you again.” Pain flashed in her eyes, and he caressed her hand until she smiled again. “It was the saddest of consolation prizes, but I clung to it because you were my world. I love you. More and more each day.

  “I promise my heart, my soul. I promise to always trust and love unconditionally. I will follow you to the ends of the Earth if you need me. I will be your faithful, loyal wife to come home to, knowing you are forever my partner. Yes, in sickness and in health. But also through the hell of radio silence and undercover operations. I am yours, as I always have been. I vow this to you today.”

  Cash had her in his arms the second she stopped speaking. He snaked his fingers around her veil, into her hair, and dipped her back, kissing her again in front of God and guests. Screw the reception. He was ready for the honeymoon suite.

  Behind him, the preacher laughed. “The rings are just a formality. Skipping right along, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

  Cheers and claps echoed around them.

  Husband and wife. Cash and Nicola Garrison. For real. He whispered into her ear. “How long do we have before the reception?”

  She giggled. “I don’t know. Why?”

  “Because I’m down to start the honeymoon before champagne and cake.”

  “You’re going to make the best husband ever.”

  —The End—

  About the Author

  Cristin Harber

  Cristin Harber is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling romance author. She writes sexy, steamy romantic suspense and military romance. Readers voted her onto Amazon's Top Picks for Debut Romance Authors in 2013, and her debut Titan series was both a #1 romantic suspense and #1 military romance bestseller.

  Newsletter

  www.cristinharber.com

  www.facebook.com/cristinharberauthor

  twitter.com/CristinHarber

  Additional Books by Cristin Harber

  WINTERS HEAT

  SWEET GIRL

  DELTA, RETRIBUTION

  DANGER CLOSE

  by Kaylea Cross

  Danger Close: Chapter One

  One day. Just one more day and she was out of here.

  Erin stood up straight to stretch the stiff muscles in her spine. She was ten hours into a twelve hour shift and she was looking forward to finishing up so she could crash until it was time to get up and pack. Then she’d be on her way home for some much needed R&R. Two weeks of peace and quiet on her parents’ ranch outside of Billings. She couldn’t freaking wait to get out of this warzone and recharge for a while.

  She checked her watch and bent to add more notes to the chart she’d been working on at the nurse’s station. 07:10 hours. Heart rate: 74. BP: 110/70. Patient alert and oriented, resting comfortably, has declined further pain meds.

  “Lieutenant, the doctor wants to see you after he’s finished with Sergeant Thatcher.”

  Erin glanced up and nodded at the other nurse. “All right. Be there in a minute.” She put down her pen, repositioned her stethoscope hanging around the back of her neck and headed down the hallway to the room she’d put Sgt. Thatcher—Jackson, he’d told her to call him—into half an hour earlier. Staff members bustled past her. Bagram’s Craig Joint Theater Hospital was a flurry of activity this morning, even busier than usual because of the new load of patients she’d accompanied on the flight up from Kandahar less than an hour ago. She pushed open the door, expecting to find the doctor in there as well, but he wasn’t.

  Jackson turned his dark head on the pillow and smiled when he saw her. “Hey.”

  She smiled back. “Did the doctor come to check on you yet?”

  “Yeah, he just left a minute ago.”

  She’d track him down later then. “How are you feeling now that you’ve had a chance to settle in? Change your mind about those pain meds yet?”

  “Nah, I’m good.” He shifted slightly, his slow, restricted movements telling her just how sore his abdominal incisions were. He’d refused meds before and during the flight here, too.

  “Well if you change your mind, let one of us know. Promise we won’t judge you for taking them. And it won’t jeopardize your superhero status.”

  He grinned at her, a slash of white against his bronzed skin. “Will do.” He paused a second, a slight frown tugging his eyebrows closer together. “Any update on Maya at all?”

  Erin’s heart went out to the guy. He, Maya and the Secretary of Defense had all gone through hell out there during their captivity and escape back to friendly forces. And though Maya had previously been annoyed by Jackson’s obvious interest, Erin knew they’d bonded deeply during their ordeal. Apparently Maya had refused treatment for all her injuries until she’d been able to see Jackson for herself and verify that he would be okay. “No, sorry. I already asked my CO to see if he could find out anything, but everything’s blocked by security clearances.”

  “Yeah.” He placed one hand gingerly on the blanket covering his abdomen and didn’t elaborate on what had happened out there. Erin was dying to know, but wouldn’t ask because she already knew he wouldn’t—couldn’t—tell her. “So I hear they’re transferring me to Landstuhl in the morning?”

  “That’s the plan I was told, unless something changes before then.”

  “You’ll let me know if you hear anything about her?”

  Oh yeah, he was definitely head over heels. And from what she’d observed on her own, the feeling was reciprocated. “Of course. I’ll come check on you at lunch, but call if you need anything.”

  “Thanks.”

  She returned to the station to finish up her paperwork. At movement in her peripheral vision a few minutes later, she glanced over and saw one of her remaining roommates, Ace, striding toward her. The tall, blonde gunship pilot had her hair pulled back in a bun and she was still wearing her flight suit. Fresh from a night of hunting, Erin guessed. At the concerned look on Ace’s face, she set down her clipboard. “Hey, what are you doing here?”

  “Heard you’d brought in some patients from Kandahar,” Ace replied, stopping at the other side of the desk. “How’s Maya? Is she okay? I can’t get details from anyone.”

  While Erin couldn’t divulge the extent of Maya’s injuries or treatment for privacy reasons, she could certainly tell Ace the basics. She and Maya were tight, which was saying something, because Maya didn’t let anyone get close to her. “She had some minor surgery yesterday, but she’ll be fine. They’ve flown her to Qatar for a few days before they send her stateside.”

  Ace’s brown eyes searched Erin’s. “Yeah, but how is she?”

  Erin hesitated before answering, and when she did, she answered Ace as a friend, not a medical professional. “Physically she’ll be okay. But whatever happened out there, it was tough.” In fact, after she’d read the injury report on Maya while waiting for her to be taken to recovery, Erin’s throat had tightened at the thought of what her roomie must have endured.

  Ace nodded, pain flashing through her eyes. “And Jackson?”
/>
  “Same deal. I just checked on him and—” She trailed off when she spotted a man dressed in civvies heading down the hall toward where Jackson was. “Gotta go. See you later,” she blurted to Ace, and rounded the edge of the counter to follow the man. How the hell had he gotten in here? He didn’t look back at her, but headed straight for Jackson’s door and put out a hand as though he was just going to walk right on in.

  “Hey,” she called out.

  He paused to look over his shoulder at her, his hand resting on the door. His dark eyes locked on her, and in the midst of the thick, nearly black beard he wore—even longer than most of the SOF guys she’d seen around base—his mouth tightened in annoyance.

  Erin did a visual sweep and kept coming. He looked like a local. His hair was way longer than regulation allowed, but he had a muscular build and confident bearing that spoke of time in the military. Given his very relaxed grooming standard, the cargo pants and black T-shirt seemed out of place. He was tall, a little over six feet if she had to guess, and maybe in his mid-to-late thirties. Not a bad looking guy. Except he had no business being in this area. “What are you doing?”

  His dark brown gaze flicked over her with a mixture of surprise and wariness, his expression cool and remote. “Going to see a friend of mine. He was just brought in.” His deep voice was pure American, which surprised her. Not a local, then, and not military either. A contractor of some sort?

  She walked right up to him, stopping only a few feet from him to stare up into his face. A hard, weathered face. His skin was darkly tanned, with deep crow’s feet fanning out from his eyes. Whoever he was, he hadn’t lived a soft life. “Who are you?”