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

  His mom looked at her watch and rose from the late afternoon meal they'd shared. “I've got to get to the hospital now. It's my week for the night shift.” She glanced uneasily at Coop, then over to his dad. “Do you still have that faculty meeting tonight, cherie?”

  His father checked his watch, too, and nodded. “'Fraid so. Best be on my way.” He paused behind Coop's chair, laid a hand on his shoulder, and gave it a squeeze. “You going to be all right, son?”

  Coop saw the worry evident in his parents' eyes. “Yeah, Dad. Thanks. I've got some reports to read through that Jack emailed about the poaching ring we busted a while back. Seems the two poachers gave up the buyers, and a few days ago our wardens raided a couple of import-export companies. Got a whole bunch of evidence and arrested five of the ring leaders.”

  “That's great, son! Good work.”

  “Thanks.” He gave his father a crooked smile and thrust a chin at his grandfather, Jimmy Blue Wolf, sitting across from him at the table. “And if I run out of things to read, I've got Nimosom to cheer me up.”

  His dad snorted. “If you don't mind watching that stultifyingly boring Whitney trial on Court TV. I swear your grandfather's obsessed with it.”

  Coop saw a look pass between the old man and his mom before Nimosom said gruffly, “The trial's been over for days. We're just waiting for the verdict. That scumbag should—”

  “I know, I know,” Coop’s dad said indulgently, holding up a hand. “But you'd think the man had swindled you personally out of millions the way you've been glued to that TV for the past three months.”

  “Hrumph.” The old man slurped his tea noisily. “You should have more respect for your elders.”

  Coop’s mom grinned, and looped her arm through his dad’s, tugging him toward the door. “Come on, cher, we'll be late. I'll drop you at your stop.”

  After they'd gone, Nimosom grumbled, “Impertinent pup. What does he know?”

  “Hmm.” Coop didn’t even want to hear the word pup. He fell back into his dark thoughts, tearing off bits of frybread and tossing them onto the pool of honey on his plate.

  His grandfather set down his teacup with a clatter, and scraped back his chair. “Come on, boy, I've got something to show you.”

  His grandfather creaked across the room to the hall stairway and paused. “I ain't goin' up but once, so you'd best get your butt movin'.”

  Resigned, Coop got up and followed. What did the old man have up his sleeve this time? Nimosom had been chock full of ideas and tricks to shake Coop from his melancholy—none of which had worked, of course.

  He'd remained firmly mired in the no-man's-land between fury and misery ever since Maggie had calmly waltzed off with that reprobate FBI agent.

  Okay, so she hadn't been all that calm. In fact, she'd been sobbing her eyes out. But waltz off she had, nonetheless.

  Coop wondered for the ten-thousandth time what the hell Paxton was doing with her.

  He’d been in law enforcement long enough to figure it must have something to do with a criminal the FBI was chasing. She could be an informant, or a witness, or something like that. But why Coop, a trusted government employee with a high security clearance, wasn't deemed worthy of sharing that information, he could only guess.

  For the first few weeks he'd been patient and hopeful, believing her protestations of love, trusting her word. Then he'd started worrying. Had something happened to her? Those two guys who shot Coop had seemed pretty bent on finding her. Had someone else succeeded?

  Eventually, he'd called the FBI office in L.A. and had a short conversation with Special Agent Paxton, who had curtly and forcefully told him to back off and mind his own damn business. That Maggie would return to him when she was good and ready. If ever.

  That's when Coop had gotten mad. Really mad. She better the hell come back!

  That had been almost two months ago. And she still hadn’t appeared. So, now he’d sunk into a depression, struggling to accept the fact that Maggie might not want to be with him. That he really might never see her again.

  Which had led him to San Francisco on a leave of absence, to curl up in the bosom of his family to try to heal himself.

  His parents had urged him to be patient. His grandfather had not said much of anything, but he had taken Coop on a couple of excursions into the woods north of the city. To reconnect with the spirit, the old man had said. Which spirit, Coop wasn't sure, since his grandfather had remained largely uncommunicative on the trips, just playing his drum and singing old songs.

  With a sigh, Coop took his grandfather's arm, helping him climb the steep stairs to his second floor bedroom. When they got there, the old man went straight to the old steamer trunk that held the mementos of his life with the band in Canada. Whenever Jimmy Blue Wolf opened the steamer trunk, it meant some really serious talk was sure to follow.

  Great.

  Coop sat pensively on the bed as Nimosom pulled out a rolled up bundle of leather and started untying the thongs that held it together. He immediately recognized Jimmy Blue Wolf's old dance regalia as it emerged from the bundle. Now, what?

  “What is that, Nimosom?” he asked, though they both knew perfectly well.

  “These are the regalia your grandmother made for me to dance in, when I was still a young man, over fifty years ago.” He went on to tell Coop the well-worn story of which animals were used, and how his wife had sewn it, fringed it, and embroidered it, adding designs in porcupine quills and trade beads over the years until it was the splendid garment laid out before them now. He then told, once again, of the various ceremonies it had been worn for, and the dances, and later the powwows when they became popular.

  Coop smoothed his fingers over the leather, and let his grandfather's words, and the stories of their deep connections to the past, fill him with peace.

  “Grandson, I want you to have these regalia now, so they might continue to be worn in pride.”

  “But Nimosom, I don't dance anymore,” Coop said. He hadn’t danced in ages. Not since he’d come to the painful realization that the old ways would never manifest themselves in him. So, what was the point? “It would be better,” he said, “that you give them to my sister's son, or one of my cousins, who would use them in the proper way.”

  As he spoke, he fingered the fine leather, tracing the patterns his late grandmother had meticulously stitched so long ago.

  “It is you who needs them, Cooper Blue Wolf.”

  He looked up at his grandfather's use of his clan name, and knew he couldn't refuse the generous gift. “Thank you, Nimosom. You know I'll always cherish them.”

  “To hell with that,” Jimmy Blue Wolf said, cackling and batting the air with an impatient hand. “You'll need them tomorrow when you dance.”

  He hobbled over to the dresser and waved a notice of a powwow.

  Coop frowned. Well, hell. The old bugger had tricked him again. “Grandfather. I. Don't. Dance,” he enunciated.

  “Moose turds. You'll dance if I tell you to. I'm your grandfather and you have to obey my wishes.”

  “Nimosom—”

  “We're going to the Sebastopol powwow tomorrow. I've talked to the elders, and they will ask the drummers to do a special song for you and your woman.”

  Coop leapt off the bed. “No! Maggie is gone, and she doesn't want me. I won't make a fool of myself in front of the entire Native American community because of her.”

  “Too late,” his grandfather said, snickering. “I already told them about your spirit bear, and they were all mighty impressed.”

  Coop put his hands to his forehead, barely resisting strangling the old man. “I don't believe this. I knew I never should have told you about that.”

  “Besides, you don't know she doesn't want you. All sorts of things might be preventing her from coming to you. Your mother's dreams said this woman is the one meant for you, and I, for one, believe them. Your mother is seldom wrong about these things.”

  Cooper hadn't heard his grandfather str
ing so many words together at one time in years. He pressed his mouth into a thin line. “Okay, Nimosom. I'll do this for you. But you're a sneaky old man, and it'll be a cold day in hell before I trust you with my secrets again.”

  “Insolent pup,” his grandfather muttered under a broad grin, giving Coop's hair a sharp tug. “Be ready at four-thirty. We have to be up there to greet the sunrise with the others.” He glanced at the clock. “Come on, help your frail ol' gramps down the stairs. I missed the announcement of the Whitney verdict at noon, and I want to watch the evening news.”

  Barely Dangerous: Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Three

  Approaching Sacramento, Maggie pulled the hastily written directions to Cooper's house out of her purse and squinted at them in the burgeoning light of a magnificent sunrise over the Sierras. She had driven much of the night to get this far, having finally been allowed to leave the safe house after the guilty verdict yesterday.

  She'd been ecstatic with the announcement, and lost no time packing her few belongings into a rented car and heading north on the three-hundred-fifty mile trip, stopping only for a few hours of much needed sleep at a hole in the wall motel in Los Banos.

  Her hand shook so badly she could hardly read her own writing. She didn't know if she could face Cooper, she was so nervous. It was a testimony to her great love for him that she didn't turn around and flee back to L.A..

  She pulled up into his split-track driveway, and looked around. His house was adorable. It was small and cozy, painted white with blue shutters. A carefully tended yard brimming with flowers and a spreading crepe myrtle was enclosed by a fresh white picket fence. She almost jumped up and down in her seat. A picket fence!

  Dreams did come true, after all.

  In her mind she heard her mother tell her not to hope too much or she would only be disappointed. Cooper might not want her.

  She grabbed her purse, ran to the front door, and pushed the bell. After buzzing several times, she tried knocking.

  No one answered.

  Her heart sank. It seemed like every time she came looking for Cooper, he was gone. Maybe she should have called first. Except, she would have been so tongue-tied he wouldn’t have known who was calling.

  Fighting tears, she dropped despondently to the cement stoop and leaned against the column holding up the porch roof.

  What if he was away? What if he had moved out?

  What if he was with another woman at her house?

  Suddenly, the weight of the last three months was too much to bear. She covered her eyes with her hands and cried.

  “Is there something I can do for you?” A sympathetic voice penetrated her wall of desolation. She glanced up to see a young woman in a bathrobe standing in the driveway next door clutching a newspaper in her hand. “Are you looking for Coop?”

  Not trusting her voice, Maggie nodded.

  The woman walked over. “He hasn't been home for over a week. He said he was going to his parents' place in the City.”

  Maggie sniffed. “San Francisco? Did he say when he'd be back?”

  The woman shook her head. “No. But I got the feeling it would be a while. He took a leave of absence from work and everything. Something about a—” She halted in mid-sentence, gasping in comprehension. “Well, then! I guess you'd better find him, hadn't you? I wish I could help, but he's never given us their phone number.”

  Maggie stood up, given strength by the understanding look on the neighbor's face.

  “Don't worry, I'll find him.” She smiled through her tears. “How many Coopers can there be in San Francisco?”

  Four pages worth, as it turned out. And no Marie-Claire.

  Luckily, she only had to call through five columns before she hit Fredrick Cooper and pay dirt.

  “Blue Wolf? Uh, he's up in Sebastopol at a powwow today. Can I take a message?”

  A powwow? Good lord. “Any idea where it's being held?”

  “At one of the wineries, I believe. I'm sure there'll be signs.”

  “Thanks so much. I'll try and find him there.”

  “Can I tell him who called?”

  She pretended not to hear the question from the man who sounded so much like her Wolf, and hung up her cell phone. Oh, my God, she was so tired. First the overnight drive to Sacramento. Then the two-hour drive down to San Francisco. And now there was another hour-and-a-half drive north to Sebastopol.

  And at the end of her journey...a very uncertain outcome.

  Barely Dangerous: Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Four

  Maggie had never been to a powwow, so she had no idea what to expect when she walked into the Twenty-Fourth Annual Sebastopol Youth Club Powwow and Dance Contest. But she easily found her way past the craft and jewelry booths, the stands selling Navajo tacos and sodas, the services and information tables, and the throng of tourists.

  She slid through the crush of spectators following the activities in the dance ring just as the master of ceremonies spoke into the microphone.

  “Our next dance will be a special song, sung by our Host Northern Drum, dedicated to the grandson of one of our elders. He'll go around the circle once by himself, then he invites all his family and friends to help him in the dance, this special prayer. You ready Coop? Cooper Blue Wolf, ladies and gentlemen.”

  She looked on in awe as her man, splendidly dressed in embroidered buckskin and feathers, entered the ring. His feet moved fluidly to the heartbeat of the drums and the chant of the singers, dancing a graceful clockwise pattern around the circle. Proud and stately steps alternated with dips and swoops, and high-stepping spins.

  Her heart swelled with love and pride, and her eyes filled with joyful tears. After so long, to finally see him, she had to stop herself from running out and throwing her arms around him.

  Without taking her eyes off him, she sank onto one of the bales of hay outlining the dance ring, and watched, rapt.

  He was intent on his dancing, completely immersed in the rhythms and movements. As he passed her, she caught her breath at the beauty of the man.

  Her man.

  She hoped.

  When he completed the circuit, an old man and a lovely woman joined him in the slow shuffle-step shuffle-step of what was announced as a traditional inter-tribal dance. Others entered the ring—a young family of parents and two children, and several middle-aged men. More and more people joined in, shaking hands with Cooper and the other dancers, until he was nearly lost from view in the crowd.

  She had never felt more like a stranger and an outsider.

  For a moment, she completely lost her nerve. What made her think this man, who was so clearly well-loved, part of a tightknit community, would want to include her in his world? In his family?

  She swallowed a lump in her throat and rose, ready to make an escape.

  As she did, the woman who had joined Cooper in the circle was suddenly standing in front of her, extending her hand. Maggie looked around, wondering if the woman was actually beckoning her, and not someone else.

  Any doubt was removed when she smiled and wordlessly pulled a long-fringed shawl around Maggie's shoulders, leading her into the crowd of people in the ring.

  She realized that this must be Cooper's soft-spoken mother, Marie-Claire, and the old man could only be his grandfather.

  Her heart pumped double-time. What was she doing here? What if Cooper turned his back on her in front of his family and all these people?

  It had been so long, she wouldn't blame him if he had completely forgotten about her.

  She couldn't see him anywhere. Marie looped an arm through hers and set a snail's pace in the dance. With shaking knees, Maggie did her best to imitate the simple steps without tripping.

  Suddenly, she felt strong hands grip her shoulders and spin her around.

  “Maggie!” Cooper's astounded eyes met hers as the dancers continued in a languid stream around them.

  “Wolf.” His name came out like a breathless, heartfelt wish, releasing all the love and longing s
he had bottled inside over the past three months.

  Slowly, he smiled.

  She drank in his features, the light scent of buckskin and honey that clung to him, the flush of sweat on his temples from the dancing, the gorgeous array of quills and colored embroidery that adorned him.

  She smiled back, bursting with love. “Nice outfit,” she murmured. “Indian Warrior?”

  One side of his smile lifted in a grin, and he reached for her. “Yep. Ever ridden one?”

  Her fingers traced up his arms. “Not for months. Know any available?”

  His hands slid around her back and pulled her close. “You sure that's what you want? They're pretty temperamental, you know.”

  “Very sure.” She melded into his embrace with a whole-body sigh of pleasure.

  “They need constant attention.” He caressed her jaw and tipped her chin up with his fingers. “And get pretty cranky if you don't take them for a ride every day.”

  She brushed his lips with hers. “A nice long one. Two or three, some days. To make up for lost time.”

  “Mmm. I think I know just the warrior for you. But we'll need a license. I want everything nice and legal.”

  She threw her arms around his neck. “Yes, that sounds perfect.”

  He lifted her off the ground, laughing and swinging her full circle, the fringe of her shawl flying.

  His grandfather stepped up to them, grinning widely. “Glad to see you put away that gangster, Whitney. Knew you would.”

  She glanced in surprise from him to Cooper as he set her on her feet. “How did you find out?”

  “I didn’t.” Cooper shook his head. “Whitney? The scumbag on trial? You put him away?”

  His grandfather cackled. “What do you think she's been doing all these months? After the story you told, it didn't take a genius to figure out. Just a matter of narrowing down which trial. If you’d bothered watching Court TV with me, you’d have seen her testify.” He grinned at her. “You were mighty impressive, young lady.”