by Jean Stokes
Copyright © 2021 Jean Stokes
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by an electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.
CONFLICT OF HEARTS
WITMER WARRIORS BOOK 4
Jean Stokes
Preface
If there's one thing I'm absolutely certain of, it's that you should never, ever date a military man.
At best, they're only good for one night only—not the kind of guy one brings home to Mama. At worst, they've got secrets and lies and egos big enough to send any woman running for the hills.
As a physical therapist for soldiers at Fort Bliss, it's a small town and I rarely any new faces. Until Dwane Forest, a Private from New Orleans who suffered a bad injury, gets transferred and placed into my care.
I'm the best there is around these parts, and Dwane's determination, his wit and sarcasm—and that big, mischievous smile—draw me in immediately.
Maybe rules are made to be broken. Maybe there are always exceptions.
Maybe there's one military man that might be worth keeping around . . .
Author’s note
This is the Witmer story of Sadie and Dwane, a friends-to-lovers meet-cute romance in a small-town western setting with an independent heroine, an alpha hero, a dash of humor, no cheating and a guaranteed happily ever after! There is a healthy dose of steamy scenes. There is no cliffhanger and can be read standalone but I recommend it to be read as the fourth in the Witmer series. You’ll become enchanted by the small town and its residents.
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Contents
Preface
Author’s note
About The Author
Chapter 1 - SADIE
Chapter 2 - DWANE
Chapter 3 - SADIE
Chapter 4 - DWANE
Chapter 5 - SADIE
Chapter 6 - DWANE
Chapter 7 - SADIE
Chapter 8 - SADIE
Chapter 9 - DWANE
Chapter 10 - SADIE
Chapter 11 - DWANE
Chapter 12 - SADIE
Chapter 13 - DWANE
Chapter 14 - SADIE
Chapter 15 - DWANE
Chapter 16 – SADIE
Chapter 17 - DWANE
Chapter 18 - SADIE
Chapter 19 - SADIE
Chapter 20 - DWANE
Chapter 21 – EPILOGUE - SADIE
About The Author
JEAN’S OTHER BOOKS!
Chapter 1 - SADIE
If there is one surefire way to ruin your favorite song, it's to set it as your morning alarm.
I groan, rolling out of bed. The opening riff for AC/DC's Thunderstruck plays and that, combined with violent vibrations of my phone on my bedside table, force me to get out bed. When I was younger, this song used to hype me up.
It still works, but by God, do I hate it now.
I let it play as I head into the bathroom to start my morning routine. Bathroom, shower, brush my teeth, put my long hair up in a tight bun. Brush a paltry amount of foundation on to cover the circles under my eyes and some mascara because even female soldiers are expected to undergo some performative femininity.
I shrug on the camo jacket over a black tank top, zipping it up, and pull on a pair of BDU pants as well. I like the freedom of movement and the heavy fabric, even though it means I sweat through it on the hot days in Witmer. I pull on my sand-colored boots and lace them tightly with a grunt, banding the base of my pants and tucking them into the tops of the boots.
A lot of people blink twice when I tell them what I do. I'm a trainer for a military base, next to my hometown of Witmer. I'm trained as a physical therapist and help out with the locals as well as the soldiers on base.
These days, I'm the person yelling at rookies in basic to stay in formation and making them drop to give me twenty, and I design custom workouts that combine physical therapy and regular fitness training so that the soldiers pass their fitness tests before being deployed.
It's a thankless job and comes with the most ridiculous hours, but I've never minded getting up early, and there's something to be said for making grown men so sore they basically turn into pitiful teenagers again.
I like the work. I like the routine that comes with the work. Every morning I get out of bed at 0500, and I'm out the door by 0530. The lack of traffic gets me to Fort Bliss in forty-five minutes at the latest and then it's up and at 'em for early morning runs and drills.
Thunderstruck plays on repeat until I go to silence my phone and alarm. I arch a brow when I see a message from my friend Aaron. We met back when he came to the base for basic training. He's a few years younger than me and still lives in Witmer. He often says I make him want to quit more than any other trainer, which I take as a high compliment.
The timestamp for the message is three in the morning, and I sigh to myself. Aaron didn't used to stay up so late, but now that he's on leave, he has too much time to himself. He needs to get back on a schedule.
"Thinking about going to the bar tomorrow night," his text reads. Then another: "Well, tonight, I guess. You in?"
I smile. "Sure. I'm off at 1800, I'll come over and we'll go together. You better be asleep when you get this."
A few minutes later, he texts me the thumbs up emoji, and I roll my eyes again.
It's still dark when I leave my house and get into my car, the engine taking a second to think about it before it turns over and rumbles to life. "There we go, old timer," I tell the vehicle with a smile.
As I head to the base, I reach into my bag and pull out my badge, ready to show it to the guard on duty. He nods at me and lifts the gate and I drive in, making my way through the maze of big concrete buildings, lacking any flare or decoration, and park in my usual spot behind the training field.
When I get out, I can hear one of the drill sergeants already bellowing out orders to his regiment. Sounds like they're doing death runs. Poor guys.
Not that I'm really that sorry. Military men have a habit of coming here with an ego that’s begging to be knocked down a few pegs, and I won't lie—it brings me great joy to be a part of that process. I am definitely not someone a big Army guy would look at and think she could kick his ass, but that just makes the reveal all the more satisfying.
"Holloway!"
I turn. "Private Bradford," I greet. "What can I do for you?"
"Sergeant wants to see you," he tells me. "We're getting a new transfer."
I frown, but nod. "Alright. I'll head over now. Thanks."
Chapter 2 - DWANE
I expected Witmer to look different. It's been years since I've been back here. But it's largely the same. I don't think the borders of the town have grown any, except for maybe the fields around Scott's farm. I smile thinking of the friends I left behind here when I transferred to New Orleans. It'll be good to see them again.
We've kept in touch, for the most part, especially after Scott and Aaron returned home while I was still away. They were both on tour together. Scott retired to start a farm, and Aaron, while still activ
e duty, is on leave from what I've heard. It'll be good to get the gang back together.
Life here is always going to be different than New Orleans. It's like two parts of a book. One part ended, and I went off to begin my part two, somewhere bigger and more crowded than the sleepy town of Witmer where everyone knows everyone and most of the people have lived here their entire lives.
There are certainly no tourists or festivals here, not like there were back in New Orleans. Small and quiet is the name of Witmer’s game.
Thinking of New Orleans makes the smile fade, and I sigh to myself, wincing at the twinge in my hip and injured leg. Damn thing still acts up when I don't move it right. That's why I'm coming back here, to train up and get back to fighting shape before returning to Louisiana. Since Witmer is my original place of recruitment and deployment, it’s where I requested to go when being put on leave.
This will be . . . a good thing. I have to tell myself that, repeating it like a mantra. I didn't really want to leave New Orleans, but that's just because it's become comfortable to me now. The bustle of the city and the constant parties, the atmosphere, the food. Yeah, I'll miss it.
But the people here are worth coming back to, even if it's just for a little while.
Fort Bliss sits like a big rock in the middle of a desert, several miles outside of Witmer's town line. It, too, is just as I remembered, with the tall concrete walls lined with barbed wire coils on the top, the plain guard station hiding floodlights to use during nighttime, and the damn potholes leading up to it that make my injured leg ache sharply in protest.
Hopefully I'll heal up fast, and it won't feel like I'm being stabbed all over again.
The guard steps out. He's a young kid, barely college-age from the looks of it. "Dwane Foster," I say, handing him my papers and military I.D.. "Meant to report to Sergeant Monroe."
The guard nods, and steps back to check something on his clipboard. "Alright, Private Foster," he says, handing me my I.D. back. "You can head in, second building on the right. He’s expecting you."
I nod in thanks, and drive through the gate. I go where he pointed to, remembering the layout of Fort Bliss like the back of my hand. I park near the large training field and smile when I hear orders being barked from a man as he runs the new group of fresh-faced kids through their basic training.
I straighten my clothes, and my back, standing as tall as I'm able to, and limp my way into the building.
Chapter 3 - SADIE
Monroe looks up as I enter his office. He's an older man, been here for years, with a bald head and intelligent, assessing eyes. He's the kind of guy that it's pointless to lie to. I've always liked that about him.
"You asked to see me, Sergeant?" I say, standing at parade rest—feet shoulder width apart and one hands open palmed, one atop the other, behind my back. I never served with him, and Sergeant Monroe was never my direct superior, but I owe the man respect and would never dream of addressing him like a civvy.
"At ease, Holloway," he says, and nods as I relax, letting my shoulders drop. "I wanted to let you know we have a new transfer from New Orleans. Private Dwane Foster. He'll be joining your team. He's been injured in the line of duty and has been returned to us for his recovery."
I frown. "Why here?" I can't help but ask.
"This is his original post," Monroe tells me. I nod.
"He'll be starting tomorrow. I'll make sure you have his file once he signs the paperwork, so that you can adapt your training program to fit his needs. Report back here at the end of the day so I can give them to you."
"Yes, Sergeant," I say, and smile. "I'll handle it."
"Excellent. Dismissed."
Chapter 4 - DWANE
I head into the building just as a woman is heading out. I pause in place, unable to help but stare at her. She has tanned skin and dark hair pinned severely to her head, her sharp cheekbones already colored with a flush from the heat. Her eyes are a gorgeous green, and while she's almost as tall as I am, she looks so petite in her uniform a strong wind could knock her over.
She moves with a quiet confidence, her eyes not even moving to me. She clearly has somewhere to be, and I move out of the way to let her pass with a small nod.
She walks right past me and out of sight.
I sigh and continue on, grimacing at the ache in my leg as I locate Sergeant Monroe's office.
I find it and knock on the door, waiting until I hear the “Enter” before going inside. I stand at attention as best I can—my hip doesn't let me quite stand as I need to—and clear my throat.
"Private Dwane Foster, reporting for training," I say.
He smiles at me. "Good to see you again, Dwane. At ease." I sigh gratefully, wincing as I correct my posture to put less pressure on my injured leg. "How are you? How was the drive?"
"You need to fix those roads," I say, making him grin. Monroe's been at Fort Bliss for as long as I can remember, since I was a fresh-faced kid myself.
"Yeah, they're getting worse by the month, I swear," he sighs. "I just need you to sign some things. Permission to get your medical records, and another signature for your leave paperwork. We've arranged temporary housing for you in Witmer, I'll give you the address."
I nod, and sign the documents he puts in front of me. He hands me an envelope with an address written on it and a key inside. I smile when I recognize the address of the community barracks. No need for privacy, I suppose, but Witmer is only a temporary stop for me.
"Come back tomorrow at 0800 for your medical assessment," Monroe says once I've signed everything. I nod and salute him, and he gives me my temporary badge so that I can come on and off the base without issue. I turn and leave the building.
As I make my way back to my car, I hear another voice shouting drills and commands—not the male one from before, but a woman. I pause, curious.
I clip my badge to my shirt and amble towards the training field, smiling when I see a formation of newbies sprinting up and down the stands. Even watching them makes my leg hurt at the memory.
"Can I help you?"
I turn at the voice, and blink in surprise when I see the same woman who had been leaving the building when I entered. The name on her breast reads 'HOLLOWAY'. She's looking at me with a single brow arched, head tilted as though she’s trying to figure out what I'm doing here.
I clear my throat and offer my hand, which she takes a moment later. Her grip is strong, her handshake firm. "Private Dwane Foster," I say. "I'm a transfer from New Orleans."
Her other eyebrow joins the first. "Sadie Holloway," she replies. "Trainer. I heard you were coming." She smiles at me, showing a row of straight white teeth. Her smile melts years off her face and makes her look even more elfin than her figure already does. "You're a long way from home."
"Witmer is my home, actually," I reply. "I was raised here."
"Ah." Her eyes, the color of jade and shining in the sunlight, look me up and down appraisingly. She clears her throat. "So that's why you don't have the accent."
"If it's some Louisiana drawl you're after," I tease, letting my words transform to an accent. She laughs, biting her lower lip, and folds her arms across her chest.
She rolls her eyes and gives me a playfully warning look. "Easy, soldier." I grin. "I was told you start tomorrow."
"Yes," I say.
"Then I'll see you tomorrow." She gives me another arched brow at that, as though in challenge. Clearly, she's no pushover—she's tough. I like that in a woman, and I get it—working with military hotheads demands a thick skin.
"Yes ma'am," I reply with a grin, that makes her roll her eyes, but she's still smiling. I fight the urge to linger a while and talk to her more. She's gorgeous, and has that air of no-nonsense I've come to appreciate during my time in the military.
But I don't. Even if she was willing to sit around talking to me, there's no sense getting close to a woman like that. Not with what I left behind in New Orleans, and what I'll eventually have to return to.
&n
bsp; Chapter 5 - SADIE
Jesus Christ, Dwane is attractive.
Most guys on active duty take on a certain shape. Their shoulders get broader, waists become narrower, all in an effort to pass the fitness assessments. They're usually on the tall side, clean-shaven, with buzz cuts or no hair at all. I've seen so many of them that they all start to blur together.
But Dwane stands out like a flower in a field of grass. His dark skin makes his eyes and teeth shine brighter, and he has the shadow of hair on his head and his jaw. I'm sure he'll shave it tomorrow, since facial hair isn't allowed in basic training.
I can't help wondering what it would feel like if I were to touch his cheek or cup his strong jaw. He's a big guy, and has kept in shape despite his injury. He looks like he could throw me over one broad shoulder and carry me off wherever he pleases.
I watch him walk away, noting the subtle limp and slow movement of one of his legs. I press my lips together, remembering the sergeant's comment about his injury. I wonder how bad it is. He doesn't seem to be in any pain, but guys like that are good at hiding pain. He can still walk relatively well.
I'll need to get his medical assessment and records to be sure, before I think of any exercises that'll help him.
I sigh to myself, trying to push him from my mind as I look back on my team. The fact of the matter is that the military attracts a certain kind of guy to it, especially a base like this in the middle of Witmer, Texas. People who come here either have big egos or massive debt. We don't train intel here, we train foot soldiers and paratroopers. We train the brave men and women on the ground, the first into the fray. The ones who come back with injuries and scars both seen and unseen.
Combat is enough to break men like that, if they weren't already broken before they left. Any attraction I feel for Dwane is tempered by the fact that he's in the Army. I've had my fair share of flings, but these guys aren't for dating. They're good for a couple rolls in the hay, but ultimately won't make me happy. I know enough about myself to know that.