by Candis Terry
Dedication
It has been a joy to write and share the stories
of the six military heroes in my Sweet, Texas series.
And it is with much love and gratitude
that I dedicate this final book in the series
to our military heroes in the Marine Corps, Army, Navy,
Air Force, National Guard, and US Coast Guard.
Your love of country and your
selfless sacrifices know no bounds.
God bless.
Acknowledgments
Special thanks to my publicist, Caroline Perny, who is not only the funnest, coolest chick, and not only does an amazing job, but she has such a love for Miss Giddy that she wanted to see Sweet, Texas’s favorite farm animal get her own happily-ever-after. Your wish is granted, my dear. I hope you had fun with the name game.
As this series ends, I want to extend a very grateful thank-you to my amazing editor, Amanda Bergeron, for her constant support and encouragement, brilliant insight and ideas, and for bringing a sense of calm to my sometimes irrational e-mails. Thank you so much for helping me give life to Sweet, Texas, and the memorable Wilder family.
To my agent, Kevan Lyon, a huge thanks for always answering my crazy questions and for guiding me when I have no idea where I’m going.
Shout-out to Kelsi Copple for giving Reno and Charli’s baby girl a very sweet name.
And, as always, thanks to my family for their love, support, and patience when I lock myself in my office for what seems like forever, and I often lose my smile when I’m under pressure to meet my deadlines. I love you oodles!
Contents
Dedication
Acknowledgments
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
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Epilogue
An Announcement Page to Everything I Need
Candis Terry's Sweet, Texas books
Anything But Sweet
Sweetest Mistake
Home Sweet Home
Something Sweeter
Sweet Fortune
Sweet Cowboy Christmas
Sweet Surprise
About the Author
By Candis Terry
Copyright
About the Publisher
Prologue
Under the scorching sun in the rocky terrain of an eastern province of Afghanistan, hell exploded in a firestorm of fury. In that hellhole, newly assigned Marine Second Lieutenant Jake Wilder and his twelve troops became the bull’s-eye in a merciless path of destruction.
When the first crack of incoming mortar rounds screamed over their heads and exploded approximately one hundred meters behind them, Jake had no choice but to conclude that the confidential intel for their surveillance mission hadn’t been faulty. They’d been betrayed.
Jake dropped to his knees, shook the ringing from his ears, blinked, then leveled his weapon.
“Fucking assholes!” This verbal eruption came from his best friend, Sergeant Eli Harris, as he dove behind a boulder barely big enough to cover his ass while rapid-fire and mortar rounds continued to discharge in their direction.
Any other time, Jake would have laughed at Eli’s outburst. At the moment, he was too busy scoping the hills in front of them from behind his own meager refuge. Everything around them was drab—brown hills, brown sand, brown dust floating in the air. The enemy didn’t fight in a uniform, and their garb was as colorless as the landscape, which made them hard to spot and twice as dangerous.
In his periphery, Jake caught the flash of sunlight against hard steel. “Contact north. Two hundred meters,” he shouted to his team. “Additional small RPG west.”
“Small RPG east. One hundred fifty meters and closing,” Eli shouted in return while scoping the opposite ridge.
Muzzle flashes continued as Jake grabbed his radio to call in and report the three-sided ambush and request air support. A lack of response signaled the radio was either dead or off-line. He hoped it was only a momentary break in communication and not a sign that they were stranded out there without backup or communication while the enemy tried to turn them into Swiss cheese.
Not for the first time did he wonder if they were really brave or just plain crazy. A bullet pinged off a rock behind him. He hit the ground, then belly-crawled to a shelf of gravel that would give slightly better protection.
Crazy mothers, he decided. Just fucking crazy as hell.
Across the rocks and sand, flashes lit up the ridgeline. Jake again scoped the ridge and spotted a new cluster of insurgents in the bushes below. Any minute, the new arrivals would engage, and he and his men would be in a damned dogfight.
In Afghanistan, the terrain was as much an enemy as anything else. They had to get to a safer location. Because sure as shit, these puny-ass rocks weren’t going to protect them for long.
He grabbed his radio again and pushed out a call for backup. Not knowing if his request had been received, he ran the options he’d learned in training through his head. The only way to get everyone back home was to keep fighting. He’d promised Eli’s pregnant wife he’d get her husband home in one piece. Which left Jake no choice but to retreat. In a split-second decision, as a mortar rocketed over their heads and exploded too close for comfort, he barked out the order to move.
Lifting their rifles, they fired as a safety cover and sprinted toward the larger outcropping of boulders to the south—away from the contact—and back in the direction from which they’d come. Private First Class Lieberman was the first to be hit. He went down like a stone. The silence and stillness from the young private sent a chill through Jake’s heart. As he snapped out the order to keep going, he planned to grab Lieberman on the way to shelter.
Eli got to Lieberman first. He lowered his rifle and bent to grab the private by the vest. An RPG flew over their heads and detonated. Shrapnel flew, embedding in rock, skin, bones, and worse.
Jake flinched when the flash exploded. When he opened his eyes, both Private Lieberman and Eli were on the ground. Bodies torn and bleeding. Both still as death.
The sounds of war rushed at Jake, and time stopped.
A chill sliced up his spine. For a second, he could hear nothing but the pounding of his own heart. Then it all charged back like a speeding train. He looked at the bodies strewn about the sand. He couldn’t hit PAUSE or REWIND. This shit was real.
No man left behind.
While bullets and mortars flew and shrapnel dug into the soles of his boots and feet, Jake ran to the fallen men and dragged them behind the outcropping of boulders.
Crouched behind the rocks, Sergeant Bagley looked down. “Lieutenant, I don’t think—”
“Good. Don’t think. Shoot.” Jake looked down to where his brothers in arms and in all ways that mattered except blood lay looking up at him through sightless eyes.
Eli was dead.
Lieberman was dead.
Anger tore through Jake and rattled his cage hard. His chest constricted and caved as he closed Eli’s and Lieberman’s eyes with his dirty fingers. Jake made a silent promise to Eli that he’d get the bastards that had done this to him and those who’d killed his brother as well. Knowing his promises didn’t mean shit because he’d just broken the one he’d made to Eli’s wife, he got back to work
.
He clicked on his radio and nearly howled with relief when it came to life. He repeated the call for air support and now, a medevac. He reported the casualties and injuries in a surprisingly calm voice. And then, wiping the sweat from his eyes and stifling the urge to scream, he came out from behind the protective wall of rock.
In that instant, he knew exactly what his brother had done on the day that he’d been killed. The desire to rescue lives became bigger than the fear of his own death.
He’d made it halfway back to the rocks—dragging a barely conscious and bloodied Private Stacks—when the impact and burn of a bullet to his thigh buckled his knee and stole his breath. Another soldier came out from cover to help, but Jake waved him off. Damned if he’d risk another soldier just to save his own sorry ass.
Once Jake got Private Stacks to safety, he dropped to the sand, ripped the bandana from around his neck, and tied it around his upper thigh to staunch the steady stream of blood while he shouted out orders probably no one wanted to heed.
Why should they?
He’d just gotten several men—including his best friend—killed.
The battle raged for hours in the blistering heat before night fell, and air support rocketed to their rescue, pushed the enemy back, and the dust settled. Under the cover of darkness, Jake assisted in helping to carry the fallen and injured to the medevac before he agreed to climb on board and accept aid for himself.
As the helicopter lifted off and spun sand like Dorothy’s tornado from The Wizard of Oz, Jake gave Bagley a salute and a silent prayer that the young sergeant would get the remaining men back to camp safely.
The blood of his friends on his hands and the chop-chop-chop whir of the helicopter blades beneath a starless night were the last things Jake remembered.
Chapter 1
Two months, three surgeries, and a stint in a military rehab hospital later, Jake kicked up gravel and dust in his black Chevy truck with the radio blasting Montgomery Gentry’s “Hell Yeah.” He flew down the proverbial long and winding road past the ranches that dotted the landscape with wide-open meadows and grazing longhorn cattle. Past the landmarks of Sweet, Texas, and the memories of his youth, where he and his brothers had raised more than a little hell while having the time of their lives.
In no hurry to be anywhere in particular, he turned the truck onto Main Street and cruised past the old water tower, where any high-school kid worth their weight in rebellion went to drink beer. At the stop sign while he waited for a young mother and her three small children to scurry across the street, he looked over to Sweet Surprise, the thriving cupcake and ice-cream shop his former sister-in-law Fiona owned. He thought about stopping in to sample his favorite flavor, but this morning his stomach rumbled for more than a sugary treat. Today, his taste buds hankered for the gut-bomb meal he’d craved all those months he’d eaten sand sandwiches in Afghanistan. Not to mention the bland fare called hospital food while they’d had his leg hijacked in some kind of futuristic contraption.
Maybe a burger dripping with cheese wasn’t going to change the world or make him forget that the Marines had kicked him to the curb with what they’d politely termed an honorable discharge, but it would satisfy his hunger and momentarily get him away from the lovable hovercraft he called Mom.
His reentry into civilian life had taken place two days ago. During those forty-eight hours, he’d been overwhelmed by the surge of love and attention from family and friends. Not that he didn’t appreciate it. But from the moment he’d walked through the front door of Wilder Ranch, the calls and visitors had been nonstop. The casseroles and desserts had piled up on the kitchen table until it looked like either someone had died, or they were preparing for one of the famous Wilder Family BBQ Blowouts.
All the while, his mother had barely taken her eyes off him. Though his healing and progress had been good, he still walked with a cane, which apparently communicated a distress signal to the woman who’d given him life. Mama Bear kept such a close eye on him, he figured any minute she’d put bumper guards on all the hard-surfaced furniture like she had when he’d been a kid.
Just this morning, he’d needed a moment of solitude and had gone into the barn to brush down Rocky, his favorite quarter horse. In two blinks, his mother rushed out to check on him. Jake had felt his throat tighten and a streak of panic grip his chest. While he appreciated the love and thoughtfulness, he was having a hard time adjusting to all the fuss.
He wasn’t broken, he just needed a break.
A moment to forget the bad and remember the good. To find his way back into the rhythm of life—one that had nothing to do with military routines, high-powered weapons, and the enemies of mankind. To find the joy and laughter that had once been the foundation of his life.
Minutes later, he rolled the truck to a stop in the gravel lot beside Bud’s Nothing Finer Diner. The exterior was little more than a yellow concrete box with a neon sign. But the interior overflowed with character and a patriotic red, white, and blue décor that shouted “Don’t Mess With Texas” from every corner. No question he’d be walking into a bird’s nest of gossip. Bud’s was the place the townsfolk gathered to mourn, celebrate, discuss local politics or who was sleeping with whom.
From his open window, the aroma of grilled burgers and fresh apple pie made his mouth water. When he opened the truck door, he realized that getting down from the damn thing might not be as easy as getting up. He hadn’t thought of that earlier when he’d climbed inside. His thigh muscles were healing in a way that made moving in one direction easy. The opposite direction, however, was like letting Freddy Krueger use him as a scratching post.
Thankful no one was in the parking lot to see him struggle, he maneuvered down to the ground, curled his fingers over the head of the cane, and controlled his uneven gait as he headed inside.
Bud’s might be Sweet’s breeding ground for chitchat, but he hadn’t come looking for gossip, sympathy, or acknowledgment.
He’d just come for a burger and a milk shake.
Before he could reach for the door handle, the door swung outward. Holding it open from the other side was Chester Banks, Sweet’s very own playboy octogenarian. The man had more nose than face these days, and his smile often displayed a set of false teeth that didn’t always stay put, but he gave Jake a respectful nod as Jake maneuvered into the diner with as little detection as possible.
“No need to thank me,” Chester said. “Been in about the same place as you. Got my scrawny ass shot up stormin’ that damn beach in World War II. Sure puts a hitch in yer giddyup, but it coulda been worse, I guess.”
“True that.” Jake had no idea the old guy had ever served in the military, let alone one of the toughest wars ever battled. Of course, as a soldier himself, he knew there were two kinds of veterans; those who loved to tell war stories, and those who wanted to bury the memories deep. As easy as it was to poke fun at Chester’s flirtatious ways, at least the old codger was still around to make it happen.
“Thanks just the same,” he said, as Chester gave him another nod and left the diner.
While Jake made his way to a booth, he got a two-finger salute from Bill McBride, a Vietnam vet, and a chin lift from Ray Calhoun, both of whom were sitting at a table, playing a game of checkers. At the big round table in the back, the Digging Divas Garden Club looked up in surprise. Instead of their usual exuberance, most just smiled as though they realized he might need some space. The tear sliding down Arlene Potter’s crinkly cheek could have been from allergies. Or it could have been because, even at her advanced age, Arlene loved a man in uniform. Not that he was wearing one. But that really didn’t matter to Arlene. She had a vivid imagination.
Jake tried to relax. He hadn’t known exactly what he’d be walking into here, but the silent acknowledgments worked just fine for him.
With his favorite booth vacant, he eased over to the middle of the red vinyl seat
and stretched his leg. As he looked out the window at the passersby on their way through their daily routines, he took a breath to ease the ache slicing down his thigh. Moments later, a menu sailed onto the table in front of him, and a glass of ice water landed without a splash.
His head instantly came up.
Blue eyes focused, Annie Morgan stood there, weight balanced on one hip while she tapped the eraser of her pencil against the order pad.
In the past couple of years, the Wilder family had expanded with three of his brothers having said the I do’s. Thanks to his brother, Jackson, and her sister, Abby, he and Annie were now related by marriage. Before that, they’d been adversaries for as long as Jake could remember. Always outspoken and not a stranger to butting in where she didn’t belong, they’d gone head-to-head on many outlandish subjects. If he said the sky was blue, she’d argue it was turquoise. If he said a steak would take seven minutes to grill, she’d say five. If he said the Rangers would win by a home run, she’d bet they’d lose with a strikeout. It seemed like the girl just liked to argue. More often than not, he’d rise to the bait. Just as he always did with his brothers. One of these days, he’d learn to just sit back and smile.
Today probably wasn’t that day.
“Forget something?” Her eyes narrowed just slightly, and the silky blond ponytail hanging down her back swung to the side as she tilted her head in a way that suggested she was primed for a challenge.
“Not that I’m aware.”
“Uh-huh.” She tucked the stub of a standard yellow pencil behind her ear. “Guess you’ve been away too long to remember that most folks walk in here wearing a smile. Looks like you left yours at home.”