Steel Rain: A Military Romance Collection

by A. Gorman

  “Yep. It sucks, but I’m dealing with it. Rayanne doesn’t like the snuff.”

  He was about to pop off a smart retort when the girls came outside carrying drinks. Rayanne had a glass of white wine in her hand, and Talia’s was water. Well, I think it was.

  “Tell me about your new job,” I said to Ellis, sitting down and pulling Rayanne into my lap.

  Ellis eyeballed the gesture but didn’t say anything about it. “Well there’s an agency called Mathis Associates downtown Tampa. They hook up veterans with jobs, counseling, and other stuff.”

  “I know the company,” I interrupted. “We’ve worked with them before. The owner, Harper, is a big veteran’s advocate. They also work with Tampa PD. She’s sent lots of vets their way for jobs.”

  Ellis laughed and closed the lid to the cooker. “I know, she asked if I wanted a job with Tampa PD. I said hell no.”

  “My brother works for them. It’s not so bad,” I said, thinking of Mason.

  He nodded. “I know, but because of my past, I should probably stay away from the streets.”

  “I get it,” I said.

  “So, she got me a job with the federal prison up in Sumter County. It’s been… interesting.”

  “Wow, that’s pretty far from here,” Rayanne said, sipping her wine.

  “Yeah, we are probably gonna have to move closer. We just want to make sure Ellis can handle being around all those criminals.” Talia snorted at her own joke, and looked at Ellis.

  He was trying not to laugh as he pointed the spatula at her. “I’m gonna spank you later for that one.”

  “Promise?” she giggled.

  Wow, and I thought we were disgusting.

  Ellis went on to tell us about his first few months there, and all the interesting prison stories he was already accumulating.

  When dinner was ready, we all sat down and dug in. We really had a good time with them. The best part of the afternoon, though, was the look on Rayanne’s face. She seemed truly at peace. A stark difference from the stressed-out, scared witness I’d met just a couple months ago. Now she looked glowing, happy, and content. I knew the feeling. She had put it there in me.

  As we ate, the doorbell chimed. Talia made to get up and I put my hand on her shoulder and told her to sit. It was probably Mason anyway.

  “Thanks, Duke,” she said, looking relieved.

  I wandered through the house and opened the front door to see my brother standing there. He was still in his dress pants and blue long-sleeved shirt with a navy tie from work.

  He saw me eyeballing him and said, “I just got off work, sorry.”

  I chuckled and opened the door wider. “That’s not the first time I’ve heard that today. Working on a Saturday again?”

  Greeting me with a fist bump, he nodded. “Yeah, had to finish paperwork on a case I’m working.”

  I saw him holding a case of beer in his hand and I relieved him of it. “Everyone’s out back.”

  He followed me to the small back patio and smiled when he saw everyone sitting down to eat.

  Ellis stood and met us at the door. He put his hand out. “Detective Oliver. Nice to see you again.”

  Mason narrowed his green eyes at Ellis and grinned. “It’s Mason. No need to be so formal.”

  Ellis nodded and pointed to his fiancée. “You remember Talia?”

  He went over and put his hand on her shoulder and she patted his hand. “Nice to see you again, under better circumstances this time.” I thought I saw her turn a little pink in her cheeks.

  “Absolutely,” Mason replied with his pretty-boy smile.

  “And finally, this is Rayanne, my girlfriend,” I said proudly, raising my chin a little but still trying to sound cool, but I knew I sounded like a big pussy.

  Rayanne stood and Mason put out his hand, but she launched herself onto him and hugged him.

  He laughed and wrapped his arms around her. “Well… nice to meet you.”

  She pulled back and said, “I’m so happy to finally meet you. Duke has nothing but nice things to say about you.”

  Mason raised an eyebrow and said, “Oh really? Because I don’t have anything nice to say about him.”

  Rayanne’s eyes got big. Mason and I started laughing. Talia, Ellis, and Rayanne all froze and stared at us.

  “What?” I asked, looking at them all, confused.

  “You guys have the exact same laugh,” Talia said, blinking up at us, her forkful of salad paused at her lips.

  “No, we don’t,” Mason said.

  “Dude. Yeah, you do,” Ellis said. “It’s like twins. Seriously.”

  “We’re not twins.” I raised an eyebrow and used my hand to hover over my head, then his. “See? I’m like two inches taller.”

  Rayanne grabbed my hand and dragged me back over to the table. “Stop being an ass and finish eating.” She pointed at my half-eaten plate, and with her hand still latched to mine, she pulled it up to her mouth and kissed it while staring at me in eye.

  I sucked in a breath and suddenly felt like leaving this party.

  Mason grabbed a plate and filled it with food, then asked if anyone wanted a beer. Ellis and I took him up on it. He sat at the table and set our beers in front of us. He loosened his tie and then flipped it over his shoulder before tucking a napkin into his collar and taking a bite of his hugely loaded burger.

  I saw Rayanne staring at him curiously and I squeezed her hand. “You eyeballin’ my brother?” I whispered, trying to sound like I was joking but I think I may have ended the sentence with a growl.

  She slapped my left thigh with her tiny hand. Then she said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “No. I do have a question, though.”

  I was afraid of what she was gonna ask, but I just replied, “Okay…”

  “Why y’all have different last names?”

  Mason wiped his mouth with another paper napkin and took a swig of his beer. “Duke’s sperm donor died in a motorcycle crash right after he was born. Mom met my dad about a year later, had me. Donald Oliver raised us both. Guess I never bothered to ask her why she didn’t change Duke’s name to Oliver.”

  “Because she never got over the dude, that’s why,” I murmured dryly.

  “What?” Mason said.

  All eyes were on us now. “She kept his picture and the newspaper article of his death in a box under her bed. I caught her looking at it and crying a few times as a kid. She even showed me a picture of him. She always said she loved our dad, but was sad that Royal had died.”

  Mason looked at Rayanne, who was grinning, and jerked a thumb at me. “It explains where he got that silly ass name.”

  “Fuck off, pretty boy,” I said, taking a swig of my beer and trying not to laugh. Asshole always knew what buttons to push.

  “That’s your answer to everything, isn’t it?” Mason said, snorting.

  I lifted an eyebrow at him. “You need a woman.”

  “I have a few,” he snapped back.

  I shook my head and held up my index finger. “Just one. Not a few.”

  “You’re one to talk…” He stopped and looked at Rayanne, then at me, and I scowled at him. “Shutting up now,” he muttered.

  Rayanne smiled knowingly at me.

  Ellis and Talia said nothing at our tiff, they were the smart ones, but I could see them smiling behind their forks and cups as they ate and drank.

  Changing the subject, I said, “I’m gonna invite Kyle and his kid to our next cookout.”

  Ellis narrowed eyes at me. “I don’t like that guy.”

  I set my beer down. “Oh, get over it. If you saw his ex, you’d understand why he was staring at your girl. They’re like twins. Kyle’s the coolest guy ever, watched over my house when I was out on my assignment.” I looked at Rayanne and put my hand on her bare thigh.

  “He’s a Marine, so I gave him a pass,” Ellis replied. “I didn’t know he had a kid.”

  I nodded but was still staring at my beautiful girlfriend. I heard Ellis and Mas
on began a conversation about the military but I tuned them out. My world seemed to be closing in on just the two of us. There were a million questions, conversations, and declarations of love swimming in her amber eyes. But I didn’t want to ask her to say them out loud. I just wanted to stare through her, into her soul, and let us just be. The way she gazed back at me told me she felt the same way. My stomach flipped over as she held my unbroken stare. I reached one large, callused hand up to her soft, sharp jaw and rubbed my thumb along it.

  “I’m gonna kiss you now,” I whispered.

  Her eyes became even more bright and she just simply nodded. It was so slight, if I’d blinked I would have missed it. But I didn’t. I never missed anything she did. I slowly leaned down and covered her warm lips with mine, and when her fingers reached up to graze my beard, I smiled into her mouth.

  The End

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  I'm a California girl living in land-locked Colorado. Lover of red wine, wearer of fabulous shoes, and a die-hard Niner fan, I'm also an editor at heart. I've written over a dozen books and short stories that contain both contemporary/new adult and paranormal romance that are a little bit badass, a little heart-wrenching, and sorta funny (to me, anyway). Almost all my books usually contain law enforcement or military undertones, since strong, brave, alpha men and women are my weaknesses. When I'm not writing, I can be found working at a very strange day job, which may or may not have some mild influences on my gripping stories - so strange, in fact, I think I'll write a book about it one day.

  I'm also a proud member of the Romance Writers of America (RWA).

  Now pay attention! I've got several free books available for download, and you can find a list of books on my website, www.cjpinard.com. Feel free to email me anytime, I love hearing from readers! cjpinardauthor@gmail.com

  OTHER BOOKS BY C.J. PINARD:

  Paranormal Fantasy:

  Enchanted Immortals 1

  Enchanted Immortals 2: The Vortex

  Enchanted Immortals 3: The Vampyre

  Enchanted Immortals 4: The Vixen

  BSI: Bureau of Supernatural Investigation

  Enchanted Immortals Box Set: 4 Books + Novella

  New Adult Contemporary Romance:

  Patriotic Duty (Duty & Desire, #1)

  Tour of Duty (Duty & Desire #2)

  Boots Beneath My Bed (Duty & Desire #3)

  Playing the Field (Duty & Desire #4)

  Romantic Suspense:

  Antihero (An Imperfect Heroes Novella/Prequel)

  Above Protection (Imperfect Heroes, Book 1)

  Beneath Broken (Imperfect Heroes, Book 2)

  Paranormal Romance:

  Unscathed (A paranormal romance novel with Tim O’Rourke)

  Soul Rebel (Rebel Riders #1)

  Soul Redemption (Rebel Riders #2)

  Soul Release (Rebel Riders #3)

  Lotus (Daughter of Darkness) Lotus’s Journey Part I

  Watcher (Daughter of Darkness) Lotus’s Journey, Part II

  Sign up for my newsletter here! -- http://eepurl.com/bHN6_X

  Chapter One

  Ellie

  “Come on, come on.” I turn the key in the ignition, prayin’ it will spark to life before I choke the living bejeebies outta it. My car, the evil spawn of Satan that it is, coughs, sputters, and dies, and I slam my hands against the steering wheel as I scream, “Stupid piece of crap chunk of metal.”

  “Mamma swore,” Spencer drawls from the backseat.

  “I know, I know.” I rest my head against the wheel and wish I could have a complete do-over.

  “Piece of crap, piece of crap, piece of crap,” Spencer singsongs, getting louder with each word. I turn my head and glare at him. He promptly shuts up.

  Good Lord. Why in the world did this have to happen today of all days? I only just got Spencer dressed and out the door in time for our morning walk around the duck pond—which I had to hurry him through as if the devil himself was chasing us—and now we’re not only going to be late for school but I’m going to miss the whole damn reason I get dressed each morning, fix my hair, and try and look cute when all I really want to do is put on my robe and fluffy slippers, and leave my hair à la bird’s nest while I grip my travel coffee mug for dear life.

  Desperate for some kind of miracle, I turn the key again and it backfires. Spencer starts hollerin’ in the backseat about it being a “No!” sound, his hands pressed to his ears.

  “I’m sorry, baby,” I say, and fumble with the radio to find a channel that’s not running commercials. He hates those. I settle on one with a song that he actually likes and the screamin’ stops so I turn back to the road and check the dash for the time—8:32 A.M.

  I take hold of the key, close my eyes and promise the man upstairs that I’ll contribute to the church bake sale this year in exchange for one little itty bitty favor. A beat later the engine roars to life. I let out a whoop and peel out of the parking space along North Beach Road.

  Like clockwork he emerges from the walking trail at the end of the street, wearing black Nikes, black shorts, and a fitted grey Henley that sticks to every plane and angle of hard-won muscle. How he runs in full sleeves in the summertime is beyond me, but as sweat plasters that shirt to his body like a second skin, I am not complaining. His dog, a monstrous black thing with a shiny coat—that looks more like a wolf than any other breed I’ve seen—runs alongside him, tethered to his waist by a long lead fastened to his belt loop. The dog also wears a vest—Marine camouflage with the words Veteran Service Dog embroidered on the side.

  Obviously I didn’t get all this from just one glimpse. It’s more like an accumulative set of glimpses over let’s say a period of about ten months. Give or take. That thing I was talking about earlier? The reason for me brushing my hair each morning? Well, I’m looking at it.

  “Good Morning, hot Marine,” I whisper, and of course my son’s ears prick up. Spencer may only be eight, but he can tell you every statistic worth knowing about every war in history. He is fanatical. Especially about Marines.

  Spencer is special. At two, he was diagnosed with Autism and Sensory Processing Disorder. I knew there was something very wrong with his behavior. He didn’t laugh like he had as a baby; he couldn’t handle crowds, fairs, or the farmer’s market, and playgroup was completely out of the question. He stopped speaking for a whole year, just out of the blue. Scared me half to death. His pediatrician said I should encourage some of the things he took an interest in. He’d been like a sponge when it came to anything military-related, and I’d worked for months to afford a trip to Mobile for the weekend where we could visit Fort Gaines, Fort Morgan, and the USS Alabama. He spent the whole time riding a high of processed sugars while he took it all in with excited whimpers and not-so-gentle taps at my thigh. I’ve been saving up my pennies to take him again, but it hasn’t happened yet.

  “That’s Jake Tucker,” Spencer says, just like clockwork. I think the excitement of seeing this recluse Marine is just as much a part of his morning routine as it is mine. For different reasons, of course.

  “That’s Jake Tucker,” I agree, somewhat wistfully, and I put my foot down on the gas so that we’ll be at the optimal spot for staring at those dark eyes and that emotionless face hidden by all that hair and beard as he runs along North Beach Road. Again, the eyes aren’t something I know of so much from seeing them up close—because I don’t think he’s ever looked in my direction a day in his life—it’s more from seeing the various news reports on TV and the paper and magazine clippings from my son’s collections of Marine scrapbooks. I never could tell if they were black or dark blue.

  Three, two, one. His heel leaves the footbridge over the duck pond and we’re moving toward one another. Time is suspended in the nanosecond it takes me to drive past him and his dog.

  And then it’s gone. I keep driving, glancing between the road and my rear-view mirror. My eyes roam over his butt, like they do every day, and then I notice a black smudge on the back of his leg. I
move closer to the mirror, squinting my eyes in order to see better.

  “Mamma, look out!”

  “Hold on Spence,” I scream, as I try to take control of the wildly spinning wheel and my poor little car careens through Beach Park, beside the duck pond, and comes to a stomach-turning, metal-screeching halt between the footbridge and one very large tree.

  My head smacks off the steering wheel and nausea rolls over me like a tide as I turn to check on Spence. I catalog his limbs and head, all intact and no blood. “You okay, baby?”

  “Mamma, you don’t look so good,” Spencer says.

  “I’m fine,” I murmur, sounding drunk. I open and shut my eyes a bit, and the little green numbers on the dash come into focus. 8: 35 A.M. and already this day couldn’t get any worse.

  I close my eyes and lean against the wheel, and then the sound of Spencer’s door opening wakes me and I spin around in my seat so fast you’d swear I was possessed.

  “You’re Jake Tucker,” my son says.

  “Yes, I am.”

  “I’m Spencer Mason. That’s my mamma, Ellie Mason.”

  “Sit tight, ma’am.” His gruff voice fills the tiny cab of my car. I turn my head again to see what he’s doing, but everything goes black. “I’ll get you out.”

  “I’m fine,” I say, turning back to the door. I open it and attempt to get out of the car, but something stops me. I glance down, clumsily yanking on the seatbelt restraining me, but his face is there in my space. His whole body is as he leans over to unbuckle my seatbelt.

  I climb out of the vehicle, but halfway to straightening to my full height of a meagre little five-feet, one-inch, I get woozy in the stomach and wobbly in the boot, and I sag against the car as Jake Tucker leans into me, his warm breath on my face.

  “I got you.”

  “Blue eyes,” I mumble.

  “What?” he says. I didn’t expect his voice to be so low, gravelly. Sexy. It sounds like warm whiskey on a cold winter’s day.

  “Blue eyes and whiskey lullabies,” I say, my head rolling back against the car door rather drunkenly. I must have hit it harder than I thought. “I knew they were blue.”