by Zoe York
Want to see who's coming to town next? Keep reading for a bonus epilogue! But be warned...it'll have you screaming for Sean's story...
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If you aren’t ready to read it, join my VIP mailing list and I’ll remind you when Sean’s book, Love in a Sandstorm, is coming out.
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Epilogue
Nine months later
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“I can piss by myself,” Sean growled, and Dean held up his hands, backing away slowly.
“Of course you can,” he said, reminding himself to be fucking patient with the fucking jackass, because he’d been fucking injured while at fucking war. Concussion, brain-bleed, vertigo…a long list of things that added up to the fact his brother had gotten his bell rung, a fucking good one, and it was a miracle he’d walked away without any more serious injuries.
Acquired Brain Injury. Traumatic Brain Injury. Dean had heard both of them, over and over again. Sounded pretty fucking serious.
Expletives didn’t make it any easier, really. But they didn’t fucking hurt, either.
Sean slammed the door in his face and Dean stood there, forearm braced against the door frame, listening as his brother slowly moved through the bathroom—then stumbled, crashed, and fell.
He waited, hand poised on the door knob.
“Go away!” Sean yelled. “I fell down. It’s not the end of the fucking world.”
Dean wasn’t the only one trying out the expletive-laden coping strategy. And Sean was right. If he needed to crawl to the toilet, so be it. Dean sighed and nodded at the door, lifting his voice to travel through it. “I’m gone, man.”
“And stay gone for a while. Fuck. I’m not a fucking invalid.”
Except he was, at least temporarily.
And Dean and Liana were his roommates, for better or worse. Nobody else could do it. Jake and Dani’s son was still pretty little and woke often in the night. Matt’s apartment wasn’t set up for a guest who wasn’t sharing his bed. And their father…well, that was a non-starter.
So when Sean came home, it was to the new house that Dean and Liana had bought. They’d barely had a chance to christen it before Sean was hurt. But Liana hadn’t missed a beat, and when Dean brought it up, she didn’t even let him finish the ask before she wrapped her arms around him and said his brother was welcome to stay as long as needed.
If only Dean had that same level of patience. He’d give anything to make Sean whole again. To heal him. But they were butting heads, constantly, and it was wearing on them both.
He counted backwards from ten, slowly, and headed downstairs. He found his woman curled up with a scratch pad, a couple of coloured pens, and a hockey puck stress ball.
She was working that thing over like nothing else. He’d be lucky if it didn’t resemble a soccer ball when she was done with it.
“Not going well?” he asked quietly, dropping a kiss on her head.
“Mmm,” she mumbled, not looking up. But then she paused, her eyes still glued to her notepad. “Love you.”
He grinned. “Love you, too. Hungry?”
“Mmm,” she repeated, more throatily this time.
“Sandwich?”
She blinked up at him, slow and inviting. “I was thinking…hungry for you.”
His dick pulsed, thickening against his fly. It had been more than a week since they’d had sex, because of Sean, and these new song ideas that were pouring out of her. “Where do you want me?”
She laughed her her breath and glanced toward the stairs. “Will we disturb His Grumpiness if we go upstairs?”
Dean didn’t want Sean hearing them have sex. “I’d rather he doesn’t disturb us.”
“Studio it is, then.” She leapt her feet, notepad firmly in one hand as she wiggled the fingers of the other at him. “Come on.”
“Dare I ask what brought this on?” he asked quietly as she led him down the half-flight of stairs and across the family room to the converted sunroom she used as a recording studio. It was insulated to be soundproof, had a fantastic wide couch against the far wall, and a lock on the door.
Perfect.
“I wrote you a song,” she confessed, her cheeks turning pink. “Lyrics, really, although I can hear the bridge in my head.” She hummed a bit, then sang a line of notes, her voice clear and teasing.
He tugged her close as he flipped the lock. “And do I get to hear the lyrics?”
Her eyelashes dusted her cheeks. “Maybe.”
“Do I need to bribe you for them?”
“Yes, please.”
He swept her into his arms, the way they folded together now familiar and comforting. Still thrilling though. He was sure he’d never lose that shiver that went up his spine when she sighed against his skin. Never stop getting hard at the press of her breasts against his chest, the feel of her ass under his palm. He kissed her thoroughly, until she was turned on and moving against him. Then he peeled her out of her clothes and spread her out on the couch before dropping to his knees and dipping his head between her thighs.
His woman. His life.
He might have to be the rock for everyone else, but she was his secret support. Always there to hold his hand and tug him to bed. When he found out about Sean being injured, when it wasn’t clear what had happened or what the outcome would be, he’d cried. And she’d held him. The next day, she’d told him he was her Superman, her hero.
God, he loved her.
And now she’d written him a song.
He licked along the seam of her sex, sliding his tongue against her sensitive nub for just a second before easing away. “What’s the song about?” he asked as he breathed on her most intimate place.
“A hero,” she breathed. “My hero.”
How did she know that had been what he needed, again? He kissed her then, a dirty kiss, a secret just for them. He kissed her until she writhed beneath him, then he reared up and filled her, hard and fast.
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— —
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An hour later, Dean jogged back upstairs to check on his brother. He found him fast asleep, face down on top of his covers. Some of the happy ease in his chest was pushed out by a now-familiar worry.
In the distance, a gentle knock broke through his thoughts.
He glanced back down the stairs.
Liana was still in her studio.
Anyone else who could be here—anyone who would be helpful and non-stressful—had a key and could let themselves in.
Another knock.
He caught his lower lip between his teeth as he headed for the door, ready to tell whoever was there to go away.
When he opened the door, though, he didn’t find a salesperson or someone preaching gospel. Didn’t even find a well-meaning town busybody.
Instead there was a nervous looking stranger. A woman, tall and slim, with golden-brown hair hanging loose around her shoulders and wide, grey eyes, unadorned with makeup. Behind her was parked a nondescript silver rental car—he could make out the sticker.
She hitched her bag up on her shoulder and swung her hands at her sides. She wore jeans and a cargo jacket.
There was nothing about her description that should set off his internal alarm bells, but he couldn’t turn off his cop brain. “Can I help you?”
She nodded slowly. “I’m looking for Sean Foster.”
“I’m his brother, Dean.”
Another nod. Her eyes flicked up and down his face, searching for more information.
That was all she was getting. If Sean had gotten into trouble, or owed this woman something…
“Is he here?”
Dean crossed his arms and lifted his chin. “What do you want with him?”
She swallowed hard. “I asked at Mac’s. The diner?”
Was that a question? He gave an equally dense response. “I’m familiar
with it.”
She coloured. “Of course. They said he was staying here.”
No point in lying to her. “He’s asleep right now.”
Her eyes flicked past Dean’s shoulder, tightening in confusion.
Yeah, Sean was sleeping in the middle of the day. What was it to her? “Maybe it would be best for you to come back another time.”
“Right.” She licked her lips, her tongue darting out in nervous, quick movements. “Maybe we should talk, anyway.”
“Us?”
She fluttered her hands again, this time in a weak gesture inviting him out onto his own porch.
He glanced behind him into the empty front room and the staircase. Yeah, probably best. He stepped outside and closed the door. “What do we need to talk about? If you’re looking for Sean, you should know he’s not in great shape right now.”
Her face blanched and for a second, Dean felt badly for dealing her that blow. But a second was all it took for her to square her shoulders and tighten her mouth. “Then it’s all the better that I’m here.”
“And why is that?”
She shoved her hand back through her hair and glanced to the side. “I guess he didn’t tell you.”
“Tell us what?”
With a sigh, she held out her hand and looked him right in the eye. “I’m Jenna. Sean’s wife.”
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THE END
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Thank you for reading Dean and Liana’s book! If you enjoyed it, please leave an honest review where you bought it. Reviews help new authors be found by readers.
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Want more Pine Harbour?
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THE PINE HARBOUR SERIES
Love in a Small Town - Rafe & Olivia’s story
Love in a Snow Storm - Jake & Dani’s story
Love on a Spring Morning - Ryan & Holly’s story
Love on a Summer Night - Zander & Faith’s story
Love on the Run - Dean & Liana’s story
Land in a Sandstorm - Sean & Jenna’s story, coming soon
Acknowledgements
aka The People Who Get Me When I’m Silly
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THE first acknowledgement for this book has to go to my sister, who has worked in radio for almost twenty years (which is impossible, because she’s still a kid), and it’s through her stories that I learned enough about performers and concert tours to want to tell Liana’s story. She also didn’t blink when I told her we needed to go to Nashville for last minute fact-checking. Thanks, Pan!
Next nod is to my developmental editor, Kristi Yanta, who saw two frustrated early drafts of this. This is the third Pine Harbour novel we’ve worked on together, and to say she’s supportive and understanding is an understatement. I love how she sees the heart of what I’m trying to do and encourages me to smooth everything else out around it, letting the core of it shine. It was hard for me to explain in my first (second, third, fifth) draft what story I wanted to tell, and I’m glad I kept trying until the pieces clicked into place.
Sadie Haller gets all the thanks for talking me off many ledges. She’s so good at pointing out all the little things I just don’t see when I’m dreaming about the bigger picture.
Lori Carter, the best assistant ever. She notices a lot of the little details, too. And I think she loves Pine Harbour more than anyone else possibly could. It’s good to have a super-fan in house.
Dana Waganer, for her thorough proofreading. Without her, internal thought would be depicted in at least four different ways in each book. Also, hyphens.
Nancy Stopper also caught some typos in an advance copy. I always appreciate the heads up!
Maria Rose helped me with an early conversation about running; some of that ended up on the cutting room floor, but all back story is important for the writer, and I like to get things right.
To my readers who didn’t complain when I bumped this release back, and then back again. Who pre-ordered the book even after I said I was struggling with it. Who wrote me the most amazing, encouraging notes to get Dean’s book done…thank you so much from the bottom of my heart.
As always, my family, for being so chill about takeout—again—and the ever-growing laundry mountain. My muse appreciates the understanding.
And finally, to the country music singers and songwriters in Nashville who inspired this book, and gave me so many of the little details—my hat is off to you. You make incredible art. Thank you for never giving up.
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With love and a few unexpected tears,
Zoe
Copyright
All rights reserved
Copyright 2016
Zoe York