Operation K-9 Brothers

by Sandra Owens

  Noah blinked until he could make out the man standing in front of him. “Whiskey? What the hell are you doing here?”

  “You’re my brother. Where else would I be when you’re diving into the rabbit hole headfirst?” His former teammate pushed past him, and when he was inside, his gaze went straight to the coffee table. He walked over and picked up the dime-size baggie. “The hell, Noah?”

  “That’s not mine.”

  Jack lasered him with a hard look. “That’s what they all say.”

  Eff him. He’d meant to throw that shit away. He couldn’t deny he’d considered snorting it in the hopes it would take away the nightmares, but that crap was a one-way ticket to hell. He wasn’t so far gone that he didn’t recognize that. Not that he owed Jack an explanation. Whiskey could stare at him all he wanted, but since he didn’t appreciate the surprise visit, he was feeling ornery enough to let Jack think whatever the hell he wanted.

  “Why are you here, Jack?”

  “I’ve come to take you home with me.”

  * * *

  Reviews are an invaluable tool when it comes to spreading the word about great reads.

  Please consider leaving an honest review for this or any of Carina Press’s other titles that you’ve read

  on your favorite retailer or review site.

  To find out about other books by Sandra Owens or to be alerted to cover reveals, new releases, and other fun stuff, sign up for her newsletter at

  https://bit.ly/2FVUPKS

  Acknowledgments

  You know the saying it takes a village? I’ve learned how very true that is over the course of my publishing career. I’m blessed to have a fantastic village, which means so many people to thank.

  First up is Sandra’s Rowdies, my Facebook reader group. When I need encouragement, my Rowdies dump it on me by the truckload. When I need a good laugh, boy do they deliver! Believe me, they are aptly named. So, to Sandra’s Rowdies, thank you from the bottom of my heart for being such amazing friends and readers. I love you all and look forward to many years of fun times.

  One of my favorite things about becoming an author is the reader friends I’ve made from all over the world. I love the idea that I have friends not only in America, but in the Netherlands, Australia, Wales, Ireland, Canada, Germany, the Philippines…well, the list is long. It’s so cool, and I hope to get to meet some of you in person one day. Thank you all for loving my books, for the reviews, and for recommending them to your friends! Just so you know, my favorite question is, “When’s your next book coming out?”

  To all the great book bloggers, thank you for reading my books, reviewing them, and talking about them. Y’all rock!!!!

  Before I was published, I was in awe of authors. I still am. I never dreamed the day would come when I would have author friends, ones I’d spend time with at conferences, go on writing retreats with, talk on the phone with, and email back and forth with. So, wow on that! I wish I could name them all, but there are three in particular I want to thank. Jenny Holiday, my friend and critique partner, thank you for the years of love and friendship. To Miranda Liasson and A.E. Jones, my Golden Heart sisters, I love you both so much! You have no idea how much I appreciate the plot talks, the encouragement, and for always being only a phone call away when I need you.

  Now we come to editors. I wouldn’t be half the author I am without my editors. Who else would tell me my favorite scene needs to be cut? When that happens, my first reaction is nooooooo! Those are the best words in the manuscript. How could you think they need to be cut? But then I calm down, consider her reason for daring to think that, and then, you know what? She’s almost always right. Or what about when she tells me I need to dig deeper into a character’s emotions or the reason he/she did something? My first reaction is a groan with the word “Really?” But again, she’s right, so I dig deeper and, look at that, the scene turns out a thousand times better. To my Harlequin/Carina Press developmental editor, thank you Deborah Nemeth for showing me how to put a beautiful shine on my story. To my acquiring editor, Kerri Buckley, thank you for believing in the Operation K-9 Brothers series.

  To my agent, Courtney Miller-Callihan, what an amazing seven years it’s been! A huge thank-you for all you’ve done for me. You’re a rock star!!!

  And last, to my family, love you Jim, Jeff, and DeAnna. (Jim, a special thanks for never complaining about the burnt dinners when I’m on deadline. *kissy, kissy*)

  About the Author

  Bestselling, award-winning author Sandra Owens lives in the beautiful Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina. Her family and friends often question her sanity but have ceased being surprised by what she might get up to next. She’s jumped out of a plane, flown in an aerobatic plane while the pilot performed death-defying stunts, gotten into laser gunfights in Air Combat, and ridden a Harley motorcycle for years. She regrets nothing.

  Sandra is a Romance Writers of America Honor Roll member and a 2013 Golden Heart Finalist for her contemporary romance Crazy for Her. In addition to her contemporary romance and romantic suspense novels, she writes Regency stories. Her books have won many awards including The Readers’ Choice and The Golden Quill.

  Join Sandra’s Facebook Reader Group:

  https://www.facebook.com/groups/1827166257533001/

  Connect with Sandra:

  Facebook: https://bit.ly/2ruKKPl

  Twitter: https://twitter.com/SandyOwens1

  Coming soon from Carina Press and Sandra Owens

  Keeping Guard

  On medical leave from his SEAL team, all he wants is a bit of peace. What he gets instead is a runaway bride in need of a bodyguard.

  Read on for a sneak preview of

  Keeping Guard,

  the next book in author Sandra Owens’s

  Operation K-9 Brothers series

  “He’s a stray someone tied to our gate a few nights ago.”

  Noah Alba, Double D—or sometimes just DD—to his SEAL teammates, stared at the fifty pounds of wiggling mass. “Are you sure it’s actually a dog?”

  The thing looked more like something put together all wrong. Wiry fur stuck up and out at odd angles and had to be about a dozen different colors. There was more fur on his furiously wagging tail than on his body. The oddest part of the animal were the two different colored eyes, one blue and one brown.

  His friend and former teammate laughed. “Actually, no.”

  A year ago, Jack Daniels—Whiskey to the team—and his dog had come home to Asheville, North Carolina. When he learned that his arm and shoulder were permanently damaged, he’d started Operation K-9 Brothers to train therapy dogs to be companions to their military brothers and sisters who were suffering from PTSD.

  Noah was both proud and impressed with what his friend had accomplished, but the last thing he wanted was to be around people and dogs. Former teammates were included. The only reason he didn’t do a vanishing act was because his commander had ordered him here. If he left, he’d be AWOL. He’d fucked up his life enough without getting charged with a serious crime.

  “He’s yours to work with while you’re here,” Jack said.

  “Oh, hell no.” The last dog he’d been around was dead because of him.

  Jack put his hand on Noah’s shoulder. “Yes, and that’s an order, DD.”

  Noah pressed his lips together to keep from telling him what he could do with his order and the dog. What had his commander been thinking by sending him here, and not only that, but also ordering him to report directly to Whiskey? Hell, Jack wasn’t even in the navy anymore.

  “You’ll work with me every day on training him while you’re here. You also need to give him a name.”

  The ever-simmering rage inside him burned hotter. “You’re making a mistake trusting me with a dog.”

  “I disagree.”

  Noah slipped his hand into the pocket
of his jeans, his fingers wrapping around the pair of dice he always carried. They’d belonged to his father, a reminder of everything he refused to be. All he had to do to remind himself that he was not his father was to touch the pair of dice. Throughout his life, he’d touched them thousands of times, and it always worked, always led him to find the calm in his soul that made him not his father. To be the kind of man his mother would have been proud of.

  For the first time since he was a boy, his rage didn’t go from boiling over back to simmering when he touched them. “I need to go,” he said. “Somewhere for a while.”

  “Take the dog with you.”

  Noah hated the knowing look in Jack’s eyes, like his friend knew he was losing it and understood. Maybe he did. Jack had appeared three nights ago at their home base in Virginia Beach, announcing that he was taking Noah home with him. Noah had told him to go to hell.

  “You have two choices,” Jack had answered. “Come with me or tell our commander you refused to obey an order. Makes no never mind to me which you pick.”

  Noah knew his friend and teammate was there to save him, and that made him antsy. He didn’t want to need saving, had never expected to be the one his SEAL brothers had to worry about. He had his shit together. Nothing could be as bad as what his boy-self had survived, right? Or so he’d thought until his mistake caused the team’s translator and their dog to be blown up.

  * * *

  Noah took the dog with him...as far as his new apartment. The ants weren’t just crawling under his skin, they were biting. He couldn’t be near a dog right now. Every time he looked at the thing, he saw his team’s dog.

  After giving the dog time to do his business, Noah took him inside. “Here’s the thing, dog. I don’t own this place, so don’t chew on the furniture or pee on the floor.” Unable to think of anything else the dog needed to know, he left the creature to his own devices.

  He ended up on the Blue Ridge Parkway, his rental car pointed in the direction of the waterfall Jack had taken him to yesterday. After hiking down to the bottom of the falls, Jack had said, “This is a good place to come when you feel like you’re about to lose your shit.” He’d glanced around. “If you let it, you can find a few moments of peace here.”

  “Speaking from experience?” Noah had asked.

  “I’ve spent quiet time here, especially after I first came home.” He smiled. “Before I met Nichole.”

  That was another thing. Jack had gone and fallen in love. Noah never thought he’d see Whiskey look at a woman with sappy eyes. Nichole was great, and she’d even seemed disappointed when Noah said he was going to find an apartment to rent while he was here.

  He didn’t think Jack was happy about that either—he’d prefer to have him where he could keep an eye on him. Understandable since Noah had been falling down drunk when Jack arrived to collect him.

  After Noah swore there’d be no repeat performance—all the booze he’d poured down his throat hadn’t wiped his memory clean, anyway—Jack helped him find a lease-by-the-month one-bedroom furnished apartment. He’d moved in right away, grateful that he hadn’t had to sit around with Jack and Nichole last night and pretend he was enjoying himself.

  If Noah had to be around people twenty-four seven, he was going to climb out of his skin.

  * * *

  Peyton Sutton wasn’t supposed to overhear her fiancé telling his best man that he was only marrying her because her father had promised him a share of her family’s brewery. The share that was supposed to be hers.

  The rat bastard. She’d only overheard the conversation because she’d gotten last-minute cold feet and wanted to talk to Dalton, needed him to assure her that they were both ready for a lifelong commitment. Turned out he was more committed to her father than to her.

  After she graduated from college, her father had dangled a carrot in front of her. Do this and a share in the company will be yours one day. Do that and the entire company will be yours one day. She’d jumped through hoops doing this and that, trying to please him. Like saying yes when Dalton asked her to marry him. Dalton was Elk Antler Brewery’s chief financial officer, the son her father had always wanted, and marrying Dalton would make Gerald Sutton happy with her.

  Well, to hell with both of them.

  She gathered up the skirts of the princess wedding gown her father had chosen, the one she’d gritted her teeth over to keep from telling him how much she hated it. She was done with trying to please her father.

  From the time he’d let her hang out at Elk Antler Brewery, she’d been fascinated by the process of making beer. She’d been thirteen the first time he’d brought her there, pointing at the corner where she could do her homework. It was supposed to be punishment for not getting a perfect score on her math test.

  That day had been far from punishment and set the course of her life. She spent her afternoons at the brewery, supposedly doing her homework, but any time her father was in a meeting or out of the building, she was learning how to make beer instead. Her father’s brewmaster had taken a liking to her, and over the years he’d shared his knowledge, his love of brewing, and his recipes. She could step into his shoes and no one would notice.

  She’d returned home with degrees in business and marketing and went to work for her father. Pleasing him was impossible—even with bringing in more business with tours and events—but she’d kept trying anyway.

  Until today.

  She was over it. He’d made her a promise that he obviously had no intention of keeping. The long hours she’d put in, the heart she put into the brewery, the jumping through hoops for him apparently meant nothing.

  “Where is she?”

  Peyton stilled at hearing her father’s voice. If he found her, he’d convince her to go through with the wedding.

  With the voluminous skirts of the gown gathered up, she headed in the opposite direction. She didn’t have a plan since it hadn’t for a minute occurred to her that she’d sneak out on her own wedding.

  Three hundred and twenty-nine guests were seated in the country club ballroom waiting for her to walk down the aisle in a matter of minutes. They were sure going to be in for a surprise when the bride didn’t appear. Avoiding the ballroom, she scooted into the banquet hall. The staff setting up for the reception all stopped what they were doing to stare at her. She nodded at the bartender, snatched two bottles of champagne, and almost laughed at his wide eyes.

  “You never saw me,” she tossed over her shoulder as she headed for the door leading to the parking lot.

  Outside, she paused for a moment, and as she breathed in the pine-scented mountain air, the heavy weight that had settled on her shoulders ever since Dalton had put an engagement ring on her finger lifted, carried away by the breeze. As much as she wanted to luxuriate in the feeling of freedom, she needed to go before someone found her. But where to?

  Her car wasn’t here since she’d arrived with her father in the limo he’d rented. She spied Dalton’s silver Mercedes parked near the main entrance and headed for it. Wasn’t her fault he’d once shown her where he’d hidden a spare key remote.

  She cringed at the Just Married someone had written on the rear window with white shoe polish. Couldn’t be helped. She needed a getaway car, and Dalton’s was her only choice. After retrieving the key, she unlocked the door, got in, put the champagne bottles on the passenger seat, and then spent minutes she didn’t have getting the skirts of the stupid gown inside so she could close the door.

  The next time she planned to get married, she was wearing one of those slip wedding dresses. Much easier to escape in if need be. She glanced in the rearview mirror, saw her father and Dalton walk out of the building, and hauled ass.

  With no direction in mind, she drove around, and at the entrance to the Blue Ridge Parkway, turned on her blinker. What she really wanted to do was go home, get out of this ridiculous dress, put on her jammies, and
then plow her way through the champagne.

  Or go to the brewery and make beer. Getting lost in recipes, that was her peace place. Where all her troubles floated away. But she couldn’t do either of those things. Home and the brewery were the first places her father and Dalton would look.

  She needed to find somewhere she could think, make a plan for where she’d go from here. After her stunt today, she doubted her father would welcome her back to the place she loved above all else. Oh, he probably would if she went back and married Dalton, but that was so not happening.

  Peyton blinked away the tears that threatened at the thought of never setting foot in Elk Antler Brewery again. Not good to bawl her eyes out while driving. Along with a place to consider her future, she needed somewhere she could have a good cry in private.

  After driving along the Parkway for a while, she saw a sign announcing a waterfall. No other cars were in sight in the parking lot, and she decided it was the perfect place.

  She parked in the lot, grabbed the two bottles of champagne, then headed for the trail. She stopped and eyed the steep path down. No way was she going to manage that wearing white satin heels without falling and breaking her neck. She kicked them off. The sheer white stockings the bridal shop consultant said she had to wear soon followed. They were her first ever stockings, and she hated them as much as the dress.

  Even barefoot, going down was tricky in a gown consisting of more material than all the clothes in her closet put together. A squirrel clinging upside down to a tall pine tree chattered at her as she passed. “Yeah, yeah, I’m not having a good day either.”

  She almost slipped when she stepped on a mossy rock, and, forgetting she had a champagne bottle in her hand, she grabbed hold of a rhododendron branch. The bottle rolled and bounced down the trail. Thankfully, it didn’t break. She needed that champagne.

  “Well, that wasn’t a piece of cake,” she muttered after finally making it to the waterfall with both bottles intact. Speaking of cake, she should have snatched some of her wedding cake while she was at it since she hadn’t eaten anything all day because her stomach had been in knots.