Publication:
September 4, 2018
Publisher:
Sourcebooks
Casablanca
Three
former Navy SEALs
Injured in the line of duty
Desperate for
a new beginning...
Searching for a place to call their
own.
Single
mom and Revival Ranch's on-site therapist Monica Finley has dedicated
her life to helping brave servicemen and women, but former Navy SEAL
Gabe Cortez is the one man whose shell she just can't crack. Yet with
the holidays fast approaching, she may finally have a plan. In a bid
to get Gabe to open up, she'll ask for as much help as
possible―cutting down the Christmas tree, stringing lights, the
whole nine yards.
Who
could possibly be a Grinch with so much holiday cheer in the
air?
Gabe
has always hated Christmas―the holiday never fails to remind him
just how alone he truly is. But the more time he spends with Monica
and her young son, the more he finds himself drawn to their cozy
little family...and the more he begins to realize his long-suppressed
Christmas dreams may finally be coming true.
******
Excerpt:
When
a thump sounded loud somewhere out by the porch, Monica frowned. Her
first thought was Colin had woken up, but it wasn’t right above
them, like it should have been for that.
“Oh
no,” Becca said, looking at where the thumping had come from.
“What?
What is it?” Rose asked, wide eyed.
“Ron
Swanson’s on the roof.”
Monica
groaned. “Not the goat. Please, not the goat.”
“That’s
what that sound is. He’s up there.” Becca looked imploringly at
Monica. “You have to get Rasputin.” Becca’s rooster was the
only thing that could ever get Ron off the roof. “I mean, I could
get him, but I’d need someone to hold me upright, as the world’s
kind of spinning.”
Monica
wasn’t exactly steady on her feet, but she wasn’t going to send a
pregnant woman or a completely loaded woman to do the job. Which
meant it fell to her. She pushed to her feet. “Rose, I hope your
retroactive bachelorette party doesn’t involve goats or roosters.”
“From
your lips to God’s ears,” Rose returned as Monica pulled on her
winter gear. She lost her balance a bit but caught herself by leaning
against the wall as she pulled on her second boot.
“You
okay there, champ?” Rose asked with some concern.
“I
think a little drunk is necessary for me to even attempt to touch
that rooster.” Monica pulled on her hat. “If I’m not back in
twenty, send a search party after me. I imagine the rooster has
pecked my eyes out.”
“Rasputin
wouldn’t do that. Not both eyes anyway.”
“Uh-huh.
I’ll be back.” Monica stepped out into the icy night. As she
stepped off the porch, she looked up at the dazzling sky above. Stars
twinkled everywhere, and the moon’s light bathed the snowy ranch in
silver. Becca had strung Christmas lights all over the house and
barn, so red and green cut through all that white.
Monica
took a deep breath. Oh, it was beautiful. How lucky she was to have
come here, to get to experience this.
Then
she remembered herself and turned to look up at the roof. And there
was a goat, munching on a wreath, while red and green lights sparkled
around him. She doubted very much that many people got to experience
this.
She
pulled her phone out and took a picture of Ron Swanson on the roof,
chuckling to herself. Before she could head for the barn to get
Rasputin, she heard a truck rumble in the distance, then saw
headlights cutting through the dark.
When
the truck came to a stop, Jack slid out of the driver’s seat and
glared up at the roof. “Damn goat.”
“I’m
on my way to get Rasputin. Unless, as the only sober one, you want to
handle that for me.” Monica smiled winsomely.
Jack
grimaced. “Oh, fine, but keep an eye on those two. They’re going
to need help getting to the bunkhouse. Just keep them inside the
truck till I’m back.”
“Sure.”
Jack
strode to the barn and Monica peered into the truck. She thought both
Gabe and Alex were passed out, until the back door swung open.
Monica
jumped, taken aback as Gabe stumbled down from the truck. Monica
waved a hand in front of her face as the smell of alcohol and bar hit
her like a punch. “Dear Lord, how much did you have to drink?”
“S-still
conscious s’apparently not ’nough,” he said, falling to a knee,
then getting back to his feet and brushing the snow off his pants.
“Jack
said you’re supposed to stay in the truck.”
“Jack
ain’t never been my commanding officer, and he’s not starting
now.” Gabe took a step toward her, stumbled again, and she reached
forward to try and help keep him upright. Except then they were both
somehow in the snow, Gabe something like half on top of her.
He
didn’t get up, and she was shocked enough to just lie there in the
cold, icy snow with his dark eyes assessing her.
“You
smell pretty.”
Monica
laughed in spite of herself. “You need to work on your drunk
compliments.” She pushed at his chest. “Get off me.” Good Lord,
it was a hard chest. Even under his coat and heavy shirt, she could
feel the strength of him.
But
Gabe rolled off her and got to his feet. He held out a gloved hand,
and she let him pull her to her feet. But then he pulled her closer,
not letting go of her hand. His head tilted down to her ear, much
like it had in the bunkhouse the other day.
“I
doubt you want to hear my other compliments, s-sweetheart.”
It
was a slur more than a stutter, and he was falling-down drunk and
foolish, so she did not shudder at that. Not at all. “Don’t let
alcohol put words in your mouth, Gabe.”
He
kept his grip on her hand, pulling her so close their bodies touched.
It shouldn’t have mattered. They were both wearing enough layers to
ward off the cold of a Montana winter night. She didn’t feel cold.
Shivery maybe, but not cold.
“Oh,
I have those words when I’m sober too. I’ve just got enough sense
to keep them to myself.” His lips barely touched her ear as she
spoke. “Sparks, remember?”
She
could only stare at him, and she didn’t feel all the icy wetness on
her back or the frigid chill of the air around them. She only felt
his big hand holding on to hers and, somehow, all that heat emanating
off him. “I remember.”
He
leaned closer, so close his cheek actually pressed to hers.
Everything inside of her rioted to some sparkling life. A feeling so
long forgotten it was almost foreign, centering itself low in her
belly.
“Drunk
enough to make a bad decision?” he asked in a low, rough voice.
She
paused. Even knowing it should be an automatic no, there was that
foreign part of her tempted. A bad decision with him sounded enticing
instead
of wrong. Something she deserved instead of something she should
avoid.
But
he was drunk. She
was
a little too. That was all that foreign part was. The loss of sense
and control, and she’d never let herself give in to that. “N-no.”
He
grinned, pulling back, all wolfish in the silvery light of the moon.
“Too bad.” Then he was striding…well, stumbling, toward the
bunkhouse.
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