Monday, May 30, 2022

Monday's Memorial Moment(Memorial Day Edition): Decoration Day, 1933 by Frank W Butterfield



Summary:

A Nick & Carter Holiday #11
Tuesday, May 30, 1933
It's Decoration Day and Nick has decided to skip school because he doesn't want to take his history test.

With a fistful of money, he tries to convince his sister, Janet, to head out for a day at Chutes-by-the-Beach where they can ride the Big Dipper and visit the Fun House.

She finally agrees since she never gets to eat the hot dogs with mustard that she likes so much!

Will they have the time of their lives or will someone snitch and turn them over to the police for truancy?

Either way, it's quite likely going to be a day both children will remember for many years to come.

Welcome to a year of holidays with Nick Williams and Carter Jones!

This is the eleventh in a series of short stories all centered around specific holidays.

Each story is a vignette that stands on its own and takes place from the 1920s to 2008.

This is a short story containing about 7,900 words.



Decoration Day, 1933 is a delightful glimpse into the life of a young Nick years before he and Carter meet.  I have yet to read anything but these holiday shorts in Nick and Carter's journey and as this is Nick's childhood there is no need to read any other entry first.  Having said that, I think what Decoration Day does do is show yet another event that helps make Nick into the man he becomes.  So I'll just say this as to not give anything away: once again Frank W Butterfield has created a little window into the younger life of one half of his famed couple that delights, entertains, and makes the reader smile.

RATING:



1198 Sacramento Street
San Francisco, Cal.
Tuesday, May 30, 1933
After breakfast 
"Come over here and quick!" hissed Nick across the hall to his sister who was just walking out of her room with her brown leather satchel in one hand and blue coat in the other. 

Turning a quizzical face in his direction, Janet asked, "What?" 

Nick motioned. "Come on. And don't dawdle." 

Janet rolled her eyes but walked across the hall and into her brother's room. She sat down on his bed, threw her coat to one side, and let her satchel drop to the floor. 

Nick softly closed the door and then, with his back against the knob, looked at his sister, as he whispered, "Wanna play hooky, today?" 

Janet thought for a moment and then shook her head. "Today's the day they're bringing flowers to school and we're going to the cemetery." Looking exasperated, she said, "It's Decoration Day, you know." 

Ignoring Janet's usual way of being bossy, Nick glanced over at his desk. "But I've got a buncha dough." 

Janet's eyes widened a little. "Oh, yeah? Wheredja get it from?"

"Never you mind," said Nick, wondering if maybe his idea wasn't as good as he thought it would be. "I got the dough and now I wanna spend it." 

"Nick!" hissed his sister. "We're gonna be late for school! Both of us!" 

Crossing his arms, Nick shrugged. "I don't care. I gotta test today and I don't feel like takin' no test and that dough's burnin' a whole in my pocket." He grinned. He'd heard someone talkin' just like that on the radio a few weeks ago. 

"How much?" 

Nick's eyes widened as he quietly said, "Fifty bucks!" 

Janet leaned forward and almost fell off the bed. "Fifty dollars! Wheredja get money like that?" 

"Never you mind." Nick tilted his head. "You wanna go to Chutes-at-the-Beach and ride the rides?" 

Before Janet could answer, they both heard Zelda clap twice and call up from the bottom of the stairs. "Children! Time for school!" 

Janet jumped off the bed and grabbed her satchel. "I'm not gonna be late. Allie would be so mad." 

Nick shrugged. "Suit yourself. If you change your mind, you'll find me at the usual place in the park." He reached into his front pocket and pulled out five dollars. Waving the small wad of bills in his fist in front of his sister's nose, he said, "Here's car fare from that snooty school of yours to our place in the park." 

Janet blinked twice, looked at the money, and then looked at her brother. 

"Children!" 

Shaking her head, Janet dashed around Nick, opened his bedroom door with her satchel in hand, and then ran down the hallway towards the stairs.

"Janet!" exclaimed Zelda. "How many times must I tell you not to run down the stairs? Do you want to break your neck and end up in the hospital for six months like that poor child I told you about in Salt Lake City?" 

Seeing that his sister had left her coat behind, Nick shoved the dough in one of its pockets, and then, running into the hallway, said, "Janet! You forgot your coat!"



Welcome to a year of holidays with Nick Williams and Carter Jones!

This is a series of short stories with each centered around a specific holiday.

From New Year's Day to Boxing Day, each story stands on its own and might occur in any year from the early 1920s to the first decade of the 21st Century.




Author Bio:
Frank W. Butterfield is the Amazon best-selling author of 89 (and counting) self-published novels, novellas, and short stories. Born and raised in Lubbock, Texas, he has traveled all over the US and Canada and now makes his home in Daytona Beach, Florida. His first attempt at writing at the age of nine with a ball-point pen and a notepad was a failure. Forty years later, he tried again and hasn't stopped since.





Decoration Day, 1933 #11


Week at a Glance: 5/23/22 - 5/29/22
















Sunday, May 29, 2022

Sunday's Short Stack(Memorial Day Edition): Resilient Heart by Annabeth Albert



Summary:

Out of Options
When Army IT specialist Xander suffers a serious injury, he is forced to accept help from his ex-friend-with-benefits, Mackey. Stuck in close quarters, their old attraction quickly flares, but so do old hurts. Xander isn’t sure he knows how to let Mackey help.

Out of Control
Mackey’s always kept his emotions close to his chest, but now he’s got a secret that could destroy his one chance with Xander. Further, his love may not be enough to save Xander from his inner demons.

Out of Time
Mackey is not going to let Xander push him away. Their wounded hearts need each other, and their powerful connection can’t be denied. Can Xander find the courage to reach for the future?

RESILIENT HEART was originally released as part of the Unconditional Surrender bundle. This stand-alone edition contains an additional 10,000 word epilogue!

Content Advisory: A full content advisory is available after the title page, but this book contains a character wrestling with serious depression and PTSD. A happy ending is absolutely guaranteed, but be advised that mental health does play a significant role in the story.



Chapter One
“What’s this I hear? They’re springing you loose today?” Mackey’s deep voice rumbled like tires over gravel, making the too-long hairs at the back of Xander’s neck stand up.

Xander tried to push himself upright from the hospital bed he’d been dozing on. He failed miserably, his stupid, uncooperative limbs flailing around like a squid’s tentacles. Mackey grabbed his good elbow and helped him to sit up, concern on his craggy face.

He looked good. Too damn good. Mackey’s ever-present five o’clock shadow was darker than usual, but his shoulders were broad as ever, biceps bulging as he hauled Xander up. He wasn’t in uniform—the tight Army T-shirt and loose jeans unfamiliar on his bulky frame.

Too close. Mackey smelled like the old-fashioned soap he favored. Xander’s pulse gave a weak thrum, like it wanted to rev but had thought the better of it. “What the hell are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in Hawaii.”

“And you’re supposed to be following doctor’s orders. But I hear you’re being a pain in the ass instead,” Mackey said mildly, shoving a pillow behind Xander without being asked. His face dipped low enough Xander could feel his warm breath. The memory of Mackey panting in his ear—something Xander had tried hard not to think about in months—rocketed through him, sending blood rushing to sorely neglected places. So much for that whole motor-not-working thing.

“Seriously. Why aren’t you in Hawaii?” Mackey was supposed to have returned from deployment with the rest of Xander’s Army NETCOM unit and then moved onto his next assignment. Mackey should be at Fort Shafter right now, soaking up the sunshine and salt water in between running network tests. Yeah, once upon a time he and Xander had a best-friends-with-benefits thing going, but that thing had blown up the night before an IED made the rest of Xander’s life go boom. Besides, a guy didn’t come running around the world for a jerk-off buddy, even one who was also an ex-teammate and an ex-barracks roommate.

“Seriously, I checked at the nurses’ station on the way in. They said your discharge papers are almost done. You ready to go?”

True, he couldn’t wait to escape the hospital, but ready wasn’t the right word. Xander was never going to be ready for anything again. Ready meant in a uniform, every sense at attention, body primed to do whatever the Army asked of it. Now ‘ready’ meant accepting what that stupid fucker of a doctor had said—that he should prepare to transition out. Start disability paperwork. Ready meant having a plan for what came next. The only plans Xander had involved getting the heck away from the hospital and finding the nearest bottle of Jack. But he couldn’t let Mackey see how his life was crumbling.

Carefully keeping his expression neutral, Xander shrugged. “Sure. Why? You offering a ride?” 

“Yup.” 

“You came three thousand miles to drive me home?” Hell. He couldn’t take Mackey up on the ride even if he wanted to. He didn’t know where he was going. Hotel probably. Wasn’t like he didn’t have money in the bank—two months of accumulated paychecks he hadn’t had any way to spend gave him a nice cushion. “Sorry to disappoint, but I’ve already made arrangements.” 

Mackey dropped into the visitor’s chair that had remained empty most of Xander’s stay at Walter Reed. Empty was exactly how Xander had wanted it. He’d had various roommates off and on, but the nursing staff had griped that his bad mood was catching, and the last two weeks it had been just him. “Clinical Depression,” the latest doctor had said, which was a load of BS. “PTSD,” the resident had whispered when the two doctors conferred over in a corner of Xander’s room. Xander’s stomach had gone into freefall, headed down a mineshaft of doubts. 

The two of them had to be flat wrong. These strange thoughts and emotions rattling through him had to be normal, right? Anyone who got blown up would feel…off. And if he was messed up in the head, no way did he need meds and talk-y therapy. His dad always said a real soldier handled his business. A real man didn’t need drugs to sort himself out. Xander could fix himself. 

“Liar. What the fuck, Xander? Did you really think you’d just limp out of here? No place to go? Why’d you turn down a stay in Tranquility Hall?” 

“That why you’re here? Commander Bryant send you? I don’t need the rehab wing.” Xander refused to call it that stupid name. Nothing tranquil about living with a bunch of other banged up guys. It was hard enough looking at them when the orderlies took Xander to therapy over at the amputee clinic. And yeah, most of them were worse off than Xander, which was one more reason he didn’t need the in-patient rehab. 

A mere two years ago, he’d been here in D.C. to run the Marine Corp Marathon. He’d volunteered to run as an escort with a hand-crank chair runner from the Wounded Warrior project. She’d been amazing, pushing herself hard up the big hills. The guys in the clinic were pretty incredible too—hefting themselves onto therapy mats, untangling tubes and dressings. But Xander wasn’t ready to be one of them. He was the guy who helped—he wasn’t the one needing it. He was the guy who applauded courage, but he didn’t seem to have a deep reservoir of it to drive himself. And that, more than anything, scared the fuck out of him. So he looked away. Kept his head down. He didn’t belong here. 

Mackey raised a bushy eyebrow and stared Xander down, the extent of Xander’s injuries hanging between them. Hell, he might as well have pointed at Xander’s missing forearm or gestured at his scarred-up face and gimp foot for all the weight that look held. 

“I said I’d do the outpatient stuff. Go to PT and shit. I’ve even got appointments.” That he wasn’t intending to keep, but Mackey didn’t need to hear that. 

“You going to go to counseling too? Hear you’ve been refusing to go to group.” 

“Shit. You my doctor now too? I don’t need any PTSD group and I sure as fuck don’t need an amputee group. What, you think we’re gonna sit around and write love poems to our plastic hands?” 

Mackey cracked a smile, which only pissed Xander off. “Yeah. You’re not the poetry kind of guy. But you might be surprised—there are sports competitions and outings and—” 

“Oh hell the fuck no. I’m not doing ‘outings.’ What am I? Eighty? Last thing I need is someone coddling me.” He looked pointedly at Mackey. “I can handle my own shit. Nice of you to come and all, but I should probably see what’s keeping those discharge papers.” 

“And where are you going to go? Gonna grab your duffle and wander Bethesda? Head down into D.C.?” Mackey gestured to the army-issue bag at the foot of Xander’s bed. “To what? A motel? You don’t have base housing, I know that much—”

“I’m being transitioned out. Army doesn’t give a fuck where I sleep. Why do you care?” Xander’s healing shoulder throbbed, a dull ache that was nothing compared to the ache behind his sternum. His hand balled up. He’d spent a lot of time thumping pillows lately. Processed out. Worst two words in the military. 

“Thought maybe you might want to stay with me. Just until you have your bearings.” Mackey’s voice was the sort of careful casual that the nurses used when they needed Xander to do something he had no intention of going along with. 

“How long you in town for?” A sneaky suspicion made the bland pasta he’d had for lunch turn into a ten-pound weight pushing on his guts. “Tell me you’re not at Fort Detrick.” 

“Not going to lie to you, Xander. Never could.” 

Now that right there was a lie—Mackey had lied plenty, mainly by omission but dozens of little wounds throbbed on Xander’s heart. 

“You’re supposed to be in Hawaii. Not here. Not at Detrick.” 

“Eh.” Mackey’s big shoulders gave an exaggerated roll. “They had a billet that needed filling. Instructor position isn’t terrible—” 

“My billet. My billet needed filling. And you hate teaching. All you could talk about was how psyched you were about Hawaii, how you were gonna get a boat…” Fuck everything. Xander rubbed the bridge of his nose with his left hand. The job assignment he’d been so looking forward to had been taken by the last guy Xander would wish the position on. “You feel guilty. I get it. But you didn’t need to give up Hawaii. You could have just sent a card or something.” 

Mackey snorted. “And have you not open it like you didn’t return my calls?” He’d called a lot the first month—every few days. Xander had stopped charging his phone because he couldn’t stand that blinking blue message button. They’d said everything that needed to be said between them on New Year’s Eve. And if he’d missed Mackey, if he was happy to see him here in the flesh instead of tormenting Xander’s dreams, none of that mattered—he was a hot mess right now and he hated knowing Mackey got to see him at his worst. 

“Eh. Service is really spotty in here. And I’m shit at operating my phone with one hand.” His face heated. 

“Uh-huh.” Mackey’s tone said he smelled bullshit. “Command needed the position filled. Anyway, this is close to family. My mom’s a hell of a lot happier about Maryland than Hawaii. And something told me that your sorry ass was going to need keeping in line.” 

“I don’t need your pity.” 

“Pity? Who said anything about pity? I need your cash. I’ve got an apartment in Clarksburg. You can pay me half rent, stay as long as you need—” 

“You? An apartment?” Xander raised his eyebrows. No way. Mackey was as cheap as they came—no way was he passing on barracks and the chow hall. Big as he was, feeding himself would cut into those stacks of green he was obsessive about squirreling away. 

“Barracks were overrun. Wasn’t hard to get permission to live off-base. Figured I’d try something new.” Mackey’s words came too fast. He might not be lying, but he was likely stretching the truth out far as he could, hoping it wouldn’t slap him in the face. 

“That so?” Xander knew he was being a bit of a dick. Okay a lot of a dick. Mackey had, for whatever misguided reason, flown halfway around the world for him. Mackey’s blue eyes were the color of Xander’s mother’s favorite china, and he saw the same concern in them he’d seen in his mother’s before he’d sent her home to Whidbey Island. Mackey cared, that much was clear. But Xander didn’t need rescuing, and he couldn’t deal with his own guilt, let alone Mackey’s. 

“How about you come with me?” Mackey pushed up from the chair with fluid grace. He never could stay seated. “They’re about to kick you out of here, and you can’t BS me—you don’t have a plan. You can stay until you figure your stuff out.” 

Xander hesitated, neck muscles going tighter than a coil of CAT-5 wire. He did want out of the hospital. Wanted away from everything. Already he could feel one of his headaches brewing, and all his various injuries hurt. Every medical professional he saw asked him about his pain scale, but not a darn one had a solution other than drugs he didn’t want to take. Latest surgery on his foot had been a success in that he was now in a walking boot, but success was relative when he was looking at a permanent limp. Not to mention the sucker still ached, as did his shoulder. It would be nice to have a place for the night and not have to think anymore. 

Liar. You just want more time with Mackey. Well, yeah, there was that too, but that way led to even more pain than his shrapnel wounds. 

“Okay. Just until I find my own place.” He told his stupid brain to stop cheering. This was a simple matter of practicality. Tomorrow he’d figure out where the heck he was going. 

“Alrighty then. Let’s find the nurse and get your papers. What else you need?” Mackey’s generous mouth curved into the first real smile he’d given since entering the room. 

And who’s fault is that? Xander’s feet twitched restlessly, banging against the edge of the bed. 

“Think I pretty much have everything.” Xander gestured at his duffle. A nurse’s aide had helped him pack, a humiliating process. His mom had brought him a bunch of civvies, but otherwise the duffel contained way too many reminders of the Army life he was leaving behind and too few clues about what the heck came next. 

“Prosthesis in there?” Mackey asked, body language deceptively relaxed, eyes avoiding Xander’s arm. 

“Yeah.” Xander put a heavy dose of “drop it” in his answer. He was supposed to wear his temporary prosthesis at least eight hours a day. He actually had two, but he hated both of them. His residual limb—such a BS term—was short, only three inches below his elbow, which made fitting tricky. The therapists kept telling him how much easier things would get when the last of his swelling went down and he could get a better-fitting myoelectric prosthesis, and how the process of skin desensitization would help him be more comfortable. Fuck that noise. Nothing he tried worked. He kept a padded sleeve on mainly because it hid the stump, but he hated the stupid devices. He was pretty sure his therapist had every synonym for “noncompliant” all over his chart. 

“You got all your meds or you need to stop at the pharmacy on the way out?” Mackey dropped the prosthesis questioning, but wandered into the next pile of dog crap Xander wanted to avoid. 

“I got them.” 

“Including the new one?” Mackey did that thing with his eyebrows again—the thing where he tried to look casual and came off looking like a smart ass. 

“Medical information is supposed be confidential.” Xander didn’t know who Mackey was buttering up—nurse, doctor, someone in command—but he clearly had the inside track on all Xander’s shortcomings. “And I don’t need head meds. Doctors want to medicate everyone these days.” 

“Oh? You’re not depressed?” Mackey kept that same uber-reasonable tone. Uber-irritating more like it.

“Fuck no.” “This new propensity of yours for glowering and cursing and scaring nurses, it’s just for giggles and grins? Because I got to tell you man, it’s not working. And it’s not really you.” Mackey hefted the duffel onto his shoulder as easily as if it were one of the bed pillows. 

“This is me. You want old me? The nice guy? He’s gone. You’re wasting your time.” 

“Oh, he’s in there,” Mackey said lightly. “He’s smothering under that giant chip on your shoulder, but we can knock that sucker off.” And with that, he—and Xander’s bag—headed into the hallway, the sounds of the ward creeping in as soon as the door opened. 

Fuck Mackey. Fuck his sudden do-gooder streak and his assumptions. Like Xander wasn’t entitled to be pissed? Like he was supposed to be all Suzy Sunshine about his wrecked life? And Mackey saw him as some of fixer-upper project? Disappointing him was going to be hell, but the old Xander had died in a ditch back in Afghanistan when an IED took everything he knew to be true about himself. He grabbed the pillow and punched it hard with his good hand. Fuck. 

*****

Mackey had the same old Chevy he’d had in Georgia—blue and well—worn, with a deep gouge along the passenger side door. The orderly had wheeled Xander out to the truck—stupid hospital policy, but he’d sent the orderly packing as soon as he stood up. 

“You go see your mom?” Xander asked as he awkwardly climbed into the cab, having to pull his bum leg in. Felt weird being hemmed in a car after weeks of the hospital’s wide spaces.

“Yup. Made her open up a storage unit, give u—me a few things for the apartment.” Mackey’s hands were steady on the steering wheel as he navigated the huge parking structure. 

Mackey’s mother ran a thrift store on the Virginia coast, and she’d been watching Mackey’s truck while they’d been deployed. Xander had met her and Mackey’s younger brother when they’d visited Fort Gordon to collect the truck right before they deployed. Nice people. They’d made Xander feel welcome, though that might have been different had they known Xander was more than just a roommate. Stop that. You were never more than roommates. Never. Didn’t matter how much dick you sucked. 

He needed to remember that because it was too easy to get lost in the good memories of him and Mackey. They’d taken his mother to their favorite chicken joint, and Xander had loved how both brothers tried hard to convince their mother her chicken was still better. His brother was better at Grand Theft Auto than either him or Mackey, and he’d kept them up until two playing tournament style. Xander loved his own family, but there was something easy about hanging with Mackey’s people. He could have gotten used to them, real quick. 

“That’s nice.” Xander didn’t bother looking out the window as they wound their way out of the giant maze of buildings that made up Walter Reed National Military Medical Center. The place was the size of a small city, but Mackey’s driving was as confident as ever. 

A fresh wave of loss swept through Xander—I may never drive again. He loved to drive, to the point that he and Mackey used to do this silly thing with a coin flip to see who would get to drive when they went off base. That chicken place they loved was a good hour away from base, in a tiny Georgia town—a long, blissful stretch of country roads. Whoever got to drive had to pay. He craved the mindless focus of such a drive, could practically feel the shifter of his cherry-red GTO in his right hand. 

Phantom pain, the doctors called it, but there was nothing phantom about how badly he missed that car or how much he wanted to be back on the rural Georgia roads, peach cobbler for later in the back, Mackey beside him, whole night to look forward to. 

He fiddled with Mackey’s stereo, flipping through the satellite radio stations. That was Mackey—piece of crap truck and pricey sound system. Luckily Mackey didn’t object when Xander landed on a hard rock station. They had that down too—driver paid, passenger got to pick the tunes. Xander really needed some Gaslight Anthem this afternoon. He turned the volume up, hoping Mackey would get the hint that he didn’t want to talk. 

Thirty minutes later, they arrived at Mackey’s new apartment. Xander didn’t want to think about how long the same journey though the D.C. exurbs back to Bethesda would take via public transit. Stop it. You’re not staying. 

“God, this place is huge.” He broke his silence as Mackey turned the truck onto a street that wound through a large complex of three and four-story white and gray apartment buildings. 

“It’s a ground-floor unit,” Mackey said, a little too quickly. 

“I can walk. I can do stairs.” Sort of. He’d fallen a bunch the first time he attempted them in PT, but he was getting more used to the walking-boot cast. 

“I know it’s one of those cookie-cutter complexes, but everything is really nice here—clean, great workout room, and all the buildings ring a giant pool for the summer. Indoor hot tub in the clubhouse.” Mackey’s tone was deceptively casual again, like he knew exactly how much Xander’s therapy people had been pushing hydrotherapy.

“Nice.” It was only March. He wasn’t going to be here when the pool opened, no matter what Mackey’s bizarre guilt complex wanted. Mackey could work out and swim and sleep just fine on base. He was going to a lot of effort here, and Xander wasn’t blind to it, though he almost wished he were. Blindness would make it easier to be a total rat bastard. 

“Just moved in on the weekend, but I think it’s got some nice people. Saw some families. You like kids.” Mackey parked the truck in a numbered space. Thank God he didn’t come around to help Xander out of the truck. Instead, he’d exited quickly and was waiting patiently by the sidewalk. 

Liked kids. Past tense. 

“Xander!” Mackey came rushing into the server room, huffing like he’d run all the way from the barracks. “I need a huge large, man.” 

“Yeah?” Xander tried to decipher Mackey’s expression. Grin flashing mischievously, he looked delighted to have caught Xander alone. 

They didn’t really talk about what they did at night—Lord knew Xander wanted the jerk-off sessions to continue—but during the daylight hours they were still teammates. Buddies. But that didn’t mean he was entirely unwilling if Mackey wanted a quick— 

“I need you to take this school tour that’s coming in an hour. Bunch of seventh graders from a programming club. PR set them up to see computer careers on base and somehow I got assigned to lead the group—” 

“Whoa. Slow down, big guy.” Xander held up a hand as Mackey’s words came out uncharacteristically fast, his usual languid drawl all agitated. “You want me to take the tour?” 

“Would you?” Oh man. The level of pleading in Mackey’s eyes was a massive turn-on. 

“Maybe.” Xander smiled at him.

“I never know what to say around kids. I suck at explaining stuff.” Mackey’s face wrinkled like explaining was on par with eating spiders. Mackey wasn’t a big talker on his best day, and he was an action guy. See a problem. Solve problem. He left the details to other people—like Xander. 

They worked really well together that way—Mackey saw what needed to be done and Xander took care of all the minutiae while Mackey moved on to spot the next crisis. Mackey also didn’t have Xander’s experience with kids—Xander had a pile of nephews and a niece to wrestle with whenever he went home. Kids were great. They asked entertaining questions and were always ready for a laugh. 

“What do I get if I take the tour?” Xander raised his eyebrow. No need to show his hand quite yet. 

Mackey glanced at the doorway to the server room, which had shut behind him. He leaned in—far outside of buddy territory, lips right against Xander’s ear. “I’ll blow you tonight.” 

“Really?” Xander’s eyebrows stretched so high, he thought they might pop off. Then commonsense weighed in. “You don’t have to do that, man. I’ll do the tour.” 

“What? You don’t think I’d be any good at it?” Mackey managed to look affronted. 

“I’m sure you don’t suck at it.” Xander laughed. Having Mackey this close to him at work was a huge rush. If Mackey played his cards right, Xander would be more than happy to be the one doing the sucking. 

“Tonight. We’ll see if you’re still laughing.” Mackey bit his ear before backing away. 

Oh sweet hell. Now he had to get his libido under control before greeting the school group. Still though, a couple of hours hanging with baby nerds and then Mackey tonight? Life was pretty sweet. 


Back in the present, Xander wasn’t ready to deal with all the awkward questions from kids, never mind the looks from their parents.

“Nice,” he said, as he hobbled out of the truck, because he had to say something. Mackey was looking at him all expectantly, but Xander had nothing. 

The apartment was mercifully close to the parking space. As Mackey unlocked the door, he could smell the distinctive “new quarters” odor of new carpet and fresh paint. 

“This is it.” Mackey led him into a room made up of a small living area and a kitchen. The space was delineated by a breakfast bar. The living area had an ancient-looking plaid couch and Mackey’s flat screen TV and stereo set up on milk cartons. Beyond the couch, Xander could see sliders that led to what looked like a small patio. Knowing Mackey there was probably already a plant or three out there. When they’d roomed together in the barracks in Georgia, Mackey’d kept a huge aloe plant going and was always breaking off a piece and rubbing some into his hands. Xander couldn’t smell aloe now without getting instantly, painfully hard. 

“This where I crash?” He hobbled towards the couch. Maybe he could just close his eyes until morning and not have to deal with the strange hope on Mackey’s face or the weird silence between them. Maybe that was all he needed—a good sleep and then he’d have fewer rat bastard impulses. 

“There’s two bedrooms.” Mackey indicated for him to follow him past the kitchen, down a small hallway with a couple of doors. Xander limped after him, foot throbbing, shoulder protesting the jostling. 

“Put my computer set-up in this one for now.” Mackey opened a door to reveal his dual-monitor set-up on what looked like an old hotel desk. He turned to open the adjacent door. “And this one has the bed. If you’re tired, you can nap here.” 

“Where are you going to sleep?” Damn it. His head was getting fuzzy again. 

“I’ll take the couch,” Mackey said, just a second too late.


Author Bio:
Annabeth Albert grew up sneaking romance novels under the bed covers. Now, she devours all subgenres of romance out in the open--no flashlights required! When she's not adding to her keeper shelf, she's a multi-published Pacific Northwest romance writer.

Emotionally complex, sexy, and funny stories are her favorites both to read and to write. Annabeth loves finding happy endings for a variety of pairings and is a passionate gay rights supporter. In between searching out dark heroes to redeem, she works a rewarding day job and wrangles two children.


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Saturday, May 28, 2022

Saturday's Series Spotlight(Memorial Day Edition): Ellery Mountain by RJ Scott



The Teacher and the Soldier #2
Summary:
How can Daniel convince the man he loves, to stay with him in Ellery?

Luke Fitzgerald left Ellery Mountain for college and vowed never to return, but with his father murdered, he has no choice but to return. Luke only goes home to sell off his share of the Ellery Mountain Cabins, but everything changes when he meets the son of the other owner.

Daniel Skylar is an ex-soldier who lives every day to the limit and sees a future in Luke. It doesn’t matter what Daniel says, or how much he needs Luke; Luke isn’t staying once everything is sold off. Surely Daniel can understand that?



The Barman and the Seal #6
Summary:
A Navy SEAL with PTSD and a Barman starting a new life. Maybe they can find love in Ellery.

Travis Baranski, Navy SEAL, is the first veteran to attend the Ellery Mountain Veteran Center. He is having a hard time coming to terms with what he had seen and what he has done. When he has a very public meltdown in Ellery stores it is Avery Gideon who steps up to the plate and helps him.

Avery Gideon, a man cut off from his family for being gay, runs the only bar in town - The Alibi - and listens to many a person's problems whilst trying to forget his own.

He sees something in the wounded warrior who needs a friend and very soon finds himself falling in love with Travis.

Nothing will deter him from helping Travis, or from making Travis see he's still capable of loving Avery in return.



The Sinner and the Saint #8
Summary:
When these two meet, the attraction is instant. Can they ever be their true selves, and find love as a result?

Army medic Ben Rockwell is in Ellery to work with the Veterans Center creating a new specialist unit for post trauma care. Desperate to make amends for battlefield decisions he regrets, he is focused on the unit and nothing else. Until some stranger moves in next door and throws him a curveball. He’s no hero, even though everyone says he is, and the lies burn inside him.

Leaving drama and chaos in his wake, Nicholas Merrick fled London and is hiding out in his friend Jason’s house, until everything back home dies a death. The choices he made in his life were to keep his best friend safe, but as a result everyone sees him as the bad guy.



The Gardener and the Marine #9
Summary:
Harrison is alone and hurting with his memories gone, but Toby shows him that love can heal even the most broken of hearts.

After losing his entire team in a roadside bomb, Harrison is left with a traumatic brain injury, a broken body, and scars on his heart that might never heal. Staying at the Ellery Mountain Veterans Center is the first step in healing, but short-term memories evade him, and the only thing he trusts is the love of Barney, his support dog.

Until he meets Toby.

Toby lands the chance of a lifetime, using his horticultural skills to aid in working with veterans during their physical and mental recovery. Meeting Harrison on his first day goes badly, but there is something between them that could be more than just friendship.

With time, it could even become love.


The Teacher and the Soldier #2 & The Barman and the Seal #6
Original Overall Series(1-7) Read July 2015:
What starts out as three friends weekly get-togethers we discover how lives can intertwine over time in very unexpected scenarios that can actually create a pretty good life, community, and family.  Each book in this series centers on a different couple and because of that, strictly speaking each story is a standalone but in my opinion you really should read this one in order because one half of the couple had either a cameo or was mentioned in passing in the previous book.  Also, each of the previous couples have at least a partial scene in the following installments.  For these reasons I'm doing an overall review as opposed to each book having their own write up.  Ellery Mountain has loads of drama, interesting and intriguing characters both main and secondary, hints of mystery, and of course plenty of romance, not to mention what would an RJ Scott story be without some well placed hotness.  So come along with the Ellery Mountain Fridays and see what life has in store for them.

The Sinner and the Saint #8
Original Review May 2018:
Ben Rockwell comes to Ellery to work with the Veteran's Center his friend Daniel Skylar started to help make amends for battlefield decisions by working with the Center's residents.  Nick Merrick has come to Ellery to escape the paparazzi and the scandal he created back in England.  Ben and Nick find themselves in each other's orbits and despite their plans will a couple of hook-ups lead to more?

I've missed the Ellery universe and the men within its city limits and the thought that this is the last time we'll visit the area saddens me but if that truly is the case than RJ Scott left the city with a winner.  Was The Saint & the Sinner as good as the other entries? Maybe not. Would I have liked to know more of Ben's Army pain? Sure.  Would Nick's family's input made an impact? Probably.  HOWEVER!  As much as I may have liked to know more of Ben's battlefield pain I didn't need to know to feel his heartache.  As much as I wanted to hear from Nick's family, it really wasn't about them, its about Nick and his need to find himself as well as help his friend Heather so it makes sense to hear from her dad and not his.  Would I have added these things if this was my story? Maybe, but its not my story, it's RJ Scott's story and no one does it better.

As for the characters, I loved them both from the very beginning.  I have to say that as much as I love the men together, one of my favorite scenes is Ben telling the one woman off in the checkout line.  Despite the anger I felt at her words I found myself laughing as I pictured her face as Ben walked away.  Its scenes like this that probably don't have much bearing on the main story that make RJ Scott's work so real and connectable for the reader.  The same goes for Nick, his scene with Norma Jean shows us that he isn't just the spoiled son rebelling against the family grain, he is his own person trying to find his place.  We may not meet these people every day but the author has a way that makes us want to know them.

As I said above, if this is truly the end of the Ellery men than it is a lovely exit.  Who knows, maybe if we ask nicely we'll see them all again in one of RJ's lovely holiday stories, Christmas Comes to Ellery Mountain? 😉*hint hint* 😉 Whatever happens to the men, The Saint & the Sinner is a lovely read that brightened my day and I'm already looking forward to re-reading and re-visiting Ellery for years to come.


The Gardener and the Marine #9
Original Review August 2021:
I've loved RJ Scott's Ellery Mountain series ever since I first discovered it 6 years ago, so to find there was going to be new entries, needless to say I was ecstatic.  The Gardener and the Marine was first available as weekly installments with the author's newsletter, however I didn't take the opportunity to read it that way.  At first, time just got away from me and then I decided that RJ Scott's works are often a can't-put-it-down read for me so I decided to wait until completed.

However you chose to read it, Toby and Harrison's journey is brilliant!

I won't go into many details, not that this is a mystery or anything like that and we all know her stories are HEA but the mens' journey is so heartwarming, there are moments some might call heartbreaking but I would use the term "heart-hurting", I just don't want to spoil even the tiniest moments.  Harrison is at the heart of the story with his learning to live life with brain injury and loss, I couldn't help but want to wrap him up in Mama Bear Hugs to protect him but he has Barney for that.  I've read stories before with therapy animals but there was just something about the way the author brought Barney's presence to the the table you felt like he was right there next to you, helping you through the story as well.

I grew up a farmer's daughter and when my mother became ill my parents shifted from a grain & feed crops to a vegetable/fruit farm.  My mom was to ill to work the farm but she did the business side as we sold fruit and veggies to local stores.  I mention this because I could see first hand how farmlife and gardening helped all three of us accept her health situation.  So seeing Toby realize how the family business of gardening helps his brother live with autism and turn it into therapy for the Ellery Mountain Veterans Center really spoke to me.  The connection the garden creates between Toby and Harrison is beautifully written as well as giving Harrison an opportunity to strengthen his mind and body made this story even stronger.

The Gardener and the Marine, simply put, is a truly wonderful, touching, heartfelt gem from beginning to end.

A last note, if you haven't read Ellery Mountain before, it's not a series you have to read from the beginning as each entry focuses on a different couple.  Personally, I can't imagine not reading it in order just because I'm a series-read-in-order kind of gal but it's not necessary, you won't be lost, yes previous characters make appearances but again knowing their story or not doesn't effect the story you choose to read.  However you choose to read this series, I highly recommend definitely doing so.

RATING:




The Teacher and the Soldier #2
Only the darkening sky told Luke Fitzgerald what time it was. His cell was in the car with a dead battery and he never wore a watch. The evening was drawing in, and with it the familiar coolness of a fall night in the mountains, and if he wasn’t careful he would get caught in the regular evening rain he remembered from his childhood. Coming here, to Ellery, to the place he’d called home for the first eighteen years of his life, was something he had never thought he would do. Not all the time his dad had been alive anyway.

Leaning against the fence, he stared down at the town nestled in the V of the valley caused by Ellery Mountain and Mercury Peak. Where he had been able to see things clearly a few short minutes before, now everything was blurring in the deep grey-blue smudge of evening light. Luke tracked the car’s progress by its headlights as it left the town and made its way up into the mountain. There had been a few cars passing by today, but Luke was far enough away from the road that no one had stopped to ask him what the hell he was doing rooted to the same spot for hours.

Shifting his stance, Luke pulled away from the fence and stretched tall. His back ached, his head hurt and he felt like shit. Driving straight through for eight hours was possibly the worst decision he had made since he’d decided to come back to Ellery. His chiropractor was going to have a cow when he assessed the damage Luke was doing to the already heavy tension he carried through his back muscles and up into his neck.

The headlights shot momentarily through spaces in the fir trees on each bend. He identified it on the last bend as a cop car, the white standing out against the dark of the trees. When it pulled onto the shoulder next to his car, Luke wasn’t surprised. Cops were far more attuned to spotting cars parked off the main road. The lights of the car meant he didn’t get a good look at the cop until he was less than four paces away. The cop stood loose-hipped and with his hand resting on the weapon in his holster. Peering through the gloom to the cop’s face, Luke knew that fate was fucking with him. Not only had an Ellery cop found his hiding place, but that Ellery cop was Corporal Finn Ryan.

Finn Ryan in the flesh. The man who was so closely involved in the death of Luke’s dad. Christ. Way to slap what Luke had hoped to avoid right up in his face.

"Is there a problem, sir?" Finn asked firmly.

Luke pushed his clenched fists into his pockets and stilled the rising anxiety in him.

"No problem, officer," he said. "Just visiting town and spending a little time clearing my head after a long drive."

Finn took another step closer and a look of recognition passed over his face. Luke remembered Finn as tall, dark and rangy as hell, although his memories were of a boy of fifteen, not one of…what would it be now? Twenty-four? He’d been five years younger than Luke if he remembered correctly. Luke really didn’t want to remember anything about Ellery.

"Luke?" Finn looked momentarily taken aback before regaining his posture.

"Hi, Finn."

They’d not been friends in school, just people who knew each other by sight. Luke was at college whilst Finn was still a freshman. Of course Finn, being a resident, would have heard all the rumours about him and his dad. Hell, he probably knew everything that had happened. Familiar resentment built inside Luke. He was bigger than that, bigger than his dad’s abuse, or his mom’s abandonment, bigger than this town. He would not let this place drag him down again however hard they tried.

"You missed the funeral," Finn offered. There was no accusation in his voice. He was simply making a statement and one that hung in the air with no possible answer Luke could give. Or at least not one that didn’t involve reiterating the contents of two years of counselling sessions and eight years of living his life.

"Busy," was all Luke eventually offered in response. Finn didn’t call him on the excuse.

"You’ve been up here a while, Luke. Widow Jenn called it in. Said a stranger had been standing here for hours and he was just staring down at town."

Luke shrugged. He couldn’t deny the hours had passed as he’d gazed down at the town and the tiny distant shapes of gravestones in the far churchyard of St Jeremiahs. He had deliberately stayed up here until darkness had begun to creep over the mountain. Call it self-preservation but there was no way he was driving into Ellery in the daylight. He changed the subject.

"Widow Jenn is still alive?" he said. Finn took the change of subject in his stride and nodded.

"Ninety-eight and thriving on ten a day with a glass of whisky," he said.

"She still has those binoculars?" Luke snorted a laugh. Widow Jenn was one of the more colourful characters in the town and when he was younger she’d had her fingers in so many pies—evidently that hadn’t changed.



The Barman and the Seal #6
The cold was biting. The cutting wind carried ice and snow high up in the Salang Pass three thousand metres up in the Afghan Mountains northwest of the capital Kabul. Normally his captors covered him—they would tell him in their broken English they weren’t completely lost to conventions of how to look after prisoners. But tonight was different. From the vantage point in the centre of the camp, two feet off the ground in the small metal and wood cage, he could see them drinking and the campfire that warmed them was the only light in this small unsheltered area. Tents flapped in the wind and the raucous laughter was enough for him to know they’d probably stumble to their tents in drunken stupor. The SEAL wasn’t important. He called for help. No one heard him or brought over the tarpaulin that was his only protection against the night.

He had curled over seven of his ten fingers when the sun rose this morning. Yesterday it had been six fingers to count the passing of time. Seven days in this place and the infections in his leg and arm were nothing to the rattling cough that had his chest squeezing in pain and his back in spasms. He shifted to find comfort and ended up twisted like a pretzel in the five-foot cube with his back to the worst of the snow. His cold weather gear, including his boots, had long ago been shared out to the rebels and he was left in combat pants, a tee and his thin under-jacket. Sneakers finished off the protection for his skin. He was fucked and he knew it. Even if someone got him out, even if any of his team had survived, he was broken in half by this place.

The pain in his back increased and he heard the inhuman whimper that left his mouth. He needed antibiotics and pain meds. Little by little his humanity was being stripped from him. He was dying—an hour at a time the ice was burning his skin and he curled his hands and feet so he wouldn’t lose them to frostbite.

Feebly he rocked in the cage, hoping the whole thing would topple on its side. Then if it crashed to the floor at least someone could possibly cover him from the snow and ice. A lethargy stole over him. He should be trying to get out, but there was no point. He’d seen the explosion, seen the mountain fall, crushing the team—he was lucky he’d been covering their six and his only open injury was the evil laceration from his knee to his ankle that now oozed pus and hurt like a bitch. All his equipment gone. Any hope gone.

He was sweating and bile rose in him, but his stomach was empty. He didn’t fight the retching or the pain—if he concentrated hard enough on home, on the hills and valleys of Virginia, then he could at least escape in his mind. He stretched his legs and the extremities of the cage held him solid. Pinned.

He cried…

Then he woke up in a bed thousands of miles away. He couldn’t see the stars through the bars of a cage, or feel icy wind bite into his skin. He was safe.

* * * * *

"Hey," Daniel said from the stove. Travis almost turned on his heel and left the kitchen. It was three a.m.—no one was supposed to be up. Especially not Daniel with his sensitive observations, his no-nonsense assessments and his damn understanding green-eyed gaze.

"Hey," Travis said in reply. He felt like shit. The dream of being back in that place, with the pain—and the crying—had wrenched him from sleep. Again. He couldn’t remember the last full night of sleep he’d had.

"You want hot chocolate?" Daniel asked. He shook the tin of chocolate powder in front of his face and smiled. "I can’t promise cream and marshmallows like Luke uses, but I can mix hot water and powder."

Travis debated. Saying yes meant Daniel and he would probably have to talk. Travis didn’t want to talk. His throat was still clogged with tears and his head and shoulders ached with tension. Damned sleeping pills weren’t even working if the terror in his head could drag him so sharply out of sleep. Sickness rolled in his stomach as the thought of chocolate hit his mind. Can’t even drink fucking hot chocolate. For fuck’s sake.

"I just came in for some water," Travis lied. "Need to take some pain pills." Why did he do that? Why did he even talk let alone elaborate. Yes, he could get water in his own room, but he could have got away with no more talking if Daniel had just accepted his excuse. But no—idiot—he had to go and mention pain. Daniel made that patented frowning face of his then nodded. The frown was so quick it was blink and you miss it, and though Travis may well be a fucked-up, washed-up ex-SEAL, he still had the ability to read expressions in a millisecond.

"Cool" was all Daniel said. He didn’t push on the pain meds or the fact Travis was awake or that he probably looked like shit. He was soaked through with sweat and he knew from looking in the mirror that his face had a gaunt, haunted look. Five weeks he’d been here in the middle of freaking nowhere at this place and every single night he’d had these dreams. Afghanistan would never leave him—the scars on his body and in his mind a permanent reminder.

Pathetic. You cry like a freaking girl.

He crossed to the sink, pulled down a glass and filled it with water. Then quietly and with a soft goodnight he left the kitchen and made his way back to his room. A hot drink would have relaxed him maybe. His mom had this way of adding cinnamon to hot chocolate and he needed that connection. He’d talked himself out of his room on the promise of finding god damned cinnamon.

Freak.



The Sinner and the Saint #8
Chapter 1
Loud banging, with added yelling, pulled Nick out of a nightmare. After a restless, irritable, crunchy-messy night of tossing and turning, he had finally fallen asleep some time before dawn, and now at fuck o’clock in the morning there was knocking at the front door. And some asshole shouting words that he couldn’t make out. Was this part of his dream? He couldn’t tell.

For the longest time he lay flat on his back, unwilling to move. The sheets were wrapped around him like a mummy, the quilt on the floor, and he was still in that half world between nightmare and reality. Even closing his eyes didn’t help dispel the vivid images of him walking up to the Oscar podium completely naked and with the Queen pointing and laughing at him.

Naked as the day he was born, hanging loose and free, and no one saying a thing. Apart from the laughing that was. Like it was okay that one of the Oscar nominees was walking up the steps free of any and all clothing.

Not to mention no one commented on the Queen throwing popcorn at him.

Yep, it had been that kind of nightmare, and it wasn’t the first time he’d had it. And where the Oscar fear came from he didn’t know. There would never be a chance of an Oscar for. Not for the guy whose acting career had happened by accident and formed only because of a personal rebellion against his straight laced family. His resume included two sequels to the highly profitable, but formulaic, shit-bad, Angels of Bedlam franchise, with his entire fee going charity because he didn’t need the money.

Nick hadn’t been in the first UK funded Bedlam film. Said film had been praised for its ingenious twist on a dark horror romance. No, he was the handy British villain in the next two, the studio cashing in on any money that was left out there in a saturated market by ticking all the boxes. Explosions, tick. Strong, but mostly naked, female lead, tick. Sexy down on his luck, in te wrong place at the wrong time, male lead, tick.

And him, the ubiquitous bad guy with the English accent.

The follow up were certainly not Oscar material, and once Nick pulled his fragmented sleep-addled thoughts into line, he focused on the statistical likelihood of even being nominated for an Oscar in the first place, let alone accepting it naked.

“Fuck me,” he muttered to the empty room and rolled onto his front. The banging had stopped and no one actually knew he was here, so, he wasn’t going to answer the door in a place that wasn’t even his.

Jason McInnery and his husband, Kieran, lived in this stunning home, in the small town of Ellery, Tennessee. Glass floor to ceiling, wide open rooms, a pool in the garden, and the most comprehensive jungle gym he’d ever seen for Jason and Kieran’s son, Jonas. Even the damn guest room was beautiful, a huge wood carving took up nearly one wall, and the view from the window out to the mountain was stunning. At least that was the adjective he was supposed to use for what he could see. Objectively, he could see it was spectacular, but was too lost in confusion since he got here to think about it too much. A quick glance at the clock showed him it was five am, like midnight or something back in London, and still dark in the shadow of the mountain, so he rolled over and pulled the covers up to his neck.

Even in the middle of the chaotic remnants of his nightmare he welcomed the heat that cocooned him and willed the knocking to stop. Which it did. The mess of dreams forgotten, he drifted on as many good thoughts as he could muster and was very nearly asleep when the banging started up again. He groaned and hid his face under the pillow, willing the person creating the noise to go away. Then it ceased again, and he closed his eyes, but didn’t remove the pillow. Dawn was too close now and the room would fill with light because he hadn’t even taken the time to pull the drapes.

Unfortunately, his bladder had other ideas about what he needed to do, and cursing, he grabbed the sheets and untwisted himself. Feet planted on the floor he scrubbed a hand over his face, the untamed beard was just another reminder of everything that was horribly wrong about his life right now. Normally he would have just the right amount of stubble, but the last instalment of Angels of Bedlam, cunningly entitled, Bedlam Adrift, called for him to be a castaway, hence the beard, which he’d left to tangle.

No point in worrying about it anyway. He’d left London to get away from paparazzi, and their incessant need for more, and he was in unofficial hiding. Therefore, no one would see his beard, or his bloodshot eyes.

He caught sight of himself in the mirror.

“Jesus, you look fucked.”

Bedhead. Bags under his eyes. Beard. It was a whole cacophony of B-shit. Yawning widely, he padded across the bedroom to the half bath, emptying his bladder and washing his hands. He’d gone to bed as nature intended. Well, warm nature anyway, completely naked, which probably led to nightmare. Packing back home had been done in less than five minutes, his priority was money, passport, his phone, his laptop and associated chargers. It seemed like his messed-up head hadn’t thought any kind of pajamas were needed, or indeed underwear.

The next choice was shower or bed, and the exhaustion of the past few days, the media attention, making sure Heather was okay, fleeing the UK, ending up here in the middle of rural Tennessee, it was all too much and he sighed.

“Bed it is,” he muttered to his reflection. As soon as he woke up he was going online to order everything he’d forgot to pack. Jason had said to help himself to anything he needed but helping himself to his friend’s clothes didn’t feel right.

He yawned again, and stepped out into the cooler bedroom, eyes only half open.

“Hands where I can see them,” someone shouted, and Nick, startled, his heart pounding, fell backwards into the bathroom, catching himself on the jamb as best he could. He blinked to focus on the man in front of him.

The cop.

The gun.

The cop holding a gun on him. Immediately he raised his hands, and then lowered them to cover his junk, and then raised them again when the cop didn’t move.



The Gardener and the Marine #9
I didn’t look at them, let alone talk to them, and even though I sensed Daniel wanted to ask me if I was okay, I ignored him and was quickly halfway up the stairs, my hand on Barney’s collar, hoping like hell for my leg not to buckle. He didn’t call up after me. No one shouted in this place, because it was an oasis of peace and a secure shelter for all those damaged vets who’d been chewed up and spit out by war.

When my recollection of why I was here hit me front and center, I counted myself as one of the lucky ones to find a place to hide. I wasn’t a danger to anyone else, but I was a danger to myself. The night terrors, the panic attacks, the stupid fucking inability to be a goddamned man—that was why I was there. The hospital staff healed my body to the best of their ability, the shrinks attempted to fix my head, but I didn’t have peace, and Barney was the only thing I cared about.

Caring got you hurt, and I was too raw to extend any affection or understanding to anyone but Barney.

I slumped onto my bed, then flopped backward, hands extended to each edge, Barney jumping up and curling himself right into my side. My heart raced, my head hurt, but once I matched my breathing to Barney’s and allowed his presence to soothe me, I began to calm.

“Danno, Brat, Diaz, Spook, and me,” I whispered into the room. “Danno, Brat, Diaz, Spook, and me.” The names of the fallen were a reminder of what I’d seen and lost and were a way to connect with the world around me. Other people grieved Danno and Brat’s loss—they’d only been kids both of them with big families. Diaz had a girlfriend who blamed me for her beloved dying on my watch. Spook had been married no more than a month and had left a pregnant wife behind.

I had my mom, but I’d pushed her away when I was in hospital. I know that because it’s written in my book. 

Why didn’t the explosion take me?



Ellery Mountain—a series of books set in the town of Ellery in the Smoky Mountains focusing on heroes as they navigate the barren landscape of being gay in a small town. Read stories of men like Finn the cop, Daniel the ex-marine, Kieran the carpenter, Marines, SEALs, teachers, soldiers, and a town that embraces them with love.

**The Soldier and the Bodyguard - available for pre-order for June 17 release**



Author Bio:
Writing love stories with a happy ever after – cowboys, heroes, family, hockey, single dads, bodyguards

USA Today bestselling author RJ Scott has written over one hundred romance books. Emotional stories of complicated characters, cowboys, single dads, hockey players, millionaires, princes, bodyguards, Navy SEALs, soldiers, doctors, paramedics, firefighters, cops, and the men who get mixed up in their lives, always with a happy ever after.

She lives just outside London and spends every waking minute she isn’t with family either reading or writing. The last time she had a week’s break from writing, she didn’t like it one little bit, and she has yet to meet a box of chocolates she couldn’t defeat.


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The Teacher and the Soldier #2

The Barman and the Seal #6

The Sinner and the Saint #8

The Gardener and the Marine #9

Series
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