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An Officer And Her Gentleman
Amy Woods
LOVE ON FOUR PAWSReadjusting to civilian life has been a struggle for former Army medic Avery Abbott. Back home for two years now, she still struggles with her worsening PTSD. And then a shaggy mutt named Foggy – and handsome dog trainer Isaac Meyer – change everything.From the moment Isaac finds beautiful Avery, scared and shaking on a rural country road, he feels a connection he can’t explain. Isaac vows to help her rebuild her life. What he doesn’t expect is that the sensitive veteran he has rescued is going to rescue his own heart right back…
“And are you now?” Avery asked, her light blond eyebrows furrowed.
“Am I what?”
“You know,” she said, as if he held the key to some mystery she didn’t quite dare talk about. “Happy.”
He stopped walking and turned to face her, thinking in silence for a moment, lost in the blue-gray storm clouds in her eyes.
“That’s a complicated question, isn’t it?”
“Not particularly,” she challenged, a twinge of sorrow in her voice.
“Well, then, perhaps it’s the answer that’s complicated.”
“Yes, maybe so, but I still want to know—are you happy, Isaac Meyer?”
In her question, Isaac sensed she was really asking something else—something along the lines of was it possible that she’d ever be happy again?—and he wanted, badly, for her to believe that, yes, she could be. Yes, despite everything that had happened to her, despite all the evil he could assume she’d witnessed, she could indeed find happiness again …
* * *
Peach Leaf, Texas: Where true love blooms
An Officer and Her Gentleman
Amy Woods
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
AMY WOODS took the scenic route to becoming an author. She’s been a bookkeeper, a high school English teacher and a claims specialist, but now that she makes up stories for a living, she’s never giving it up. She grew up in Austin, Texas, and lives there with her wonderfully goofy, supportive husband and a spoiled rescue dog. Amy can be reached on Facebook, Twitter and her website, www.amywoodsbooks.com (http://www.amywoodsbooks.com).
For Mason Dixon, US Navy, with love and respect.
And to Renee Senn, LCSW, for her generous help with research. Any errors are mine.
Contents
Cover (#uc8677590-9e6a-590b-889f-2f8147ba12ef)
Introduction (#u434a10ee-769f-5788-8e6c-895430d737fe)
Title Page (#u012898c9-d187-58bf-bf79-747ae2669dff)
About the Author (#ub1fa3135-3661-5a1d-b2ec-7a5c844468e9)
Dedication (#u6778ae2c-a381-5201-b1d7-006a01cad007)
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Epilogue
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#u9bc9e2c7-cb80-59b4-a2bb-32f58adca267)
A blast rang out in the still night air, rattling windows and setting off the bark alarm of every canine within a mile radius.
In a small guest room of her younger brother’s ranch-style home, Avery Abbott’s eyes shot open as she was ripped suddenly from what had passed as sleep for the past few months—a shallow, daydream-like consciousness that really didn’t qualify as true rest.
Pulse thumping against her temples, Avery kicked her legs free from tangled sheets and fumbled in the darkness for the baseball bat she kept nearby, cursing when her fingers didn’t grasp it immediately. Her nerves had always been her biggest weakness during army basic training. Even the tiniest spark of fear or anxiety could transform her otherwise capable hands into jelly. The slightest hesitation or worry over a possible imperfection had the potential to eradicate months of training in an instant, leaving Avery, who was at the top of her class, one of only a handful of females in a company dominated by males, frozen and utterly useless. It hadn’t happened often during her service, but the occasion it did stood out in her memory, far above her many accomplishments.
Seconds, Abbott—her sergeant’s voice boomed through her brain as Avery finally gripped solid material and held it poised—seconds mean the difference between the life and death of your comrades.
As she made her way from her room into the hallway, through the house and out the front door into a thick darkness punctuated by only a thin sliver of light from the waning crescent moon, her nightmare blended seamlessly with reality.
Her brother’s small farmhouse and the old red barn disappeared as Avery stalked the grounds, weapon firm and steady against her side, its material solid and reliable in her grip, searching for the source of the noise that had awoken her and threatened the safety of her fellow soldiers.
When the flashback gripped Avery, it was no longer cool, wheat-colored, late-autumn grass her bare feet plodded through, but the warm desert sand of a country in which she’d served three tours.
She wasn’t safe at home in Peach Leaf, Texas, anymore, but a stranger in a foreign land, her vulnerability evident in every accented word she spoke, in her uniform, in the caution she knew flickered behind her eyes each time she faced a potential enemy.
She would be okay, she thought, pacing the too-quiet darkness, so long as she didn’t run into any kids.
The women and children were the worst part of combat. You never knew whose thumb they were under, who controlled their futures...who’d robbed them of their innocence, threatened their families if met with anything but obedience, and turned them into soldiers to be sacrificed without a choice.
Regardless of where their loyalties were planted, they were children... It didn’t make sense to hold them responsible for their misguided actions.
Avery wanted to bring the many homeless ones back with her when she returned to the US. She had something in common with them. She knew what it was like to be an orphan, to feel alone in the world, unprotected.
Once, before she’d been adopted by a loving couple, the birth parents of her brother, Tommy, Avery, too, had known firsthand what it was to be without a family.
But that was a long time ago, and now she needed to focus on the threat at hand. Still holding her weapon, she used her forearm to brush a strand of long blond hair out of her eyes. When she’d tumbled from bed, she hadn’t time to twist her hair into its customary bun. There was only room in her brain for one objective: locate and—if necessary—eradicate the cause of the blast.
She paced silently through the muggy night air, the blanket of darkness hiding any detail so that all she could see were the shapes of unfamiliar objects.
In her mind, it was her first week in Afghanistan, and she was afraid.
Despite extensive predeployment training, nothing could have prepared her for what it would feel like to be hunted. She knew she shouldn’t be outside of her bunker alone, but evidently no one else had heard the explosion, and for all she knew her team could be in danger at that very moment.
So First Lieutenant Avery Abbott pressed on through the black night, searching, searching, searching.
* * *
Isaac Meyer was humming along to the local country music station when a rear tire blew out just a quarter mile away from home, causing his truck to skid into a ditch on the side of the road.
Only seconds passed before he got it under control and pulled to a stop, but they felt like hours.
“You okay, girl?” he asked his backseat passenger, still trying to deep breathe his way back to a normal heart rate. His palms were shaking and slick with sweat despite feeling like ice, and his brain was still too rattled to discern whether or not he was okay. But he needed to know if his best friend was all right before he made a single move.
He turned and still couldn’t see her. Then Jane gave an uncharacteristically high-pitched woof from the seat directly behind him, letting Isaac know she was startled, but the absence of any cries of pain settled his stomach a little, and a second later her sandpaper tongue swept along his elbow.
Isaac heaved a sigh of relief and unbuckled his seat belt before getting out of the truck to check on his companion.
As soon as he moved up his seat to let her out, Jane bounded straight into his arms and both dog and human crashed to the ground in a heap.
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” Isaac said, stroking Janie’s coat and feeling her limbs and ribs for any injuries. “I sure am glad you’re not hurt.”
His statement was conservative. They were damn lucky to be okay. After all, it was pitch dark on the gravel country road to his ranch house; even with his bright headlights on, they could have hit just about anything swerving into that ditch. Not to mention they’d have to walk home now, and Isaac was bone tired after a long day on his feet at work. All he wanted was a cold beer and his bed. He could only imagine that Jane, who’d worked just as hard as he had training a new puppy for a recently returned veteran, felt the same.
“All right, girl,” Isaac said, attaching Jane’s leash to her collar. “Let me just grab my stuff from the truck and we’ll head home the old-fashioned way.”
He’d only gotten as far as reaching into the cab before Jane erupted into a low growl, followed by loud, staccato warning barks.
A tingle of apprehension fluttered up Isaac’s spine and the tiny hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention.
Jane wasn’t the sort to cry wolf; she wouldn’t give a warning unless she’d seen, heard or smelled something beyond the range of Isaac’s senses.
“What is it, girl?” he whispered, turning to peer into the curtain of trees on the other side of the ditch while reaching under the driver’s seat of his truck for the hunting knife he kept there. Jane would have to be his eyes and ears. He couldn’t see squat with everything obscured by the thick darkness.
The dog let out another growl and raised her hackles.
Finally, Isaac caught sight of something moving in the blackness. He squinted, trying to see a little better, as a shadowy form emerged from along the tree line. His instinct was to simply shout out a greeting. This was Peach Leaf, after all. The idea of a prowler out on the lonely ranch road leading to his home was almost laughable. But until he got a better look at whatever or whoever was traipsing through the night, he’d be wise to assume the worst.
Suddenly, the figure—almost certainly human, he could now tell—crouched down low and crawled quickly toward the ditch. Jane barked furiously at this new development and tugged at her leash to be set free so she could investigate. But a threat to Isaac was a threat to her, so he called her to his side and patted the truck seat. Jane gave a whimper of protest but obeyed, jumping up into the cab. Isaac quickly rolled down the window an inch and locked the door, pocketing his keys and knife.
He expected more movement from the ditch, but all remained still. Part of him knew it wasn’t too bright to follow up on whatever or whomever lay there in the dirt, but he didn’t have much of a choice. If he and Jane headed off down the road toward home, whatever it was might follow, and he’d rather deal with it now than have to look over his shoulder on his way back to the house or potentially deal with a break-in later in the night. On the other hand, it could be some runaway kid, lost or potentially hurt, and he wouldn’t be able to sleep wondering if he might have been able to help one of his community members.
He realized he’d been standing still while he thought this through, but that settled it, so he grabbed his cell phone from his back pocket and turned on the flashlight app. The low-battery warning flashed across the screen a second later and Isaac cursed under his breath.
He told Jane he’d be right back and climbed up out of their place in the ditch so he could walk along the edge. That way, he’d have the upper hand once he made it to wherever it was, and if Jane started barking again, he could run right back to the truck.
He stepped slowly, holding the light out in front of him until he spotted a dark lump, stopping abruptly to get a better look.
“What the—” he murmured, powerless to make sense of what he saw until it moved, which didn’t help at all as things only became less clear.
The thing was a woman, Isaac realized.
For a full minute, he simply stood there, unable to pick up his suddenly leaden feet. His heart might have kicked up its pace again at the sight of her, if it hadn’t already tumbled down into his stomach.
Being the youngest child, and still single, despite the town’s many ill-advised attempts to remedy that situation, Isaac had never had anyone to protect. He had Jane, of course, but the spitfire dog who’d landed on his doorstep a few years back, demanding a home, had always done a damn good job of looking out for herself—and now she lived in the lap of luxury, spoiled beyond belief by her human.
But he’d never really experienced that protective instinct, had never known the feeling that another person relied on him for safety.
Until now.
For some reason—as he stared down into that ditch at the pathetically thin, shaking woman curled into a ball there—a fierce burning sensation flooded his insides.
He didn’t know who she was, or what in the hell she was doing there, but somehow something outside of him pulled Isaac toward her.
Somehow, he knew she needed him.
* * *
When the flashback subsided and Avery finally came to, she had no earthly idea where she was.
This wasn’t the first time it had happened.
It wouldn’t be the last.
She closed her eyes and pulled in a deep breath, but, as usual, the terrible shaking wouldn’t cease. The air around her was humid, and a warm spring breeze rustled through some nearby trees every now and then, but inside Avery was freezing, even as sweat rolled down her arms.
Too-skinny arms, Tommy would say. She was thankful every day that he’d let her live in his house when things had become...too much...but sometimes his constant concern for her—the endless checking up to see if she was okay—was another kind of too much.
“Ma’am?”
The male voice came from somewhere above her head and, within seconds, Avery had uncurled from her position and bolted upright to face its owner.
The last time she’d had an episode, her sister-in-law, Macy, had found Avery in Sylvia’s room. That was plenty awkward, especially when the two women had to work out how to explain to Avery’s five-year-old niece why her aunt was crouched, armed, in the child’s bedroom closet.
