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He’s looking for roots. She won’t be tied down.
Army ranger Travis Hammond needs to heal physical and emotional wounds. A job in Covenant Falls checking out equine therapy programs for veterans is a start, but it’s only temporary. And he doesn’t need a partner, especially some reporter with the persistence of a terrier and irresistible green eyes. Like Travis, Jenny Talbot’s just passing through town. Unlike Travis, Jenny knows exactly where she’s going next—back to the Middle East, as soon as she recovers from her own war injury. But there’s a bend in the road for both of them.
USA TODAY bestselling author PATRICIA POTTER has been telling stories since the second grade when she wrote a short story about wild horses, although she knew nothing at all about them. She has since received numerous writing awards, including RT Book Reviews’ Storyteller of the Year, its Career Achievement Award for Western Historical Romance and Best Hero of the Year. She is a seven-time RITA® Award finalist for RWA and a three-time Maggie Award winner, as well as a past president of Romance Writers of America. Character motivation is what intrigues her most in creating a book, and she sits back and allows those characters to write their own stories.
Also By Patricia Potter
Home to Covenant Falls
The Soldier’s Promise
Tempted by the Soldier
A Soldier’s Journey
The SEAL’s Return
The Lawman
Swampfire
Between the Thunder
Samara
Seize the Fire
Chase the Thunder
Dragonfire
The Silver Link
The Abduction
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.
The Soldier’s Homecoming
Patricia Potter
www.millsandboon.co.uk
ISBN: 978-1-474-08291-4
THE SOLDIER’S HOMECOMING
© 2018 Patricia Potter
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk
Version: 2020-03-02
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He clutched the towel closer to his body. “I have to put some clothes on.”
“You’re fine, but if you would be more comfortable...” Mischief danced in her eyes.
He’d thought no woman could stomach what had happened to his body, the scars left by remnants of a rocket. But then Jenny had experienced combat herself even if she’d been an observer rather than participant. Maybe the wound made her a participant.
Still, he couldn’t believe that any woman would actually be comfortable with the scars.
As if reading his thoughts, Jenny touched his chest and ran a finger down it, arousing all sorts of reactions. “You have great muscles and all the important stuff,” she said as she continued to study him. “I like your face a lot, too,” she added with a grin.
Damn, but she knew how to get inside his head. “Are you finished with your survey?”
“I’m getting there,” she said. “I have a few scars of my own, you know.”
Dear Reader,
I usually start a book by living with the hero and heroine for a month or more before starting a manuscript. After that, the story is up to them, and it rarely turns out the way I first envisioned. Any resemblance to the original idea is purely coincidental.
So it was with this book. The characters just didn’t want to do what I originally thought they would do. Travis, a Special Forces major, objected to being wounded in spirit as well as body. Jenny, a war correspondent who was wounded while covering a story, turned out to be equally stubborn. I never knew what she was going to do or say next.
The book has a special place in my heart. In the past, I’ve tried not to put myself in a book, but I failed this time. Jenny has a lot of me in her. She is a reporter (which was my original career), and I know the type well. Unbridled curiosity is the reporter’s—and writer’s—most valuable asset. Jenny takes this quality to the extreme. She wants to know everything about everyone, which can be quite annoying. And then the story she’s chasing is always more important than anything else, including relationships.
In The Soldier’s Homecoming, I turned her loose on an unsuspecting cast of characters and watched her change others as well as herself. I hope you like her as much as I enjoyed bringing her to life.
And this time I’m also sharing my newly adopted elderly citizen rescue dog, Anna, with you. Like Anna in the book, it was love at first sight.
Patricia Potter
This book is dedicated to the men and women who better the lives of veterans through many Horses for Heroes programs throughout the country.
Contents
Cover
Back Cover Text
About the Author
Booklist
Title Page
Copyright
Introduction
Dear Reader
Dedication
PROLOGUE
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
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
EPILOGUE
Extract
About the Publisher
PROLOGUE
Aleppo, Syria
JENNY TALBOT KNEW she was in trouble the moment she heard the sound of approaching aircraft.
The sound grew thunderous as four planes appeared in the sky over Aleppo, leaving a trail of explosions in their wake. They were heading straight at her.
A cease-fire was supposed to have been declared while volunteer medical personnel tended the wounded in one of the few remaining makeshift hospitals in the doomed Syrian city.
The volunteer doctors and nurses, who had just arrived in a marked medical convoy, scattered, seeking cover. She and Rick Cowan, also a freelance journalist, were accompanying them. Although they worked for different news services, they had been together when they heard about the medical mission to Aleppo. It hadn’t been easy to get permission from the supporting agency, but the promise of alerting the world to conditions in a city caught in the cross fire of three ruthless armies finally won them approval. It was emphasized that it was at their own risk.
So much for cease-fires.
As explosions grew louder, Jenny and Rick ran for cover with Ali, their driver and translator. All three ducked behind a pile of rubble that had once been a house.
Jenny instinctively grabbed the camera that hung around her neck and under the hijab she wore to cover her flaming red hair. Out of habit, she took several rapid shots of people fleeing among burning buildings and vehicles. She wanted proof of the violation of the cease fire.
Ali turned to them. “I go get jeep,” he shouted over the noise, then sprinted around the rubble. Jenny regretted now that he’d hid the jeep several blocks down to avoid thieves.
A little girl suddenly ran into the road, screaming as another explosion threw rocks and flaming shrapnel in every direction. The girl fell, her arms reaching out as if for help. Jenny saw bright red blood flow from the child’s leg.
A doctor turned back toward her but he was too far away. Jenny instinctively rose from her position and started to climb over the rubble to go after the child. Rick pulled her down. “Stay here, dammit,” he said. “I’ll go.”
As he started to scramble over the rubble, she followed. Another group of planes roared over them, raining more fire on the street. Explosions deafened her. Chunks of flaming metal flew through the air. Two cars and an ambulance used by the doctors burst into flames. She struggled to the top of the debris. Dust and smoke was everywhere. She couldn’t see the child.
“We’ve got to find her,” she said to Rick. A trailing plane came in low and dropped its munitions. The building across the street sustained a direct hit and started to crumple.
“I have to find the girl,” she shouted to Rick.
“You’ll be killed out there,” Rick shouted and pushed her down. “Nothing can survive out there right now. They’re pounding that street.”
She huddled against the rubble as heat seared her, gluing her tan T-shirt to her body. She wore a flak vest over the T-shirt and BDU pants, which she had selected for the additional pockets. The pockets were filled with everything she needed to do her job, from cell phone, notebooks and pens to a small recorder.
“The hospital?” she asked Rick, just as another explosion tore up the wreckage, only a few yards from them. The heat burned her arm, and the impact threw her back against a pile of debris. Her shoulder felt on fire, the skin burning. She looked down at her shoulder to see metal protruding from a jagged wound. She stared at it for a moment, and then the pain hit.
Rick uttered a curse as he scooted over to her to study the wound. “I’m afraid if I remove it, you’ll bleed out,” he said. “I’ll try to get one of the doctors. Ali should be back here with the jeep.”
He bolted over what was now a wall of broken cement, and she clenched her teeth to stop from moving, from crying out. The pain grew worse. She could smell her own burned skin.
She couldn’t tell how large the piece of shrapnel was inside, but she knew that the medical people, if they were still alive, were going to be busy with wounds worse than this.
She also knew they couldn’t stay here. Syrian troops or ISIS fighters often followed the planes, killing those the planes missed.
She didn’t know how long Rick was gone. It seemed like hours before he appeared over the wall. “They can’t come,” he said. “Three of them are wounded, and the others are busy trying to keep all the civilians alive. They’re afraid soldiers will follow the bombs.”
“The little girl?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t see her on the street and it was too crowded in the hospital. Right now, we have to get you out of here.”
He didn’t have to explain more. She knew what might await her as an American woman.
“They gave me some pills, burn salve and pressure bandages,” he said. “I was told to get you to a refugee camp as fast as possible. I found Ali. He and the jeep are pretty close.” He hesitated, and then he added, “I have to pull that piece of metal out. The jolting in the jeep could do even more damage.”
Jenny understood. She’d been under fire before. She knew the risks.
“Do you think you can walk if I help? I can take out that shrapnel when we get to the jeep.”
She nodded. She had to. There was no way Rick could carry her any distance. He didn’t weigh much more than she did.
He handed her a canteen and several pills. Painkillers and antibiotics, she assumed. After she swallowed them, he helped her to her feet. She barely made it. The rocks and ruined buildings were going in and out of focus. One step, and then another. You have to do this.
No one paid attention to them as they stumbled through debris toward the jeep. It took every ounce of Jenny’s strength to put one foot ahead of the other as pain coursed through her, growing stronger by the minute. Only Rick’s steady arm kept her upright.
She was beyond grateful when she saw Ali and the jeep. But she didn’t say anything. She couldn’t. It was all she could do to stay upright. A few more steps. Gunshots. Behind them.
Everything dimmed...
CHAPTER ONE
Walter Reed Hospital Rehabilitation Unit
LIFE WILL NEVER be the same.
Major Travis Hammond leaned on his crutches and watched a young corporal take halting steps on a new prosthesis that substituted for a right leg. Danny Ware’s face was contorted with determination as he tried to walk without hanging onto the bars.
In the months they’d shared these rehab facilities, along with other wounded soldiers, Travis had grown fond of Danny. Maybe because of the kid’s unfailing optimism despite getting a really bad deal. He reminded Travis of his brother.
Danny was a foster kid, and the army had been one of the few options he’d had after finishing high school. But now that option was gone. Danny hadn’t been able to save much money on an enlisted man’s pay, and Travis knew it would take months before his disability pay arrived. Travis had seen the fear and uncertainty when the kid thought no one was watching, but a “what the hell” grin would usually spread across his face if he caught eyes on him.
The military rehab facility was, as usual, full, with both new patients and those returning for additional surgeries. It had become a second home to Travis after two years and multiple surgeries. But now there were only a few days left before he was released.
He would miss the other soldiers. They shared the pain. And the fear, though it was unspoken. Always unspoken. The future, which had been so clear before, was now a fog. He felt lost, and he knew that others felt the same uncertainty.
For most of them, life as they knew it would never be the same. There were the nightmares. The survivor’s guilt. The loss of a tight-knit family. Those were things that could never be understood by someone who hadn’t experienced them.
He turned his attention back to Danny Ware. He’d admired the kid’s grit as he had strengthened his arms and walked on one leg and crutches, while a prosthesis was still being constructed. Now it had finally arrived, and Danny was taking his first awkward steps.
It was difficult to cheer anything at the moment, but the grin on the younger man’s face as, on his third attempt, he took twenty steps without touching the bars, helped him forget his own problems. If Danny could conquer his demons, then certainly Travis could, as well. Or should.
The simple fact was inertia had overtaken him. Having undergone five operations—three on his right leg and foot and two on his hand—he was left with a leg that would never work right and a hand missing two fingers, not to mention numerous scars across his body. It meant the end of his career as an active member in the Special Forces. Desk job? Possibly. But it wasn’t a sure thing, and it was not particularly appealing.
And his love life. Nonexistent since his fiancé had taken one look at him and blanched. It hadn’t helped that she was a television reporter in Georgia, and he was in Washington. Dinah had tried, but her visits to the military hospital grew less frequent over time, and he understood that he was no longer what she wanted as a husband. He was the one who ended the engagement. Her protest was feeble at best, and he knew he’d made the right decision...
Still, it had hurt. But he couldn’t blame her. He turned his attention back to Danny, who made a victory sign with his fingers. Then the kid started to fall.
The physical therapist caught him and eased him into a wheelchair. Tears of frustration leaked from his eyes.
Travis knew that frustration. He’d never again be the athlete he once was, but at least he had resources. Danny didn’t. He ached for the boy.
“I want to try again,” Danny said.
“Not today,” Kate, the physical therapist, said. “You did great, but you don’t want to overdo it.”
She confirmed the next appointment, and then she turned to Travis. “Ready, Major Hammond?”
He hesitated, and then he limped over to Danny. “You did damn good,” he said.
“Thanks, Major,” Danny said, his face brightening.
Travis wanted to continue, but anything more might be construed as pity. He turned to the therapist. “Only a few sessions to go,” he responded. After the last of his surgeries, he’d finally succeeded in wiggling his toes on his right foot. He’d never thought wiggling a toe could be a major achievement.
After the last operation, his surgeon urged him to do just that with toes peeking out from a cast. Some patients were never able to move their foot, he explained. Travis had spent days and nights staring at his damn toes, willing them to move. It was momentous when they did. It meant he wouldn’t have to walk with a brace.
“I’m hurt when my patients are so anxious to leave me,” Kate said with a grin.
“I doubt that,” he said. “We’re a motley lot.”
The smile widened. “I will miss you—and Danny, too.” Kate replied. “You’ve been good for him. He really looks up to you.”
“I like him,” he said simply.
“Well, today is your big day,” she said. “We walk without the brace.” It was always we, not you. He was amazed at her ability to remain cheerful. She had coaxed, badgered and cajoled him when he got frustrated. She had celebrated with him at hearing about the great toe awakening. She was his tormentor and savior.
She helped him take off the brace and watched him as he stood.
“You don’t want to put too much weight on it yet,” she said, studying him as he took several steps.
“You’ve practiced,” she accused him.
“How can you tell?” For the past several nights, he had taken off the brace and walked with the crutches only.
“Too much confidence. What if you’d fallen and twisted it?”
“I didn’t.”
Kate just shook her head. “Okay, cowboy. Let’s see you climb the stairs.”
As the doctor warned, his foot had limited up-and-down movement, but it was still part of his body, and for that he was thankful. The stairs were just six steps up, with railings on both sides and a platform at the top. He walked haltingly to the bottom. Then she took the crutches, and he grabbed the railings.
“Good,” she said. “The main thing now is not to get overconfident and overdo it. Until you get used to how much movement you have in that ankle and foot, you could trip.”
They spent the rest of the hour on exercises, first for his leg and then for his hand. When they finished, he wanted to throw away the brace for good.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Major. Keep your walks short for now. Use the crutches until you feel comfortable.” Kate reached into the pocket of her uniform and pulled out an envelope. “I was asked to give this to you,” she said.
He took it gingerly and opened it. There was one sheet of paper enclosed, and it contained only a name and phone number.
The name stopped him. Memories flooded back. He looked up. “Where did this come from?”
“My boss gave it to me. He said it came from a psychologist at Fort Hood. An admirer, perhaps?” Kate, a lean, attractive woman in her forties, grinned at him. It was no come-on. She openly talked of her husband in a way that left no doubt she was madly in love with him.
“Doubt that, since he was my best staff sergeant.”
“Well, it must be important to come down this way.” She left him before he could ask more questions.
Josh Manning.
It had been nearly two years since Travis heard that name. Josh Manning was the best staff sergeant he’d ever had. Ironically, he was wounded one month before Travis. Manning’s injuries, in fact, were the reason Travis had been in Afghanistan to check on the Rangers who were training and working with their Afghanistan counterparts.
He punched in the number.
“Manning,” the former staff sergeant said in his usual no-nonsense manner.
“How did you find me?” Travis asked without a greeting.
“I didn’t. A psychologist at Fort Hood did. I’d heard you’d been wounded and asked him for help. It’s hell trying to get information from the army. He asked his colleagues at other hospitals. I learned you’re about to be released.”
Why in the hell would Josh Manning track him down? No one else had. “Still cutting corners, Sergeant?” he asked.
“I had a good instructor,” Josh retorted.
Travis got down to business. “If you went to all that trouble, I assume you had a reason.”
He heard Manning chuckle. It surprised him. He couldn’t remember the man even smiling much before. But then Manning surprised him even more with his next words. “Are you staying in the service? If not, I need you.”
I need you. Hell, it was the first time in nearly two years he’d heard those words. It was especially surprising from Manning, who’d never admitted to needing anything, except maybe better equipment.
“Not sure,” Travis replied. “I have three months’ medical leave coming. There could be a staff job available but...”
His voice trailed off.
“Maybe my offer will help,” Manning said.
Travis couldn’t imagine how, but he’d never known Manning to waste time or words. Manning had been the most competent noncom who’d served under him.