Surrendering To Her Sergeant (52 page)

She carried those words with her
through the next few hours, enjoying a walk with him on the beach
before they returned to the suite to prepare for the first dinner
she would have with her future in-laws. They warmed her as she
showered, pampered, and dressed, and even made her smile as she
slipped into her dark purple dress, cut in a classic wrap style.
They girded her even as Ethan drove up the winding driveway to his
parents’ home, which approached mansion status with its ornate,
Tudor-style architecture and Shakespeare-inspired fountain out
front. She held them in her heart as tight as she clutched Ethan’s
arm when they approached the door, which was set beneath an archway
of white English roses.

He knocked and they waited.

He turned and kissed her, surrounding
her in his leather-pepper scent, now tinged with a little of his
John Varvatos cologne. His lips moved over hers, openly adoring
her. His groan vibrated through her, thick with his desire. Best of
all, his love enveloped her, warm and complete.

Okay, maybe she
could
do this.

She got to savor the thought for
another ten seconds—right before the door got opened, flooding the
two of them with light—and the grins from at least fifty unfamiliar
faces. In front of them was a woman who looked so much like Ethan,
Ava had no doubt about her identity. She beheld the beauty of Elle
Archer for the first time.

“Surprise!” the woman exclaimed before
pressing her lips into Ethan’s cheek. “Happy
engagement!”

* * * * *

STORY FOUR:

WINTER MOON

Starring Tait Bommer and Luna
Lawrence

CHAPTER ONE

“Hello, flower.”

Tait Bommer greeted her the same way
he always did, with those two words followed by pressing a single
red rosebud into her hand. One day, he vowed, she’d answer him by
wrapping her fingers around the flower. After that, she’d open her
eyes. And from there, he’d work with the doctors to bring her back
to life.

He had no illusions about what kind of
a life it would be for a while. Today marked the one hundred and
ninetieth day she’d been in this coma, brought on by the trauma
when she’d saved the whole west coast from nuclear disaster by
disposing of a self-detonating missile launcher by herself. Her
body and brain had been resting for over six months. There would be
therapy and setbacks, more therapy then some progress, even more
therapy…then success. President Nichols had told the FBI not to
spare any expense on her care.

Tait would spare no energy on loving
her through every minute of the journey.

He settled into his typical chair next
to her bed, on the side not consumed by the ventilator and other
equipment still keeping her alive. He left the rose on the mattress
next to her hand, and placed an iPod next to it, which blasted the
newest Imagine Dragons album.

“This is good shit,” he said to her,
referring to the music as if she sat there actively listening to it
with him. He reached and stroked her forearm while adding, “I think
you’ll really like it. Hey, I just found out they’ll be coming
through Seattle next year on tour. If you wake up today, there’s a
chance we can catch them.”

He liked to call those statements his
carrots. He dangled at least a couple of them at her each day he
was here, which hadn’t been a lot lately due to the fact that
terrorists couldn’t leave the world alone, and he was one of those
special terrorist squashers. But now, she was, too. The woman had
saved millions of people, who’d never know what she did. Who never
realized that the woman in bed 222 at the SeaTac Special Care
Nursing Facility was really the heroine who made it possible for
them to be alive today, putting up tinsel and bells, anticipating
their holidays…living their lives in joyous oblivion.

A nurse walked by in the
hall, softly humming
The Little Drummer
Boy
. Tait swallowed on the heavy ache in
his chest. “That kid with the drum was a lot like you, Luna,” he
murmured. “Didn’t have much to give but he gave his all—and he made
a special king smile.”

He watched his hand tighten around her
frail arm.

He watched his tears spatter on her
pale skin.

“Please come play your drum for the
world again, flower. Come back to us, Luna. Come back to
me.”

MORE in all four of these
stories…coming December 16!

ANGEL PAYNE
is thrilled to be writing about courageous men of
honor and the women who love them. She began writing passionately
in high school, and moved on to pen her way to departmental honors
for English at Chapman University in Southern California. Her
kaleidoscope of a past includes gigs as a fashion ramp model, music
industry production assistant, nightclub disc jockey, and over
twenty years in the meeting planning and hospitality industries.
Her passions include pop culture, alt rock, super heroes, shoes,
coffee, and enjoying an active life in the outdoors with family and
friends. She still lives in Southern California with her gorgeous
daughter and amazing stud of a husband.

www.angelpayne.com

facebook.com/angelpaynewrites

Twitter:
@AngelPayneWrtr

Pinterest:
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