My
Fourth Book
At His Command
A
September '08 release from Steeple Hill Love Inspired
Jake knew better.
There was nothing imaginary about the symptoms he suffered whenever he was
in close proximity to Maddie. All he had to do was clap eyes on the
chestnut-haired, blue-eyed beauty and his pulse raced, his throat closed
up, and his brain stalled out. Since that was pretty much what happened
whenever Jake got too close to a peanut, he figured the evidence spoke for
itself. It had been four
years since the sudden onset of his peanut allergy, and in that time he'd
learned to give a wide berth to foods containing even a trace of the
offending legumes. In the past month, he'd trained himself to be just as
assiduous about avoiding Maddie. "Madeline," he said
aloud, correcting himself as he swung his black BMW convertible into the
parking lot a grocery store. Using her nickname was flirting with
emotional intimacy, and Jake wasn't that kind of man
anymore. Maybe he never really
had been that kind of man. His wife had hinted at that more than
a few times before her premature death. Or maybe he and Rita just hadn't
been a good match to begin with. Jake had known she was dissatisfied, and
sometimes he wondered if she might have gone so far as to divorce him if
that freak boating accident on Lake Travis hadn't ended her
life. Poor Rita. For three
years she'd clung to the stubborn belief that being married ought to
temper Jake's passion for flying helicopters. She'd wanted him out of the
Army and out of the sky, but Jake was a second-generation West Point
graduate, and a life without flying wasn't any kind of life at
all. He'd had to adjust
his thinking on that after he'd awoken at a Combat Support Hospital in the
Middle East and learned he'd never walk again, let alone fly. He'd been
transferred to the Army Medical Center in Landstuhl, Germany for more
surgery, and a week later they'd drugged him up and loaded him on a
hospital plane headed for Walter Reed Army Medical Center in Washington,
D.C. Noah Bright, his
copilot-gunner and his best friend for fifteen years, had already been
shipped home to Texas in a flag-draped casket.
Jake spent several
weeks at Walter Reed. During that time, his wife visited twice. After the
second visit she'd gone back to Texas and drowned when a ski boat she was
riding in capsized. Jake had missed her
funeral, too. After numerous
surgeries and skin grafts, Jake was finally sent home to Texas, where
despite the gloomy predictions of his doctors, he learned to walk again.
He wasn't terribly graceful about it, but with the help of a cane he could
get around okay. Once he was--quite literally--back on his feet, his
father had suggested law school. It was a cruel irony
that if Rita had lived and stuck it out with Jake, she would now have
everything she'd wanted. She'd be living deep in the heart of Texas with a
newly-minted civilian attorney who had ruthlessly trained himself not to
think about helicopters. Jake didn't even look up when one flew overhead,
which was no small achievement considering where he lived.
Ensconced in the
beautiful Texas Hill Country, the town of Prairie Springs hugged the east
side of Fort Bonnell, the largest military installation in the United
States--and home to the cavalry brigade that had trained Jake and Noah to
do air combat in Apache attack helicopters. He hated that he was
having so little success fighting his insane attraction to her. He was no
good for Madeline Bright, and it wasn't only because of what he'd done to
Rita. "And at five minutes
before six o'clock, it's still a sweltering hundred-and-two degrees in
downtown Austin," a radio announcer boomed over the end of an old Trisha
Yearwood song. "I don't have to point out that that's a little warm for
the third day of September." "Then don't point it
out," Jake muttered, irritably punching the radio's Off button and
wondering what the current temperature was here in Prairie Springs, thirty
miles northwest of Austin. He loved his convertible, but when he'd left
home a few minutes ago he'd been compelled to close the Beemer's roof and
throttle up the air conditioner. He zipped past the
handicapped parking spaces and found a spot near the end of a row. His bum
leg was giving him trouble today, but the more it hurt, the more
determined Jake was to walk like it didn't. The leg would never be any
stronger, but Jake was convinced that pushing himself through the pain
would eventually teach his nerves to quit squawking about
it. He cut the ignition,
opened his door, and was assailed by a blast of dry heat that reminded him
of his last tour of duty in the Middle East. As if his left leg
didn't remind him of that every single day. His right leg had
caught two bullets but healed nicely; his left was a different story.
Bones had been shattered and a big chunk of muscle had been blown off his
thigh--and what the Army surgeons had salvaged was barely enough to walk
on. Jake reached behind
his seat and grabbed a cane made from the root of a Sumac tree. If you
have to go, go in style, his father had always said, so Jake
collected beautifully polished natural wood walking sticks, which he
changed to suit his mood. Maybe he should be
using the black one today. He put his left foot
on the ground and swung his right leg out before pushing up to a standing
position. Sucking a sharp breath through clenched teeth, he accepted the
first lightning-bolt of pain and started
walking. He'd gone just a few
yards when a canary-yellow Ford Escape peeled around the corner and slid
into an empty parking space just ahead of him. The door was immediately
flung open and a pair of trim, tanned female legs
emerged. Pretty. They reminded
him of-- His heart skipped a
beat when he saw the rest of the woman. Sure enough, it was Madeline
Bright. Jake froze, hoping she hadn't noticed
him. She hadn't. She
closed her door and made for the store's entrance with her usual energetic
stride. Lost in admiration,
Jake followed her with his eyes. She was all Army--capable and confident
and strong as iron--but she was still every inch a lady. She was
fine-boned and tenderhearted and vulnerable in the most appealing ways.
From the subtly swinging curves of her dark shoulder-length hair, which
she wore pulled back and above her collar when in uniform, to her slim
pink toes, which Jake had glimpsed when she wore sandals, she was
lovely. She was probably the
only woman in the world who could make a bulky Army Combat Uniform look
good, but Jake much preferred the way she was dressed today. She wore
sand-colored cargo shorts, a white tank top that set off her tan, a
yellow-patterned scarf in her hair, and large dark sunglasses that made
her look like someone the paparazzi ought to be
chasing. Forgetting for a
moment that she was his number-two allergen, Jake imagined pulling her
onto his good knee and kissing her breathless. Then reason returned and
advised him to beat a retreat to his car before Maddie happened to glance
over her shoulder. It wasn't that she
wouldn't be delighted to see him. Whenever they met, her indigo eyes
widened with pleasure and her bow-shaped mouth curved into a welcoming
smile. As a kid, she'd had an obvious crush on Jake, her much-older
brother's best friend. It had been cute back then, but now she was an
eminently desirable woman that Jake had no business desiring, and that
made her interest in him a very dangerous
thing. In the month since
her arrival in Prairie Springs, Jake hadn't been able to go anywhere
without running into her or hearing people talk about her, and he was
beginning to resent that. The whole world was Madeline Bright's oyster;
couldn't she leave this one little Texas town to
him? Behind him, a car
horn blared, reminding him that he was standing in the middle of the
traffic lane. Afraid that the noise would prompt Maddie to turn around, he
impulsively made for a rusted-out pickup truck. His half-formed thought
was to lurk behind the truck's cab until Maddie was safely inside the
store. But his bum leg chose that instant to give out and he pitched
forward. Letting go of his cane, he broke his fall with his
hands. Pain shot up his left
leg as though a mad pianist was playing glissandos on his raw nerves. As
the pavement seared his belly through his shirt, Jake closed his eyes and
forced himself to draw a slow, deep breath. It was another second or two
before he realized the deafening noise assaulting his ears was no
pain-induced hallucination; he'd triggered the car alarm of the red Camry
next to the truck. Oh, this just kept
getting better and better. But at least he was safe from
Maddie. "Jake?" At the sound of her
voice, Jake groaned and squeezed his eyes more tightly shut. Better and
better and better. "Jake! Please tell me
you're all right!" He was aware that she
crouched beside him, but he still flinched when she touched his shoulder.
"Give me a minute," he growled. "Everything's going
to be all right," she promised, pitching her voice to be heard over the
Camry's alarm. She stroked the back of Jake's head, multiplying his misery
with her gentle touch. "Just tell me where it
hurts." His eyes popped open.
If he didn't quickly convince her that he was perfectly fine, she'd be
running her hands all over his body, checking for broken
bones. "Madeline." He rolled
over and sat up smartly. He considered smiling, but with his teeth
clenched against the pain, he figured he'd look maniacal rather than
reassuring. "What a surprise." She was clearly in no
mood for chitchat. "Where are you hurt?" "Just jarred the leg,
that's all." They were still shouting at each other. "Could you hand me my
stick?" She hesitated,
sweeping him with a doubtful look, but then she went to retrieve his cane.
While she was gone, Jake flattened one palm against the scalding door of
the pickup and one against the blistering fender of the Camry and hauled
himself up. When Maddie returned,
the grim set of her mouth communicated her extreme displeasure that he'd
risen without assistance. "Jake, you should have let
me--" "I'm fine," he
interrupted, reaching for the cane. "Thanks." She looked him up and
down, skepticism written all over her pretty face. "Where did you get hit?
All I saw was the car speeding away, and then I noticed a pair of legs
sticking out from behind this truck." "The car didn't hit
me," Jake said. "Well, praise God for
that." Maddie's relief was obvious
as she removed her sunglasses and hooked them on the neckband of
her shirt. "But what happened?" Dilemma. Should he
admit the truth, that he'd dived behind the truck to avoid being seen by
the woman who'd been starring in his dreams for the past month? Or should
he attempt to salvage his pride with a little white
lie? Easy call. "I
tripped. Over...something," he mumbled. She leaned toward him
and cupped a hand to her ear. "Pardon?" "I tripped over
something!" Jake repeated, just as the car alarm ceased its obnoxious
honking. The lie hadn't been a good one to begin with, and yelling it into
the sudden silence didn't improve it any. Confusion wrinkled
Maddie's forehead as her gaze roamed over the smooth asphalt of the
perfectly level parking lot. There wasn't a crack, a bump, or even a
pebble to be seen. She looked back at Jake and frowned. "Your face is
flushed." Great. Now he was
blushing like a teenager. He jerked his gaze away from her dangerously
beautiful eyes, which were as deep and blue as the sea of bluebonnets that
covered the central Texas hills in springtime. "The heat's getting to me,
that's all." She stepped closer
and laid her palm against the side of his face, no doubt checking his
temperature. "Are you staying hydrated?" "Yeah." Jake shied
away from her touch, hoping she hadn't noticed his racing
pulse. He'd never felt more
ridiculous in his life. He was a thirty-nine-year-old combat veteran, a
former U.S. Army aviator who'd flown Apache attack helicopters and twice
been decorated for valor. So why was it that whenever this sweet young
woman appeared on his radar screen, his heart sped up and he trembled like
a nervous Chihuahua? Maddie brushed some
fine gravel off the front of his damp shirt. "I worry about you,
Jake." Well, that was just
great. All he'd needed was one more thing to feel guilty about where she
was concerned.
While
At His Command contains some strong doses
of the
wry humor my readers enjoy (the scene at the barbeque
joint is my favorite), it's mostly about the nature of
heroism. The book is part of a six-author miniseries
called "Homecoming Heroes," but can be read as a stand-alone
novel.
Copyright © 2008 by Harlequin Enterprises
Limited.
® and tm are trademarks of the
publisher.
In one short
month, cheerful army nurse Madeline Bright has become the darling of
Prairie Springs, Texas. And if former Apache helicopter pilot Jake
Hopkins isn't careful, she just might conquer his
heart.
He can't take that risk. Maddie is chasing
him all over town, but while Jake can't deny his insane attraction
to her, neither
can he confess the awful secrets he's keeping--especially the one about his having been partly
responsible for her brother's death.
Excerpt from Chapter
One:
Texas attorney Jake
Hopkins was severely allergic to two things: peanuts and a sweet young
Army nurse named Madeline Bright. Travis Wylie, Jake's law partner, took
the peanut problem seriously because he'd once had to call 9-1-1 when a
life-threatening anaphylactic reaction caused Jake to collapse during
dinner at an Austin restaurant. But while Travis readily acknowledged that
certain women possessed a knack for turning a man every which way but
loose, he steadfastly maintained that Jake couldn't be allergic to a
member of his own species.
Impatient with himself
for dwelling on the past, Jake shook his head and successfully flung those
depressing memories out of it. But
Maddie--Madeline--remained.
From the book, AT HIS
COMMAND, by Brenda Coulter
Steeple Hill Love Inspired, September 2008
ISBN 0373-874960
Copyright © 2008 by Harlequin, S.A.
® and tm are trademarks of the
publisher.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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Brenda Coulter, Inspirational Romance Novelist