Loree Lough - Once a Marine

Introduction Summer hadn’t seen it coming. One minute, Zach was at the head of the class. The next, his big arms wrapped around her and saved her from hitting the mat, hard. In the tangle of arms and legs, it took a few seconds to get her bearings. When she did, Summer gazed into his blue-green eyes and searched the oh-so-serious face that hovered inches from hers. “If this was some sort of demonstration, you should have asked for volunteers. I don’t appreciate being your guinea pig.” Zach’s left eyebrow rose and his mouth slanted in a sly grin. “Are you all right?” one of her classmates asked. “I’ll be fine,” she bit out, “when this big gorilla lets me up.” She waited, but Zach didn’t move. “Let me up,” she whispered. “Make me,” he whispered back.

Dear Reader

Title Page Once a Marine Loree Lough www.millsandboon.co.uk

About the Author LOREE LOUGH once sang for her supper. Traveling by way of bus and train, she entertained folks in pubs and lounges across the US and Canada. Her favorite memories of “days on the road” are the hours spent singing to soldiers recovering from battle wounds in VA hospitals. Now and then she polishes up her Yamaha guitar to croon a tune or two, but mostly she writes. Her last Mills & Boon Heartwarming novel, Saving Alyssa, brought the total number of Loree’s books-in-print to one hundred (fifteen bearing the Mills & Boon logo). Loree’s work has earned numerous industry accolades, movie options and four- and five-star reviews, but what she treasures most are her Readers’ Choice awards. Loree and her real-life hero split their time between Baltimore’s suburbs and a cabin in the Allegheny Mountains, where she continues to perfect her “identify the critter tracks” skills. A writer who believes in giving back, Loree donates a generous portion of her annual income to charity (see the Giving Back page of her website, loreelough.com , for details). She loves hearing from her readers and answers every letter personally. You can connect with her on Facebook, Twitter and Pinterest.

Dedication Once a Marine is dedicated to survivors of violent crime and their families and friends, who so freely shared the personal experiences that allowed me to lend authenticity to this novel. Your strength, courage and forgiving hearts inspire those who know you to become better people.

Acknowledgments

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

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

EPILOGUE

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE 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 CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE CHAPTER THIRTY CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX EPILOGUE Copyright

ZACH’S DAD HADN’T said a word since ending the “Your daughter has been rushed to the hospital” call from the Vail Police Department.

Halfway into the nearly two-hour drive, his dad said, “Keep your eye on the speedometer, son. Last thing we need is to lose half an hour while some state trooper flexes his muscles.”

Under normal circumstances, Zach might have shot back with a teasing, “Dad, you sound like a hippie.” But there was nothing normal about the situation, and this was no time for jokes.

“You okay up there?” his mom asked.

No, he wasn’t. But admitting it would only add to her stress.

“I’m fine.” He glanced into the rearview mirror and met her gaze. “How ’bout you? Holding up?”

She sighed heavily. “I’ll feel better when I see her.”

Yeah, he could identify with that. Hopefully, his sister’s condition wouldn’t be anywhere near as bad as what his imagination had cooked up: Libby, broken and battered. Libby, unconscious. Libby, connected to tubes and monitors...

Zach shook off the ugly images and focused on the dark highway and his dad’s white-knuckled grip on the grab handle above the door. Who needed reminders of how much his dad hated driving the interstate with all the gasping and floor stomping going on in the passenger seat? Unfortunately, I-70 was the quickest route from their ranch outside Denver to Libby, all alone in the Vail hospital.

He was having a hard time wrapping his mind around the fact that violence had followed him home from Afghanistan, where bloodshed and battles were an almost daily occurrence. He thought he’d left the ugliness of war behind when he moved his gear back into his boyhood bedroom three weeks ago, but then, the phone call from the police.

Nothing would make his parents happier than if he decided to stay and help his cousin run the Double M. So why hadn’t he unpacked?

Because he’d spent too many years taking orders from marines much younger than himself, and didn’t want to test the strength of his and Nate’s “just like brothers” relationship.

Zach had been a fair to middlin’ skier back in the day. Maybe he’d take a job at one of the nearby resorts, teaching kids how to stand upright on the bunny slopes. At least then his baby sister would have family right there in town when she was released from the hospital.

Hospital . Would the Valley Medical Center have the equipment and staff to do more than set skiers’ broken bones? The officer hadn’t exactly sugarcoated things, so Zach knew it would take more than a clinic with an X-ray machine to handle Libby’s injuries.

Half an hour later, when he and his folks walked into her ICU cubicle, his mom hid a tiny gasp behind one hand. The sight made his dad backpedal a few steps, too. “This must be the wrong room,” he said, reading the numbers beside the door.

Libby was barely recognizable, thanks to bruised eye sockets, a bandage cap hiding her blond curls, casts on her left arm and right leg and a spaghetti-like tangle of tubes and wires connecting her to the monitors.

“Yeah, Dad,” Zach whispered. “It’s the right room.” As evidence, he pointed to the big-as-a-suitcase black purse, monogrammed with the telltale sparkly L . Summoning all his self-control, he walked to the foot of her bed. “Man,” he said, grinning, “the lengths some people will go to get some attention.”

She opened one puffy eye and winced slightly as the left corner of her mouth lifted in a smile. “’Bout time you guys got here.”

Zach moved to the side of her bed, effectively blocking the monitor screens from his parents’ view. Libby’s fingers began to shake, and he gently wrapped his around them, as much to comfort her as to hide the tremors from his folks.

And for the next ten minutes, the three of them stood statue-still, listening to her sketchy version of what had happened to her, nearly twelve hours earlier. Zach didn’t know whether to blame shock or painkillers for her halting speech, but he knew Libby. The rest of the story must have been truly horrible if his never-pulls-her-punches sister felt it necessary to protect the folks from the details. Not being able to talk about it was probably driving her crazy.