Leanne Banks - A Maverick for the Holidays

“This isn’t a good idea,” he muttered.

“I think it’s a great idea,” she said and smiled her wicked, innocent, sexy smile.

He clenched his jaw again. “That’s because you don’t know better,” he told her. “I’m too old for you.”

“Too old,” she echoed. “That’s crazy. It’s not as if you’re twenty years older.”

“Trust me, cupcake,” he said. “I feel like I’m eighty years older.”

Angie rolled her eyes. “You exaggerate. You’re just finding your feet and way. That’s why you feel unsure.”

“I don’t know about that,” Forrest said.

“Well, I do,” she said in a husky whisper as she leaned toward him.

“You need to leave,” he said.

“Isn’t that a bit drastic?” she asked.

“Not at all,” he said, and steeled himself not to respond to her.

“Just one more kiss,” she whispered in an inviting voice.

“No,” he said, but it killed him.

Dear Reader,

I loved being a part of this wonderful MONTANA MAVERICKS series. Forrest Traub, the hero in my story, has returned from Iraq and is recovering from an injury where he almost lost his leg. He also struggles with post-traumatic stress disorder. I had the opportunity to talk with a soldier who’d lost most of his rib cage from a gunshot wound, and he also suffered from PTSD. The adjustments he had to face after his injuries were unbelievably challenging. I was grateful to hear that the military offers support and actual techniques for how to deal with PTSD.

In my story, the hero displays a different kind of courage by starting a support group for war veterans. Have you noticed that struggling with a problem by yourself makes it feel so much bigger than if you share it with someone who cares? Forrest Traub may be a courageous man, yet between his bum leg and his nightmares and hypervigilance, he believes he’s in no shape for a committed relationship. Angie Anderson, however, is like a burst of sunshine on Forrest’s dark soul. But can she turn his jaded heart around? Maybe a little holiday magic can help them along.

Wishing you all the joy of the holidays,

Leanne Banks

LEANNE BANKSis a New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author who is surprised every time she realises how many books she has written. Leanne loves chocolate, the beach and new adventures. To name a few, Leanne has ridden on an elephant, stood on an ostrich egg (no, it didn’t break), and gone parasailing and indoor skydiving. Leanne loves writing romance because she believes in the power and magic of love. She lives in Virginia with her family and a four-and-a-half-pound Pomeranian named Bijou. Visit her website, www.leannebanks.com.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is dedicated to all the veterans who’ve

returned from hostile countries who continue to battle

post-traumatic stress disorder and to those

who love them.

The truck they were driving was loaded with artillery, but there were several more in the caravan. In his position as major, Forrest normally wouldn’t have been traveling, but there had been complaints about getting signatures for the items they were transporting. In the army, it was always about getting signatures, even here in the desert of Iraq. Enough crap about signatures, they had a war to win .

Suddenly, an explosion ripped through the vehicle. Everything blurred. Forrest raced out of the Humvee. A shot hit him in his armored vest. Another hit his leg. Again and again. His leg screamed in pain .

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a soldier fall to the ground, then another and another. He tried to crawl to help them, but his leg was dead .

He was dead .

Forrest woke up in a sweat, his heart pounding in his chest, adrenaline racing. He reached for his weapon, but it wasn’t there. He blinked and his eyes finally adjusted to the darkness. He wasn’t in Iraq. He was in Montana. He wondered if he’d yelled, and prayed he hadn’t. He didn’t want his brother to know that he was still messed up. He didn’t want anyone to know that his head was more broken than his leg was.

He wondered if he would always feel as if he were riding the edge of insanity. Crazy , he must be crazy.

Snippets of his therapy skittered through his brain.

You’re not crazy. When you wake up from a nightmare or flashback, remind yourself that you’re not crazy .

Practice your breathing technique .

Forrest inhaled and counted as he exhaled. Controlled breathing will make you feel more in control of yourself . Forrest continued the technique he’d been taught. He touched the quilt on his bed and rose, dragging his near-useless leg with him across the wooden floor to the bathroom.

Turning on the faucet, he washed his hands. The water felt cold and it took the memories a little further away from him. He stuck his cup under the running water and lifted it to his mouth, taking several swallows.

When would his nightmare end?

Forrest wrapped up his quick meeting with Annabel Cates, Thunder Canyon’s librarian and therapy-dog owner. “I’m glad we’re starting this group for veterans. Sometimes it’s just easier to talk when you’re petting a dog,” he said and couldn’t resist giving Smiley, Annabel’s therapy dog, a quick rub.

Annabel smiled in return. “I’m sure Smiley will love all the attention. Why don’t you take him for a walk? He’s been cooped up in here all morning.”

Forrest nodded and accepted the leash of the gentle golden retriever. “Sounds like a good plan to me.”

As he stepped outside the library door, the cold November air hit him with a snap. He inhaled and the sensation was so sharp it was almost painful, but the sun was shining brightly and Smiley was wagging his big furry tail so hard it was banging against Forrest’s good leg. The dog’s happiness gave him a lift and he led the golden down the street. One of the nice things about Smiley was he was trained so well that he never pulled on the leash. The dog followed his lead, and with Forrest’s bum leg, that made the walk a lot more pleasurable.

Forrest crossed the street and relaxed a smidge. With Smiley, he’d noticed one of the symptoms of his PTSD—the docs called it hypervigilance—diminished just a little. Always nice to get a break from feeling like he needed to be ready for incoming fire any minute.

Forrest turned down another street, liking the way he was starting to feel at home in town. After his medical discharge from the army, he’d hoped that going back to the family ranch in Rust Creek Falls would help, but it hadn’t. Everything he’d once done with ease underscored his new limitations with his injured leg. Forrest glanced down and noticed that his shoelace was untied. With his iffy balance, he sure as hell didn’t want to trip over it. Awkwardly bending down, he began to retie it.

Suddenly Smiley let out a bark and raced away from him. Forrest reached for the leash, but it slid from his grasp. He swore under his breath. His heart raced in his chest. What if Smiley got hurt? He’d never forgive himself.

“Smiley,” he yelled. “Smiley.” Stumbling after the galloping golden retriever, he walked down the street as fast as he could.

A young woman appeared out of a doorway and stood directly in Smiley’s path. Forrest feared the dog would knock her down. “Smiley,” he called again.