PROLOGUE
7 years ago . . .
Staff Sergeant Mackenzie Randall was pissed.
Majorly pissed.
Nothing had gone right on this mission. His squad of ten soldiers had been cut to four within minutes. The squads of the three sergeants under his command also suffered huge casualties. At the last report, they only had eleven men between them, including themselves. Heads would roll once they made it back to base camp.
If they made it back.
Mac’s bones told him the enemy was closing in fast.
“Where are those copters?” he hissed to his radio man, Tom Jenkins.
“Sixty seconds out, Sarge.”
He cursed under his breath. He didn’t know if they had six seconds, much less sixty. At least after the brunt of the ambush, he and the surviving members of his squad had been able to drag the fallen back while Jenkins radioed for help. The dead bodies surrounded the living, while two of his four soldiers were wounded and needed immediate attention.
Mac didn’t have a scratch on him.
A low moaning caught his ear. Had they forgotten someone? He quickly counted and saw Tubby Parsons was missing. The private had been one of the four survivors. He must’ve been shot on his last trip to gather their comrades and hadn’t made it back.
Mac began to crawl in the direction of the moans and reached Tubby as two helicopters swept across the sky and began a quick descent.
“I’ll get you out, buddy. Hang tight.”
Mac reached the wounded soldier and scooped him up into a fireman carry. He rushed to the helicopter as his men finished loading the dead and wounded. Mac thrust Tubby at a medic hovering in the opening and hollered, “Go!” as he jumped onto the landing skids. As they lifted from the ground, he was knocked into the chopper from behind. His shoulder screamed in agony. Mac knew he’d been hit.
It didn’t matter. He landed next to Tubby, who was as white as a sheet, his eyes closed. Grabbing the private’s hand, Mac said, “Hold on, Tub. Hold on. You’re going to make it. You’ve got that pretty little wife and new son. They’re counting on you to come home.”
The soldier didn’t reply. Either he’d passed out or was dead. Disillusionment filled Mac.
What the hell was he doing here?
He’d given nine years to the army and couldn’t see that they’d made a dent in this hellhole. Or any of the other ones he’d been sent to.
Something pressed against him. Pain flared as quickly as his temper. Mac glared over his shoulder.
“You’re bleeding, Sarge.” The medic quickly cut through a part of Mac’s fatigues. “I’ll patch you up now but let them know there’s a bullet in you when we get back.”
The aircraft landed a few minutes later and Mac helped load the wounded onto stretchers, including Tubby. His gut told him the soldier had to be dead but he wasn’t a doctor. Maybe one of the sawbones could work a miracle.
He followed the stretcher Tubby was on when a blond nurse stopped him. Just his type. Petite. Curvy. Blue eyes. Tan.
“Where are you going, Sergeant?”
“With my man.” Though he’d loved to stay and chat up the pretty nurse, he had places to go.
She shook her head. “I don’t think so. You’re bleeding. Badly.”
“I need to see about—”
“If you lose any more blood, you won’t be around to see your guy. Come with me. That’s an order, Soldier.”
She led him to a corner and lifted the soaked bandage from him before cutting away the remainder of his shirt.
Mac felt a little woozy, either from the bullet or staring into her baby blues. “Oh. I’m supposed to tell you I’ve got a bullet in my shoulder.”
The nurse snorted. “Thanks for the self-diagnosis.” After a moment examining him, she said, “The doctors are swamped. Some mission went to hell in a handbasket and they’ve got more bodies than they can handle. This isn’t deep. I can dig it out. Or you can wait for one of them.”
He gave her what he thought was a charming smile. “Be my guest.”
She cut away what was left of his shirt and worked on him for several minutes. Mac clenched his teeth as she prodded and poked, almost passing out at one point, but determined not to in front of such a looker.
“It’ll take a few stitches and then I’ll be done. At least with the shoulder.”
She put the stitches in and then hooked him up to an IV. Within minutes, he began to feel more like himself—except for the screaming pain in his shoulder.
“Be still. I’ve got shrapnel to dig out now.”
“What?” He hadn’t even felt that, too juiced from what had happened on the field.
She worked without speaking, her hands lightly touching his back. Finally, she said, “Done. Have any preferences on pain meds?”
“None.” He was determined to keep a clear head, especially knowing how rough the debrief would be.
“You were lucky, Sergeant.”
“Mac. Mac Randall.” He glanced at her well-endowed chest, seeing the name Rogers, and gave her a smile. “I think I’m the lucky one. Meeting you.”
She rolled her eyes. “Anything else I can do for you, Soldier?”
“Yeah. Two things. Tell me your name.”
Rogers pointed to her shirt.
“No, your first name.”
Sighing, she said, “It’s Ellen.”
“Ellen, we’re having a moment here.”
She finally smiled. “And the second thing?”
Mac grinned. “Will you marry me?”
Ellen burst out laughing.
It didn’t matter. Mac knew this lady was The One.
◆◆◆
Anticipation rippled through Mac as the Uber driver exited the freeway. Another five minutes and he’d be home for forty-eight hours. He’d wanted to surprise Ellen. He had called her supervisor at the hospital and learned she had today off. The two of them worked it out for a friend of hers to take tomorrow’s shift. That way, he’d have his wife all to himself the entire two days.
Mac planned to make the most of it.
He regretted that he’d let her talk him into re-enlisting after her medical troubles. The bomb that cost Ellen her leg had sent her first to Germany, then stateside, to recover. She’d left the army and now worked as a nurse in a San Diego hospital. The plan was for him to finish up this final tour and join her. At least her encouragement to re-enlist had led to him making Sergeant First Class. Most non-coms had to have at least fifteen years in before making SFC. Mac had done it in just under twelve. Ellen knew it had been a goal of his and told him how proud she was, not of the bump in pay and rank, but of him.
“It’s up ahead. On the right,” he told the Uber driver, who pulled into the short driveway.
Mac thanked him and grabbed his duffel, hustling up to the door of the rental house. It wasn’t in the best neighborhood, with peeling paint and a yard that needed mowing. Once he was home for good when he finished out the last nine months of his commitment, they would need to find something better. Maybe closer to Ellen’s hospital.
With enough room for a kid. Or kids. He grinned, thinking of being a dad.
He slid his key into the lock, glancing at his watch. It was a quarter to six. She’d be getting up soon. Ellen always rose early, even on her day off. Not today. Mac planned to keep his wife in bed all day. He’d missed her warm curves and bouncing curls.