SEAL’s Homecoming: SEAL & Veteran Series: Book One

  SEAL & Veteran Series

  SEAL’s Homecoming

  SEAL’s Accidental Family

  Ranger’s Protection

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  RELAY PUBLISHING EDITION, JANUARY 2019

  Copyright © 2019 Relay Publishing Ltd.

  All rights reserved. Published in the United Kingdom by Relay Publishing. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  www.relaypub.com

  Blurb

  When Chance McCallister left her to join the Navy SEALS, Mandy Loomis was devastated. Now, more than ten years later, Chance and his brothers are back in town for their father’s funeral, but Mandy is no longer that moon-eyed teenager she once was. She’s a fiercely independent woman determined to solve her own problems—and she has plenty.

  When her gambler father died two years prior, he left Mandy—along with a successful auto repair business—with a ton of debt owed to a ruthless loan shark. Mandy is barely getting by, and when her mechanic quits, she’s in a real bind. It just so happens, Chance is willing to help out. Sure, Chance is bigger, stronger, and sexier than ever, but Mandy isn’t interested in anything but his mechanical skills. Or maybe just a bit interested in his kissing skills—which, by the way, are just as good as she remembers.

  Mandy wasn’t the only one brokenhearted when they were just teens. Chance never did get over his first love, and seeing her now only brings back those feelings in a major way. He’s grown up a lot since he left their little town, and now that he’s home, he’s determined to win back the girl he never should have lost. If only he can convince Mandy that he can protect her from the loan shark and his thugs, and that she doesn’t have to protect her heart from him.

  But just as the two are beginning to realize they’re meant to be together, the loan shark makes things more than just a little precarious, putting both their love and their lives in danger.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue

  End of SEAL’s Homecoming

  Thank you!

  About Leslie

  Sneak Peek: SEAL’s Accidental Family

  Also by Leslie

  1

  Chance McCallister popped the last button and peeled his sweaty Dress White uniform top off with a relieved sigh. For two hours he’d melted under the relentless sun in the long-sleeved polyester. Standing by his father’s grave would have been hard enough even without the thick, Georgian, mid-July humidity pressing against the weight of all the medals, ribbons, badges, and Navy SEAL Trident adorning the front of his coat.

  “I need a beer.” Harris, the middle brother, dropped his Dress Blue uniform top—courtesy of the U.S. Marines—onto the back of a kitchen chair and headed for the refrigerator.

  “Grab me one too.” Lee, the youngest at twenty-eight, stretched his arms over his head, already losing his Army Dress Blue uniform top the second they got home.

  Standing in wet undershirts, uniform pants, belts, and shiny shoes, none of them would pass inspection, but only Harris had to worry about returning to service in thirty days. Chance and Lee each just recently retired from the military, though, for two very different reasons.

  “Chance?” Harris held up two bottles by their long necks and arched an eyebrow.

  “Yeah,” Chance sighed, his skin rippling at the central air conditioning pumping through the vents, drying the moisture. “Might as well.”

  Harris nudged the door shut with his foot and thrust the bottles at Chance and Lee, then twisted the cap off the one he kept for himself. “To Dad.” He lifted his beer. “May he finally be at peace.”

  Chance tilted his bottle toward his brothers, then took a long, fortifying drink. He’d never expected to become an orphan at thirty years old, but burying his father earlier today had done just that. Ray McCallister had fought a hard battle with liver cancer, but after twenty years of drinking, it had only been a matter of time before the cancer had finally won. Chance had barely been granted retirement from the Navy in time to take care of the bedridden man. Hell, he had only been home a week when Ray died. Harris had always been closest to their father, but Chance used the days he’d been granted before Ray dropped into a coma to make peace. Ray hadn’t trusted Chance’s attempts at first, assuming they’d fall into old patterns of loud hostile arguments and accusations, but when Chance remained calm and sincere, they’d actually had a few heart-filled conversations. Chance just wished he wasn’t so versed in planning funerals. Coordinating his mother’s when she died in his teens had left him bereft and filled with resentment. But that was all finally behind him now.

  Pivoting, he left the kitchen and wandered into the living room. The small, three-bedroom rancher had seen better days. Worn spots marred the once dark green carpet in the high-traffic paths, and the pale-yellow walls looked tired and faded. Peering out the bay window behind a pillow-style couch, he grunted at how tall the wilting grass had grown on the small plot making up the front yard.

  “I mowed last Friday.” Chance raised his voice to be heard over his brothers dissecting the attendance at the graveside service. “You two can fight over who’s tackling the lawn next.”

  “Hey, Lee,” Harris chirped as he crossed to the fireplace. “Remember this?” Harris plucked an old Polaroid camera from behind Lee’s 8x10 high school graduation photo on top of the stained-wood mantel.

  Deep creases formed between Lee’s brows and he rubbed his right eye. The very eye that had earned him a medical discharge after a small piece of shrapnel had damaged his vision. As a decorated sniper for the Army Rangers, that had been the kiss of death for his career and Lee had refused to start over in another specialization.

  “You never went anywhere without that thing.” Chance swallowed the last of his beer. “So annoying.”

  Harris chuckled. “You used to boast about becoming a world-famous photographer.”

  “Guess the joke’s on me,” Lee growled, lifting his beer, then chugging the whole thing.

  A pang lanced Chance’s heart. He needed to figure out a way to reach his brother before this bitter, restless man fully replaced the laughing smartass who loved playing practical jokes.

  Setting his bottle onto the closest end table, Chance strolled toward the hallway leading to the bedrooms. “You may have been irritating—” The constant whirring of the photos ejecting out of the bottom used to drive Chance nuts. “—but you did get some great shots.” He pointed at a Polaroid picture tucked between the glass and frame of his parents on their wedding day, hanging in the hall.

  Harris and Lee crowded on either side of Chance and stared at the photo of their father holding a bag of boiled peanuts, caught mid-shock when he walked into the house for his surprise birthday party.

  “Oh, man.” Harris cracked up. “Look at his face. I forgot about that day.”

  �
�But this one’s my favorite.” Chance plucked a Polaroid out of another frame. The entire family—three brothers and both parents—stood in front of the house on a sunny day only months before their mother got sick. “I still can’t believe you talked Mrs. Mabry into taking it.” Their old neighbor, seventy-one at the time, had always complained about everything and everyone.

  Lee smirked and for a moment, his amber-brown eyes twinkled like they used to. “That old bird was easy to figure out. The second I promised to scoop all the poop out of her yard and dump it on Pete Walsh’s porch, she was putty in my hands.”

  A bark of laughter erupted from Chance’s throat. That damn dog had been a menace and Pete had only cared about collecting disability checks. Replacing the photo, he peered up the hall, then back toward the living room. “Can either of you picture living here anymore?”

  Tension leached the small bit of levity.

  Their father had worked two jobs in an effort to keep a roof over their heads and their mother’s medical bills from consuming him. He hadn’t been able to save anything extra to pass down, so he’d only left the three of them the house as their inheritance.

  “I think we should sell it,” Lee announced, turning away and tromping down the hall.

  “You don’t want to stay now that you’re out?” Chance asked, following behind.

  Lee paused in the living room. “Are you saying you want to stay?” His amber eyes shuttered. “You’re out too. You think Springwell is going to welcome you with open arms?”

  The muscle in Chance’s jaw ticked. For most of his teenage years, their hometown of Springwell, Georgia, had not been the kindest to him. Living in a small town meant no transgression was ever truly forgiven or forgotten. And no matter how unfair, Chance had a reputation as a fighter. It didn’t matter that he never started the fights, his tendency to do whatever it took to protect a weaker person from being hurt or bullied meant he settled a lot of situations with his fists. It didn’t take a genius to figure out all the suppressed anger at his mother’s death, and the constant butting heads with his dad had just added to his willingness to pound on someone else.

  Thankfully, twelve years in the Navy—with eight of them as a SEAL—had given him an outlet for the rage until he no longer had to channel it. The type of bond he had formed with his teammates had given him the emotional support he hadn’t realized he needed until his confidence grew with each successful mission and the vise squeezing his chest disappeared.

  “You’re probably right. This town’s going to have the same opinion of me as before.” Chance drove his fingers through his messy hair still slick with sweat. “I can’t say I want to stay, but I didn’t exactly have enough time to figure out what comes next when I retired. Dad’s health nosedived even before I landed on this doorstep, and I’ve been focused on that ever since.” He eyed his brothers. “Harris only has bereavement leave, but what about you, Lee? What are you going to do now?”

  Lee sneered. “I doubt Springwell has a need for a useless sniper in SWAT—not that we’re big enough to even have a dedicated unit.” He swished his hand over his high-and-tight shorn head. “Nothing’s holding me here, but I have no fucking clue where to go.”

  “You’re not useless,” Harris snapped, rounding on Lee. “You’ve still got the skills no matter what the Army says.”

  “Agreed.” Chance jabbed a finger at the youngest brother. Lee’s unit had dubbed him “Puma” after his eye color and the way the large cat was also a solitary killer, hunting its prey just like a sniper, stalking its target with patience and strategy. “Your vision may not meet Ranger qualifications anymore, but I’d bet my life if I slapped a rifle in your hands, you’d nail the center of a bull’s eye with ease.”

  Lee’s chin jutted mulishly, but he didn’t say a word. Instead, he sauntered into the kitchen and opened the door into the single-car garage. “How’s this coming?”

  Getting the message to back off, Chance stepped into the sweltering garage and his muscles loosened at the sight before him. A black 1967 Ford Shelby Mustang sat with its hood propped up, facing the garage door. His father had found the classic muscle car in an auction years ago, but had never gotten it running. The body was in pristine condition but whoever owned it before didn’t know jack about engines. To be fair, their dad hadn’t had much of a clue either. In their family, Chance was the only one who really knew what he was doing under a hood.

  “I think I might be close to getting it started.” Chance fingered the blanket he had spread along the fender to keep it from getting dinged by tools or parts. Working on the car had given him a modicum of peace the past week. A much-needed outlet after watching his father die, then all the fallout of dealing with notifying banks, companies, insurance, etcetera while planning the funeral. “In fact, the carburetor I ordered should be in today at the shop.” He picked up a wrench off the multi-colored quilt. “I took a risk and ordered a much cheaper one that’s supposed to be equivalent to the original Holley. Not ideal, but I wanted to keep my savings instead of blowing it on original parts.”

  “The shop, huh?” Harris asked, his voice sing-songy.

  Chance stiffened.

  “Would this be the same garage where your ex-girlfriend works?” Lee piled on.

  The wrench bit into Chance’s palm.

  “Lee, do you remember him always coming home late with grease on his hands?” Harris kept going with a laugh. “I swear, he lived more at that shop than here.” His brother paused just behind Chance. “You gonna start hanging around there again like the good ol’ days?”

  Chance tossed the wrench onto the blanket and inhaled against the assault of memories trying to pull him under. “Nope,” he uttered through a tight throat. “I stopped in once and spoke to a mechanic named Vince. He offered to order parts through the garage so I can use their discount with their distributer.” He glanced at his watch. “I should probably get over there if I want to catch him before he gets off his shift.” And with any luck, he’d miss…her.

  “Take a shower before you leave,” Lee shot at Chance’s retreating back. “I bet Vince likes it when you smell pretty.”

  Through the entire shower and change routine, and during the hot walk toward Main Street, Chance told himself that soaping twice and slathering on extra deodorant had nothing to do with heading into her territory. Nothing to do with potentially seeing her again for the first time in twelve years. Nothing to do with—

  Oh, Jesus. Just one glimpse and his feet ground to a halt. He swallowed hard, experiencing the exact same gut-punching, mind-numbing reaction he had the first time he saw her fifteen years ago.

  Mine.

  His chest tightened as he stared across the street at the multi-bay Loomis Automotive building and the petite, russet-haired beauty, talking to a thirty-something man in a suit just outside the office door.

  Impossibly, she had grown even more stunning in the last twelve years.

  Charcoal coveralls enveloped her body but by the movement of the material, she still had the same mouth-watering curves he used to lick and suckle for hours. The same pin-up worthy body he’d lost his virginity to while also taking hers at the same time. The same shoulder-length, out-of-control curls he once gripped when she swallowed him deep while peering up at him from her knees.

  Amanda “Mandy” Loomis. The greatest love of his life. The woman he thought he’d marry until she’d ripped his heart out right before he left for the Navy.

  The woman he hadn’t seen or spoken to since that day.

  2

  Mandy Loomis consciously unclenched her jaw and attempted to smile at the jackass crowding her space. “Walter, why don’t we step inside where it’s cooler.” And away from prying eyes.

  The man who reminded her of weasel with his thin face and beady eyes flashed her a salacious grin and scraped his gaze down the front of her. “Yes,” he drew out, making her skin crawl. “I think somewhere private is better.”

  Silently choking on the bile crawling up
her throat, Mandy yanked open the door to the waiting room. The scent of oil, grease, and engine parts smacked her in the face, but she relaxed slightly as she inhaled the familiar smells she’d grown up with. Six black plastic chairs—three on each side—lined part of the side walls with a small table full of outdated magazines stuck under the muted TV mounted high in the corner. An old window air-conditioner rattled and threatened to quit its struggle to combat the ninety-two-degree day. She almost wished it’d give up the ghost. The electricity it took to run the thing was more than she could afford.

  Marching toward the red and gray Formica counter at the back, she exhaled at the emptiness of the room. No witnesses to the nightmare her father left her in.

  Mandy stomped around the counter and slammed her hands on its surface beside a register that’d been a part of the shop since her father first opened thirty-five years ago.

  Walter’s lip curled the longer he studied the crowded room.

  The cement floor had been mopped last weekend and the racks of inventory such as wiper blades, oil, washer fluid, etcetera, had a thin layer of dust she never seemed to lose no matter how often she used a rag. It probably didn’t look like much to a man like Walter, but it was the whole world to Mandy. It was home.

  “You should just sell this place.”

  “I think that’s a bit drastic,” she pushed through clenched teeth. Even if for an insane moment she entertained the notion, she wouldn’t get enough to put her in the clear. Bitterness reared its head. The garage wasn’t the only thing her father passed onto her when he died two years ago.