The Soldier's Refuge, page 1
“Is it so wrong that I don’t want to go to the reunion?”
He shrugged. “I don’t want to go.” Although he would, with her. With Nat, it would be...not horrible. “We can make a pact to not go to the reunion together.” He had no idea why he said that but loved her grin in response.
“Yes. Let’s.”
He leaned closer, too. So close he could smell the wine on her breath. See the shine in her eyes. “You can always escape, you know.”
She blinked. That sweep of lashes rendered him speechless. So pretty. She was so...pretty. “Can I?” she whispered. “Can I really?”
He glanced in his sister’s direction. Sheida was engaged in a conversation with Mike and a couple of other guys. At that moment they all turned. To look at her.
Natalie groaned. “I really should.”
A little imp in his soul urged him on. “She’s distracted. Now’s the time. Come on. I’m heading for my studio. I’d love to give you a tour, if you want to come with.”
He didn’t expect her to say yes, not really. But her eyes lit up and she shifted off the high seat and collected her sweater. “You have a studio? What kind of studio?” Then she added, “Let’s blow this pop stand before Sheida comes back.”
And they did.
Dear Reader,
Welcome to The Tuttle Sisters of Coho Cove series, set in the fictional town of Coho Cove on the Pacific coast of Washington State. This town is a fantasy of mine. It’s there on the coast, isolated from all the hustle and bustle, but is still a fun place to live, a magnet for tourists and filled with interesting characters.
The characters have a special place in my heart because, like the Tuttle Sisters, I am a military brat. I spent my life moving from pillar to post and, in general, being the new kid in school. I can relate to Natalie, who never really felt at home when she landed in a small town where everyone else had known each other their whole lives. I might also have had a crush on a guy like Jaxon Stringfellow.
Jax is a strong, sensitive and wounded artist, who is working on managing the trauma from his time in a war zone. He struggles letting other people into his safe zone, letting people get close—but then, don’t we all? The truth is, you don’t have to go to war to experience trauma or PTSD. Almost one in five Americans is living with a mental health condition. Part of the joy of this book for me was learning more about the ways to deal with such challenges, as well as strategies we can all use to help each other through really tough times.
If you or someone you know is experiencing PTSD, depression or other kinds of mental health issues, there is help. NAMI.org, the National Alliance on Mental Illness, is a wonderful place to start. They have resources, helplines and over six hundred state organizations and affiliates across the US.
You are not alone. We are not alone.
I wish you all the best, and happy reading!
Sabrina York
The Soldier’s Refuge
Sabrina York
Sabrina York is the New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author of hot, humorous romance. She loves to explore contemporary, historical and paranormal genres, and her books range from sweet and sexy to scorching romance. Her awards include the 2018 HOLT Medallion and the National Excellence in Romantic Fiction Award, and she was also a 2017 RITA® Award nominee for Historical Romance. She lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband of thirty-plus years and a very drooly Rottweiler.
Visit her website at sabrinayork.com to check out her books, excerpts and contests.
Books by Sabrina York
Harlequin Special Edition
The Tuttle Sisters of Coho Cove
The Soldier’s Refuge
The Stirling Ranch
Accidental Homecoming
Recipe for a Homecoming
The Marine’s Reluctant Return
Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Excerpt from Their All-Star Summer by Kaylie Newell
Chapter One
Natalie Tuttle pulled to the side of the road at the crest of the hill and stared down at the quaint little town of Coho Cove, tucked neatly into a curve of the Washington coast just north of the Columbia River. After seven years, here she was, looking down the barrel of a long-avoided homecoming to a town she’d never liked.
Surely, the churning in her gut wasn’t trepidation...
It must be hunger.
Yeah. Hunger.
When had she last stopped to eat on the twenty-plus-hour drive from Los Angeles? Somewhere in Oregon, if fast food counted. Not that she’d been in such an all-fired hurry to get home, but Celeste’s tone, when she’d shared the news of Momma’s stroke, had been worrisome. When Dad had died, and their brother Nate, Celeste had been the only one who hadn’t lost it. That telling quaver in her voice was probably why Nat had plowed through the drive with hardly a potty stop.
And now she was here.
Yay.
Only a medium-sized part of her wanted to turn around and flee.
From up here, it looked like an ideal place to live—a charming, slightly rustic seaside town with the picturesque pier and marina, and the southern curve of the bay where the old mill once stood. It was especially pretty, bathed as it was in the orange and pinks and purples of the setting sun. But looks could be deceiving.
Her jaw tightened as old feelings arose and compressed in her chest; memories swelled in her mind.
No.
She pushed that detritus away. Natalie wasn’t that girl anymore. She’d left this town in her dust the day after graduation and never returned. She’d remade her life, her self-image, her everything once more. As a military kid, the instinct was second nature and Nat had become exceedingly good at it.
She liked who she was now—established, successful, sure of herself. Totally independent of anyone else. She didn’t want to go back to feeling like a misfit. She would not become the butt of their jokes again just because she was different.
With any luck, she could remember that.
Fortunately, this was only a quick visit to see Momma—who’d had a stroke just as their decades-long housekeeper broke a hip tripping over one of her Chihuahuas—and to give her sisters a hand with caregiving for a bit. It was wrong to leave everything on their shoulders, even if being here—without grinding her teeth to the nubs—was going to be a challenge. It was only right that she pitched in for a week or so to help Amy and Celeste—mostly Celeste—negotiate this life change.
It was good timing, too. The TV show she worked for as an art director was on hiatus. Normally, she’d have gone on a long European jaunt and visited a thousand museums, or met her family members somewhere fun when the show was on hiatus. Instead, this.
Ah, well. There was no putting off to tomorrow that which you dreaded doing today. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure Pepe was still asleep in his carrier in the back seat, then pulled back onto the road and started down the hill into town—with a stop at her favorite burger joint on her mind. As anxious as she was to get eyes on Momma, it wouldn’t be fair to show up this late in the evening and expect Celeste to make her dinner.
If she had missed anything in this town—other than her family—it was a Sparky’s burger. She’d had dreams about Sparky’s burgers and woken up salivating. Besides, after that drive, Nat fancied more than a quick PB and J to restore her soul.
She was practically drooling as she neared the 1950s throwback malt shop on Main Street, so it was particularly annoying to realize it wasn’t there anymore. Oh, the building was still there. But instead of Sparky’s, the neon sign read Bootleggers: Craft Beer for the Rebel in You. A sign on the door indicated they did, indeed, sell food, but since Natalie had always hated the smell of beer, she decided to drive a block to the east in hopes that Smokey’s, the local barbecue joint, was still there—and thank God, it was.
It made sense to get her barbecue to go—the Smokey’s dining room was notoriously...sticky—so she made her way up the rain-spattered, slick steps, pulled open the creaky door and sauntered up to the counter to order. Her eyes widened in surprise as she recognized the man in the Smokey’s Keep it Blazin’ apron. It took a second to find his name in her mental file cabinet, but when their eyes locked, it came to her.
“You’re Baxter Vance.” She didn’t mean to say it. It just came out.
He nodded but his eyes were blank. “Have we met?”
“Yeah. We went to high school together.” You used to call me Butterball. With the emphasis on butt.
“Really?” He shot her a grin. Gosh, he looked like such a nice guy. Too bad she remembered what he really was. “What’s your name?”
“Natalie Tuttle.”
His eyes went big, really big, and he gaped at her. His shock was hardly insulting at all. “Nuh-uh.”
“’Fraid so.”
“Wow,” he said. And then, “Wow.”
“Yeah. It’s been a while.” Seven years, to be exact. Time enough to replace ev
“Wow.” He nodded. Come to think of it, he had always been something of a one-word wonder.
“I’m back for a visit,” she said, even though it was none of his butterball business. Momma had ingrained etiquette into her offspring’s souls from birth, with chants of Mabel, Mabel if you’re able, keep your elbows off the table, exhortations to wear white gloves on Easter Sunday, and other nonsense. Dad had been an army officer, and everyone knew that an officer’s kid served as a reflection of his effectiveness as a leader. How things looked in their household had always been paramount. Certainly, more important than how they actually were. This deeply rooted ethos usually served Nat well, but since she was polite by default, it sometimes irritated her. Like now.
“Wow. Well, you really look...great.” His eyes flicked over her in a way she really didn’t like, especially because it was him.
“Thanks.” She sucked in a deep breath to indicate a change of topic and said, “Okay. So, I’d like a half rack of the Smokey Pigs, with coleslaw and a couple of those cornbread muffins.”
“Sure,” he said, for some reason still agog. And, “Wow.”
“And I’d like that to go,” she added as he continued to gawk. Honestly, she wasn’t that different. Was she? She’d matured a little, slimmed down a little...gotten a stylish haircut, contacts. But basically, beneath all that, she was the same nerdy girl she’d always been. Wasn’t she?
“Oh, yeah. Sure. Sure.”
She leaned in and gave him a wicked smile. “And I’m really hungry, so if you could hop to it, that’d be great.” She never would have said something that snarky—bordering on rude—if she hadn’t been nearly cross-eyed with fatigue. And, dare she mention, starving. Still, politeness reasserted itself. “Sorry. Kind of in a rush. The family is expecting me.”
“Sure. Sure.” He took her payment and went to work on her order. At least he didn’t make those little piggy noises he used to make whenever he saw her in the high school cafeteria with actual food on her tray. If he had, in her current mood, she’d probably have clocked him. She was no longer a shrinking violet. She was no longer an easy mark for bullies.
She sat down at a sticky table and scrolled through her phone as she waited for her order—not because she had any urgent texts to read, but because if she looked busy, he probably wouldn’t try to talk to her. She needed some time to process this surreal moment.
Because this was Baxter Vance, one of the reasons she never wanted to come back this town. Somehow, he wasn’t quite as, well, tall as she remembered. And nowhere near as impressive.
He’d been the leader of the pack back then. The instigator of all her misery. Mr. Most Likely to Succeed, Prom King, THE stud on campus...and now, he lived in the same small town and worked at the rib place where the uniform was, apparently, a filthy apron.
Facing him hadn’t been as hard as she’d expected. Maybe she could do this homecoming thing without too much angst. Maybe?
But then, Baxter Vance wasn’t the one she’d dreaded meeting most. Not by a long shot. Lola Cheswick and Sherill Scanlon leaped to mind. And, of course, Jaxon Stringfellow. He, however, didn’t have to leap to mind because he was always there for some bizarre reason, burrowing in her memories, popping up at the most inopportune times.
Heat scorched her cheeks at just the thought of him. Her whole body went hot and cold, as it always did when thoughts of Jax danced through her mind.
Quit it, she told herself. Don’t forget what he did to you.
He still lived here. She knew it. Her friend Sheida had mentioned in passing that her brother had returned to town after a stint in the army. Amy had mentioned him as well, with fondness in her tone.
How flipping awkward would it be to see him again? Talk to him? With actual words? It was probably going to happen, sooner than later, so she might as well prepare. She could probably say something blasé like, “Oh, hey, Jax. Nice to see you again.” Or, “Remember that time you kissed me on a bet? Oh, yeah. That was hysterical.”
But it hadn’t been hysterical, had it? Not to her.
She should have known better. The captain of the football team kissed cheerleaders like Sherill, not the chubby, awkward “newcomer” who never quite found her place or herself in this alien universe filled with people who’d all grown up together.
Nope. Guys like that didn’t kiss girls like the girl she’d been. Not on purpose anyway. Not unless he did it on a bet. Which was, clearly, hilarious. But only to him and his crowd.
For Natalie, the utter chagrin had been just one more reason to get the hell out of Dodge the second she could. And for seven years, it had served as a reason to not return.
Not because some snotty football players had laughed at her. She couldn’t have cared less what they thought. It was Jax’s part in the debacle that had crushed her. For some reason, she’d thought better of him. She’d thought their friendship, at least, had been a real thing.
But like most men, he’d let her down.
Whatever. Ancient history. Suck it up, Buttercup. Move on.
If she did see him again, maybe she should just pretend not to remember him? Maybe that would be best.
When Baxter brought over her order, he hovered while she collected her things, as though he wanted to talk to her. Pity she was too tired and hungry to linger. Even if she hadn’t been, lingering with him did not appeal. It never would. Nat grabbed the brown paper sack, already spotted with grease stains, tossed a too-cheery “Thanks” over her shoulder and pushed through the door.
She should not have been in such a hurry to escape a conversation with her painful past. She should have remembered how slick the steps had been when she’d come into the joint. But she was and she didn’t, and as a result, she slipped on the middle tread; her foot—and her food—went flying, and she landed on her butt, hard, in the mud at the bottom of the stairs.
The impact made her head spin for a second. The pain made her woozy. That was probably why it took her a minute to realize that the man standing in front of her holding out his hand to help her up, with a look of concern on his—gorgeous—face was not an angel as she might originally have assumed.
He was, in fact, Jaxon Stringfellow himself.
And damn it all anyway. He was even hotter than she remembered.
* * *
It was an instinctive reaction, Jax supposed—when one saw a woman fall down three stairs and land that hard—to reach out a hand to help her up. He did so without thinking. But then, their gazes met and locked, and a thunderbolt hit him. Hit him so hard that he was incapable of saying anything other than a purely instinctive “Are you all right?”
Natalie Tuttle. Her name rang in his head like a bell. She’d finally come home.
He’d known she was coming, so he wasn’t sure why he was surprised, or stunned, or whatever the hell this gut-wrenching emotion was.
She’d changed, he had the presence of mind to notice. She’d grown up. Gone from cute to drop-dead gorgeous. She’d lost the straight-across bangs that had always clashed with her glasses and added a diamond nose ring, declaring the rebel she’d always been, albeit secretly. Her hair was slickly styled, sadly missing the careless ponytail and random nibbled pencil behind one ear—sometimes both—and she’d become, well, svelte. He wasn’t sure he liked that part, or the fact that she’d become someone he nearly didn’t recognize.
But those eyes didn’t change.
Maybe they were the source of his discombobulation.
They cut right through him. They always had.
He saw the exact second she recognized him. The muscles around her mouth tightened. Her cheek bunched. She swallowed.
Oh, and she totally avoided his hand as she helped herself up—thank you very much. Then she nodded primly, collected her bag of food and made her way to her car. In a hurry.
He could hardly blame her. He’d been a jerk back then. A stupid kid. And obviously, she remembered.
His buddies had egged him into kissing her—dared him, really—there behind the bleachers in the gymnasium. And he’d done it. Partly because they encouraged it, and partly because he’d wanted to kiss her. There’d always been a connection between them. He could not deny his attraction to her—at least to himself. But he’d never acted on it because, well, he hadn’t had the strength to stand up to his friends and step outside of expectations.
