Today's the day I'm allowed to show off the cover of book one of Black Eagle Ops and I'm as excited as I am with every new cover. Here's the blurb:
Vonnie Davis welcomes readers to Wounded Warrior Falls! In this sizzling contemporary series, broken heroes meet women worth fighting for—and discover the healing power of love.
Navy SEAL Dustin Franks can handle physical pain; it’s his soul that needs mending. After losing part of his leg in an explosion, the panic triggered by his PTSD nearly drives him over the edge. So Dustin retreats to the Eagle Ridge Ranch, a charming hideaway tucked into the Hill Country of Texas. There he finds solace in the arms of a shy beauty who reawakens desires he thought he’d lost forever—and who makes him want to lose control, just when he needs it most.
Kelcee Todd sees beyond Dustin’s scars to the real man beneath: fiercely protective, strong yet tender. She wants nothing more than to feel his battle-hardened hands on her body. However, Kelcee is not the ordinary small-town girl she appears to be. Her brother is a killer with ties to the Russian mob, and after her testimony put him in prison, he’s out and eager for revenge. Now Dustin is her best defense, even if it could cost him everything. Kelcee could never ask him to make that sacrifice . . . but she can’t stop him, either.
Dustin Franks sat on the edge of the bed, gasping for breath as sweat poured off of him. His palms settled on his moist thighs and his chin rested against his collarbone.
“You went longer than you ever have. I was beginning to think you’d never finish.”
His gaze slowly shifted to hers. “You had me fired up.”
“I meant every word I said.”
“Sometimes you push all my damn buttons. I think you enjoy seeing how much of it I’ll take.” He blotted the perspiration from his face and neck with a towel. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
His physical therapist rubbed her small baby bump. “No, you big worrier. You’re leaning less on me and the bar and putting more weight on the titanium calf and foot.” Rebecca handed him a cup of water. “Drink. You know the drill.”
“Shit, I know more drills than you can imagine.” Her word triggered memories of hellacious drills during BUD/S training; but his will had been indomitable and he’d made it into the SEALs. Even though, at times, he was positive he saw the pearly gates before him.
Rebecca waved the large Styrofoam cup in front of his eyes. “Dustin, wherever your mind went, come back. I was referring to the hydration drill.”
He shook the recollections from his brain and re-entered the present. “Right.” He took the cup. “Rehydrate.” He gulped the water.
“I’m going to sit next to you.”
“Okay, Rebecca.” Damn shame she had to warn each of her patients of every movement she was about to make, so no one freaked out over the suddenness of it.
“Tomorrow, we’re going to talk about your release from BAMC. You’ll be out of here in two weeks, three at the most at the rate of your progress.” Rebecca patted his hand. “You are one determined man. I’ve never seen anyone push himself as hard as you have. Tomorrow, we start running on your sprinter prosthesis. I’ve got to go work with Brent, now. See you in the morning.” Off she hurried to her next PT patient.
Dustin set his empty cup on his nightstand, pushed himself farther onto the bed and twisted to lie down. The movement twinged his left hip marginally and his left thigh a few degrees more. His bicep had healed from the surgery to remove the shrapnel—one less pain to deal with. A three-day long hellacious gunfight in Raqqa, a city along the Euphrates River in Syria, had damaged a great deal of the left side of his body.
Air attacks, bombs, and hand grenades had destroyed building after building—so much for the war in the Middle East coming to an end with fewer American boots on the ground. Isis and a few small bands of radical insurgents had seen to that. His team, one of a few special ops forces, had been sent in to evict the killing groups, train local forces, and restore some stability.
One of the structures he and another team member, Kent Wysocki had entered to clear out the enemy took a direct hit. It had required a great deal of his SEAL fortitude and strength of resolve just to crawl far enough from under the rubble to find air to breathe. The coppery stench of his partner’s blood stayed with Dustin for a long time. Even now, he’d wake up in the middle of the night, shaking, sweating, and smelling the blood of his dead buddy, Wysocki.
Nance, the team’s service dog, had jumped over the burning timbers to whine and lick the unwounded side of Dustin’s face and neck. With half of her head bandaged, she’d barked once and charged for JJ, her handler. JJ told Dustin as he and the medic worked on him, she’d alerted JJ in the middle of the firefight’s mayhem that one of the team had been hurt. Claimed she’d grabbed his sleeve and tugged while she growled. The German shepherd, who’d come to them with the name Ordinance, a three-syllabled moniker they’d quickly shortened to one—Nance—had helped saved Dustin’s life.
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