Hard Target, Book 1 in my new Cobra Elite romantic suspense series, is now available for pre-order! It will be out in ebook on April 25, and hopefully, print that same day or shortly after that.

Kindle US
Kindle UK
Kindle CA
Kindle AU
Kindle DE
Nook
iBooks
Kobo

It will be available on Smashwords (all formats, international) on its release date.

This is a high-octane spin-off to the I-Team series, featuring Javier Corbray, Holly and Nick Andris, and Derek Tower and all the heroes and heroines at their private military company, Cobra International Security. Expect the occasional I-Team cameo in this series.

Here’s a description of the story:

Derek Tower has spent his life at war, first as a Green Beret and then as the owner of a private military company, Cobra International Security. When a high-ranking US senator asks Cobra to protect his daughter, a midwife volunteering in Afghanistan, Derek’s gut tells him to turn the senator down. The last thing he wants to do is babysit an aid worker. But Jenna isn’t just another assignment. She’s also the younger sister of his best friend, the man who died taking bullets meant for him. There’s no way Derek can refuse. 

Jenna Hamilton doesn’t need a bodyguard, especially not one hired by her intrusive and controlling father. She knew the risks when she signed on to work in rural Afghanistan, and the hospital already has armed security. She also doesn’t need the distraction of a big, brooding operative skulking about, even if he is her late brother’s best friend—and sexy as hell. As far as she’s concerned, he can pack up his Humvee and drive into the sunset. And, no, nothing her hormones have to say about him will change her mind. 

From the moment his boots hit the ground in Afghanistan, Derek does his best to win Jenna over, posing as her brother so the two of them can spend time alone. Except that what he feels for her is anything but brotherly. Stolen moments lead to secret kisses—and an undeniable sexual attraction that shakes them both to the core. But events have been set into motion that they cannot escape. When a ruthless warlord sets his sights on Jenna, Derek will do whatever it takes to keep her safe, even if it costs him his heart—or his life.
I'm super excited to share the story with you. Without further ado, an excerpt.

In this scene, Derek, who is pretending to be Jenna’s brother so he can speak with her in an environment that mandates total separation of the sexes, helps Jenna get the hospital safe room ready just in case.

From HARD TARGET —

Derek jogged back up the stairs, making four more trips -- two for the remaining two drums and two for the rest of the MREs and the water -- while Jenna tore off the shrink wrap, opened the boxes, and piled the meals into the barrel. Then she fitted the lids onto the barrels, stepping back as he pounded them firmly into place with the heel of his palm.

“That ought to keep out the mice.”

“I’d like to store some medical supplies down here, too, just in case—first aid supplies, IV fluids, pain meds.” Her headscarf had come loose, and she instinctively reached up to straighten it.

He caught her hand. “Don’t. I want to see your hair.”

Jenna forgot to breathe.


What the hell are you doing?

This hadn’t been part of Derek’s plan. The words had just come out of his mouth, but for some reason, he wasn’t taking them back.

A part of him tried to convince himself that he was just doing his job, just trying to win Jenna over. But he knew that was bullshit. He truly did want to see her hair.

Jenna stood, frozen in place, looking up at him, green eyes wide, her pupils dilated. “I-I probably shouldn’t…”

He took hold of the damned headscarf and pulled it off to reveal thick auburn hair that hung well below her shoulders.

She reached up, ran a hand self-consciously over her hair. “I’ve gotten used to covering up. I don’t spend any time styling it or…”

Her words trailed off when he lifted a handful of silky strands, raised them to his nostrils, and inhaled, the feminine scent sending a dart of arousal to his groin. “You smell like flowers.”

“It’s … uh … my shampoo.”

Had he managed to fluster her?

Good.

“I like it.” He slid his fingers through the thick tresses, grazing her cheek with his palm, his fingers finding her nape.

Her eyes drifted shut, her lips parting on an exhale.

Lust punched through him, sharp and bright.

Reluctantly, he drew his hand away, fighting an irrational impulse to pull her close and kiss the hell out of her. “You’re a beautiful woman, Jenna.”

She shook her head, her cheeks flushing pink. “I’m not wearing any makeup.”

“You don’t need it.” He truly meant that.

Her skin was nearly translucent, her eyelashes dark and long, her lips full and…

Hell, he should not be thinking about her lips. If anyone caught them kissing, they would both end up very dead. Not that anyone would wander in just now. The women were shut in the hospital wing, and Farzad was likely too afraid to set foot in this place.

Don’t take chances.

He wouldn’t, not where Jenna was concerned.

Besides, kissing her wasn’t his mission.

“I wish you would come with me back to the U.S.” He rested his hands on her shoulders. “There are men not far from here who would tear you apart if they could.”

“Are you trying to scare me? It won’t work.”

“No, I’m just telling you the truth. I’ve seen the aftermath of more than one Taliban massacre -- women and girls raped to death or shot in the head, entire families slaughtered.”

She took a step backward. “I know it’s dangerous to be here, but it’s more dangerous for these mothers. If I bail out of my contract and go home because I’m afraid, where does that leave them? Where does it leave Marie, Delara, and the students? The world can’t just abandon these women. I know that what I’m doing is just a drop in the bucket compared to what’s needed, but at least I’m doing something.”

Derek could tell she meant every word, and he respected her. That didn’t change the fact that he had a job to do. “At least think about it.”

“I should get back to work.” She bent down to pick up her headscarf.

“Let me.” He took it from her, draped it over her hair, tucking it beneath her chin and drawing it around her so that the ends fell over her chest to cover the gentle curves of her breasts. “That should do it. Not a single strand is showing.”

CLOSE TO HEAVEN: A Colorado High Country Christmas (Colorado High Country #5) is OUT! That had to be a speed record.

Kindle US, Kindle UK, Kindle CA, Kindle AU, iBooks, Nook, Smashwords (international, all ebook formats).

It should be out at any time on Kobo as well.

This full-length novel tells the story of two of people’s favorite characters — Rain Minear and Joe Moffat. We’ve seen them in every Colorado High Country book so far as the general manager and owner, respectively, of Knockers, the brewpub. Now their story comes front and center.

Rain was a mother at 16, abandoned by her much older babydaddy to give birth in a minivan alone. She grew up poor, managed to raise her daughter by working hard and sacrificing, and now at 37 feels alone.

Joe grew up with everything, but his heritage is a burden to him. He is haunted by ghosts of Scarlet Springs' past. He plans to stay single, have no children, and leave all his money to a foundation for the people of Scarlet. I’m telling you right now that things don’t work out the way he'd planned them. In the end, no one will be more grateful for that than Joe.

I hope you enjoy the story!

Here's the blurb from the back of the book:

A woman at a crossroads…

Rain Minear has fantasized about finding herself in Joe Moffat’s arms for years. It’s just her luck that the night it finally happens, he’s carrying her into the emergency room. It’s Joe who steps up to help her when a tragedy brings her life crashing down. He gives her a place to stay, helps her get back on her feet, and even tries to save her Christmas, though he’s never cared for the holiday. But he’s far too ethical to sleep with a member of his staff, holding her at arms length despite the long-simmering attraction between them.

A man haunted by the past…

Joe Moffat moved to Scarlet Springs to repay a debt. He’s struggled for years to keep his hands off Rain. She’s the general manager of his brewpub, and he is not that kind of boss. But, oh, she turns him on. More than that, she has the biggest heart of any woman he’s ever known. He’d do anything to see her smile again, even put up a Christmas tree and listen to carols. 

A season that changes two lives forever…

When a Rocky Mountain blizzard leaves them snowbound, they can no longer ignore their feelings for one another. As their passion turns to something deeper, it becomes clear to them both that this will be the most important Christmas of their lives.

It’s a fun and emotional story that gives us a glimpse into the historical past of Scarlet Springs and its people. It was a blast for me to research mining history and Colorado history for those parts of the story. 

Want an excerpt? I know you do. Without further ado...

From Close to Heaven...

While Joe set up the tree and retrieved box after box of Christmas decorations from storage, Rain rolled out the cookie dough, cut circles in the dough with a glass—Joe had no cookie cutters—then sprinkled the dough with sugar and put the cookies in the oven. She watched Joe as he came and went. Some part of her wanted to pretend that they were a happy couple preparing for Christmas together, but she was too much of a realist to play that game. Besides, Joe was anything but happy. He seemed tense, even grouchy. He was probably still upset about his SUV being stuck in a ditch.

He was always the first person in town to help others in times of trouble, but he had a hard time asking for it. Worse, he hated being out of the action. Now, he was stuck here with her for a couple of days, sidelined by a storm.

Rain cleaned up the mess she’d made, wiping flour off the countertop and getting the dishes into the dishwasher.

Joe walked in, another big box in his arms. He set it down on the floor near the living room fireplace. “I think this is the last one. I had planned to donate all of this. I just never got around to it.”

Rain dried her hands. “Maybe because it means something to you?”

He shrugged. “Nah. I’ve just been busy.”

Rain rested her hands on her hips. “We don’t have to do this, Joe. If this isn’t fun for you, it won’t be fun for me either. We can just chill and watch TV or do our own thing if that sounds better to you.”

He drew in a breath, closed his eyes, the tension inside him palpable. “You’re right. Sorry. I’m being an ass.”

“I didn’t say that.”

He opened his eyes, his lips curving in a lopsided grin. “Maybe you should have.”

“I’m sorry about your SUV.”

“It’s nothing. Compared to what you’re going through…”

She wanted him to know she understood. “It’s hard for you to ask for help, I know, especially when you want to be out there helping other people.”

“Yeah. Pretty much.”

“Okay, now, get over it. Everyone needs help once in a while—even the mighty Joe Moffat.”

He raised a dark eyebrow. “Is that how I come across?”

“Only when you’re beating yourself up for being human.”

Some of the frustration left his face. “Good to know.”

He walked over to his sound system, pulled out his iPod. “Christmas music. Let’s see what I have on here. Andy Williams. My grandmother loved him.”

Rain didn’t want to be negative. “He’s fine.”

Joe frowned. “Okay, so not Andy Williams. How about the Chipmunks?”

“The Chipmunks?” Rain laughed. “You listened to the Chipmunks?”

“No to the Chipmunks?”

She had a better idea. “Do you trust me?”

“Sure.”

Rain drew out her cell phone, found her Christmas playlist, then plugged her phone into the sound system and hit play. José Feliciano’s Feliz Navidad spilled into the room. “I love this song.”

She couldn’t help herself. She sang along and then started to dance, the happy melody and the Puerto Rican rhythm calling to her.

Joe crossed his arms over his chest and watched her, a grin on his face, his gaze warm. “You have a beautiful voice,” he said when the song ended.

The compliment hit a sore spot inside her.

“Not beautiful enough to make a career out of it.” She walked into the kitchen, checked the oven timer.

One minute.

“Come on now. You don’t know that.” He was still watching her, and she knew he was trying to decide whether to let it go. He changed the subject, pointing to the speakers. “What’s playing now?”

“Celtic harp. Kim Robertson.” Rain searched for an oven mitt, grateful that he hadn’t pushed her. “She’s incredible. I saw her play in Denver a few years ago.”

The timer beeped, and Rain took the cookie sheets out of the oven, the sweet scent of fresh sugar cookies mingling with the bright pine scent of the tree. She left the cookies to cool, joining Joe in the living room, where he was going from box to box as if trying to decide where to start.

He glanced over at her. “Let’s open these up, and see what we have.”

“You don’t know what’s in them?” She found this funny.

“They belonged to my mother. They were handed down to me after she passed, but I haven’t opened them.”

Was that it? Was that why he’d seemed so tense?

“If this is going to dredge up unhappy memories for you or make you sad, we can decorate with popcorn or ribbons or old socks for all I care.”

“Old socks?” He chuckled. “It’s fine, really. I wasn’t close to my parents. At Christmas, staff decorated the trees—several of them—for my mother’s Christmas parties. They also did all of my mom’s Christmas shopping. I was away at boarding school until right before the holiday. By the time I got home, everything was decorated, and the gifts were under the tree. It’s not something we did as a family.”

An ache in her chest, she watched as he chose a box and lifted it onto the coffee table. It made her sad to think that he had no real attachment to any of these decorations, no happy memories of putting up the tree with his parents and hanging his favorite ornaments year after year. The stuff in these boxes was just stuff to him. No wonder he’d planned to donate it.

“Let’s see what we’ve got.” He lifted the top off the box he’d chosen.

“Oh!” Delight washing through Rain. “They’re precious.”

On top sat a box of old European-style blown glass ornaments in pastel colors with glittering white, gold, and silver details—angels, Kris Kringles, shimmering birds with feathers for tails, elves, a little church, a trumpet, a cello, a violin. Each ornament was tucked carefully into tissue paper.

Joe took out one of the angels, turned it over in his hand as if it were a Rubik’s Cube. “How do you hang them on the tree? There are no hooks.”

“What do you mean?” Rain gaped at him. “Have you never decorated a Christmas tree before?”

“I told you. We had staff for that.”

“Well, it’s about time.” She found a small box of ornament hooks and opened it. “You take one of these and pass it through that little loop there. See?”

“Okay. Yeah. I get it.” He took it from her, started toward the tree.

“Oh, no, you can’t put it up yet. First, you have to put up the lights.”

He stopped mid-stride. “Lights? Right. I wonder where those are.”



Putting Christmas lights on a tree could test the patience of a saint. They found two big boxes of the damned things—dozens of strands of white lights—and went to work replacing old bulbs and putting the strands on the tree one by one. Rain took charge, imparting her vastly superior experience in Christmas tree decorating to him.

“You don’t want to drape the lights over the ends of the branches. You need to weave them through the tree, get them deep inside.”

She showed him how this was done, starting at the bottom of the tree and passing the lighted strand around its girth to him, their fingers brushing as they handed the strand back and forth. Awareness sang through him at her touch. Their gazes met through the tree’s green branches, the warmth in her eyes a provocation.

Twinkling lights. Soft music. The scent of pine.

Damn.

Joe was in trouble. He knew he ought to distance himself from her somehow, maybe go back outside and try digging out his Land Rover again, but he couldn’t get himself to step away. Their fingers lingered now, the touch deliberate.

They put strand after strand on the tree until it glittered and Joe was about to lose his mind. Then they moved to the ornaments—a new kind of torture. Every time they opened a box, a look of wonder came over Rain’s face, her smile and happiness putting a hitch in his chest. His pulse was tripping, and he wasn’t even touching her.

Jesus.

He got to his feet, walked to the window, needing some distance.

“These must be antique.” She held up a trio of angels. “Look. The faces are made of painted wax, not plastic.”

 “Yeah.” He turned to look out onto a windswept world of white, working to get his emotions under control, while she continued to rummage through the box.

“Oh!”

He heard her exclamation, recognized the excitement in her voice, but didn’t turn to see what she’d discovered, too caught up in his own feelings.
“Do you have any tape or thumbtacks?”

He answered without facing her. “They’re in the drawer next to the fridge.”

When are you going to tell Rain how you feel about her?

Rico’s words came back to him. Damn Rico anyway. What the hell did he expect Joe to do? Was he supposed to pull Rain aside and admit to her that he’d had sexual fantasies about her for far too long? Should he tell her that her smile, her laughter, the very sight of her put a warm feeling in his chest or confess that he spent more time at Knockers than he needed to so he could be close to her?

Listen to yourself. You’re pathetic, man.

When this storm passed, he would make an effort to meet someone again. He’d sign up on one of those online dating sites and—

“Oh, Joe.” There was a sing-song tone to her voice that cut through his thoughts.

He turned to find her standing in front of the sofa, a teasing smile on her lips, a look of expectation on her face.

She looked up at the ceiling, drawing his gaze with hers.

Hell.

Mistletoe.

It was plastic, but she didn’t seem to care.

“Rain.” He shook his head, but his feet began to move. “I’m your boss.”

Her gaze held his, an almost pleading look in her eyes. “Oh, who cares? It’s Christmas. I’m not going to sue you, if that’s what you think.”

“It’s not that.” Joe had come from a long line of assholes, and he was trying desperately not to become one himself.

Just give her a quick peck on the cheek.

Okay. Yeah. Sure. He could do that.

He closed the distance between them, hesitated for a moment, then ducked down to press his lips to her cheek. But his body betrayed him, and his mouth found its way to hers. It was just a brushing of lips, but the shock of it brought him back for another pass and another. Her lips were warm, soft, pliant, the sweet scent of her skin intoxicating. But he was going to stop. Any moment now, he would draw away from her and end this incredible … exhilarating… foolishness.

It was her little sigh of pleasure that undid him.

He drew her against him, claiming her mouth in a hungry kiss. She came alive in his arms, arching against him, matching his fervor, her tongue meeting his stroke for stroke, her fingers curling in his hair. God, she tasted like heaven and felt perfect in his arms, her breasts pressing against his chest, her body soft in all the right places.

Joe’s heart thrummed, blood surging to his groin. Some part of him realized that he hadn’t stopped, that he was still kissing her, but he didn’t care, not when kissing her felt so… damned … right. He nipped her lower lip, drew it into his mouth, felt her tongue graze his upper lip, her fingers fisting in his hair.

Whether she stumbled backward onto the sofa or whether he urged her, he couldn’t say, but one moment they were standing, and the next he was lying on top of her, pressing kisses along her throat, her pulse frantic beneath his lips.

She whimpered, her hips moving beneath his, grinding herself against his erection. She reached for the top button on his jeans. “Joe. I want you.”

“Yes.” What the hell had he just said? “No. No, Rain, we can’t.”

“Why not?” Rain stared up at him, disappointment and desire naked in her eyes. “We’re adults. I want you. You want me.”

As if the hard-on in his jeans left any doubt about that.

“I’m your employer, Rain.” Joe pulled away from her and got to his feet, everything inside him protesting the abrupt loss of contact. Not sure what to do or say, he started packing together the empty boxes.

“Seriously? That is your excuse? I told you. I’m not going to sue.”

“Do you really think I’ve got some kind of risk assessment going on in my head right now?” He glanced over at her. “I’m trying to be fair to you.”

Her expression fell, and she broke eye contact.

Shit. 

He’d hurt her. He didn’t want that. “Rain, I—”

“It’s okay, Joe.” She stood, smoothing her hands over her blouse. “Let’s get these boxes put away and have some cookies.”

Joe said what he’d been trying to say. “I care about you.”

“I know. You care about all of the staff.” She packed tissue paper into two empty boxes then closed them, shutting herself off from him, too.

This is what happened when he ignored his own better sense. He shouldn’t have kissed her in the first place. What the hell had he been thinking?

Copyright (c) 2017 Pamela Clare — All rights reserved

Hey, everyone.

I hope you're not melting. Last time I posted, we had just come through a blizzard. Right now, it’s 99F/37C outside.

I have been busy finishing our transformation of our backyard from lawn to orchard. We planted eight fruit trees, 11 raspberry bushes, a strawberry bed, three blueberry bushes, and two blackberry bushes. We also put in a sprinkler system that can water all of this. Now, our peach tree is laden with peaches, as is our honeycrisp apple tree. There are three — yes, three — cherries on one of our cherry trees. One of our blueberry bushes is covered in blueberries; the others aren't. We didn't expect anything to set fruit this year.

In addition to all of that, I have been hard at work writing. Yeah, I thought you might like that.

Let me tell you a little bit about TEMPTING FATE, which will be out in about ONE WEEK. Tempting Fate is the fourth book in my Colorado High Country contemporary romance series. The first book in the series, Barely Breathing, is only 99 cents in ebook if you’ve fallen behind and want to catch up before this book comes out. The others in the series are Slow Burn, with its firefighter hero, and Falling Hard, a story about a Gold Star wife and a veteran with PTSD.

Chaska Belcourt, son of a Lakota Sun Dance chief, is the hero of this story. We’ve seen him in action before. A member of the Rocky Mountain Search & Rescue Team and a mechanical engineer who designs propulsion systems for satellites, he meets his heroine in a rather unusual way.

Naomi Archer, the heroine of the story, is a survivor who is making her way in this world alone. She has built success for herself, one day at a time, as a maker of artisan jewelry.

This story gives me a chance to put into words my experiences reporting on issues from various reservations, this time Lakota lands. More on that some other time.

For today, I thought I’d share an excerpt from the story.

You’re welcome!

Enjoy!



~ ~ ~

Monday, July 10
Roosevelt National Forest
Above Scarlet Springs, Colo.

Naomi Archer put another log on the fire, the blaze offering warmth against the evening chill. The sun had set behind the mountains a few minutes ago, its last rays stretching pink across the sky. Although it was July, there were still patches of snow on the high peaks, their summits bright in the waning light.

It was breathtaking.

She sat back in her camp chair and inhaled, the soft crackling of the fire and the mingled scents of smoke, pine, and fresh mountain air bringing a sense of peace. How long had she dreamed of this vacation?

Forever, it seemed.

She’d first come to Denver for a silversmithing workshop, had seen the mountains through the dirty window of her cheap hotel room, and had promised herself she’d come back to visit those mountains one day when she could afford it. It had taken her five long years of waiting tables and making jewelry on the side to keep that promise, but here she was—not in a cheap hotel room, but camping on National Forest land with her own gear.

A big raven landed on a pine branch across from her and gave a throaty caw.
Naomi wished she had her camera within reach. “Hey, there.”

Corvus corax.

She used ravens in her jewelry more than any other creature, and when a client had asked her why, she hadn’t had an answer. She’d mumbled something about ravens being intelligent and playful. Only later, after she’d had time to think about it, had the answer come to her. For her, ravens were a symbol of freedom.

She had watched them fly over the fields of the farm where she’d grown up, watched them tumble in the wind, watched them defy Peter’s attempts to keep them out of his corn, and she had envied them.

The bird cocked its head at her, its feathers gleaming blue-black in the twilight. It hopped down the branch and cawed again, moving a bit closer.
Oh, this would have been the perfect shot. Damn!

She supposed the little guy was hoping for a handout, but she knew better than to feed wildlife. Even if it weren’t bad for the raven, National Forest rules prohibited it. “Sorry, buddy. I don’t have anything for you.”

The bird cawed once more, then flew off, as if it had understood her.

She watched it until it had disappeared into the forest canopy. She’d seen a small herd of mule deer and a tiny kit fox while hiking today. They hadn’t seemed afraid of her but had gone about their business with barely a glance in her direction while she photographed them. She was hoping to use her photos and sketches to inspire jewelry when she got home again—if she went home.

She’d been here for only two days, and already she was in love with Colorado. She could imagine herself living in a little mountain cabin, stands of aspen for a front yard, maybe a little creek gurgling somewhere nearby. True, she would have to start from scratch, meeting with merchants, getting her jewelry into their shops, building her clientele. But most of her income came from her website and catalogue sales. If she wanted to relocate to Colorado, she could make it work.

The idea excited her. If she relocated, she’d be able to spend every day up in the mountains, not just rare vacations. She might even be able to open her own boutique in one of these small mountains towns. Best of all, she’d be able to make a new start far from everything that reminded her of her past.

She got to her feet and washed her supper dishes, then packed them and the rest of her food in the back of her battered old Honda CR-V, her mind lost in thoughts of her imaginary boutique. It would carry her jewelry but also that of other artisans, along with paintings and photography and maybe even textiles if—

“Well, hello, there.”

She spun around, a startled cry trapped in her throat.

Two men stood just beyond the firelight. She took in their appearance at a glance—unkempt hair, scraggly beards, ill-fitting jeans and jackets—and took a step backward, instinct telling her to jump into her vehicle, lock the doors, and drive.

One of the two raised his hand in greeting, his unshaven face breaking into a smile. “Sorry to spook you, miss. We’re just camping yonder and thought we’d say hello. I’m Arlie, and my buddy here is Clem. We’re from Texas.”

“Hey.” Clem gave her a nod.

“Hey.” She slipped a hand in the pocket of her jacket, searching for her cell phone, then remembered she’d left it in her backpack, which was in the tent a good ten feet to her right.

Damn it!

She couldn’t be sure the two men meant her harm, but she knew better than to ignore her instincts. These men were predators.

Arlie pointed toward her license plate and turned to Clem. “Don’t you have a cousin in South Dakota?”

Clem nodded. “Small world, I guess.”

“Mind if we share your fire for a while, keep you company?” Arlie took a step forward. “If you’d rather keep to yourself, we can go. We don’t mean to intrude.”

There was something silky in his voice, as if he desperately wanted her to trust him. Too bad for him.

She took a step to her left, ready to pivot and run. “I came up here to get some space, so I’d really like my privacy. Please go.”

Her pulse ticked off the seconds as she waited to see whether they would respect her wishes—or whether they were as bad as her gut told her they were.

“That’s not very friendly, is it, Clem?”

Shit.

Naomi tensed to run—then froze, heart seeming to stop in her chest.

A gun.

Clem held it in his right hand, the barrel pointed straight at her. “We haven’t had a decent bite in a few days. You’ve got plenty of food. Get to cookin’, woman.”


Naomi sat near the fire while Clem and Arlie ate the chili they’d forced her to make for them, a needle file she’d snuck from her toolbox hidden in her coat pocket. She knew where this was headed.
Arlie’s wandering hands and the slimy grin on Clem’s face left no doubt in her mind what they planned to do once their stomachs were full.

She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.

There are two of them and one of you, and Clem has a pistol.

She squeezed that thought from her mind. She couldn’t let fear get the best of her, not if she wanted to get out of this untouched and alive.

Naomi had gleaned from the men’s conversation that they had escaped from a Texas prison and had been hiding out in Roosevelt National Forest for at least a week, eating food stolen from campsites and sheltering in some old abandoned ranger cabin. She and her SUV were their ticket to getting out of here and moving down the highway.

Arlie belched. “Bring some firewood, squaw. The fire’s burning low.”

Naomi glared at him, got slowly to her feet.

“That’s what you are, ain’t you?” Arlie reached for her, but she dodged him. “You’re part Indian. Your daddy must’ve been white on account of them blue eyes.”

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t have answered even if she’d wanted to because she didn’t know. Not even the people who’d raised her had known who her parents were or where she’d come from.

“She’s part Indian?” Clem sniggered. “Which part? Seems like we open her up and find out.”

His vile words sent frissons of fear through Naomi. She picked up an armload of firewood from the stack near her truck and carried it back to the fire, the needle file burning a hole in her pocket. She would do whatever she had to do to defend herself, though the idea of killing someone made her stomach hurt.

Don’t think about it.

She dropped the wood beside the fire, took one of the smaller pieces and poked at the fire, embers glowing orange. And then it came to her—a way out.

She adjusted her hold on the wood, jabbed at the fire again, her body tensing, her pulse beating faster. All at once, she scooped up flaming wood and embers and flung them into Clem’s lap, then swung the wood like a bat into Arlie’s face, knocking him onto his back.

“Son of a bitch!” Clem howled.

Arlie grunted. “Fuck! Get her!”

Naomi bolted toward forest. She didn’t wait to see how badly the bastards were hurt or to find out whether Clem was pointing his gun at her. If she could just get far out of the firelight where they couldn’t see her…

BAM!

A gunshot split the night. The blast made Naomi shriek, turned her blood to ice, but she kept running. It was only after the darkness of the forest had swallowed her that she realized she’d been hit.


Chaska Belcourt hiked up the trail with his sister, Winona, the sun just up, the air fresh and cool after a night rain. Ahead of them, Shota loped down the trail, stopping every so often to sniff something before taking off again. The wolf had a large enclosure—almost a square mile—but he got restless if he didn’t get out to run a few times a week. In his heart, Shota would always be wild.

The only place they could let him run free was on National Forest land. No, it wasn’t strictly legal to run a wolf off leash here, but it was better than scaring people. Folks had a tendency to freak out when they saw a big, gray wolf running toward them down the trail.

“Are you going to do it?” Winona asked.

“Do what?”

“Ask Nicole out.”

Not that again.

“I like Nicole. She’s a good climber. She’s smart. She’s—”

“She’s pretty—and she really likes you.” Winona said that last part as if it were impossible to believe.

“She’s on the Team, Win. You know how I feel about that.”

“Don’t dip your pen in the company inkwell, I know. Okay, but you don’t work together. You volunteer together. Lots of people meet that way.”

Chaska had been a primary member of Rocky Mountain Search & Rescue Team for a little more than four years now. Though the Team was an all-volunteer organization, he and everyone else took it every bit as seriously as they did their day jobs. “I won’t risk getting distracted or bringing personal baggage with me on rescues.”

Lives were at stake.

“Oh, come on. I don’t believe for a moment that you or Nicole are so unprofessional as to let your relationship get in the way during a rescue.”

“We don’t have a relationship.” He aimed to keep it that way. “Besides, she’s not my type.”

“A gorgeous climber who adores you isn’t your type?” Win looked up at him. “Is this because she’s wasicu?”

“You know me better than that.” It’s true that Chaska had always imagined himself settling down with a woman who shared his heritage and way of life, but that didn’t mean he’d turn away from loving a woman because she was white. “Why are you still going on about this?”

“You’re thirty-three. When our parents were your age, they—”

“Were already divorced, and Mom was drinking.”

Alcohol had killed their mother as surely as if she’d put a gun to her head.

Winona was quiet—for a moment. “I just don’t want you to be alone.”

He reached over, tousled her dark hair. “I wish I were alone, but I have a pesky little sister who thinks she’s my granny and acts like a matchmaker.”

Win laughed. “Someone has to watch out for you.”

He supposed that was true. They were far from family, far from Oglala Oyate, far from Pine Ridge. Then again, he and Win had looked out for each other ever since they were small children. When he’d left the reservation to study mechanical engineering at the University of Colorado in Boulder, he’d known she would follow. Now he worked on propulsion and launch systems for satellites for an aerospace engineering firm, and she was a wildlife vet with her own clinic.

Life was good.

As for having a woman in his life, yeah, that would be nice, especially at night. But sex was a bad reason to rush into a relationship. As far as he knew, no Lakota man had ever found his half-side — his perfect, matching female half — by going wherever his dick led him.

“Don’t you want to be with someone?”

“Of course, I do, but I’ll wait till the right woman comes along. Creator can feel free to put her in my path any time.”

Ahead of them on the trail, Shota stopped. He raised his head, seemed to sniff the wind, then gave a strange howl. His ears went back, and he took off, running off the trail and disappearing among the trees.

Damn.

Chaska ran, following the animal through the forest, Winona’s voice following him as she ran behind him, calling for him, shouting for him to stop.

“Shota! Ayustaŋye!”

But Shota didn’t stop, didn’t so much as glance back, running until he had disappeared from sight.

Chaska stopped when he came to the place he’d last seen the animal, Win close behind him and breathing hard.

“Do you think you can track him?”

The ground was wet from last night’s rain. “Maybe.”

From nearby came Shota’s howl. He was calling to them, calling his pack.

“Maybe I won’t have to.”

“That way.” Winona set off again.

Chaska ran beside her, the terrain rocky and dropping steeply to a ravine below.

“There!” Winona stopped, pointed with a jerk of her head.

Shota lay on his belly partly concealed in what looked like a small cave or an old mine shaft, his gray fur like camouflage in the shadows. He craned his head to look over at them and whined.

Chaska moved toward him. “What’s gotten into him?”

 “You’re asking me?”

“Aren’t you the vet?”

They approached Shota slowly, not wanting to spook him into running. Chaska let Win take the lead. She was the expert, after all, and Shota’s official guardian.

She switched to Lakota, spoke in a soothing voice. “Waste, Shota. Lila waste.”

The wolf stayed where he was, tail thumping on damp pine needles.

Winona reached him first. “Oh, God. Chaska!”

But Chaska had already seen.

There beside Shota lay a woman, eyes closed, blood on her jacket, her dark hair damp, tangled, and full of pine needles. She was partially hidden inside a shallow depression that must have been a collapsed mine shaft.

Had the wolf attacked her? No, the blood was old.

The wolf had scented her—and come to help.

Chaska dropped to his knees beside her, felt her throat for a pulse, relief rushing through him to find her alive.

“What happened to her? There’s blood and bruises. Did she fall?”

“I don’t know.” Chaska had seen a lot since he’d joined the Team, and this didn’t look like a simple accident to him. A half dozen ideas chased each other through his mind, none of them pretty—kidnapping, sexual assault, partner violence.

He shrugged off his backpack, pulled out his first aid kit and radio and hand mic. He turned the radio on, waited for traffic to clear. “Sixteen-seventy-two.”

“Sixteen-seventy-two, go ahead.”

“I’m at about the four-mile mark of the Lupine Trail with an unconscious adult female, break.”

“Sixteen-seventy-two, copy. Go ahead with your traffic.”

“She appears to have multiple injuries, possibly from falling or a physical altercation. Tone out the Team and medical emergent. Better send a deputy as well. I’ll be on FTAC Two going as Lupine Command.”

“Sixteen-seventy-two, copy. Six-twenty.”

It would take most of an hour for the rest of the Team to get here. Until then, it was Chaska’s job to do what he could for her—which wasn’t much. She had a pulse and was breathing. He pressed a hand to her shoulder and gave her a little nudge, taking in the bruises on her cheeks, her long lashes, her pale brown skin, the blood on her jacket. “Ma’am, are you okay? Can you hear me?”

She moaned, but didn’t wake up.

Shota whined, inched closer to the victim, licked her cheek.

Chaska tried again. “Are you okay, ma’am?”

Her brow furrowed, but her eyes didn’t open.

He grabbed his hand mic again, switched his radio to FTAC 2, the county’s tactical and rescue channel. “Sixteen-seventy-two.”

“Sixteen-seventy-two, go ahead.”

“I’ve tried to rouse the victim without success. Her clothes are damp. I suspect she’s hypothermic. There’s also blood from unknown injuries.”

“Sixteen-seventy-two, copy. Six-twenty-two.”

He set the radio aside and reached into his pack for hand warmers. “We need to get her core temp up.”

Hypothermia killed people every summer in Colorado’s mountains.

He bent the metal discs at the bottom of the gel packs to start the exothermic reaction and handed them to Win. “Massage those to distribute the crystals evenly, and then tuck them inside her jacket. Don’t put them against her bare skin.”

While Winona did that, he reached into his pack again and drew out an emergency blanket.

“Look.” Win held up a leather cord that hung around the woman’s throat, a small beaded medicine wheel dangling from it like a pendant. She tucked it back inside the woman’s jacket. “Do you think she’s Lakota?”

Win might have time to wonder about such things, but Chaska didn’t.

“I think she needs to get to the hospital.” He knelt over her, about to tuck the emergency blanket around her, when he noticed something in her clenched fist. He pried her fingers open and took a small, needle-sharp something from her hand.

“Is that a knife?”

He handed it to Win. “It looks like a file.”

“Maybe she was trying to defend herself.”

“Maybe.” Chaska studied his sister for a moment. “Are you okay?”

Two years ago, she’d been assaulted by an injured fugitive who’d forced her to give him medical aid. The bastard had paid her back by drugging her with an overdose of animal tranquilizer that might have killed her had help not arrived. Chaska wouldn’t be surprised if seeing a woman in this state dredged up those memories.

“I’m fine.”

Chaska covered the woman with the blanket, tucked it around her. It would help hold in her body heat and the heat from the hand warmers. “Ma’am, can you hear me?”

This time, the woman’s body went stiff, and she cried out. “No!”

Chaska found himself staring into a pair of terrified blue eyes.

~ ~ ~

I hope you enjoyed it! Watch this blog or follow me on Facebook page and Twitter for the release of TEMPTING FATE. It should be out by June 28 or 29. Also, if you’d like to sign up for my newsletter to make sure you never miss a new release, click here.
Copyright (c) 2017 Pamela Clare

I promised one last excerpt before the Nov. 5 release of Striking Distance, and I am an author of my word. I’ve been a little stingy with excerpts because it’s been hard to find section of the story I can share that don’t contain spoilers, either for First Strike or for this book itself.

Many of you have read First Strike by now, and so you know how Laura and Javier meet. You also know about the connection between Javier and Nate West, the hero from Skin Deep. If you were paying attention, you also got a little time with Nate prior to the IED blast that left him so horribly scarred.

But before we go there, just a reminder that the ebook version of Breaking Point (I-Team 5) is on sale for $1.99 through tomorrow only! That’s only 2 days left on this special deal. Get it for Kindle, Nook,  Kobo and at iTunes.

So how does Javier meet the I-Team guys? Let’s check it out...

From Chapter 4 of Striking Distance


~~~

So there you have it — the last excerpt before the release of Striking Distance on Nov. 5.

Here are the links to preorder. The mass market paperback version is still $4.79 on Amazon at the moment. Not sure how long that will last.

IndieBound http://bit.ly/1aANlWl 





And don’t forget First Strike! As a special treat for readers of this blog, I am offering a coupon for a free download  of First Strike in the e-reader format of or your choice from Smashwords.com.  If you already have the story, you can gift a copy to a friend for free.

Go to Smashwords and use Coupon Code RP24W.

The coupon expires on Nov. 4!

Just remember that First Strike is an erotic short story and ends with a big cliffhanger.

Enjoy!