Launched by jj Keller

My husband, Jack, our two boys and I lived on a small lake, one of a chain of seven, for a few years. My sons, teen and preteen, loved learning new outdoor sports, from hockey in the winter and water skiing in the summer. Jack doesn’t like water, except from a distance; however, he does enjoy fishing.

Our first year of lake living, we purchased a fishing boat early in the spring, with a good-sized motor. I’m not a mechanical person, so I couldn’t give specifics.  I was at work the day the boat was delivered. Jack received the vessel and immediately took it for the maiden voyage. As a side note, Jack means sailor in nautical lingo. He obtained instant confidence of navigating.

I pulled into the driveway exhausted from a long stressful day at the university, and he rushed to open my door.

“Go for a ride.” He gave me a one-armed hug and a brush of lips across my cheek.

“Sure, after I change.” I pointed to my jacket, shirt, and heels.

“No, don’t. You fit the theme. Navy blue blazer, white pleated skirt.” He tugged my arm. “Come on. The sun is sinking fast.”

Yeah, I’m a sucker for a rising and setting sun.

I threw my purse, book bag and shoes into the car and carefully wove my way through the thick grass to the pier.

Tied to the dock was a gray and white boat with glimmering silver enhancements on the bow and stern. He escorted me to a comfy plastic-scented seat, untied the boat and took the helm.

Smooth as ice the craft pulled away from the dock.

I appreciated the early green sprouting buds from the trees and shrubs along the shore. Red-breasted Robins jumped from limb to limb, gathering stems to build nest. Sunrays glittered off the freshly spring cleansed rock shoals. The speed of the boat increased, and the wind blew my hair crisscrossing strands across my face.

I swiped the hair off my lips and crossed my arms, hugging my jacket closer for comfort. Shadows from the ship and the flora along the shoreline reflected on the glassy brownish green water. In addition, to the lovely spring sing of the birds I felt at peace.

The thump, thump, thumping beneath my feet shocked me from serenity. “What was that?”

“Don’t worry, its just deep seated lily’s.” He slowed the boat. Weeds and grass flopped around the blades, leaving a line of decimated greens in our wake.

The boat took a sharp turn away from the shoreline. I leaned over the portside to look at the spindrift. Dark green shamrock shaped plants waved just beneath the surface. Upright, I let my shoulders relax and took a deep cleansing breath. Floating around a curve the sun in its full-blown orange glory warmed my face.

I closed my eyes and tuned into the sounds of nature, squawking birds, and scurrying squirrels sharp claws gripping tree bark, honking ducks and in the distance, glorious shouts of children playing games.

Waves crashed against the sides and I experienced vibrating under my feet.  The sudden charge of hitting something hard catapulted me head first into the water. Chilled and shocked, I freefell deeper into the abyss. I flipped and pushed toward the light. Breaking the surface, I coughed spewing water, then took a deep breath.

The motor cut and silence reigned, just the slapping of waves against the side of the vessel.

Jack leaned over the edge of the boat, a fishing gaff and life preserver in hand. “Are you all right?”

I flapped my feet, to keep afloat, and scrubbed hair from my face. “What was that?”

“Not sure. Do you need a life jacket?”

I did not intend to get back on the boat. “No. I’ll swim ashore.”

The bow of the ship clanked against something solid, ringing through the area like a bell tower.

“Might have hit that branch.” He pointed to a dark sharp-edged tree trunk reaching toward the surface.

The freezing water and heavy clothes pulled me down. I glanced at the shore, then back to him. His face was filled with remorse and a hint of laughter.  He pointed to my right side and I felt the tickle.

A squirrely piece of pond grass stuck to my ear and chin.

“Let me help you into the boat.”

“No thanks, I’ll swim to shore and take my chances walking.”

Today, the fun story has been told and retold several times over dinner, but at the time…well I wish I would’ve gone with my first instinct and declined the ride at the get-go.

Relationships are stimulating and constantly changing. A good friend told me, prior to marriage, “Unions are a give and take. You get back what you give and always go to bed at peace.”

“What?”

She explained, “If you have a fight, make up before your head hits the pillow.”

I’ve always found my friend’s advice sound. I’ve used it in one of my books, Pippa’s Rescue, to be released March 12, 2014.

Basil wants justice. Determined to find the man who turned on his own unit and caused the deaths of many brave men, Basil tracks him to a Horse Rescue Ranch. But the ranch owner is the traitor’s sister, and she’s not talking. Caught off guard by her beauty–not to mention the bizarre arrival of a leather-clad Valkyrie–Basil has a hard time keeping his mind on his mission.

Animal rights activist Pippa Wilson must find her brother before the bank forecloses on their rescue ranch. When a gorgeous Marine arrives looking for him too, she tries to resist the attraction–but will her heart listen?

 

 

Excerpt:

 

Dedication

This book is dedicated to people who rescue animals and Marines who honor the code.

Chapter  One

Tick tock. The monotonous sound should have been calming, but the tedious tone wasn’t.

Instead the rhythm reminded him to find Wilson…and…kill him.

Despite the low lights and semi-closed slats on the plantation blinds, Basil couldn’t prevent the darkness from coming forward.

His acute loss brought pain, physical pain, burning into his chest. He closed his eyes and molded his tired body into the cushy sofa. Think positive thoughts and lose the shadow.

Confident the psychiatrist’s drone would temporarily keep the scorch of darkness away, he relaxed. He must tolerate the psych eval and then finish the mission.

The exit psychological evaluation was the last checklist item before he could leave his commission. His gut clutched at the idea of no longer being an active Marine, but necessary in order to achieve his goal.

“Do you find that appealing, Basil?” Damn, he’d missed Dr. Crane’s prelude to the question.

“Excuse me?”

“What are your immediate plans for the future?” In time with the clock, the psychiatrist’s pen scratched on paper.

One of his talents was interrogation. By delaying answering, he would assure the doctor exactly who was in control of this session. Although, perhaps he should give the doc something to chew on and find solace through the telling.

“My last official mission.” He swallowed. “I thought I saw him running through the jungle in Africa, but he didn’t respond to my call.” He slid his glance to the side not wanting the shrink to see the slightest inkling of fear, an obscurity new to him.

“Captain Lombard?”
“Yes. Captain Harrison Lombard. Harry.”
“Captain, could it be your mind tricked you into

believing you saw your friend?” The doc’s smooth and lyrical voice came from a distance.

Hell, yes, he wanted Harry to be by his side. No better Special Forces officer had risen to the top of their elite squad since he’d disappeared.

“No.” He sneered. This shrink would love to make him sound crazy, especially after the ruckus he’d caused regarding Wilson. The incident straight-lined him into this blot-reading session. “I know he’s dead. Wilson killed him.”

“But his body wasn’t found. There is no proof that Captain Lombard has been murdered.”

Basil shot upright and swiveled around to plant his feet on the floor. At a loss of what to do with his hands, he braced his elbows on his knees and dragged his fingers through the bristle of hairs on his head. “My gut, which is rarely wrong, is telling me Wilson killed my best friend. Harry hired a detective to track our squad leader after the Korean betrayal and Wilson went AWOL. He must have gotten close, because both the investigator and Harry are missing.” Dead. “You’ve read the documents regarding the Korean mission, right?”

Crane lowered his pointed nose. “I’ve read the reports, but there wasn’t any substantial proof that the mission had been sabotaged. Wilson’s statement validated the attack was a surprise.”

He lowered his hands. What the hell! Had the records been altered? Was Harry’s take on the activity eclipsed by bureaucratic bullshit?

“Basil.” Crane crossed his knees and repositioned his eyeglasses. “You’ve had a notable career in the Marines. With the recent promotion, I’d hate to document on your discharge papers about your last mission. Spying your assumed deceased friend romping around an African forest would be discrediting.”

Behind those square glasses, a cold, obscured stare met his. Nothing would convince him to abandon his quest. “Could have been an illusion. This session is just part of the termination routine, right?”

Instead of answering straightaway, the psychiatrist scribbled on his notepad again. The murky-shaded leather portfolio matched the sofa perfectly, as if part of the set. The chair squeaked as Dr. Crane repositioned himself. He pursed his lips. “What are your plans after you leave your commission?”

Basil Vanguard’s initial instinct was to answer honestly—track down the murderer. Finding Harry through Wilson quickly became his power source, a dim link to the saving light. If the bastard had killed Harry, then justice might be swift. However, he knew how to play the political game and this session wasn’t finished. “After I write the formal note of apology for reading confidential files, I’ll spend time with my family. Maybe remodel my house.”

“And Major Wilson?”

“I’m sure CI will catch him.” Basil gave the doctor a reassuring smile.

“Well then, Captain Vanguard, if you should need me before you leave the base or later”—he stood and extended a business card—“contact me.”

Basil took the card and gave the proffered hand a short, firm shake. He’d end the session in a fake light manner. If convicted of murdering Wilson, he’d need a positive psychological evaluation.

****

Two Months Later. Pure, Indiana.

The Horse Rescue Ranch, aptly named, was registered with the state as a refuge for abused equines. Wilson owned a fair amount of land. A good portion was fenced, including some of the woods. From the forked driveway, one could see three stables, two barns, and a utility building with a grass-green grill of a tractor peeking through. Gray metal grain silos provided shade for a number of young men who surrounded hay-baling equipment. Pungent scents of wheat and corn invaded the space inside Basil’s rented Jeep.

Minimal chance of his target being on the property, but according to the detective’s notes Harry’s family provided, Wilson had one sister. Basil parked the car close to the corral and evaluated the scene. Tiny, busty, and blonde, a dream woman stood in front of the fenced- in area. Inside the corral, a black-haired spirited woman wrapped her long legs around the belly of a reluctant horse. The stallion jerked his neck and the rider tugged the reins. A gentle nudge to the equine’s flank didn’t get him to move.
Stiffness in Basil’s legs confirmed getting out of the car would be awkward after sitting for an extended time. War did that to a body, bruised it beyond repair. He shook his joints loose, smoothed the blue jean material, and meandered toward the corral. Despite the faint noise of distant farm machinery and horse hoofs as they pounded the dirt inside the corral, he experienced a twinge of excitement. Was he close to finding Harry’s killer?

The woman on horseback kneed her mount, coming closer to the fence. She tilted her hat, tipping the brim enough to uncover a thin red indention from the pressure. Her dark eyes contained skepticism and a glimmer of interest. Things were looking up.

Was she the protector of the little chick? As if reading his mind, Cutie-pie turned to look in his direction. He gave her a How-you-doin’ smile and she rewarded him with a broad grin and slight hand wave. Fortunately for him her slim fingers were unadorned. His gloom receded, waiting deep in his core to strike until another time, because for now he had entertainment.

“Hi.” Perky and cute, the tiny blonde smiled large.

Could she be Wilson’s sister? He’d certainly have an easier time romancing the information from her. He winked at her. No doubt she’d be a lot more fun than Sour-face. “Hi, I’m looking for David Wilson.”

“Who’s askin’?” Husky and deep, the voice drew his attention back to the woman on horseback. Darkly beautiful, she resembled Xena, princess warrior, sitting high on her horse.

Thank you for reading this excerpt.

Product Nbr: 7614 
Title: Pippa’s Rescue 
Series Name: 
Theme(s): Animals 
SubGenre(s): Suspense, Fantasy 
Imprint: Faery 
Length: Miniature 
Rating: Spicy 
Keywords: Valkyrie, Asgard, Valhalla, horses, Marines, rescue 
Page Count: 136 
Word Count: 33333 
Digital Price: 3.99

Pippa’s Rescue Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com Cover Art by Kim Mendoza

The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

Publishing History
First Faery Rose Edition, 2014 Digital ISBN 978-1-62830-063-5

jj Keller
Fantasies with spice and humor.
http://www.jj-keller.com

The Valkyrie and the Marine, Pippa’s Rescue, March 2014, Coming soon: Memory of Love

Shadow of the Hawk/Dark Sun. He’s almost an angel and she’s pure temptation.
Trade Agreement, LASR Best Book, Prop in the movie RED.  www.thewildrosepress.com print

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I’m giving away a copy of The Valkyrie and the Marine so you can read the first of the trilogy before Pippa’s Rescue is released. Check Coffee Time Romance’s contest!

 

In addition, I giving away a Mid-West staple, a hand woven Longaberger basket, valued at $60.00, made in Dresden, Ohio.