Lucy and The Lieutenant

Lucy and The Lieutenant
Helen Lacey

THE VIRGIN AND THE VETERANDr. Lucy Monero feels like the oldest virgin on the planet. Still crushing on her longtime neighbor, she's waited a lifetime for her first…and last. The man she'll marry. And now he's back–the star of her fantasies, ex-cowboy-turned-army-vet Brant Parker. The physician in her recognizes a wounded soul, but the woman in her burns for his touch. Lucy's head is filled with visions of white lace and white picket fences.The last thing Brant needs is the walking, talking temptation that is Lucy. He may be out of his army fatigues but he still carries his demons. He's a loner, not the marrying kind that the hometown sweetheart deserves. So why can't he stop wanting her?

She just about undid him with a single touch.

“Lucy … stop.”

She didn’t move her hand. “I can’t.”

He couldn’t have moved away if he’d tried. She was pure temptation. And he wanted her.

When he dipped his head, his intention clear, a tiny moan escaped her. It was the sweetest kiss he’d ever experienced, almost as though it possessed a kind of purity that had never been matched and never would.

Brant suddenly felt as if he’d been sucker-punched. Because he’d known, deep down, that kissing Lucy would be incredible. Everything about her had been tempting him for months. Every look, every word, every touch had been drawing them toward this moment. His pulse galloped, knees grew weak, until he pulled back and looked into those honest eyes.

What was he doing? Lucy was the hometown girl who wanted romance, marriage, the white picket fence. Brant didn’t do any of those things.

Her eyes shimmered with a kind of longing that heated his blood even further. But he fought the urge to kiss her again, because he knew where it would lead. He’d want to make love to her forever. and that was the one thing he couldn’t give.

Cedar River Cowboys:

Riding into town with romance on their minds!

Lucy & the Lieutenant

Helen Lacey

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

HELEN LACEY grew up reading Black Beauty and Little House on the Prairie. These childhood classics inspired her to write her first book when she was seven, a story about a girl and her horse. She loves writing for Mills & Boon Cherish, where she can create strong heroes with a soft heart and heroines with gumption who get their happily-ever-after. For more about Helen, visit her website, www.helenlacey.com (http://www.helenlacey.com).

For Robert… to the moon and back.

Contents

Cover (#u9026db99-7fc8-5a87-b940-c77df1253f1e)

Introduction (#u9f1fa036-e21b-5f9c-a914-588f198c439d)

Title Page (#uc14d2468-6ea7-5016-bad0-a341c330e619)

About the Author (#ub91adfb5-5b3f-5d28-9841-15eb7dd4945b)

Dedication (#u8fd61138-567a-5394-aeee-9a3ac63fdf43)

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter One (#u4f77e72b-8abb-519b-8efc-f5c1ccbb05f3)

Brant Parker grabbed the T-shirt stuffed in the back pocket of his jeans and wiped his brow.

It was cold out, but he’d been working for four hours straight without a break and it was quite warm inside the closed-up rooms of the Loose Moose Tavern. He’d spent the best part of three weeks stripping out the old timber framing and flooring that had gone through a fire eight months earlier.

Most people said he was crazy for buying the place, like it had some kind of hoodoo attached to it. But he didn’t believe in hoodoo or bad luck, and he wasn’t swayed by anyone telling him what he should or shouldn’t do. The Loose Moose had been a part of Cedar River for over thirty years and he believed the old place deserved another chance.

Maybe he did, too.

Brant dropped the piece of timber in his hands, stretched his back and groaned. It had been a long day and he wanted nothing more than to soak under a hot shower and to relax in front of some mindless TV show for an hour or two. But first he had to go to the veterans home to visit his uncle, as he did every Tuesday and Friday.

Uncle Joe was his father’s oldest brother and a Vietnam veteran who’d lost a leg in the war. He also had a heart condition and suffered from the early stages of Parkinson’s disease. He lived in full-time care at the home adjacent to the small community hospital. Brant cared deeply for his uncle. The older man knew him. Got him. Understood the demons he carried.

He headed upstairs to the small apartment and took a shower, then dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. It was snowing lightly, a regular occurrence in South Dakota in winter, but quite unusual for mid-November. He shouldered into his lined jacket, pulled on woolen socks and heavy boots, and grabbed his truck keys. The home was a ten-minute drive in good weather from the main street in town and since snow was now falling in earnest, he knew the roads would be slippery. Brant took his time and arrived about fifteen minutes later. It was late afternoon and the parking lot was empty, so he scored a spot easily and got out of the truck.

The wind howled through his ears and he pulled the jacket collar around his neck. It promised to be a long and chilly winter ahead. But he didn’t mind. It sure beat the relentless, unforgiving heat of a desert summer like the last one he’d endured in Afghanistan. The light blanket of snow made him feel as though he was home. And he was. For good this time. No more tours. No more military. He was a civilian and could lead a normal life. He could get up each morning and face a new day. And he could forget everything else.

Brant headed for the front doors and shook off his jacket before he crossed the threshold. When he entered the building, heat blasted through him immediately. The foyer was empty and the reception desk had a sign and a bell instructing to ring for attendance. He ignored both and began walking down the wide corridor.

“Hi, Brant.”

The sound of his name stopped Brant in his tracks and he turned. A woman emerged from a door to his left and he recognized her immediately. Lucy Monero. He cringed inwardly. He wasn’t in the mood for the pretty brunette with the lovely curves and dancing green eyes, and tried to stay as indifferent as possible. “Good afternoon, Dr. Monero.”