About the Author
Rebecca Crowley inherited her love of romance from her mom, who taught her to at least partially judge a book by the steaminess of its cover. She writes contemporary romance and romantic suspense with smart heroines and swoon-worthy heroes, and never tires of the happily-ever-after. Having pulled up her Kansas roots to live in New York City and London, Rebecca now lives in Johannesburg, South Africa.
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Also by Rebecca Crowley
Atlanta Skyline Series
The Homefront Trilogy
Thunder Running
Single Titles
Elite Operators - Coming Soon!
Secure Target
Short Fuse
Opening Sample of Boots on the Ground
Grady’s eyes widened as the door opened. He’d expected a middle-aged, stout woman with a sensible haircut and a white coat. Wasn’t that how fancy-ass doctors looked on TV?
Okay, truth be told, he never watched those tearjerker medical dramas. Even so, he doubted any of the actresses could compete with the tall, pretty, blue-eyed blonde standing in front of him.
“And you are—” She turned a page in the manila folder she held open in her hands. “John Reid, correct?”
“Yeah, although I go by my middle name.”
She ran her finger across the form. “Grady.” She looked up at him for the first time, and if he hadn’t been so caught off guard by her lively, intelligent gaze, he would’ve had the presence of mind to return her warm smile.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Dr. Laurel Hayes.” She sat at the small desk pushed against one wall and clicked a ballpoint pen. “What can I do for you today?”
He cleared his throat, trying to shrug off the punch of desire so strong that it seemed to have knocked the air clean out of his lungs. He’d spent the majority of his thirty-one years as a contented bachelor, and he couldn’t remember the last time his head had been turned so immediately and with such intensity. In fact, he wasn’t sure he’d ever responded to a woman the way he had when she stepped into that fluorescent-lit examining room.
“I’ve been offered a job with the city road crew, and they’ve asked me to get a letter that says I’m fit to work. Something to do with liability.”
She frowned. “I’m an orthopedic surgeon. I don’t—”
“They asked me to see a specialist, on account of my shoulder.” He reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew a piece of paper. “I had a combat injury a couple years back. This is the army doc’s statement that I was fit to return to duty, but the city wants something more recent.”
Laurel scanned the document, her expression changing as she absorbed what to him was only medical jargon. After a second she shrugged. “Okay, no problem. Take off your shirt, and I’ll have a look.”
As he tugged open the first snap below his collar, she tapped the folded paper. “Says you were in the Thirteenth Infantry down the road at Fort Preston. When did you leave the army?”
“About ten days ago.”
“So you’re a newborn civilian.”
“Sure am.” He pulled off his shirt and folded it beside him on the examining table. “My contract expired a couple weeks after we got back from Afghanistan, and after thirteen years I decided it was time to find a new job.”
She froze in her progress toward the table. “You were in Echo Company. They just rotated back from Kunar Province.”
