The Hero She Needs (Unbroken Heroes Book 1)(2)

Gemma shoved through some more trees…and came out at the edge of a river.

Oh, God.

One second the ground and trees were right there, and the next, her foot hit nothing but air.

She windmilled her arms, trying to stop her momentum. She had a brief moment to take in the tree-lined river and all the colorful leaves, then she was tumbling down the riverbank.

She might’ve screamed, she wasn’t sure. Something hit her head, and pain exploded through her skull.

She hit the water. It was a shock of cold.

After that, there was nothing but blackness.





“Okay, you stay in the truck.” Boone Hendrix turned off the engine and pulled out his keys. “I won’t be long.”

A low whine sounded from the seat beside him.

He turned to face his dog.

“I’ll be quicker by myself. We only need a few things. If you come, you have to flirt with everyone and explore. I want to get home so we can maybe do a bit of fishing before it gets dark.”

Atlas, his German Shepherd, whined again and edged closer. He butted his head against Boone’s side.

Boone let out a gusty sigh. “Fine.”

Atlas lifted his handsome head, his tail wagging.

“Manipulative, you are.” Boone opened the door and slid out. He held it as Atlas jumped down.

The German Shepherd was big, fit, and well-trained. He’d worked as a military dog until his handler had been killed in combat. Atlas hadn’t coped well and couldn’t go back to work.

Boone understood that feeling.

Atlas had come into his life just as Boone had left the military. When an Army friend had called, asking if he was interested in a dog, he’d said no. At the time, he hadn’t been interested in anything.

But he sure as hell hadn’t been able to let a dog—who’d served his country, no less—be put down.

So here he was, several years later, getting bossed around by the big furball. His boots crunched on the gravel as he walked toward the stone building that housed the local general store.

Haven, Vermont was tiny. It had one café, one hardware store, an auto shop, and the general store that sold a little bit of everything. That was about it. The best thing was that there weren’t too many people, and there were no reasons for tourists to venture this way.

It was a pleasant fall afternoon. It wasn’t too cold yet, but the evenings were starting to get chilly. Last night, Atlas had snuck into Boone’s bed. Something the spoiled dog tended to do in winter.

Boone pushed open the door, and a bell rang. The store was filled with shelves. There was a display of some baskets up front by the counter, filled with local produce. This time of year, it was pumpkins and apples.

An older man sauntered out of the back room. “Boone. How ya doing?”

“Good, Frank. Just needed some bread and milk.”

The man nodded.

“Is that Boone? Did he bring my one true love?” A woman bustled out, a frizz of gray curls around her makeup-free face.

“I thought I was your one and only true love,” Frank grumbled.

“Sure, sure.” May patted Frank’s arm absently as she skirted the counter. Her face lit up. “There he is. Atlas. As handsome as ever.”

Boone’s dog bounded over to shamelessly lap up the pats and affection. Boone rolled his eyes and went to grab the things he needed. He set them on the counter as Frank rang them up.

“Boone, I baked some bran muffins today.” May held up a plate. “Want one?”

He didn’t need Frank’s quick head shake—out of view of his wife—as a warning. Boone had already learned that May was a terrible cook. Her baked goods might look okay, but they tasted horrible.

“No, thanks, May. I’m fine.”

“You can’t be watching your figure.” Her gaze scanned Boone’s body. “You haven’t got a lick of fat on you.”

He might’ve left the military, but he still did a few freelance jobs. It meant he had to keep in shape. He ran, worked out, and chopped a lot of wood. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, when the demons didn’t let him sleep, swinging an axe was the only thing that helped.

“I’m good, thanks.”

“Suit yourself.” She grabbed a muffin. “Atlas, I bet you’d like a treat.”

Oh, Boone’s dog loved treats, but he wasn’t dumb. He’d learned his lesson as well.

Atlas quickly padded in behind Boone.

Coward. Boone rubbed the top of the dog’s head. “Ah, I fed him a little while ago.” He handed his credit card to Frank.

May huffed out a breath. “No one will humor an old woman.”

Frank grunted. “Everyone wants to keep their teeth and stomach lining intact.”

“Francis Harris.”

Frank circled the counter and slid an arm around his wife. “You have other skills. I didn’t marry you for your cooking.”

May’s wrinkled face softened.

“Which is lucky for you,” Frank continued. “Or you’d be an old spinster.”

May elbowed her husband.

“I’ll see you two later.” Boone grabbed the paper bag and headed out of the store.

He didn’t know many couples like Frank and May, committed for so long. They clearly loved each other, flaws and all. He knew relationships worked for some people, but he figured there had to be a whole hell of a lot of luck involved.