Contents

       Cover

       Title Page

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

       Chapter Eight

       Chapter Nine

       Chapter Ten

       Chapter Eleven

       Chapter Twelve

       Chapter Thirteen

       Chapter Fourteen

       Chapter Fifteen

       Chapter Sixteen

       Chapter Seventeen

       Chapter Eighteen

       Chapter Nineteen

       Chapter Twenty

       Copyright

       Chapter One

      January

      Lucas Derringer felt as though he was on a clandestine SEAL mission. He wasn’t in a hot dirt bowl ready to take down Taliban fighters, nor was he in a sweaty swamp waiting for the right moment to rescue yet another operative who’d been captured by a tyrannical drug lord. He hadn’t done any of those things in over a decade. Now he treated the men and women who did, as a psychiatrist with post-combat mental trauma expertise.

      Who knew that taking a break from his usual routine would trigger such a storm of anxiety?

      Instead of fighting for his country in some godforsaken place, Lucas was on a Puget Sound ferry in the middle of what his new job description called “God’s Country.” The wind blew cold as it cleared the morning fog and revealed the majesty of fir-topped mountains that spilled down to the rocky shore. Gulls and eagles soared above him. He’d never seen a more beautiful sight.

      He’d never felt more nauseous.

      Being away from the sea and airplanes for so long had robbed him of his immunity to motion sickness. He suspected that not being the one piloting the ferry was part of the reason he’d been seasick—and thrown up over the side rail. If only he could’ve simply crossed a bridge after his grueling drive from D.C. But San Juan Island was too far from the mainland and a ferry was his one option.

      He’d turned into a landlubber.

       Focus on the beauty. This is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. You’re getting everything you’ve ever dreamed of.

      Except for the one woman he’d expected to settle down with. Betsy.

      He fought the urge to pull out his cell phone and start scrolling through his Facebook newsfeed, to see if any of his friends had posted photos of her wedding. He understood the importance of facing his feelings, not running away. Hell, his whole career was based on that concept.

      Betsy had made her choice and it hadn’t been Lucas. When she’d left she’d said she didn’t want to settle down, but he knew better. They weren’t a good fit; for one thing, they were too much alike.

      But he’d loved her.

      That was three years ago. Before he’d had a chance to get used to being a doctor.

      Yesterday she’d married a man she’d met right after their break-up. Another doctor.

      He was over her but his pride still stung.

      “Son of a bitch,” he muttered into the wind as he grasped the ferry’s railing and willed his stomach to stop heaving. Puget Sound during a winter squall was no match for his out-of-practice traveling skills.

      His job in D.C. was three thousand miles away. He could start relaxing—as soon as this blasted ship docked.

       Think about something else.

      The new job.

      The new boss.

      Ironically, the most important woman in his life at the moment was a woman he hadn’t seen since they were just kids, sophomores in college. Did she remember him?

       You know she does. You’ve never forgotten her.

       Chapter Two

      As the boat continued its lurching journey, Lucas focused on Valentina DiPaola, owner and director of Beyond the Stars military family healing retreat, and once his first real girlfriend after high school. They’d been together for an entire semester before he’d had to leave unexpectedly at the end of sophomore year. His family in Philadelphia had shattered, thanks to his father’s drinking and his mother’s nervous breakdown. He was the oldest child and his little sister had needed him to be a steady care provider. His dreams of joining the military had been delayed but he’d managed to finish his degree locally, then serve in Navy Special Forces for a couple of tours before he started medical school.

      He’d never told Val what a mess his family was. That wasn’t something he’d been willing to do when he was twenty, and when he’d matured enough to realize he had nothing to be ashamed of, it didn’t matter anymore. She was long out of his life; too much time had passed.

      He was grateful that Val hadn’t rejected his application for this counselor’s position. She’d communicated through her assistant from their very first reply to his email inquiry about the open counselor’s job.

      He thought she’d nix it when she read his résumé and found out who he was.

      But she’d been more concerned that he wasn’t a counselor but in fact a psychiatrist. There’d been a brief flurry of questions about his being overqualified for the position, but when he’d agreed to the full six-month employment period she’d hired him. She’d explained that the six-month term was a benefit to both parties: Beyond the Stars was located on San Juan Island, a remote part of the country accessible only by ferry or airplane. Val knew she couldn’t expect employees to sign on for longer, at least until they’d seen the place. It was beneficial to him as the employee, since he’d be free to leave at the end of six months, which Lucas planned to. The time on San Juan was his respite from what he considered his primary calling.

      His specialty was helping war veterans, especially those with PTSD. The six-month leave of absence from his job at Walter Reed was a sabbatical of sorts. He wouldn’t be dealing with vets at Beyond the Stars but instead, the families left behind by those who’d died in the service. The wartime widows, widowers and surviving children.

      Gold Star families.

       You’ll be working for a woman again.

      That was how he’d fallen in love with Betsy; she’d been the hospital’s Head of Psychiatry when he’d done his residency. Long hours, intense cases at a wartime