The Marine's Secret Daughter. Carrie Nichols
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She has his eyes.
Her mother has his heart.
Years have passed since marine sergeant Riley Cooper last held his best friend’s sister in his arms. Bound for Afghanistan, he believed walking away from Meg McBride was the kindest thing he could do. Now that he’s home, he doesn’t blame Meggie for hating him. But she hasn’t told him everything. And he hasn’t met the little red-haired girl whose gray eyes so resemble his own...
CARRIE NICHOLS grew up in New England, but moved south and traded snow for central AC. She loves to travel, is addicted to British crime dramas and knows a Seinfeld quote appropriate for every occasion.
A 2016 RWA Golden Heart® winner and two-time Maggie Award for Excellence winner, she has one tolerant husband, two grown sons and two critical cats. To her dismay, Carrie’s characters—like her family—often ignore the wisdom and guidance she offers.
The Marine’s Secret Daughter
Carrie Nichols
ISBN: 978-1-474-07731-6
THE MARINE’S SECRET DAUGHTER
© 2018 Carol Opalinski
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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This is for my very own heroes,
John, Alex and Michael, and for the heroines
who love them, Jess and Caitlin.
Contents
The truth could be inconvenient, but he’d be damned if he’d give those doctors the satisfaction of being right.
Riley Cooper slammed the door of his truck and rolled his shoulder to work out the stiffness, but all that time on the road without anything stronger than ibuprofen hadn’t helped. The doc had prescribed Percocet, but the meds made him drowsy. And the way he figured it, taking the drugs would be an easy out, considering the pain his buddies had died with, and their families still lived with. At the base hospital, they’d prodded and poked him and labeled his condition survivor’s guilt. The way they’d said condition had him grinding his molars. They wanted guilt? Being tucked away in the tranquil mountains of Vermont instead of Afghanistan, leading his men—now that was guilt.
The therapist had told him, You need to take time to heal your body and clear your head before I can sign off on your return to combat. Take thirty days, Sergeant, and maybe I’ll consider putting you back in theater.
Riley’s fist tightened around the key as the therapist’s words swirled in his head like debris kicked up from helicopter rotor wash. His shoulder was healing, and except for the occasional ringing in his ears, he was good. Damn good. He needed to get back to Afghanistan, to his men, to his life, not spend time in the back of beyond, losing his edge. He wasn’t himself here in this peaceful town, but on the battlefield, he had a purpose, a reason to do what