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  Dog Tags for Christmas

  Snowflake’s Gift

  Lindsay McKenna

  SEAL’s Christmas Dream

  J.M. Madden

  Noel’s Puppy Power

  KaLyn Cooper

  Dog Tags for Christmas

  Snowflake’s Gift – Lindsay McKenna

  Two veterans—one human, one canine—have returned to Montana to recover from the traumas of war. Former Army Ranger Nick Conway depended on his WMD dog Snowflake to help him navigate IEDs on the battlefield. Now he needs his best friend to help him cope with his PTSD and acclimate to civilian life. When he meets Holly McGuire and agrees to help her deliver meals to the elderly, her inner light calls to him, but his demons hold him back from giving in to his attraction. But Snowflake takes an immediate shine to the kindhearted Holly—and he has never led Nick down the wrong path.

  SEAL’s Christmas Dream – J.M. Madden

  Former Navy SEAL K9 handler Joe Flynn is finally getting a grip on the PTSD flashbacks of his lost Military War Dog. The new dog that has adopted him, Maya, is filling that aching hole in his heart nicely. Not to mention the woman who changed his life by loving him completely, veterinarian Willow James.

  Willow knows she has a soft heart. When a young boy brings his sick dog in for her to treat, she becomes invested in his safety. There’s no way she can turn him away.

  But danger surrounds the boy.

  When her office is burglarized, it’s natural that she turns to Flynn to track down the culprits. The situation turns deadly when the trail leads to a local dog-fighting ring. Unfortunately, the young boy Willow has been trying to help is right in the thick of things.

  Flynn and Willow find themselves fighting for more than just the abused Pit Bulls they find. It’s going to take a Christmas miracle to get everyone home safely…

  Noel’s Puppy Power – KaLyn Cooper

  Tanner Hill is better at communicating with animals than women. That might be why he hasn’t had a second date in over two years. He’s also been extremely busy with his kennel that has become the premier training facility, specializing in supplying dogs to veterans suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Then again, there is this psychologist he can’t get out of his head, or his heart.

  Dr. Bailey Conrad would never allow the loss of half her right leg to an IED in Iraq to stop her. Every day at the VA hospital, she sees patients who have lost so much more to the war effort. It’s her goal in life to help as many vets as possible to find a ‘new normal’, because she knows firsthand, it’s the internal scars that can be the most difficult to heal.

  Dog Tags for Christmas

  ISBN: 978-1-929977-42-0

  Kindle Edition

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This eBook is licensed for your personal use enjoyment only. The eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to place of purchase and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of these authors.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system—except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine, newspaper, or on the web—without permission in writing from the author.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  About Dog Tags for Christmas

  Copyright Page

  Snowflake’s Gift

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Also available from Lindsay McKenna

  Everything Delos!

  SEAL’s Christmas Dream

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Acknowledgements

  Author Note

  Epigraph

  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

  Connect with the Author

  About the Author

  Noel’s Puppy Power

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Acknowledgements

  Dedication

  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

  Other Books by KaLyn Cooper

  Snowflake’s Gift

  Lindsay McKenna

  Snowflake’s Gift

  Copyright © 2016 by Nauman Living Trust

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Blue Turtle Publishing.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This edition published by arrangement with Blue Turtle Publishing

  www.lindsaymckenna.com

  Dedication

  To Tricia Speed, who does it all and I couldn’t do it without her!

  Chapter One

  September

  Nick Conway gave his Australian shepherd, Snowflake, a fond look as he deposited the dirty plates, flatware, glasses, and cups in the industrial-size dishwasher. Snowflake was lying on his favorite red-cotton blanket in the corner of the Yellow Rose Diner’s back room. The dog tilted his head, intuitively aware of his master’s gaze, and adoringly rested his blue eyes on Nick.

  “It would sure be nice if you could come up here and help me with these dishes, partner,” Nick suggested with a grin. In response, his ex-Army WMD dog panted in the September heat. To give them some relief, Nick had opened the back door to let some fresh air in. Damn, this washing-up room got hot, despite the air conditioning. It had snowed three days ago, but the white stuff had melted quickly, and now the Indian summer temperatures raced to eighty degrees during midday and then dropped below freezing at night. Fall in Montana was mercurial at best.

  His mother, Sue Conway, who was now forty-six, had run their family-owned diner since she was twenty-years-old and pregnant with him. The lunch rush had just ended and Nick was still learning his duties as the new dishwasher.

  Out
side, he could see what was known as the Bitterroot Valley, surrounded by the Bitterroot Mountains. They already had snow on top of their craggy peaks, their blue, granite flanks covered with snow, which tended to come early to this part of western Montana. The diner sat nestled within a beautiful panorama of the valley, with the Bitterroot River winding nearby. It was a trout fisherman’s paradise and Hamilton was a favorite haunt of hunters and fishermen, as well as winter sports enthusiasts.

  But being back home felt like a big comedown after being in the US Army as a dog handler, saving men’s and women’s lives all over Afghanistan. Now, he reflected on how many pointless deaths he’d witnessed, how many close calls he’d had, and the long term effect of the loss of his first WMD dog, Dude, a male yellow Lab.

  By helping in the kitchen, he could earn money to pay for an apartment of his own within a month or two. Although the military now paid for his college education, the checks would arrive after he’d completed his studies, not before. That meant he had to have a paying job to allow him to leave his parents’ house and find a rental somewhere else.

  Okay, so being a dishwasher wasn’t what he’d dreamed of after he was released with an honorable medical discharge, thanks to a stubbornly recurring case of PTSD. But still, it would pay enough to keep him going for now. His black brows dipped as he finished off the huge plastic tubs filled with dirty dishes, feeling pride in his work. He wouldn’t always be doing this, but for the next two years, he’d treasure this menial part-time job. He was grateful his mother had offered it to him after he’d told her he would like to find another place to live.

  Nick tugged off his green plastic gloves, dropping them onto the nearby aluminum counter. He grabbed a fresh cloth and began wiping down the shiny, aluminum surfaces and appliances around the washing room. Everyone was glad to see the lunch crowd go as they went into dinner preparation mode. The eager diners would begin to arrive from five p.m. onward.

  His mother would wait tables occasionally, taking orders when there was a surge of hungry tourists during summer vacation. But right now, the kids were back in school, and it was an older crowd of regulars who stopped in for a friendly meal.

  This was his seventh day on the job and he wanted to make his mother proud. Nick was happy to have this type of low-stress job and be able to help his family in the process. His PTSD didn’t allow him to work in high-pressure situations where he’d have to deal with lots of people. That kind of environment could aggravate his cortisol levels and raise his anxiety. A dishwashing job was perfect—it was just him in a back room with a door he could open for fresh air when he needed it. He also had time to attend all of his college classes and to do homework.

  The ability to have an “exit point” was important ever since Dude had died while following the trail of an IED. It had led to an Afghan goat barn with a thatched roof, Nick was holding the Labrador on a sixteen-foot leash as they entered the stable area. Set up as a trap, an IED went off, killing Dude instantly and knocking Nick six-feet backwards. He had been rescued by his comrades, who found him unconscious and badly bruised, but thankfully, still alive.

  That had been a black day he relived again and again. Thank God they’d given him Snowflake after his return to duty. The two had bonded immediately. Snowflake would also start when a car backfired, or when someone shot a gun. He would wince and duck his head upon hearing those very sounds. Yes, his best friend had PTSD, just like him.

  Around Hamilton, everyone was a hunter and owned a gun or two. As a kid growing up here, Nick hadn’t been bothered by the sound of gunfire, but now, the sound of guns made him crouch down. There had even been times when he’d dive down to the ground, convinced he was under attack. Snowflake reacted similarly, depending upon how close the shots were being fired. They were quite a pair, Nick thought wryly. He loved this dog with the same intensity as he’d loved Dude.

  As Nick cleaned up the last batch of dishes that his mother had just brought in to be washed in the next load, he tried to focus on his job. His mother had earned an A rating for her diner and was very proud of it. Lately however, her chef, Tony, had shrugged off safe-food preparations. Nick knew his mother was a stickler for proper food care—and with good reason. She was actually relieved when Tony had stalked off last week in a huff. Now, she was the cook for the diner until she could hire someone else.

  Nick wanted to ease his mother’s stress, so he volunteered to help with washing up. It didn’t take a brain surgeon to figure out how to use the industrial dishwasher after she gave him a quick run-through on how to use it. As a kid, he had cleared tables at this diner, cleaned them, and taken the dishes and cutlery back here. That was how he’d earned a weekly allowance. Being here in the washing-up room wasn’t all that bad—it brought back some memories that he actually found comforting.

  “Hey! Hello! Is Tony here? May I come in?”

  Nick, who’d had his back to the screen door, jumped, then whirled around. Snowflake instantly barked a greeting, his short tail-stub wagging.

  Surprised, Nick saw a young woman with curly red hair. She was standing on the top step, smiling up at him. His heart was hammering because she’d scared the hell out of him! Trying to appear calm, he told Snowflake to go back to his bed in the corner, which the dog did reluctantly. He too, wanted to know who this cheerful, freckled stranger was.

  Pushing open the screen door, he said, “Tony quit last week. I’m Nick. Can I help you?” She had big, blue eyes that danced with such life, he realized how damn long he’d missed seeing that kind of glint in a woman’s eyes. In Afghanistan, women’s gazes were flat, dark, wary, and sometimes, filled with hatred toward Americans. This young woman was like a breath of fresh air rushing toward him.

  “I’m Holly McGuire,” she said, thrusting out her hand. “I run the Delos food charity over on Main Street. I’m here to pick up any leftovers for this week’s dinners for the shut-ins I take care of.” She craned her neck, looking around. “Are you their new dishwasher?”

  He released her hand, feeling its amazing softness. “Yes, I am. Come in, please. I’m not sure where Mom keeps that extra food, but hold on a minute and I’ll get her.”

  “Oh,” Holly said, “no worries. I know exactly where it is. In fact, I have some large, cardboard boxes to bring in so we can put all the cans and plastic containers inside them. Would you like to help me?” She gestured out the door to her white van. “The boxes are out there. Tony used to lug them in and out.”

  Nick followed her outside. “Sure, I’m happy to help.”

  Snowflake rushed out the door, right on Nick’s heels—after all, they worked together as a team. As Nick walked with Holly, he noticed how the mid-afternoon, September sunlight glinted on her burnished hair. Was she of Irish descent, he wondered? The thick strands were mussed, caught up in a large, maroon comb at the back of her head. It suited her. He liked the way the fall breeze made the curls dance around her oval face.

  “Handsome dog,” she said, halting at her van. “What’s her name?”

  “This is Snowflake—and he’s an Australian shepherd,” Nick pointed out.

  Snowflake pushed in between them, panting, gazing adoringly up at Holly who leaned over and gently patted his head.

  “Oh, he’s beautiful! I’ve never seen a dog like him. I love the color of his eyes. I never realized dogs could have blue eyes.”

  “That’s standard for the breed,” Nick offered. “He was Army trained to search for WMDs in Afghanistan. I was his handler.”

  Holly’s fresh-scrubbed, freckled face became somber. “Oh wait,” she said, straightening, “are you Nick Conway? Sue’s son, who was in the Army? Gossip around town a few months ago said you were finished with your enlistment and you were coming home.”

  Nodding, but not wanting to get into the unpleasant details of his release, he simply said, “Yes, I’m Sue’s son, Nick. Where are your boxes? I’ll carry them in for you.”

  Holly had a beautiful mouth, he decided. She was maybe around h
is own age, slender, wearing a set of tan, corduroy jeans, and a long-sleeved pink tee, plus hiking boots. Holly looked outdoorsy, not like someone who ran a charity. Looks were deceiving, as Nick well knew.

  “Oh . . . the boxes. Sure, they’re in the back of the van. Just open up the doors,” she said, following him.

  Nick opened the van’s squeaky, protesting doors. The vehicle was badly rusted, probably at least ten-years-old, the fenders eaten away by the salt used on the roads every winter. He assumed the van was well-used as a charity vehicle, and that Holly probably didn’t have much spare money to put into it. He picked up two large, sturdy cardboard boxes. Holly waited patiently for him to bring them out, then picked up the other two.

  “I can get them,” he protested over his shoulder.

  “Oh no, that’s fine, Nick. I can carry them!” She flashed him a wicked grin. “I’ve been doing this for the past four years, since I was twenty-two.”

  He hesitated, waiting for her to catch up, and then opened the back door to the diner. She went to a prep table he’d just wiped clean and set the boxes down. She certainly looked twenty-two—so fresh and untouched in her tailored jeans and pink tee-shirt.

  Unlike himself. He’d seen the changes to his face when he shaved—he was gaunt, his green eyes murky and dark. He was beginning to resemble those Taliban soldiers with their lifeless gazes. That realization alone scared the hell out of Nick. He didn’t have the guts to tell his parents that he felt like a robot, totally numb, without feelings. He’d been that way for the last three years of his deployment.

  “Did you just get home?” Holly asked, going to one of the huge refrigerators and opening it.

  “Yeah, two weeks ago.”

  She turned, smiling at him. “Thank you for your service, Nick. And Snowflake, thank you for yours, too,” she said, ruffling his fur. Then, she quickly washed her hands with soap and water and began to sort through some huge, plastic containers inside of the refrigerator.