Sweet Rescue
Book Eight of the Honeysuckle Texas Series
Chapter One
Josh Coleman tightened the chin strap on his tactical helmet and checked his vest seals. Sweat slid down his spine, but his focus stayed locked on the six-vehicle convoy lined up for inspection.
"Transport three's thermal reading is climbing faster than the others." Scanning the line, he clipped the handheld scanner to his tactical vest. Responsible for convoy security, these routine checks had become second nature during his years of service.
Kade Sweet, his longtime friend and the Military Working Dog handler assigned to their team, approached with Rambo, the Belgian Malinois, trotting attentively at his side. Fitted to his muscular frame, the dog's tactical vest matched their own. “All set?”
“Right about now, I’d kill for some of your mother’s strawberry lemonade.”
“Tell me about it.” Kade chuckled. No doubt his buddy’s thoughts were taking a detour to the Sweet family ranch, quiet evenings, soft breezes, and his mother’s lemonade. A quick blink and he was all business again. "Rambo already cleared the first two vehicles. No alerts for explosives. What's the issue with transport three?"
“Looks like a coolant leak." Josh gestured toward the heavy truck carrying fuel reserves for the joint training exercise. "I'm not taking chances with that much combustible material on board."
As convoy security commander for this mission, Josh had final say on safety protocols. The chain of command was clear—he made the decisions, his team executed them, and everyone got home safe. The straightforward nature of this assignment should have made it routine: escort training ordnance and fuel supplies to the far range where a joint exercise was scheduled to begin tomorrow morning. Simple enough on paper.
The transport driver approached, wiping sweat from his brow. "Problem, Staff Sergeant?"
"Need to check your engine compartment." Josh's tone was professional but left no room for debate. "Pop the hood."
The driver complied, releasing the hood latch with a metallic click. Josh leaned in carefully, avoiding the scorching metal components. His training had taught him to trust his instincts, and something about this situation felt off. A small puddle of green liquid had formed beneath the radiator, and the coolant reservoir showed a hairline crack along one side.
"Losing coolant fast," Josh stepped back. "This vehicle isn't going anywhere until it's replaced." He turned to Specialist Boglioli, his communications operator. "Radio base. We need a replacement transport before we continue the mission."
"But we're already behind schedule," the driver protested. "Can't we just add more coolant and keep an eye on it?"
Josh fixed the driver with a steady gaze. "Not with what you're hauling. One spark near a fuel leak and this whole convoy lights up like the Fourth of July."
Moving closer, Kade kept Rambo on a short lead. "Listen to the man," his easy Texas drawl masked the authority in his voice. "Staff Sergeant Coleman's been running convoy security since before you could shave."
The driver's shoulders stiffened under the rebuke. "Yes, Staff Sergeant."
Josh nodded to Kade as the driver walked away. "Thanks for the backup."
"No problem." Kade crouched to check Rambo's tactical vest, adjusting a strap that had loosened. "Dog's been acting antsy since we stopped. He’s flagging something.”
Scanning the sparse landscape around them, Josh frowned. Training grounds stretched for miles in every direction, mostly scrubby terrain broken by the occasional patch of mesquite trees and dirt roads. Nothing but heat waves shimmered on the horizon. "Think the heat’s getting to Rambo?"
Kade shook his head. "He's desert-trained. This is nothing for him." He gave a quick hand signal toward the front of the line. Rambo trotting beside him, he called over his shoulder, “I’ll finish clearing the lead trucks.”
Josh waved acknowledgment, turning his attention back to the idling transports. They hadn’t gone ten yards when Rambo suddenly stopped mid-stride, muscles going rigid, his head snapping back toward the rear of the convoy. A low growl rumbled from deep in his chest, sharp and warning.
Frozen in place, Kade’s hand hovered near his sidearm. “What is it, boy?” He followed the dog’s focus toward the fuel trucks behind them.
Josh’s pulse spiked. Rambo wasn’t one to false-alert—something back there wasn’t right.
The radio on Josh's shoulder crackled to life followed by Boglioli’s raspy voice. "Base confirms replacement transport ETA forty minutes, Staff Sergean."
"Roger that," Josh’s attention remained fixed on Rambo's behavior. By detecting threats before human senses could, military working dogs had saved their lives more than once during previous deployments. Josh would trust a well-trained K9 before humans any day of the week. Something sharp and chemical tainted the air—too faint for his nose, but dogs didn’t false-flag.
"Check the rear vehicles again. Full inspection."
"On it," Kade nodded, already moving with Rambo toward the back of the convoy.
Josh followed, signaling for two more team members to join them. If Rambo sensed something wrong, there was a reason. Whatever was wrong up front wasn’t what had Rambo spooked. Different truck, different threat.
They approached the rear transport—another fuel truck—where Rambo's behavior intensified. The dog strained against his lead, hackles raised, growling more loudly now.
"Something's definitely got him worked up," Kade’s voice dropped to a near whisper as he maintained control of his partner.
Josh gestured for the driver to step away from the vehicle. "When's the last time you checked your engine temperature?"
"Just before we left base, Staff Sergeant. Everything was normal."
About to take a reading, Josh reached for his scanner when a sharp metallic crack echoed from somewhere beneath the truck. The sound wasn't loud—barely audible over the idling engines—but Josh's combat-honed instincts registered it instantly. It wasn’t a mechanical pop; that hollow metallic snap had the signature of something man-made under tension, about to give. Adrenaline shot through his system. "Clear the area!" Moving at full speed, he waved his arms, directing his team to a safe distance. "Everybody back now!"
The world seemed to turn in slow motion. Josh sprinted toward the front of the convoy, shouting orders as he moved. "Boglioli! Get the lead vehicles moving!”
Having just finished checking the forward vehicles, Kade and Rambo were again at the front of the convoy. Josh could see him turning at the commotion.
"Possible detonation! Clear out!" Josh bellowed, urging nearby soldiers to move faster. Two men were still too close to the suspect vehicle, frozen in momentary confusion. Damn it. He changed direction, rushing toward them. “Move!” Josh shoved the nearest soldier forward.
The blast hit before he cleared the path, followed instantly by another detonation. The shockwave caught Josh and the two soldiers in the open, lifting them off their feet. He felt himself hurled through the air, a blinding flash searing his vision as the pounding force crushed against his chest, slamming him to the ground. Beside him one soldier wasn't moving, the other lay several feet away, unnaturally still. His chest burned, his side screamed.
Through the ringing in his ears, he caught a flash of Kade dragging Rambo behind the lead truck—both safe. Relief flickered, even as darkness closed in.
His only clear thought—what an unholy mess.
*****
Thumbing through the last pages of her mystery novel, Katie Lawford confirmed her guess halfway through the book had been accurate. No point in finishing it now. One week into the government shutdown, and she'd already cleaned out her closet, labeled her spice jars, put dividers in her junk drawer, binged two seasons of a show she'd been meaning to watch for ages, and finished three books from her "to-be-read" pile.
She glanced at her phone. No alerts, no panicked emails from her supervisor, no updates about when the Department of Defense contract administrators might return to work. Just silence and the ticking of her grandmother's antique clock. "So much for those urgent military supply contracts," she muttered, stretching her legs on the couch. The unexpected furlough had been nice—at first. But now, a week later, restlessness was settling in.
Her phone buzzed. Finally. She snatched it up. “You rescued me from organizing the freezer.”
Jackie Sweet’s laugh came through bright and familiar. “Tell me you’re not still cleaning. It’s a furlough, not a punishment.”
“It’s both.” Katie dropped onto the sofa. “I’ve rearranged every shelf I own. Even the ones that don’t need rearranging.”
“We can’t have that.” There was a long pause. “So, tell me. How are you doing really? I mean. Do you need money or something?”
Oh how she loved her bestie. She couldn’t help but smile. “I’m fine. I have a very understanding landlady. Mrs. O’Grady has been through this before. Whenever the government shuts down, lots of Houston contractors wind up home sitting on their hands with no paychecks. She knows we’ll get paid eventually, so she’s told me it’s all right to hold off on rent until I get a paycheck. Even though I have a good nest egg just in case.”
“Well, that’s a start.”
Another long pause and Katie knew Jackie was stewing on something. “Might as well spit it out.”
“Why don’t you come ride this shut down out here? It’s been ages and we’d all love to have you.”
“Oh, sure. You and Garrett are still technically newlyweds. I bet he wants a fifth wheel tagging along about as much as he wants to step on a rusty nail—barefoot.”
“Don’t be silly. Garrett loves having you around as much as I do.”
“Uh huh.”
“Really.”
“Right.”
“Come on. You know what this house is like. Organized chaos with a double dose of love and laughter.”
Her friend had a point. She’d only spent a few days at the ranch for Jackie and Garrett’s wedding, and there was never a moment when anyone was alone, and that seemed just fine with everyone. Heck, half the siblings were still living at the house and they were all newlyweds.
“Carson and Jess’ house is really taking shape. They put the sheetrock up this last week and it’s actually looking like a house and not so much like a kid’s construction toy.”
“I bet they can hardly wait.” She remembered the talk about starting building as soon as some of the family business was taken care of. Mason their son was the most excited about having his own house while torn about leaving his Nonnie alone in the Main house. It was kind of cute.
“Now if you want to be helpful, the guest annex is down to the cosmetic stages. Alice picked out the paint colors the other day. Mostly soft beiges and yellows.”
“Yellow?” She couldn’t picture Alice Sweet picking out yellows for that big old western style home.
“I think she calls it warm butter.” Jackie chuckled. “The funny thing, she looked at a something ivory for the bathroom and to me that thing looked like French mustard. No idea where these companies get their color names from.”
“You don’t want my opinion. Last time I helped you paint your living room wall looked like a bad Picasso.”
“That’s only because you grabbed the wrong paint can.”
“It said living room.”
“And here we go again. Trim. It said living room trim.” Jackie’s laughter now was a far cry from the horror on her face when she walked into the room and found her camel walls blotched with patches of not quite white over every filled nail hole.
“A very valid reason why I should never be given a paint brush.”
“Okay. No painting,” Jackie’s voice still held a healthy dose of humor. “But seriously, when's the last time you had a vacation? And I don’t mean time off to clean out your closet or catch up on your laundry. A real get out of town vacation?"
“I get out of town.”
“I don’t mean for weddings.”
Well that poked a hole in her argument. “Touché.”
“Does that mean you’ll come out and visit?”
“What if congress stops the pissing match and we all have to go back to work?”
“Then you go home, but when have you ever known a shutdown to last only a week?”
Point to Jackie. “Let me think about it.”
“Don’t think. Pack.”
Had her friend always been this pushy? Her mind turned to when Jackie gave up everything to chase after the wrong man. Yep, she’d always been this pushy. “I’ll think about it.”
“Well,” Jackie sighed. “I guess I’ll have to settle for that. For now.”
Setting her phone on the side table, Katie looked around. She really did love her little garage apartment. Nestled in the Memorial neighborhood of downtown Houston, there were mature trees lining every street, lots of colorful blooms, well manicured lawns, and no cookie cutter homes—yet. This apartment had lots of character, and she liked that. Her gaze landed on her dwindling pile of books to read. It was time to face facts; she was bored out of her mind, but West Texas?
Once more she took in her surroundings. Before she realized what she was doing, she found herself in her room, yanking her suitcase out of the closet. “West Texas here I come.”
Josh Coleman tightened the chin strap on his tactical helmet and checked his vest seals. Sweat slid down his spine, but his focus stayed locked on the six-vehicle convoy lined up for inspection.
"Transport three's thermal reading is climbing faster than the others." Scanning the line, he clipped the handheld scanner to his tactical vest. Responsible for convoy security, these routine checks had become second nature during his years of service.
Kade Sweet, his longtime friend and the Military Working Dog handler assigned to their team, approached with Rambo, the Belgian Malinois, trotting attentively at his side. Fitted to his muscular frame, the dog's tactical vest matched their own. “All set?”
“Right about now, I’d kill for some of your mother’s strawberry lemonade.”
“Tell me about it.” Kade chuckled. No doubt his buddy’s thoughts were taking a detour to the Sweet family ranch, quiet evenings, soft breezes, and his mother’s lemonade. A quick blink and he was all business again. "Rambo already cleared the first two vehicles. No alerts for explosives. What's the issue with transport three?"
“Looks like a coolant leak." Josh gestured toward the heavy truck carrying fuel reserves for the joint training exercise. "I'm not taking chances with that much combustible material on board."
As convoy security commander for this mission, Josh had final say on safety protocols. The chain of command was clear—he made the decisions, his team executed them, and everyone got home safe. The straightforward nature of this assignment should have made it routine: escort training ordnance and fuel supplies to the far range where a joint exercise was scheduled to begin tomorrow morning. Simple enough on paper.
The transport driver approached, wiping sweat from his brow. "Problem, Staff Sergeant?"
"Need to check your engine compartment." Josh's tone was professional but left no room for debate. "Pop the hood."
The driver complied, releasing the hood latch with a metallic click. Josh leaned in carefully, avoiding the scorching metal components. His training had taught him to trust his instincts, and something about this situation felt off. A small puddle of green liquid had formed beneath the radiator, and the coolant reservoir showed a hairline crack along one side.
"Losing coolant fast," Josh stepped back. "This vehicle isn't going anywhere until it's replaced." He turned to Specialist Boglioli, his communications operator. "Radio base. We need a replacement transport before we continue the mission."
"But we're already behind schedule," the driver protested. "Can't we just add more coolant and keep an eye on it?"
Josh fixed the driver with a steady gaze. "Not with what you're hauling. One spark near a fuel leak and this whole convoy lights up like the Fourth of July."
Moving closer, Kade kept Rambo on a short lead. "Listen to the man," his easy Texas drawl masked the authority in his voice. "Staff Sergeant Coleman's been running convoy security since before you could shave."
The driver's shoulders stiffened under the rebuke. "Yes, Staff Sergeant."
Josh nodded to Kade as the driver walked away. "Thanks for the backup."
"No problem." Kade crouched to check Rambo's tactical vest, adjusting a strap that had loosened. "Dog's been acting antsy since we stopped. He’s flagging something.”
Scanning the sparse landscape around them, Josh frowned. Training grounds stretched for miles in every direction, mostly scrubby terrain broken by the occasional patch of mesquite trees and dirt roads. Nothing but heat waves shimmered on the horizon. "Think the heat’s getting to Rambo?"
Kade shook his head. "He's desert-trained. This is nothing for him." He gave a quick hand signal toward the front of the line. Rambo trotting beside him, he called over his shoulder, “I’ll finish clearing the lead trucks.”
Josh waved acknowledgment, turning his attention back to the idling transports. They hadn’t gone ten yards when Rambo suddenly stopped mid-stride, muscles going rigid, his head snapping back toward the rear of the convoy. A low growl rumbled from deep in his chest, sharp and warning.
Frozen in place, Kade’s hand hovered near his sidearm. “What is it, boy?” He followed the dog’s focus toward the fuel trucks behind them.
Josh’s pulse spiked. Rambo wasn’t one to false-alert—something back there wasn’t right.
The radio on Josh's shoulder crackled to life followed by Boglioli’s raspy voice. "Base confirms replacement transport ETA forty minutes, Staff Sergean."
"Roger that," Josh’s attention remained fixed on Rambo's behavior. By detecting threats before human senses could, military working dogs had saved their lives more than once during previous deployments. Josh would trust a well-trained K9 before humans any day of the week. Something sharp and chemical tainted the air—too faint for his nose, but dogs didn’t false-flag.
"Check the rear vehicles again. Full inspection."
"On it," Kade nodded, already moving with Rambo toward the back of the convoy.
Josh followed, signaling for two more team members to join them. If Rambo sensed something wrong, there was a reason. Whatever was wrong up front wasn’t what had Rambo spooked. Different truck, different threat.
They approached the rear transport—another fuel truck—where Rambo's behavior intensified. The dog strained against his lead, hackles raised, growling more loudly now.
"Something's definitely got him worked up," Kade’s voice dropped to a near whisper as he maintained control of his partner.
Josh gestured for the driver to step away from the vehicle. "When's the last time you checked your engine temperature?"
"Just before we left base, Staff Sergeant. Everything was normal."
About to take a reading, Josh reached for his scanner when a sharp metallic crack echoed from somewhere beneath the truck. The sound wasn't loud—barely audible over the idling engines—but Josh's combat-honed instincts registered it instantly. It wasn’t a mechanical pop; that hollow metallic snap had the signature of something man-made under tension, about to give. Adrenaline shot through his system. "Clear the area!" Moving at full speed, he waved his arms, directing his team to a safe distance. "Everybody back now!"
The world seemed to turn in slow motion. Josh sprinted toward the front of the convoy, shouting orders as he moved. "Boglioli! Get the lead vehicles moving!”
Having just finished checking the forward vehicles, Kade and Rambo were again at the front of the convoy. Josh could see him turning at the commotion.
"Possible detonation! Clear out!" Josh bellowed, urging nearby soldiers to move faster. Two men were still too close to the suspect vehicle, frozen in momentary confusion. Damn it. He changed direction, rushing toward them. “Move!” Josh shoved the nearest soldier forward.
The blast hit before he cleared the path, followed instantly by another detonation. The shockwave caught Josh and the two soldiers in the open, lifting them off their feet. He felt himself hurled through the air, a blinding flash searing his vision as the pounding force crushed against his chest, slamming him to the ground. Beside him one soldier wasn't moving, the other lay several feet away, unnaturally still. His chest burned, his side screamed.
Through the ringing in his ears, he caught a flash of Kade dragging Rambo behind the lead truck—both safe. Relief flickered, even as darkness closed in.
His only clear thought—what an unholy mess.
*****
Thumbing through the last pages of her mystery novel, Katie Lawford confirmed her guess halfway through the book had been accurate. No point in finishing it now. One week into the government shutdown, and she'd already cleaned out her closet, labeled her spice jars, put dividers in her junk drawer, binged two seasons of a show she'd been meaning to watch for ages, and finished three books from her "to-be-read" pile.
She glanced at her phone. No alerts, no panicked emails from her supervisor, no updates about when the Department of Defense contract administrators might return to work. Just silence and the ticking of her grandmother's antique clock. "So much for those urgent military supply contracts," she muttered, stretching her legs on the couch. The unexpected furlough had been nice—at first. But now, a week later, restlessness was settling in.
Her phone buzzed. Finally. She snatched it up. “You rescued me from organizing the freezer.”
Jackie Sweet’s laugh came through bright and familiar. “Tell me you’re not still cleaning. It’s a furlough, not a punishment.”
“It’s both.” Katie dropped onto the sofa. “I’ve rearranged every shelf I own. Even the ones that don’t need rearranging.”
“We can’t have that.” There was a long pause. “So, tell me. How are you doing really? I mean. Do you need money or something?”
Oh how she loved her bestie. She couldn’t help but smile. “I’m fine. I have a very understanding landlady. Mrs. O’Grady has been through this before. Whenever the government shuts down, lots of Houston contractors wind up home sitting on their hands with no paychecks. She knows we’ll get paid eventually, so she’s told me it’s all right to hold off on rent until I get a paycheck. Even though I have a good nest egg just in case.”
“Well, that’s a start.”
Another long pause and Katie knew Jackie was stewing on something. “Might as well spit it out.”
“Why don’t you come ride this shut down out here? It’s been ages and we’d all love to have you.”
“Oh, sure. You and Garrett are still technically newlyweds. I bet he wants a fifth wheel tagging along about as much as he wants to step on a rusty nail—barefoot.”
“Don’t be silly. Garrett loves having you around as much as I do.”
“Uh huh.”
“Really.”
“Right.”
“Come on. You know what this house is like. Organized chaos with a double dose of love and laughter.”
Her friend had a point. She’d only spent a few days at the ranch for Jackie and Garrett’s wedding, and there was never a moment when anyone was alone, and that seemed just fine with everyone. Heck, half the siblings were still living at the house and they were all newlyweds.
“Carson and Jess’ house is really taking shape. They put the sheetrock up this last week and it’s actually looking like a house and not so much like a kid’s construction toy.”
“I bet they can hardly wait.” She remembered the talk about starting building as soon as some of the family business was taken care of. Mason their son was the most excited about having his own house while torn about leaving his Nonnie alone in the Main house. It was kind of cute.
“Now if you want to be helpful, the guest annex is down to the cosmetic stages. Alice picked out the paint colors the other day. Mostly soft beiges and yellows.”
“Yellow?” She couldn’t picture Alice Sweet picking out yellows for that big old western style home.
“I think she calls it warm butter.” Jackie chuckled. “The funny thing, she looked at a something ivory for the bathroom and to me that thing looked like French mustard. No idea where these companies get their color names from.”
“You don’t want my opinion. Last time I helped you paint your living room wall looked like a bad Picasso.”
“That’s only because you grabbed the wrong paint can.”
“It said living room.”
“And here we go again. Trim. It said living room trim.” Jackie’s laughter now was a far cry from the horror on her face when she walked into the room and found her camel walls blotched with patches of not quite white over every filled nail hole.
“A very valid reason why I should never be given a paint brush.”
“Okay. No painting,” Jackie’s voice still held a healthy dose of humor. “But seriously, when's the last time you had a vacation? And I don’t mean time off to clean out your closet or catch up on your laundry. A real get out of town vacation?"
“I get out of town.”
“I don’t mean for weddings.”
Well that poked a hole in her argument. “Touché.”
“Does that mean you’ll come out and visit?”
“What if congress stops the pissing match and we all have to go back to work?”
“Then you go home, but when have you ever known a shutdown to last only a week?”
Point to Jackie. “Let me think about it.”
“Don’t think. Pack.”
Had her friend always been this pushy? Her mind turned to when Jackie gave up everything to chase after the wrong man. Yep, she’d always been this pushy. “I’ll think about it.”
“Well,” Jackie sighed. “I guess I’ll have to settle for that. For now.”
Setting her phone on the side table, Katie looked around. She really did love her little garage apartment. Nestled in the Memorial neighborhood of downtown Houston, there were mature trees lining every street, lots of colorful blooms, well manicured lawns, and no cookie cutter homes—yet. This apartment had lots of character, and she liked that. Her gaze landed on her dwindling pile of books to read. It was time to face facts; she was bored out of her mind, but West Texas?
Once more she took in her surroundings. Before she realized what she was doing, she found herself in her room, yanking her suitcase out of the closet. “West Texas here I come.”
E-Books
|
|
|
|
|
|
Save 10% on E-Books when you buy direct from Chris !
