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  Table of Contents

  Promise Cove

  Prologue Book 1

  Chapter 1 Book 1

  Chapter 2 Book 1

  Chapter 3 Book 1

  Chapter 4 Book 1

  Chapter 5 Book 1

  Chapter 6 Book 1

  Chapter 7 Book 1

  Chapter 8 Book 1

  Chapter 9 Book 1

  Chapter 10 Book 1

  Chapter 11 Book 1

  Chapter 12 Book 1

  Chapter 13 Book 1

  Chapter 14 Book 1

  Chapter 15 Book 1

  Chapter 16 Book 1

  Chapter 17 Book 1

  Chapter 18 Book 1

  Chapter 19 Book 1

  Chapter 20 Book 1

  Epilogue Book 1

  Hidden Moon Bay

  Prologue Book 2

  Chapter 1 Book 2

  Chapter 2 Book 2

  Chapter 3 Book 2

  Chapter 4 Book 2

  Chapter 5 Book 2

  Chapter 6 Book 2

  Chapter 7 Book 2

  Chapter 8 Book 2

  Chapter 9 Book 2

  Chapter 10 Book 2

  Chapter 11 Book 2

  Chapter 12 Book 2

  Chapter 13 Book 2

  Chapter 14 Book 2

  Chapter 15 Book 2

  Chapter 16 Book 2

  Chapter 17 Book 2

  Chapter 18 Book 2

  Chapter 19 Book 2

  Chapter 20 Book 2

  Epilogue Book 2

  Dancing Tides

  Prologue Book 3

  Chapter 1 Book 3

  Chapter 2 Book 3

  Chapter 3 Book 3

  Chapter 4 Book 3

  Chapter 5 Book 3

  Chapter 6 Book 3

  Chapter 7 Book 3

  Chapter 8 Book 3

  Chapter 9 Book 3

  Chapter 10 Book 3

  Chapter 11 Book 3

  Chapter 12 Book 3

  Chapter 13 Book 3

  Chapter 14 Book 3

  Chapter 15 Book 3

  Chapter 16 Book 3

  Chapter 17 Book 3

  Chapter 18 Book 3

  Chapter 19 Book 3

  Chapter 20 Book 3

  Chapter 21 Book 3

  Chapter 22 Book 3

  Epilogue Book 3

  Pelican Pointe Boxed Set

  Books 1 - 3

  Pelican Pointe Novels

  by

  VICKIE McKEEHAN

  Promise Cove

  Hidden Moon Bay

  Dancing Tides

  Pelican Pointe Novels

  Copyright © 2012 - 2017 Vickie McKeehan

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.

  This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN-13: 978-0615720456

  ISBN-10: 0615720455

  Printed in the USA

  Cover art design by Vanessa Mendozzi Design

  Pelican Pointe map designed by Jess Johnson

  Visit the author at:

  http://www.vickiemckeehan.com

  http://www.facebook.com/VickieMcKeehan

  For Gene and Keith,

  the real-life men who inspired the Promise Cove story.

  And to the outstanding men and women

  who serve in our military, the sacrifices they make,

  and the promises they keep daily.

  He who has gone,

  so we but cherish his memory,

  abides with us, more potent, nay,

  more present than the living man.

  Antoine de Saint-Exupery,

  French writer and aviator 1900-1944

  Promise Cove

  Book One of the Pelican Pointe Boxed Set

  A Pelican Pointe Novel

  by

  VICKIE McKEEHAN

  Welcome to Pelican Pointe

  Prologue Book 1

  One year earlier

  Twenty miles southeast of Baghdad

  The combat post was rural, more like a farming community stuck out in the boonies. The roads were primarily unpaved, dusty twenty-four-seven, and at the moment littered with burned-out equipment. The convoy they were riding in was going a sluggish twenty-five miles an hour in hundred-twenty-degree heat. There was no AC, no hope of grabbing an artery-clogging, delicious-tasting, fast food burger with a pile of over-salty fries, or even indulging in an after-duty dip in a cool, sparkling blue swimming pool.

  Because this particular stretch of road had seen its fair share of hostile action the past couple of days, the entire unit had to be extra vigilant.

  As they made their way up a rise, a grove of palm trees came into view. The wind picked up causing the fronds of the trees to bend and sway. The hot, arid breeze kicked up the loose grit, causing the tiny grains of sand to become airborne and burrow in and under any exposed pore and crevice of skin it could find. A thick layer of sand stuck to their faces, to their uniforms, and to their weapons. Homemade masks made from scarves and bandanas hid their sweaty faces and did little to protect them from the elements.

  Dressed in full combat gear, the stifling heat inside the Hummer caused perspiration to pool down their backs. The prospect of a hot shower, a mere dream in the back of everyone’s mind, was as far off at the moment as the idea of ever getting to go home.

  But even in a war zone, confined in the cramped space of the Humvee, the soldiers did their best to make light of their predicament by laughing and cracking jokes. Sitting in the back seat, two officers kept up a steady stream of chatter. At least one did. Glancing up briefly when another new barrage of sand hit the windshield, Captain Scott Phillips barely noticed as he yanked the bandana from around his mouth so he could talk. And the Captain loved to talk, especially any bit of conversation that crept into his head that had anything to do with his wife, Jordan, and their baby daughter, Hutton, a daughter he had yet to lay eyes on or hold.

  As had become his habit, 1st Lt. Nick Harris listened as patiently as
he could. What else was he going to do in such close quarters but listen to the Captain’s long-winded stories about home? Nick indulged him, not only because he was a captive audience but because, like most everyone in the unit, he genuinely liked Scott. The men who served under Phillips liked the no-nonsense way he ran his unit, liked the man who could routinely go from all-business to light-hearted in the blink of an eye.

  And light-hearted usually meant Scott kept up a non-stop monologue about his family back home. After spending a year of active duty with the guy, Nick felt certain he knew every nuance about the man’s personal life. There wasn’t much info Scott held back or didn’t share. When it came to his wife and newborn daughter, the man simply refused to shut up.

  On the surface the two men had little in common. Scott was blissfully married while Nick, unattached, single, and happy about it, had a bevy of women waiting for him back in Los Angeles. But despite their differences, Nick’s affection for the guy overrode any annoyance over knowing every detail Scott chose to share. It seemed to Nick, Scott’s family life back home in California was an open book, which made him long ago accept the fact that Scott just liked to talk. Period.

  Nick watched as Scott tapped his flak jacket and reminded, “I promised Jordan I’d wear this thing 24/7 as long as I’m over here. I didn’t have the heart to tell her it won’t do a damn thing to stop an IED.”

  “There’s no stopping an IED,” Nick agreed amicably.

  “When we get out of this mess promise me you’ll come to Pelican Pointe for a visit, meet Jordan and the baby.”

  Here it comes, thought Nick as he shook his head, Scott crowing once again about his hometown and the people in it. Nick responded the way he always did whenever Scott mentioned Pelican Pointe—he made some smart-ass comment—making sure to insult the Captain’s small town in a good-natured, guy kind of way. “Now why would I want to spend time in a Podunk town that sounds like a bird sanctuary? I’m a big city kind of guy, Captain. I’d go nuts in a small town. Besides, small towns are cliquish.”

  “Pelican Pointe’s different.”

  “I doubt that. Everybody knows your business in a small town.”

  “When we get out of this mess, you come for a visit. I guarantee you’ll see for yourself what a great place it is, how great the people are. They’d do anything for you, Nick.” Without taking a breath, Scott went on, “God, I sure miss Jordan. And I haven’t even laid eyes on Hutton. I wish I’d been there the day she was born. I hate it Jordan had to go through childbirth without me. She’s almost five months old, can you believe it?”

  “How does it feel to be a dad?” Nick didn’t have a clue about being a father, but it seemed the right thing to say at times like this when Scott got that distant look on his face, that wistful gaze in his eye, the look that said he was homesick and wanted nothing more than to get back home to his family.

  “Being a father is great, I think. I’d like to be able to hold her though, you know. Pictures aren’t the same thing. You ever thought of having kids, Nick?”

  A panicked look crossed his face. “Hell no. I can’t even see myself married.”

  “Marriage is exactly what you need. Might settle you down.”

  Nick couldn’t imagine it. “Marriage would be like a rock around my neck. Too many sweet things out there in the proverbial sea I haven’t sampled yet.” He wiggled his eyebrows up and down.

  “Get yourself in trouble is what you’re gonna do. You need to think about finding that special someone. If you ever found a woman like Jordan, you’d change your mind in a heartbeat.”

  Before Nick could argue, he heard the sound of a rocket blast pierce the air.

  Someone yelled, “Look out, incoming!”

  Nick heard an explosion, saw a blast of fire, and then a wave of smoke surrounded the vehicle so thick, he could barely see or breathe anything but fire and heat. Soldiers started running toward the lead Hummer. He heard more yelling. His lungs burned.

  “Go. Go. Go!” someone shouted.

  Chaos reigned as Nick watched the Humvee just ahead of theirs disintegrate into pieces. He saw burned metal fly through the air before he realized it wasn’t the lead Hummer at all. He turned to where Scott had sat beside him and saw his buddy’s face twisted in pain. Nick heard screaming.

  “Promise me, Nick…”

  Chapter 1 Book 1

  Present-day

  California coast

  Nick came awake, trembling. Sweat beaded on his body. He ran a shaky hand over his face before glancing at the clock by the bed. Three-fifteen a.m. He’d gotten less than four hours sleep.

  Insomnia was proving to be a bitch.

  Living with the dream was even worse. Every night to be taken back in time to that day, as if watching the same scene play out, burned in his brain, he had to relive it over and over again. One image in particular. Seeing Scott’s face for the last time always did him in for the night.

  Nick did his best to blank his mind. But it took some time before that day’s images completely left him. It always did. He’d known for months what he had to do, but until last week he’d been unable to take that first step.

  “Damn you, Scott, why can’t you leave me in peace,” he muttered as he slowly swung his legs out of bed switching on the bedside light. He glanced around the four walls of the dingy motel room that had been home for the past two days. He was stalling. There was no other word for it. He’d never been afraid of confrontation. But every time he thought of facing Scott’s widow, fear made him break out in a cold sweat. Months ago, he’d given up the notion of ever feeling like his old self again. Not at work, not at home, not anywhere. He was afraid to talk about that day, even though he relived it nightly, he was afraid of that promise he’d made in the heat of battle, the one that hadn’t counted because he’d only told Scott what he’d needed to hear, what he’d wanted to hear. It hadn’t meant anything. Scott had known that. The man had merely needed comforting and Nick had obliged, repeating a bunch of words strung together to make Scott feel better before he…

  That’s all it had been.

  A lump of panic caught in Nick’s throat. He closed his eyes until it passed, until he got the shaking under control. He finally got up on unsteady legs, forced his feet to make the walk across the shabby carpet into the bathroom, where he turned on the light, and then the faucet. As the water ran, he stood in the bright spotlight looking into the old chipped, bathroom mirror, staring at his reflection. Streaky red lines rimmed his lake-blue eyes. It looked as though he’d been on a drinking binge for a couple of months. He hadn’t. He ran a still shaky hand through his coal-black hair. Locks that hung almost to his shoulders had replaced the military cut he’d worn most of his life. The other hand reflexively ran across the puffy, red scars on his chest and torso. A stranger stared back at him from the mirror. He might be able to conceal his mental scars from the world, might be able to deny he had any, but there was no hiding the jagged, ugly marks on his body.

  He splashed cold water on his face, and decided he needed to stop being such a coward. There were only so many times a person could put off something before they had to man up and take that step, get it done.

  Taking another long look in the mirror at the man he barely recognized, he knew it was useless to try to get back to sleep.

  He reached over to start the water in the shower.

  At five-thirty, dressed in jeans and an ancient black T-shirt, Nick started packing up the meager belongings he’d brought with him. Throwing toothpaste, razor, and toiletries into his small travel duffel, the memory of what his life used to be like flickered in his head like a video. That carefree life he’d lived before war belonged to someone else. There was no recapturing what he once had or how he once felt. Hadn’t he spent the last year trying?

  Satisfied he wasn’t leaving anything behind, he swung the bag over his shoulder, crossed to the bureau, and picked up his motorcycle helmet. Taking one last look around the room he sucked in a deep breath. He he
sitated only briefly before turning the knob. “Best to get this over and done with,” he muttered, as he threw open the door and strode out into the parking lot.

  Despite a February marine layer, the sun made enough of an appearance in the eastern sky to brush along the horizon, stringing out dabs of orange streaks here and there. For him daybreak had always been the best time of day. He took a minute to enjoy the crisp air, before stowing his gear. Reluctantly, he straddled the Harley, snapping the strap on his helmet. He turned the key in the ignition and the engine rumbled to life. Slowly he made his way out of the parking lot, made a right turn onto the 101, and headed north along the rugged California coast.

  When the wind hit his face, he gunned the engine, picking up speed, trying to outrun the dread of what he had to do. He couldn’t call her ahead of time. He didn’t dare. If he could have merely picked up the phone it would have made things so much easier. The idea of finally having to face her pissed him off. He increased his speed, angry that what he had to say to Jordan Phillips couldn’t be said over the goddamned phone.

  Eighty miles to the north, along a rugged section of cliffs and vistas, Jordan Phillips stood on the creaky, wooden front porch of an old Queen Anne Victorian house, trying her best to wake up. She tipped up a steaming cup of coffee to her lips and let a sigh out. She could see her breath in the winter air. This was her favorite time of day, watching the first hint of sun tip the sky a brilliant pastel when it seemed to her the beginning of each day held so much promise. She felt she could do anything. For about half an hour each morning she felt energized, invincible even. Okay, so the feeling didn’t last long. But out here alone for two years, Jordan sometimes wondered how she’d managed by herself for so long. First, Scott had been deployed and there had been that expectation he’d come back in one piece.