The Will to Love

ΔΔMorgan’s Mercenaries: Ultimate Rescue

**Women of Glory

**Women of Glory

††Moments of Glory Trilogy

††Moments of Glory Trilogy

††Moments of Glory Trilogy

‡Morgan’s Mercenaries

‡Morgan’s Mercenaries

‡Morgan’s Mercenaries

**Women of Glory

°Men of Courage

*Kincaid trilogy

°Men of Courage

°Men of Courage

‡‡Morgan’s Mercenaries: Love and Danger

‡‡Morgan’s Mercenaries: Love and Danger

‡‡Morgan’s Mercenaries: Love and Danger

‡‡Morgan’s Mercenaries: Love and Danger

◊Cowboys of the Southwest

◊Cowboys of the Southwest

◊Cowboys of the Southwest

ΔMorgan’s Mercenaries: The Hunters

*Kincaid trilogy

ΔMorgan’s Mercenaries: The Hunters

ΔMorgan’s Mercenaries: The Hunters

§Morgan’s Mercenaries: Maverick Hearts

§Morgan’s Mercenaries: Maverick Hearts

§Morgan’s Mercenaries: Maverick Hearts

◊◊Morgan’s Mercenaries: Destiny’s Women

ΔΔMorgan’s Mercenaries: Ultimate Rescue

ΔMorgan’s Mercenaries: The Hunters

ΔΔMorgan’s Mercenaries: Ultimate Rescue

*Kincaid trilogy

†Love and Glory

†Love and Glory

†Love and Glory

†Love and Glory

**Women of Glory

Quinn was so close—so pulverizingly male.

It took everything Kerry had left not to turn and lay her head against his strong, broad shoulder. Somehow, she knew Quinn could handle big loads and responsibility. He was built for it not only physically, but emotionally, too.

As he stepped away, Kerry keenly felt the loss of his nearness, his care. Opening her eyes, she fell captive to the smoky blueness now banked in his gaze as he studied her in the silence strung between them. For the first time in years Kerry felt another stirring deep within her heart and lower body; it was the stirring of desire for a man. For Quinn Grayson. Even though he was a tough, no-nonsense marine, he had an incredibly surprising and wonderfully tender side, too. It was a beautiful discovery for Kerry.

Because right now she needed someone exactly like Quinn….

Dear Reader,

What makes readers love Silhouette Romance? Fans who have sent mail and participated on our www.eHarlequin.com community bulletin boards say they enjoy the heart-thumping emotion, the noble strength of the heroines, the truly heroic nature of the men—all in a quick yet satisfying read. I couldn’t have said it better!

This month we have some fantastic series for you. Bestselling author Lindsay McKenna visits use with The Will To Love (SR 1618), the latest in her thrilling cross-line adventure MORGAN’S MERCENARIES: ULTIMATE RESCUE. Jodi O’Donnell treats us with her BRIDGEWATER BACHELORS title, The Rancher’s Promise (SR 1619), about sworn family enemies who fight the dangerous attraction sizzling between them.

You must pick up For the Taking (SR 1620) by Lilian Darcy. In this A TALE OF THE SEA, the last of the lost royal siblings comes home. And if that isn’t dramatic enough, in Valerie Parv’s Crowns and a Cradle (SR 1621), part of THE CARRAMER LEGACY, a struggling single mom discovers she’s a princess!

Finishing off the month are Myrna Mackenzie’s The Billionaire’s Bargain (SR 1622)—the second book in the latest WEDDING AUCTION series—about a most tempting purchase. And The Sheriff’s 6-Year-Old Secret (SR 1623) is Donna Clayton’s tearjerker.

I hope you enjoy this month’s selection. Be sure to drop us a line or visit our Web site to let us know what we’re doing right—and any particular favorite topics you want to revisit. Happy reading!

Mary-Theresa Hussey

Senior Editor

The Will to Love

Lindsay McKenna

To the innocent and brave men, women and children

who lost their lives on 9-11-01.

You will be in our hearts and memory forever.

LINDSAY MCKENNA

A homeopathic educator, Lindsay teaches at the Desert Institute of Classical Homeopathy in Phoenix, Arizona. When she isn’t teaching alternative medicine, she is writing books about love. She feels love is the single greatest healer in the world and hopes that her books touch her readers’ hearts.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Epilogue

Chapter One

January 14: 0545

It was a bad day getting worse by the moment, Corporal Quinn Grayson decided as he eased out of the dark green Humvee once it stopped against the curb. Above him towered the massive, dark gray concrete headquarters building for U.S. Marine Corps Camp Reed. It was barely dawn, the sky lightening to a pale gold color on the eastern horizon as he took the concrete steps two at a time.

The only thing good about the day was that he was going to see someone in Logistics whom he truly admired and respected: Morgan Trayhern, who was a living hero to the Marine Corps. Feeling his mood lifting slightly, Quinn wove in and around the crowds of swiftly moving personnel, all dressed similarly to himself in desert-colored utilities. The helmet on his head always felt heavy, and he was glad to take it off as he stepped through the double doors and into the building itself.

The noise level inside was low, but the faces of the office pogues were filled with stress and anxiety as they hurried like bees in a stirred-up hive. The H.Q. was organized chaos, Quinn decided. And why wouldn’t it be? Two weeks ago the worst earthquake in American history had turned the Los Angeles basin upside down and inside out. Millions of helpless victims desperately needed food, water and medicine. Worse, there were no highways left into the basin; they had all been destroyed by the massive quake.

The only way in and out now was by helicopter. From the platoon he was assigned to assist in the emergency operations, Quinn saw only the tip of the iceberg as far as rescue efforts to the civilian populace went. Yesterday evening he’d been in the loading area with his platoon, piling food, water and medicine into the choppers, when his sergeant, Sean O’Hara, had ordered him to go see Morgan at 0600.

Turning now, Quinn headed up the stairs to the second floor, where Logistics, the heart and brains of Operation Sky Lift, was located, and where Morgan had an office. En route Quinn passed a number of office types descending rapidly, their hands filled with files and, more than likely, orders.

Pushing the stairwell door open and striding forward, Quinn located Morgan’s office halfway down the passageway, which was also crowded with busy personnel. Tension was high; he could feel it. Shrugging his broad shoulders, as if to rid himself of the accumulated stress he felt in the building, Quinn halted in front of the open door and rapped once with his knuckles. Morgan Trayhern was behind the green metal desk, head down, writing a set of orders for a woman officer in a flight uniform. Quinn saw the black wing insignia sewn into the fabric of her suit and knew instantly that she was probably a helo pilot.

Morgan lifted his head. His scowl faded. “Quinn! Great, you’re here. Come in.” He raised his hand and beckoned him into the office. “I’ll be just a moment.”

“Yes, sir,” Quinn said. He took a step inside and stood at attention. The woman pilot, a Marine Corps captain, nodded toward him.

“Ma’am. Good morning.”

“Good morning, Corporal. At ease, please,” she said.

Quinn nodded and relaxed into an at-ease stance behind her, near the wall. “Yes, ma’am.”

“You had coffee yet, Quinn?” Morgan rumbled as he signed the second and third sets of orders before him.

“No, sir.” Quinn kept his helmet, which was splotched with desert camouflage colors of yellow, brown and gray, beneath his left elbow and against his hip. He noticed Morgan was dressed in civilian attire—jeans and a red, long-sleeved cotton shirt with the cuffs rolled up to just below his elbows. He looked out of place in the marine-green office.

Gesturing to his right, Morgan said with a grin, “Grab a cup of java, then. I managed to scrounge up my very own coffeemaker. A rarity, you know. Help yourself, Son.”

Quinn smiled slightly and moved toward the machine. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Blowing out a breath of air, Morgan put the pen aside and gave the thick set of orders to the helicopter pilot. “There you go, Captain Jackson. Congratulations. You and your copilot are now responsible for Area Six. We’ve transferred the other team to Area Five.

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. We’ll do a good job.”

Morgan smiled up at her. Captain Jackson was in her middle twenties, with short black hair, intense gray eyes and a sincere face that was currently filled with excitement. H.Q. had just gotten a whole new batch of helicopter pilots transferred in yesterday from other Marine Corps bases around the U.S. Having new pilots on board would give the hardworking helo crews stationed at Camp Reed a desperate and much-needed rest from the twelve-hour days they’d been putting in for the last two weeks. Pilots could fly only so long without sufficient rest and recoup time before they began making critical mistakes. Jackson was one of many personnel scheduled to come to Morgan’s office today for orders.

“Good luck out there, Captain.” Morgan rose. “And be careful, you hear? Things are unstable right now. We’ve already had a helicopter crew murdered by a survivalist group in Area Five.”

She came to attention. “Yes, sir, we’ll be careful. Thank you, sir.”

“Dismissed,” Morgan murmured. He stood and watched the woman, who was nearly six feet tall, big boned and athletic, turn on her heel and quickly march out the door. Swiveling his head, Morgan gave Quinn Grayson a warm look. The corporal had just poured a cup of coffee. Moving to the machine, Morgan poured himself one, too.

“Come with me, Quinn. Now is about the only time today I might get to see Laura. You remember my wife?”

“Yes, sir, I do.” He sipped the coffee tentatively. It was fresh and hot, and he savored it. “She’s here, too?” How could that be? Quinn knew Laura lived in Montana, near the headquarters Morgan kept for Perseus in Philipsburg. Quinn and his fire team had been selected to be part of two different Perseus rescue missions in Iraq, where pilots were that had been shot down in the No Fly Zone earlier in the year. He and his team had been flown back to the secret headquarters in Philipsburg, an out-of-the-way place only a few tourists and trout fishermen found in the summer. It was a perfect hiding spot, Quinn had thought. He’d met Morgan’s lovely blond-haired wife there by accident, when she’d brought over recently baked cookies for all of them. It was a thoughtful gesture that was as surprising as it was unexpectedly generous. Quinn had relished his share of the chocolate-chip cookies, and so had his grateful men. He had found Laura to be beautiful, elegant and sensitive. Quinn thought Morgan was the luckiest man in the world to have a wife like that. Cookies during a briefing. He’d never get that in the Marine Corps. No, he liked working with Morgan and Perseus. But he wondered how Morgan’s wife had wound up in the midst of this disaster.

“We were at a hotel in south Los Angeles, celebrating New Year, when the quake hit,” Morgan explained as they left the office and headed down the stairs. “Laura was trapped in wreckage.” At the bottom of the stairs, Morgan pushed open the door. Gesturing toward the end of the passageway, he took quick strides toward it. Quinn, who was six foot tall, and shorter than Morgan, had to lengthen his stride to keep up with him.

“Your wife was trapped?” he asked with a scowl as they moved out the doors and into the brightening day. The sun was going to rise soon and already the darkness of the night had fled.

“Yeah,” Morgan muttered. “Thank goodness a Marine Corps rescue officer and her dog located Laura.”

“Is she all right, sir?” They hurried down the stairs toward the hospital a block away. The world around them was already in high gear. The shrieking whine of jets at the nearby airport filled the air, along with the deeper chugging sounds of diesel truck convoys loaded with supplies lumbering across the base. A whole fleet of helicopters were taking off one by one, hotfooting it out of Camp Reed with the first supplies of the day for desperate people across the disaster area.

Quinn drew abreast of Morgan as he walked swiftly toward the hospital.

“Laura suffered a broken ankle. She had surgery here. Then, shortly after the surgery, she developed a blood clot. They had to string up her leg with a pulley, and she was tied down like a roping calf.” Morgan grinned wryly. “My wife is not one to lie in bed all day and do nothing. We had to wait until some blood-thinning drugs were flown in from Seattle for her.” He rubbed his hands together. “Today, she gets out of her contraption and into a wheelchair. The doctor says the clot is dissolved and her ankle is stable enough for her to be a little more active.”

“Almost two weeks in a bed would drive me nuts,” Quinn muttered. It would. He was restless by nature, and loved the outdoors and the strenuous activity demanded of marines.

“Yes, well…” Morgan chuckled “…if it hadn’t been for a tiny baby the team rescued from beneath the rubble, Laura would never have survived bed rest. She’s been taking care of Baby Jane Fielding for the nurses. And the hospital staff bring up other infants so Laura can hold them and bottle-feed them. They’ve been keeping her busy.”

Quinn smiled knowingly. There was no doubt about Laura’s maternal side. He liked that about women in general, although in his world, he saw mostly women marines, with tough, demanding jobs. Still, he saw that nurturing side in many of them, too. It was something he enjoyed about women, in or out of the service.

They hurried into the chaotic, busy hospital and up an elevator. Quinn was glad to escape the bustle once they arrived at the private room where Laura Trayhern sat in her wheelchair, an infant wrapped in a pink blanket in her arms.

“Hello, Quinn.” Laura greeted him warmly as he approached. “You look well.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said, nodding to her and smiling. The infant was suckling strongly on a bottle of milk. “I’m glad to hear from Mr. Trayhern that you’re doing okay.”

“I’m fine.” Laura lifted her face toward Morgan as he bent and gave her a kiss on the brow. Then he gently stroked the baby’s dark, soft hair.

Quinn saw the man’s face change remarkably. For a moment, he glimpsed the love burning in Morgan’s eyes for his wife of many years. And when Morgan ran his fingertips caressingly across the baby’s hair, Quinn saw tenderness replace his normally stoic expression. But as Morgan’s fingers lifted away, Quinn saw the same hard mask fall back into place. Despite that, there was no doubt in his mind that Morgan loved his wife and the orphaned baby.

“Come over here, Son. Let’s sit down and go over this new plan that you’re going to initiate for the basin.”

Moving to the two metal chairs near the venetian-blind-covered window, Quinn excused himself from Laura. Morgan handed him one of two red folders and sat down. Opening his copy, Quinn saw a set of signed orders with his name at the top. The other members of his fire team were named, as well.

Scowling, Morgan studied the folder opened in his lap. “We’re initiating a basin-wide plan B today, and you’re a part of that effort—you and your fire team. It’s a trial balloon. A work in progress, so to speak. We don’t know if it will work or not, so you’re an experiment of sorts. We can’t afford to put a full squad of ten men into each area. Camp Reed doesn’t have the personnel to pull that off. But by splitting up a squad into two fire teams of five people each, plus their leader, we have a chance to do something rather than nothing.” He looked squarely at Quinn. “So you’re it. You’re our test case. You’re to play it by ear and see where the energy flows in this changing situation. You’re the only fire team we’re putting in there for now. If it works, we’ll insert others later.”

“Five marines in each given area?” Quinn asked.

“That’s right. We’ve divided the basin into twelve quadrants. These are huge blocks of real estate. We’re talking ten to twenty square miles, depending upon the location, the population of the area and so on.” Scratching his head, Morgan gave Quinn a rueful look. “Believe me, Logistics has been wrestling with this nightmare. The basin has no law enforcement. Without backup, the police in some areas can’t do what they’ve been trained to do. There are no highways to drive on to get to a problem area. They’re pretty much limited to handling problems within walking distance of their base of operation.”

Morgan pulled a sheet of fax paper from his file folder and handed it to Quinn. “This is Deputy Sheriff Kerry Chelton. She is the only surviving member of the law enforcement agency in Area Five. Kerry contacted us by radio a week ago, and I’ve had the pleasure of talking with this young woman a number of times. Damned intelligent and resourceful. She found a gasoline generator, some fuel, and managed to retrieve a radio from the sheriff’s building, which collapsed and killed everyone inside it. She calls us every night with reports. Beautiful woman, isn’t she?”

Taking the paper, Quinn saw the photo on it. For no explainable reason, his heart contracted instantly. The black-and-white picture showed a woman with dark hair, cut to just below her ears. With her heart-shaped face, full but compressed lips and wide eyes, she was a very attractive woman, Quinn decided. The head shot showed her in her law enforcement uniform. The resolve in her large eyes was obvious. She exuded confidence.

“Yes, sir, she’s a looker, no doubt,” he murmured.

“Kerry has been in regular contact with our radio group at H.Q. She’s been helping us formulate stage two of our rescue efforts.” Sighing, Morgan said in a low voice, “There’s a lot of people out there dying right now. We just can’t get to them soon enough. The water mains are broken, so there’s no fresh water supply, or at least, not enough for the millions that are trapped out there. And food, while less of a problem now because people can go to their homes and eat whatever canned goods they find, will be disappearing shortly, too. Kerry has been scouting as much of Area Five as she can every day and giving us nightly reports. She’s telling us what the needs are, and we’ve been trying to organize community groups in each area to help stabilize the situation. We’re trying to find local police, state troopers, sheriff’s deputies—anyone in law enforcement—to become the hub of this wheel we’re building. Without law and order, chaos continues.”

“Yes, sir, I’ve been hearing plenty about that gang in Area Five.”

“Humph. Those survivalists. They call themselves Diablo—or Devil. And you, Quinn, are going to be taking them on.” Morgan gave him a hard look.

“I’d like nothing better, sir. They killed two marine pilots in cold blood. That’s reason enough to go after them.” At the thought, anger tightened his chest. Yet when Quinn studied Kerry’s photo again, his heart sped up and thumped violently for a beat or two. Part of him was eager to meet this inventive woman. Another more prejudiced part of him didn’t believe a woman could be that resourceful. Yet Morgan obviously admired and respected her, so she had to have the right stuff. In Quinn’s experience, women were not especially handy or practical. Nurturing others was one thing, but there really wasn’t much place for that in the Marine Corps. And he really didn’t like the integration of females into male slots in the corps. Not at all.

“At 0800, Quinn, you are to go to LZ Echo with your fire team. The pilots of that Huey will take you and your team into Area Five. They’re going to drop you at a destroyed shopping mall parking lot. Deputy Chelton will meet you there. She has a makeshift H.Q. set up nearby with that generator. What she needs now is help.” Morgan eyed him with a slight, twisted smile. “Firepower, in other words.”

“And who’s in charge, sir?”

“Both of you will be.”

Quinn frowned. “But sir, to run an operation like this…going after Diablo…why should a civilian have any say over what we do?” He struggled with his choice of words and tone of voice. The term civilian had sounded disrespectful. Instantly, he was sorry for how he’d framed his objection.

Trayhern’s face darkened, and his blue eyes turned icy for a moment. “Listen to me, Quinn. That woman just lost everyone she ever cared about two weeks ago. Most people would be so stunned with such grief and loss they couldn’t think straight. Kerry has single-handedly set up a base of operations for Area Five. She has tracked Diablo. She’s been like Lara Croft, Princess Xena and Supergirl all wrapped into one. Without her constant input, her observations and suggestions from the field, we wouldn’t be launching this second phase so soon. She’s been able to help us define what is needed out there.

“Your fire team was chosen because you have emergency medical training. We’re desperate for medical intervention out there. Without Kerry’s guidance, we couldn’t have formulated this concept we’re starting to put together to help the folks. Your team is an experiment. If it works, we’ll do more of it.”

Stung by Morgan’s censure, Quinn lowered his gaze and looked at the file. Kerry’s photo stared back at him. She wasn’t smiling, but she had a softness about her face. Her nose was thin and fine. Her eyes were far apart, her gaze clear and direct. Swallowing hard, Quinn nodded. “Yes, sir, I hear you.”

“Don’t go in there with a chip on your shoulder about women,” Morgan warned him in a growl. “The last thing I need on this mission is a man who’s prejudiced about what women can or can’t do.” He reached out and tapped Kerry’s picture. “She’s the kind of woman I like to hire for Perseus. Kerry thinks on her feet. She’s creative. Trustworthy. And she doesn’t miss anything. Maybe it’s because of her training in law enforcement, but she has an eye for details. And without her input, Quinn, we would be up a creek right now. She’s just about the only one out there who has radio contact with Camp Reed. Ask yourself how she managed to jury-rig that. No, I think she’s one hell of a person. And I want you to go into this assignment with that same attitude.”

Chastened, Quinn felt his heart contract when Morgan called Kerry trustworthy. Maybe he was still feeling the pain of his breakup with Frannie Walton, a civilian secretary he’d met in Oceanside nearly two years ago. Since then, he’d had a lot of trouble trusting any woman. After the way Frannie had treated him, he’d crawled into a dark hole of hurt, his pride wounded. She’d been a social climber and on an emotional level, Frannie had been anything but reliable or trustworthy. Quinn had been raised in the backwoods country of Kentucky, where women were still women. They didn’t try and take a man’s job away from him. Nope, they were good wives, raised kids and stayed home to cook, clean and be mothers.