New York Times and USA Today Bestselling
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The Airman’s Homecoming by Sabrina York

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The Airman’s Homecoming

Available December 26!!!

Forever a wanderer?

From the moment Noah Crocker steps into Amy Tuttle Tolliver’s bakery, the self-made baker’s a confection he can’t resist. The stunning entrepreneur needs help…and the pararescue medic is more than happy to share his hidden baking talent! When he realizes his unexpected link to the husband Amy lost in combat, the instant connection to her—and her two adorable sons—intensifies. Noah’s always been searching for home. Could it be that he had to come all the way to tiny Coho Cove to find what he was looking for?

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This excerpt is unedited

CHAPTER ONE

It was almost closing time.

Amy Tolliver gusted a sigh of relief, followed quickly by a slither of unease. Was it a terrible thing that her glorious dream of owning her own bakery sometimes manifested as monotony?

Monotony wasn’t all that terrible. It meant, at the very least, that terrible things weren’t happening.

She sighed again, but this one was more a sigh of resignation. Things were good. Not exciting, certainly not exhilarating—the way life had been when she and George had been young and in love and planning their future—but good. The bakery was a grind—no pun intended—but a success. Amy was able to take care of her sons and put food on the table. She had friends and family nearby and lived in a beautiful coastal town with fantastic rainforest trails. It just…

Well, it just wasn’t how she’d thought her life would play out, was it?

No. George had factored into all her dreams back then, but now in his place was a dark and gaping hole she had no idea how to fill. She was living their dream…without him.

Maybe that old grief was the cause of this melancholy. It rose up sometimes, even now, years after—

Her heart hitched as she realized, remembered, that the anniversary of her husband’s death was looming, yet again. This one would be four years. Four years as widow and single mother. Four years alone. Longer than they’d been married. The thought was a gut punch.

Well, Amy Tuttle Tolliver was a survivor and melancholy didn’t suit her, so she straightened her spine and sucked in a deep breath and blew it out in a loud, wet, burbly spurt. Her sons were always amused when she spurted, and so it made her smile now. Mostly because it made her think of them.

Yeah, losing the love of your life at the tender age of twenty-one was the worst, but George had left her with a treasure in the form of his namesake, George Patton Tolliver II—Georgie for short—and his younger brother John J. So, as boring as life had become, as lonely as she felt sometimes, there were gifts for which she could be grateful.

Moms dedicated themselves to their children. It’s what they did. And sometimes responsibility was simply…boring.

The deep bass thrum of an engine—unmistakably a Harley—resonated from the road and snatched her from her reverie. She glanced up from her cleaning, perhaps a little wistfully, to catch a glimpse of freedom and adventure. Ah. It was a beautiful touring bike, splattered with mud from other places, driven by a large, muscular man in full leathers… And it zoomed right by. It was a little sad hearing the roar of that powerful engine peter away to nothing.

It was summer now, and the little coastal town of Coho Cove was bursting at the seams with tourists. It was great for business—Amy made the lion’s share of her profits during the summer months. And while it brought in interesting new faces—and their money—occasionally there was this longing too. The tourists came and went, and Amy stayed.

She glanced at the clock again and made a face. It wasn’t time yet to flip the sign and lock the door. She’d already finished today’s cleaning—even the bag of flour her assistant had spilled before Amy sent her home early. Lately, Eloise had been all thumbs and highly distracted. With Eloise out of the way, Amy had already finished tomorrow’s prep as well. She was itching to get out of here and go pick up the boys from the sitter. But the sign on the door said they closed at three and she refused to flip the sign a second earlier. Damn, she hated dead time.

Her heart lifted when she caught the sound of the Harley again. She didn’t know why, and she didn’t care. It was a tiny thing to get excited about, but when your life was small, tiny things became that much larger. So, when the bike slowed and turned into a parking spot in front of her store, a little thrill shot through her.

Steelhead Drive was Coho Cove’s answer to Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills, just without all the swagger. There were lots of trendy shops and restaurants in what the town council and Chamber of Commerce had designed into something of a retail district, mostly to attract tourists. It was highly likely that this adventurer from parts unknown had something a little more sophisticated than baked goods on his mind at three in the afternoon. A fine whisky at Bootleggers, perhaps, or maybe a visit to Angel’s art gallery a few doors down. So, she was well and truly stunned when he took off his helmet, levered his long body from the saddle of his ride and sauntered toward her door. She barely even noticed his slight limp.

Indeed, her breath caught at the sight of him; some unfamiliar energy swirled in her belly.

He made a fine figure, all dressed in black leathers, Oakley glasses and heavy boots, all muscled and tight. He was tall—very tall—and broad and powerful. The military elan, surrounding him like a cloud, was palpable. As an Army brat and military wife, she could smell it on him. This man was a warrior, plain and simple.

Also, he was hot.

Any woman would notice. Of course, she would.

Any woman would feel this rush of blood and heat in her veins.

Amy’s pulse thudded as he came through the door and smiled, a crooked lift of his lips. And, goodness gracious, they were beautiful lips. Well-formed and full. They looked soft and inviting. She nearly swooned—and she was hardly the swooning type. His smile widened a little and a dimple winked, causing a sizzle to strafe through her. She’d always been a sucker for a dimple.

“Afternoon.” His voice was low timbered and velvety; it made her shiver.

“Hey.” Yeah. Pretty much all she could manage. He kind of stole her ability to think and form words with the…brain thingy.

“You still open?”

“Uh huh.”

She couldn’t see all of his face—because of the glasses—but what she could see was unadulterated male beauty. His neck was muscled and tanned and braided with veins. The amber spatter of day beard on his hard-cut chin made her mouth water. Above the V of his black T-shirt, the hint of a tattoo peeped out. The tip of a tiger’s tail, perhaps?

Oh, but all that was nothing compared to the impact his pale blue eyes had on her when he pulled off those glasses and her gaze met his. It crashed into her like a rogue wave, sending her spinning.

Lord have mercy.

He chuckled, as though something had amused him. She had no idea what it was—because, as hot as he was, he was probably used to women drooling and stuttering around him—but it irritated her enough, his amusement, to slap her out of the hot-guy-stupor.

She’d seen hot guys before. Hell, she’d married one.

“Cuz it’s after three.” He thrust a thumb at the door. “Sign says you close at three.”

She tipped up her chin and cleared her throat. “Well, it’s your lucky day. What would you like?”

Oh, hell. Wrong question.

His expression shifted into something sultry, something naughty. His smile widened. A glint in his eye danced.

Something swirled like a slurry in her gut. What was he thinking? Surely not something sexual. Surely not. She was sweaty and workworn and probably looked like a wet dishrag after a long day in a hot kitchen.

Unfortunately, her thought about his thoughts ignited something in her, some kind of fire in her bloodstream, and heat rose within her, crawling all the way up to her cheeks. She’d always hated that she flushed so easily, but never more so than now.

Thankfully, he didn’t comment on her blush, other than a ghost of a smile. He glanced at the near empty pastry cases and his smile dimmed. For some reason, she felt it to her core, like the dimming of the sun. He sent her something of a pout; it should be illegal for a man that gorgeous to pout. “Shoot,” he said. “I was kind of hoping for an apple fritter.”

She nodded. “Let me check in the back.” She knew damn well she had two fritters left. She’d already bagged them up, along with a leftover croissant and a maple bear claw to give to her friend Jax because, frankly, Jax would eat anything. Aside from that, Amy deplored waste.

When she came back into the shop with the bagged fritters, the hottie was studying the pictures on her walls, all neatly framed shots she’d taken of celebrated European tourist destinations. She’d wanted her bakery to have a Continental elegance and, when she was decorating, she’d thought pictures from France and Italy and Germany carried the kind of cache she wanted for an upscale Patisserie. Well, as upscale as things got in Coho Cove, at least. They marched along the walls above the wainscotting in identical frames and every time she looked at them, she got a warm sense of satisfaction. From the scrollwork on the parlor tables to the bright pink striping on the walls, she loved the way her bakery had turned out.

The tall dark and handsome stranger—with the very fine butt, by the way—shot her a grin. Did he have any idea how lethal that grin was? “These shots are really stunning,” he said.

“Thanks. I used to be a photographer.” Used to be a lot of things, really.

His eyes widened. “You took them?”

“Mmm hmm.” She glanced at the coterie of memories. Munich’s Marienplatz, the Trocadero in Paris, the Florentine boar… She flashed him something akin to a smile. “I was in junior high school when I took these.”

He arched a brow. “That’s a lot of travel for a teenager.”

She tipped her head to the side and studied him. He was so stunning, physically, it was hard to see past that, but it seemed as though he was sincerely interested, so she said the thing that she knew would explain it all to him. “Army brat.”

His expression changed, just ever so. Softened a little, maybe, because they had something in common now. Other than a deep love for apple fritters.

“When my dad was stationed in Pattonville,” she added, “we did a lot of traveling.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “Stuttgart.”

Yeah. If she hadn’t already known he was military, that sealed it. She eyed him up and down and then asked. “Navy?” He looked like a SEAL. He just had that special forces, elite warrior vibe.

“Air Force.” And yeah, he said it with pride. They all did.

She made a little bow. “Thank you for your service.” It was a playful offering, in a way. But also, not so playful. She knew the sacrifices military men and women, and their families, made for their country. She’d lived it. She’d lost a father and a husband to it. It deserved acknowledgement.

“Thank you.” He put his palm on his chest in a gesture of appreciation, but all it did was make her notice how long and slender and perfect his fingers were. Which made the sizzle start again, which made her start feeling awkward again. She wasn’t used to feeling awkward or shy or…girlie around men and she didn’t like it.

So, she held the two pastry bags aloft and waggled them as totally confident women of the world did. “I found two fritters.” She handed them over and totally ignored it when their skin brushed, even though electricity shot through her. “No charge. Closing time special.”  Not because he was super cute and definitely from her tribe—but for Dad and George and all the other soldiers who never came back to eat apple fritters and hug their sons and daughters again.

“Are you sure?” The gratitude in his gaze made her feel all warm and squishy. “That’s awfully generous.”

She forced a grin. “It’s after three. I’m allowed to be generous.”

“Well, much appreciated.” He chuckled and she tried to ignore his irritating dimple.

“Sure thing.”

And then, he turned to leave. She had no idea why panic flared in her, why she wanted so desperately to say something to make him stay. Pity she couldn’t think of a damn thing. Even though it had been awkward and short, she’d enjoyed chatting with him. Not just because he was beautiful to look at, but because, for the first time since George, she’d felt something for a man. Felt something like that.

Excitement, attraction, interest. Desire.

How sad to be reminded that such feelings exist.

By a tourist.

Who would walk away.

But he didn’t walk away. He paused at the door and her mouth went dry. When he turned back, her heart kicked up and started thudding. She knew she was mooning and worse, she figured he probably did too, but she didn’t care. All she wanted was a little bit more of him. Just a little bit more.

“Say, would you be able to recommend a good restaurant around here?”

Her pulse surged. Was he trying to draw this interaction out too? Or was he just hungry?

Did it matter?

“Depends,” she said in what she hoped wasn’t a too-flirty tone. “What do you like?”

Ohh. That expression again. Sexy and amused and a little lurid. They were talking about food, right?

“I mean, Smokey’s has great ribs but no ambiance. Bootleggers is more high-end. Kind of a steak frites and whisky vibe. They’re both that way, just down the street.” She waved in that direction. “Then the other way, down by the Marina, there’s the Salmon Shack and a fish and chips place on the dock… Lots of options. Where are you staying?”

Well, crap. She hadn’t meant to ask that. Not out loud.

His grin widened. “Not sure yet. I just got into town.”

“Oh. Yeah. Well, the B&B on Main is nice. How long are you planning to stay?”

Stop! Just stop!

And yeah. The dimple popped. Daham, he was hot. Way too hot. “Not sure yet,” he said. Then he stepped closer. Her stupid heart kicked into gear. Her lungs locked, but not before she caught a tantalizing whiff of his aftershave. “But hey,” he said.  “Do you, ah, have plans tonight?”

For a second, a blinding excitement scudded through her. Just a second though, before reality, like a dash of cold water, brought her back to the here and now. She did have plans tonight and they included chicken pot pie and footed pajamas and cuddles and story time with her two young sons.

Probably definitely not what he had in mind.

But it was fun to think about for that flash of a second, hopping onto the back of that beast of a machine behind that beast of a man and taking off for parts unknown…and sex. With an actual person.

Gosh, she missed sex.

Her expression, or the truly awkward pause, must have alerted him to the fact he’d lost the fish, because his jaw tightened and he nodded and said, “Ah. Well.” And then, “Thanks for the fritters.”

And, because she was socially awkward around hot men and always would be, she responded with, “Y’all come back now, ya hear?” like a complete doofus—as the sexiest man who’d ever almost propositioned her left her shop, closed the door gently behind him and sketched her a wave before leaving her life forever.

So yeah. A pretty exciting afternoon in the scheme of things. At least for her life as it was.

If nothing else, she’d learned that she could have feelings like that again. That the sexual part of her had not completely atrophied. It was nice to know. Aside from that, tonight she had something interesting to think about in her lonely, lonely bed.

*

From Harlequin Special Edition: Believe in love. Overcome obstacles. Find happiness.

The Tuttle Sisters of Coho Cove

Book 1: The Soldier’s Refuge–Available Now!
Book 2: The Airman’s Homecoming–December 26, 2023
Book 3: A Father’s Redemption–March 2024

GET IT!

Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-airmans-homecoming-sabrina-york/1143192171

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Airmans-Homecoming-Tuttle-Sisters-Coho/dp/1335594450

Google Play: https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Sabrina_York_The_Airman_s_Homecoming?id=fa7dEAAAQBAJ&pli=1

Harlequin: https://www.harlequin.com/shop/books/9780369746016_the-airmans-homecoming.html

 

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