Blurb:
What if one laugh
changed your world?
Raylyn Morrison, a
critical care nurse for wounded soldiers, has a problem. She cares too much.
Dreams haunt her. The death of her patients leaves her distraught and seeking
peace. But temporary peace is not enough. She doesn’t want to leave, but she
needs to. Then he comes along.
Staff Sergeant Jack
Williams understands loss -- physical, emotional, and spiritual. Not only did
the war take his leg, but it took his family and his desire to live. But the
voice of an angel keeps him going. A voice he dreams about even after he wakes
from a coma. Yet when they meet she is nothing like he expected and he wonders
if he’s made mistake.
Fate destines them to
be together forever, he’s sure of it, but something goes wrong and Raylyn
disappears. She leaves a hole that only service can fill.
Chiapas, Mexico, is
the perfect setting to forget her loss and work on her future. But when Jack
reappears in her life, she worries her heart will break again. But after two
years, she should be over him. Right? Do her new fears have a foundation or
should she give in and allow herself to love him once more?
While residing in a
country with a rich history and a tumultuous future, Jack must convince Raylyn
he never stopped loving her…before it is too late.
Author:
Felicia Rogers is the
author of multiple novels and novellas. When she's not writing, Felicia
volunteers with the Girl Scouts of America, teaches at a local homeschooling group,
hikes, and spends time with her family.
Excerpt:
Prologue
Machines hummed, and
the floor vibrated. Oxygen dribbled into the huge pump like water dripping off
a gutter. Odors of rust and elderly people assaulted her senses.
Raylyn walked the lit
aisle. Hospital beds lined both walls. Sporadically, a single wail rent the
air. She twisted to face the patient, only to find them fast asleep.
Checking her list
against a bed label, she stopped. Lt. Robert O’Malley lay unmoving. The pale
pallor of his skin wasn’t a good sign. The lieutenant had been losing blood,
but the doctors were unable to ascertain the cause.
She checked his
vitals, wrote the numbers down, and moved on.
The next soldier was
unnamed. For privacy reasons, his family had ordered the staff to call him Johnny.
He’d lost both his legs and one arm in a military excursion.
Vitals checked and
documented, she moved on. Tonight all the men slept. Her feet clicked against
the tile floor, breaking the silence. She reached the nurses' station and
stopped.
Where was everyone?
The computer screen
blinked on. Bright green letters popped up one at a time.
H-E-L-P M-E!
She stepped back. Her
hand hit a clipboard, and it clattered against the counter. She twirled.
Shocked, she blinked.
The patients were out
of their beds and stumbling toward her. She opened her mouth to scream, but
there was no sound.
They were coming for
her…
****
Raylyn woke in a cold
sweat. Tendrils of the dream clung to her consciousness. She ran her hand over
her face and released a sigh. Outside, a streetlight buzzed. Dogs barked.
She kicked free of the
covers tangled around her legs, rolled out of bed, and stumbled to the
bathroom. She put on her glasses, and stared at herself in the mirror.
“Morrison, get a hold of yourself. It was just a dream. A crazy whacked-out
dream, but still a dream.”
As Raylyn splashed
water on her face; she gasped and adjusted the faucet. She splashed her face
again, toweled-dry, and headed back to bed. The bedside clock read 2:00 a.m.
She plopped on the edge of the bed, but didn’t lie back. Sleep was over. If she
closed her eyes, the dream would replay until she rose. Might as well not even
try.
She gathered her
clothes from the closet before heading to the shower.
Dressed in scrubs,
with her hair pulled back in a ponytail, she padded into the kitchen. The
one-bedroom apartment sported decent-sized rooms and a fabulous view. From the
living area, she could just make out waves striking the sandy shore. She opened
the window and listened to the violent sounds.
Instead of continuing
to enjoy the pleasures of the room, Raylyn grabbed a bagel and gnawed on it as
she exited the front door.
Nancy Bryant, the head
nurse of the severely wounded ward at Grace Community Military Hospital, would
not be surprised to see her arrive before her time off ended. The one-week-on,
one-week-off schedule remained only a suggestion to Raylyn. She had clocked
more overtime hours than any other nurse on their floor.
Upon arrival, the
parking lot was largely empty. With her key card, she buzzed herself into the
building. Her footsteps echoed as she ascended the stairwell. Each floor was
marked. She stopped at number five, and pushed the door open. The floor was
quiet, just like in her dream.
