Sneak Peek - Tuck & Cover (Book #2, Rough Rangers)

To celebrate finishing the editing for Tuck & Cover I thought I'd share a wee bit of a tease.

Inspiration photo for Cocky Owen Bradford

Chapter One

Sua Sponte, Latin for "of their own accord" were my first spoken words. At least they were if you believe Col. Robert Owen Bradford II. I'm more inclined to agree with my mom who swears my first words were probably "mama" or "dada", but it really is quite pointless to argue with the Colonel.

Being the only son of Robert and Sally Bradford, I've been conditioned since birth to become the next in a long line of men to serve in the United States Army, more specifically as an Army Ranger. My father and his father before him were both members of this illustrious group of soldiers, and I was expected to "strive for and reach no less of an achievement," in the words of dear, old dad. Try growing up with those expectations. Worse yet, try being reminded each time Grandpa Bradford came over that, "Owen, it's your legacy. I was part of the assault landing on the Dog White sector of Omaha beach in 1944." By the age of five, I knew the drill when he would ask me, "What outfit is this?" To which I would reply, "Fifth Rangers, sir."

"Well, goddammit, if you're Rangers, lead the way!"

Now, having a grandpa that was present at the birth of the Ranger motto is a hell of a big set of combat boots to follow. For me personally, with grandpa having dinner with us weekly, by the age of twelve I was beyond bored with it; but I was, and am, going to do my best to fill those boots.

I'm not an only child. I have two sisters: Jenny, who is two years older than I am, and Megan, three years younger. However, in the Colonel's eyes, they have less value. Not that my father is a bad husband to my mother or even a bad father to my sisters; but like those from a time gone by, the Colonel believes that, while a woman is to be honored, loved, and protected, it is the male child that is the coveted prize or attestation of his manhood. More specifically, the son has the honor of carrying on his father's legacy. I have the added burden of being a second son and my dad's last hope of carrying on the tradition. The firstborn would be my brother, Robert Owen Bradford III. He died from a heart defect when he was only a few hours old. Hence the simplicity of my name: Owen no-middle-name Bradford.

I knew exactly what I was in for when I arrived at the Harmony Church area of Fort Benning, Georgia. Where Tuck got the bright idea to join the Army when he turned nineteen and spent a couple of months training to prepare for his journey, I joined at twenty with twenty years of training. For me, the only thing I wasn't prepared for was my reaction to a six foot, two inch, one-hundred-seventy pound teenager.

Leaning against the wall and running a hand over my new buzz cut, the short lengths tickling against my palm, I looked up and froze. Like dead-fucking-froze, hand on my head, mouth gaping open, and body tensing pleasantly when I spotted the sexiest man I'd ever seen as he stood in line waiting for his turn in the barber's chair.

"Well hello, soldier," I muttered under my breath, careful not to be heard.

Head full of shaggy brown hair, Tuck had that dumbfounded look that the majority of the other recruits were sporting. The look of docility on the man's face definitely called to my more dominant side. The moment I got a glimpse of eyes so fucking blue they looked like dark sapphires and a face that seemed to take every facial feature I'd found attractive and placed them together in one perfect piece of work, I was captivated. When my eyes wandered down that lean, muscular body to a gloriously tight, round ass, I knew I had to have some of that. I caught a few other glimpses of Tuck while we were stuck in the reception battalion, better known as Purgatory, but I never got a chance to talk with him—feel him out, so to speak. But, I kept my eye on him. Tuck is one of those people you can't help but stare at. I spent the next two weeks watching and waiting for my opening.

It was on that first day of "real" training—right after a period in The Reception Battalion, aka Purgatory— that I happened to be standing in the yard and, therefore, watching as the Sergeant stomped up to Tuck—who was the last off the bus—and screamed, "Are you always this goddamn slow, Private?"

"No, Sir," Tuck responded in confusion, looking around the yard.

Oh, shit! The man obviously hadn't seen too many military movies, since even films make jokes about calling a sergeant, sir. I just shook my head and did my best to hide my smile. I mean, really, who hasn't seen Stripes?

"Sir?" the sergeant roared. "I work for a living, boy! You call me Sergeant Croft."

Tuck then made the classic mistake of meeting the Sergeant's eyes, and I coughed to cover my laughter but was obviously unsuccessful. I received a brief death glare from Tuck just as Croft got in his face and went off on an impressive rant about eyeballing. I figured it was my lack of sympathy at Tuck's discomfort. or maybe the snort that snuck out of me, that set the tone for further interactions between us. Tuck never stopped glaring at me or doing his best to avoid any interaction with me. His dismissal of me only fueled my desire to want to fuck with him.

I finally got my chance during the final week of Phase I when those glorious words were uttered by Sergeant Croft while assigning Battle Buddies.

“Bradford with Tucker.”

Tuck's eyes were wide; sweat glistened on his brow in the early morning sun. His hand trembled as he scrubbed it across his face. I watched, curious, as his shocked blue eyes wandered down my body and back up. Heat infused me at the lust obvious when our eyes met once again. It gave me all the encouragement I needed.

The way Tuck tells it when I was assigned as his Battle Buddy he set out to fuck up more than usual just to piss me off. Ah, no, that isn't how it went down. When our names were called out together, it was all the proof I needed that first, the curse my ex-fuck Kyle had tried to voodoo on me which involved bad karma following me for dumping him, hadn't worked. We screwed twice for Christ's sake, both times in a bathroom stall, and he started talking about picking out curtains. Yeah, Kyle's curses were about as potent as his sexual charms. Secondly, and more importantly, when my name was called along with Tuck's it was like a sign from the higher-ups that they were answering the little prayer I'd said involving me, locked doors, lube, and Pvt. Shane Tucker. From that moment forward, I added a new goal to my life. Not only would I become a Ranger; come hell or high water, I was tapping Tuck’s ass.

Coming to Silver Publishing November 24th, 2012

 

 

Battle Buddy (eBook)

( Rough Rangers #1 )

Shane Tucker joined the Army to hide behind "Don't Ask, Don't Tell". It was working too, until he was paired with sexy Owen Bradford as his Battle Buddy. If boot camp doesn't kill him, the temptation of Owen's sinful body surely will.


Shane Tucker joins Uncle Sam's Army at nineteen. Tucker is gay, but not ready to be open about his orientation and "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" seems like a convenient way to avoid having to dealing with his sexuality.

The Army suits Tucker; he does well right from the beginning. Things get harder for Tucker during boot camp when he is assigned a "Battle Buddy".  Owen Bradford is a walking, talking wet dream, with no concept of personal space--he especially likes being in Tucker's personal space. Tucker barely survives boot camp living with the constant temptation that is Owen Bradford.

Two years later, Tucker--now in the Army Ranger program--is paired up with Owen once again. Getting through training while ignoring the sizzling sexual tension between him and his "Battle Buddy" might be the biggest test of Tucker's military career.

 

Check it out HERE