Shattered Faith (Steele Standing 3)

By Jacqueline M. Sinclair

Every wound leaves a scar. Some wounds cut you so deep you’re never the same again.
Abby Jones thought she’d mended. She’d moved away, went back to school and got herself a job she loved. Now she’s getting married and life couldn’t be better.
Then tragedy strikes and rips those old wounds wide open.
Carson Steele had never been a man that settled for anything, and he wasn’t about to start now. Abby’s little change of heart was a problem, but she was going to marry him. He’d give her time and he would give her space, but come hell or high water, if Abby survived this, she would be his

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jacqueline M. Sinclair
• Release date: Oct 7, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370681280

Jacqueline M. Sinclair

Jacqueline grew up in the rural southeast and is the youngest child of a large and rowdy family. Reading was an escape when there wasn't much else around to do. She loves everything from classical literature to true crime and everything in between. With her two children grown and gone, she's surrounded by a menagerie of adopted pets and a two-legged thief who refused to give her heart back after a night of karaoke. With a day job and a dream job, her writing is a steamy combination of real life and seeking to answer the age-old question of what would happen if...and then characters come along and completely derail the plan. Letting them have their say provides plenty of sleepless nights and an endless combination of coffee and wine, but she hopes you enjoy their stories.

Book preview

SHATTERED FAITH

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One - Abby

Chapter Two - Carson

Chapter Three - Abby

Chapter Four - Carson

Chapter Five - Abby

Chapter Six - Carson

Chapter Seven - Abby

Chapter Eight - Carson

Chapter Nine - Abby

Chapter Ten - Carson

Chapter Eleven - Abby

Chapter Twelve - Carson

ABBY JONES

Chapter Thirteen - Abby

Chapter Fourteen - Abby

Chapter Fifteen - Abby

Chapter Sixteen - Abby

Chapter Seventeen - Abby

Chapter Eighteen - Abby

Chapter Nineteen - Abby

Chapter Twenty - Abby

Chapter Twenty-One - Abby

CARSON STEELE

Chapter Twenty-Two - Carson

Chapter Twenty-Three - Carson

Chapter Twenty-Four - Carson

Chapter Twenty-Five - Carson

Chapter Twenty-Six - Carson

Chapter Twenty-Seven - Carson

Chapter Twenty-Eight - Abby

Chapter Twenty-Nine - Carson

Chapter Thirty - Abby

Chapter Thirty-One - Carson

Chapter Thirty-Two - Abby

Chapter Thirty-Three - Carson

Chapter Thirty-Four - Abby

Chapter Thirty-Five - Carson

Chapter Thirty-Six - Abby

Chapter Thirty-Seven - Carson

Chapter Thirty-Eight - Abby

Chapter Thirty-Nine - Carson

Chapter Forty - Abby

Chapter Forty-One - Carson

Epilogue - Abby

A Note to Readers

CARSON

by

Jacqueline M. Sinclair

Shattered Faith: Carson

© 2016 by Jacqueline Sinclair 

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced without written permission from the author, except brief quotes for the purpose of reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons is entirely coincidental.

Cover design:

Wicked by Design

Editor:

Faye Carter

Formatter:

Shanoff Formats

For those that believe.

The rumors are true. Not only is Carson Steele pleasant to look at, he has a flirty personality that’s the perfect blend of confidence and humor, wrapped up in a laid-back style, that makes him fun to be around.

He’s a huge man, with dark, well-defined features, but his quick smile and frequent laugh balance his threatening presence perfectly, making him friendly and approachable. His playful personality reminds me a lot of Andrew, and I feel the memories tugging at me as the day goes by. I’m still getting used to smiling when I think of him, and the nostalgia makes me feel even closer to Carson. That’s dangerous ground.

Shifting my gaze to him, I watch through my lashes as he takes his lunch from the small cooler. He’s humming something I can’t make out, but the subtle sound is drowned out by the emergency tone that shrieks through the quiet building.

The day has passed at such a slow pace, I jump, startled. My heart is already pounding in my chest, but the sudden noise sends my pulse to my ears, and adrenaline courses through me. Carson takes a bite of his sandwich, looking at me, waiting to see if the tone will be followed by a page for us.

His eyebrows are cocked over those dark eyes of his, his lips pulled to the side. It’s almost like he knows I’m on the verge of panic, and he’s going to let me linger there.

The pagers go off and Carson stands, winking at me, and I feel the breath I’ve been holding rush past my lips. We’re in this together.

His action forces me to move, and we make our way to the ambulance, listening as the dispatcher tells us about the unresponsive patient we’re responding to.

You’ve got this one, he tells me.

I flinch and look away, but I walk to the passenger side of the truck. A year of studying my ass off in school, six months of riding along on every shift I could get on, and I suddenly feel unprepared for all of it. It’s the moment I realize I am 911.

Scared? Carson asks.

Climbing behind the wheel, he flips the ignition over before he’s in his seat. The vibration of the diesel engine surrounds us, and I climb in, stuffing the protocol book I’ve been studying between the seats. I continue to avoid him, mostly because I’m afraid ‘shitless’ is going to escape my lips before I can rein it in.

This isn’t my first call, but it is my first without a trainer watching over me, making sure I do everything right. Carson can’t. Somebody has to drive.

Grabbing the radio mic, I key it up and take a breath before I speak. Unit 3 to communications.

I wait for the 911 dispatcher to acknowledge me.

Go ahead, unit 3.

I tell her we’re enroute and tug my seat belt on as Carson pulls to the road. He flips on the siren as I confirm traffic is clear in my direction. I sit back, trying to control my adrenaline, and make a mental checklist of what I need to do when we get there. 

I’ll be glad to run the call, he offers.

Collecting myself, I look to him and find some comfort in the reassurance I see there. I’m grateful I’ve been scheduled with him. I was nervous enough about starting my new job, but getting assigned to a one-unit station means the weight of the community rests solely on us, minus the volunteers that show up at random. Carson is a team player. He’s been gentle on my newly credentialed, and still evolving identity, as a paramedic.

Seriously, I don’t mind.

His persistence creates a wave of doubt. Is he concerned I’ll freeze? Does he think I’m not up to my job? Does he somehow know the circumstances that brought me here, to his town, to emergency services?

He can’t know. I’ve moved far enough away to ensure the hell of that particular situation lives only inside me. I look at him, reassuring myself he’s just being helpful. He’s letting me lean on him, and I appreciate the gesture. 

"I’ll be OK." Fake it till you make it. 

Eight minutes later Carson slows the ambulance and cuts the siren off, leaving the lights flashing. They would be a beacon of sorts if we should have to call for more help. 

He reaches for the mic just as it crackles to life.

Communication to unit three.

I catch the clenching of his jaw. Something has changed at the residence, or dispatch wouldn’t be calling. 

Unit 3. Go ahead. 

Unit 3, be advised the caller has requested to cancel, the voice states. The patient is now awake and talking, advises his wife he had taken a sleeping pill.

Just like that, the full momentum of my emotions crash into a pool of relief. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to the constantly and quickly changing highs and lows of this work.

Carson grins as he continues to pull into the driveway. 10-4 communications. Be advised we’re pulling up at the residence. We’ll be checking in as a courtesy.

Carson replaces the mic. Come on, Ms. Medic, let’s make sure the sleeping prince is all right.

I study the small ranch house, noticing the silver Buick parked under the car porch, the neatly trimmed row of bushes that lined the tiny home. It’s a cleaner, friendlier version of the house I was raised in.

 Carson goes to the front door and knocks while I get out and pull the heart monitor and the bag that holds the equipment we might need. Their voices meet me as I corner the front of the truck and I go to join him. 

A small elderly lady stands in the doorway giving Carson a lecture. You folks should be having lunch, not running out here because Henry is too old to wake up an’ piss. Scared me to death, but he’s all right.

The old lady’s attention turns to me, and I try hard not to smile as the woman frowns back at Carson, pointing a crooked finger at all the equipment I’m carrying. 

Young man? The lady leaves no doubt she expects him to relieve me of my burdens.

 Sweetheart, you shouldn’t have let him drag you out here for nothing, she says, talking to me, but throwing her head toward Carson. 

I grin, passing the heavy monitor to him. We were pulling in when they told us you didn’t need us. It would make me feel better if we could talk to him, check him out before we go, I tell her.

An unladylike grunt escapes her. I didn’t kill him, honey. You’re welcome to come see him. She steps aside so we can enter, and Carson cuts in front of me so abruptly, we almost collide.

What the hell? I resist the impulse to bring my knee up and into his ass for doing that. Fucking jerk.

How long had he been sleeping? I ask, fighting to keep the irritation from my voice. I need to get my head back in the call.

Hard to tell with him. He doesn't like to do much, an’ if I ask him to do something he doesn't want to do, he’s sleeping.

Henry’s wife turns to us and uses air quotes to emphasize ‘sleeping.’ I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing. She focuses on me but jerks her head towards Carson. I sure hope you don’t have that kinda trouble out of him.

With that, she turns back around and leads us down a short hallway decorated with framed family pictures. Henry is sitting on the side of the bed on a towel, his face stretched with a yawn. The sheets are crumbled around him like his wife might have been changing them.

Henry, I’m Abby. We just want to touch base with you before we leave. Your wife got worried when she couldn’t wake you. 

Carson sets the monitor on the floor by my feet and offers to take the bag I’d shouldered.

You mind if I take your blood pressure while my partner pesters you with questions? Carson asks Henry. 

If Carson hadn’t cut me off coming in the door, I’d have chalked it up to being a tactic to earn Henry’s blessing. As it is, his words grate me the wrong way. So much for letting me lean on him.

Henry stifles another yawn. I’m fine, he grumbles.

You’re not hurting in your chest or anything? I ask.

Pffft, Henry grunts, dismissing my question with a wave of his hand. This is Henry’s standard answer, leaving his wife to fill in the details. 

I’d still like to check it out, Henry, I tell him.

Henry frowns, looking past me to his wife, his features transforming to defeat. He throws his hands up. Go right ahead.

Accepting his poking and prodding with little more than irritated sighs, Henry is deemed fit to return to his nap.

If anything changes, you call us back, Henry. Deal?

I didn’t call you this time, he grumbles.

I turn to his wife. She’s eyeing him, hands on her hips. Lazy bastard.

It’s OK, I smile. Carson and I gather our equipment and follow his wife back to the door. 

Call us again if you need to, Carson reminds her. We’ll come back if things change.

She ignores him, turning her attention to me. You make this young man feed you, and let you get some rest. Don’t you be worrying about us. 

I smile my thanks and walk toward the truck, going around to the side door. I return the equipment and climb back out. My feet have just touched the ground when the door flies past me, slamming shut. There stands Carson, his hand resting on the truck, blocking my way. I go in first.

I’m too startled to do anything but take a step back, uncomfortable with having him consume my personal space.

Always, Carson adds.

His tone is unquestionable, the command raw and explicit, but it’s the look on his face that creates a knot of anxiety in my belly. The hint of gold in his dark eyes reflects a look I can’t quite read, but it leaves no room for argument. It unsettles me. Maybe because this is the first time Carson has been so close to me, that I’ve been the focus of his attention.

My gaze travels to a small scar beneath his right eye, the only blemish on an otherwise tanned and perfect painting. I need space from him. 

 Are you going to feed me or do I need to go tattle to Henry’s wife? My voice scratches my throat as I force out the words. I force what I hope is a sweet smile, trying not to let this man intimidate me any more than he already has. I’ve survived worse.

Carson studies me a moment and pushes himself off the ambulance with a grunt. Where would you like to go? he asks, walking around the truck. Not much to pick from.

He’s right. This is a very rural area and there aren’t many places to grab to-go food. His sandwich had been abandoned on the table, and I hadn’t thought to bring anything.

You choose, I mutter, climbing in.

We can hope for a call to UMC. Then we can get pizza, he says, smiling. Carson clears us from the call and drives back toward town, tapping his finger on the steering wheel.

It’s not a very busy station, I observe, hoping to get us back to our comfort zone.

Would you prefer to run your ass off? Carson asks. "Just so you know, some superstitious partners would put you out on the side of the road for saying that.

I roll my eyes. We’d had such a good morning, and now I can’t say or do anything right.

It’s not busy, but we get a lot of high priority calls. We have a huge elderly population, he says, glancing at me. "They don’t seem to abuse the system, so by the time we get to them, a lot of them are in