All My Broken Pieces: Heart of a Wounded Warrior

By Kali Hart

Juliet

I traveled to Alaska to meet and thank the brave soldier who saved my brother's life on an overseas tour.
I may have become a little obsessed with him.
Planned our wedding and named our babies obsessed.
But it's okay.
I have a plan for the perfect meet-cute that'll lead to him falling madly in love with me.
Except my carefully laid plans quickly go up in smoke when I discover I was had with an online cabin rental with no photos.
Luckily, the old woman next door takes me in.
Even if she's a bit terrifying.
It's just my luck that she knows Shawn Decker.
And not the good kind of luck.
Because the first impression I give him is not at all like I planned.
In fact, it's so humiliating I don't tell him who I am.
I plan to.
Eventually.
Hopefully before the lies get too carried away and it all blows up in my face.

Decker

After a hard tour overseas as a medic, I separated from the military.
But without any family to return to, I felt lost.
When my buddy who'd served with me offered me a job at his brewery, I accepted.
Caribou Creek is the only place that's ever felt like home.
I have friends who feel like family.
Including Etta, the grandmother I never had.
I think she's great, even if half the town is afraid of her.
Which is the only reason I tell her it's my birthday and allow her to cook for me.
But I didn't expect a dinner guest.
The curvy beauty is intriguing.
Too alluring.
I know I should stay away.
But Etta's convinced she's hiding something and tasks me with getting to the bottom of it.
The more time I spend around Juliet, the harder it becomes to resist her.
She might be the only one who can help me mend all my broken pieces.
I want her, even though I don't deserve her.
I have to make her mine.

The Heart of the Wounded Hero series was created to pay tribute to and raise awareness of our wounded heroes. Each of the over eighty authors involved have contributed time, money, and stories to the cause. These love stories are inspiring and uplifting, showing the sacrifice of our veterans but also giving them the happily ever after they deserve.

By increasing awareness through our books, we believe we can in a small part help the wounded heroes that have sacrificed so much.

All My Broken Pieces can be read and enjoyed as a standalone. But it is also part of the Caribou Creek world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jackie M. Wallick
• Release date: May 31, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223043713

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Juliet

Ipull up to the world’s ricketiest cabin, certain there must be a mistake. My home away from home for the next four nights is not only much smaller than I expected, it looks as though a strong gust of wind could easily turn it into a pile of firewood. The online advertisement promised charm . Clearly someone needs a dictionary, I mutter under my breath, refusing to let this minor setback dampen my mood.

I grab the key from the cupholder of my rental car, praying the interior makes up for the first impression.

I never make impulsive decisions like this. I’m a meticulous planner with a bulging binder in my tote bag to prove it. Just my luck that the one time I do something spontaneous, it might very well be my last. Because this place looks like a prime setting for a horror movie.

The lodge in Caribou Creek is booked solid until Labor Day. All of the rentals outside of town are booked too. All but this one charming cabin. Sheesh! I should’ve known. Who lists a vacation rental without photos?

Yeah, yeah. I know. But I was desperate. It was this cabin or a tent.

Apparently, anyone who’s anyone knows you need to book reservations months in advance if you want to visit Alaska during peak tourist season. And, point of fact, if you didn’t know that before a half a dozen phone calls trying to find any bed at all, you sure knew it after you slammed the phone down for the last time.

Whatever. Even if I am stuck ten miles from town in primitive conditions, I didn’t come all the way to Alaska to let a rustic cabin get me squeamish. Never mind that it seems better suited for a gold miner a hundred years ago.

Remember the plan, I mumble to myself as I twist the key in the lock. The reason you’re here.

You always talk to yourself? The cackly female voice catches me off guard, causing the key to fumble out of my hand and disappear in the weeds beside the front door. I’m Etta Carver, she continues, sidling right up into my personal space. Your neighbor. She points a thumb over her shoulder to a cabin four times as big and twice as rustic as mine. Except hers is adorned in colorful flowers and old rusty wagon wheels that make it look inviting. There’s the charm mine’s missing. Well, until you factor in Etta. I wouldn’t put anything past her. I’d even be willing to take odds that sitting in a rocking chair and holding a shotgun is her version of an evening of fun.

Juliet Jensen. Are you the owner⁠—

Of this piece of shit? She laughs loud and unguarded, turning more than a few heads of tourists on the walking path that snakes all the way through the sprinkling of dozens of cabins. I have to admit I admire her ability to not give a shit about any of the attention. When I’m old and gray, I hope to have that same attitude. Not a chance in hell.

Oh. I picked up the key from a property management company. The woman behind the front desk did give me a funny look when she handed it over, but I didn’t think anything of it until now.

I crouch down to fish the key out of the weeds and reinsert it into the lock. The door swings open, revealing what I can only describe as a museum exhibit from a miner’s living quarters during the gold rush.

There’s a cot with a well-worn, stained mattress and a single green wool blanket folded on the end. Oh shit. Did a bug just bounce on that blanket? A folding chair I wouldn’t trust to hold my weight is near one of only two small windows, and a crooked painting of a terrifying grizzly bear is on the wall. A tin cup and bowl sit on a crooked counter I assume is meant to serve as the kitchenette the listing described. The place is dark and dingy. And downright creepy.

You can’t fucking stay here, she mutters, cursing someone named Silas under her breath. C’mon, Jenny.

Juliet.

She doesn’t apologize or correct herself as she pulls the door closed. Lock it back up and get your bags.

Excuse me?

You want to camp out in this piece of shit or you want a real room?

"It’s not that bad⁠—"

Notice it was missing a bathroom? That’s ‘cause the shitter’s out back.

I’m forced to chase after her because the elderly woman moves surprisingly quick. I already paid for this one⁠—

I’ll get you a refund. Etta stops on her covered porch, hand resting on the worn wooden railing. The wood planks of the cabin are dark, as if they’d been burned black at one time. But the railing doesn’t waiver under the pressure. At least it’s more likely to survive a bear attack than the pitiful cabin next door. And I’m pretty sure she has plumbing. I’m safer here. Unless Etta turns out to be a serial killer.

I momentarily weigh my options: sleep on a cot that’s probably filthier than a landfill and crawling with bugs. Or take my chances with a quirky elderly woman who might chop me into small pieces and feed me to the bears.

Jamie, I ain’t got all day.

Juliet.

Get your bags and meet me inside.

Right.

Dinner’ll be ready in an hour.

I gulp a swallow, wondering if that’s how she means to off me. By poisoning your food? Get a grip, Juliet.

Two overstuffed suitcases fill the trunk of my rental car, reminding me that after I find the man who saved my brother’s life when they were