Jessica Scott's Blog, page 16

Tough challenges in the Maine Bear Hunt debate

I grew up unwrapping thousands of pounds of pastries to use in baits. My dad makes his living off baiting, guiding and hunting and has done so his entire life. My brother and I used to have to move drying skins out of the cellar way in order to bring wood upstairs to keep the fire going. While I personally don’t hunt, I respect people who do. Hell, they’re my family.

That said, I understand the arguments on both sides, but at the end of the day, I think there are a lot of emotions in this debate that need to be addressed and acknowledged. But first, the rational aspects

From a rational economics perspective, though, I think there are two big questions: how will you replace the loss of income to the regions of the state that are reliant on out of state hunters and the big money they bring in. Find another job isn’t an answer because of the shape of the northern and central Maine economies.

And second, how will you control the bear population? Whether you like hunting or not, the fact is that wildlife management depends on hunting to keep populations under control. Places that outlawed deer hunting soon faced the challenges of increased deer/car accidents and if you’ve ever hit a deer going 65 mph, it’s a traumatic and many times, fatal event.

What we are seeing here is conflict between two separate moralities. Those who oppose the hunt are basing their argument in what Jonathan Haidt calls the moral foundation of fairness. They see the world through the lens of what is fair. Those who support the hunt are based in the moral foundations of freedom and tradition.

The problem is that those who tend to see the world in terms of what’s fair also tend to not see the value in tradition and freedom, nor do they tend to understand why these things are fundamentally important to others. Those who tend to access more of Haidt’s moral foundations tend to not understand how people can only see fairness as the sole thing that matters. Their moralities are not your moralities – and an inability to understand someone else’s morality doesn’t always equate with people being morally defunct.

I’d be willing to bet that the two sides are probably not doing a lot of talking to each other. But what about the people in the middle, those who have decided yet on how to vote? I’m not going to tell people how to vote. That’s up to you.

But as you consider how to vote, I ask you to look outside the first order effects of what’s important to you. If you’re focused on the fairness of the hunt aspect, ask yourself what other aspects of fairness are you not considering? If you’re looking at the traditions and your freedom to hunt, what aspect of fairness are you not considering?

And beyond the moral foundations questions, I ask you to consider your neighbors either to the north or the south. Resources and jobs available in the southern part of the state are not the same further north.

You can read more in this great piece in the Boston Globe.

Dear Female Military Members: Stop Blaming Other Women For Sexual Assault

It’s been a long time since I’ve written a post that has me this angry. There’s a piece in the Marine Corps Gazette entitled “Why Women Do Not Belong in the US Infantry” by CPT Lauren F. Serrano. I’d link to it here but it’s behind a paywall.

So if you’re interested in my response to it, please continue reading. Also, please remember that I am speaking as a private citizen and my views do not represent DOD or any branch of service.

Full disclosure: I will be moderating comments on this piece.

While I applaud Captain Serrano’s willingness to take what she terms a “bold” claim, I do not feel there is anything bold about her article. Rather it is merely recycling the same old emotional arguments, tired excuses and some pretty harsh generalizations against not only her sisters in arms but also her brothers in arms that I would think someone who allegedly respects her fellow Marines would not make.

So where to begin.

“It’s Not About Individuals: My argument has little to do with whether women can pass the Infantry Offcer Course or Infantry Training Battalion, or endure the hardships of combat. Even those select women who can physically endure the infantry are still posing a threat to the infantry mis- sion and readiness. Female Marines who want to stir the pot by joining the infantry ranks are more interested in their careers than the needs of the Corps— they are selfish.”

So in her opinion, the women who seek out these positions are being selfish – because every man who seeks out these positions does so only out of selfless dedication to duty and the Corps? I’m sorry but calling women who want the opportunity to lead the best selfish does much to undermine her argument right off the bat. What do we call the men who want these positions to advance their careers?

Furthermore, she admits that there are women who can probably pass the Infantry courses. If that is all that is required for the men, then what are the additional standards that must be imposed on women before they can compete? Let’s see what CPT Serrano has to say, shall we…

“a female Marine offcer, regardless of MOS, can be just as successful as a male infantry offcer if she is truly a leader and puts the needs of her Marines above her own.”

Then where are the female maneuver commanders? Where is the female commandant of the Marine Corps who came out of Signal or Logistics? Where are the females in charge of the most elite, most sought after positions? I’m actually of the opinion that you should come up in the branch you are expected to lead and before we place women in charge of battalion or higher maneuver elements, they should have served at the lower echelons. So before women can reach the top echelons, they need to start out at the bottom and pay their dues.

“However, as Capt Katie Petronio argued in her 2013 Gazette article, “Get Over It! We are not all created equal,” long infantry careers for female Marines will even- tually lead to career-ending medical conditions as they get older and their bodies are unable to withstand the years of constant infantry training.3 For the already fscally strained military, this will lead to an increase in medically retired Marines who rate medical fnan- cial support for the rest of their lives.”

This is actually about the only place in the article where my head did not explode. There is a valid point to be made here for women who choose this demanding field but for her to say that officers who serve in these billets will necessarily end up with more injuries etc is to make a broad generalization. The truth of the matter is that all of our current generation of warriors are expected to carry extraordinary amounts of gear and this extra weight is burdening all of our knees and backs. The second biggest signature injury of this war is knees and backs. So there’s actually something to be said for this argument but instead of making her argument on physiology or god forbid actual data, she goes back to the same old gender stereotypes.

“The all-volunteer U.S. military is not at war to defend the Nation’s existence; on the contrary, it has a surplus of manpower, is downsiz- ing its number of servicemembers, and can afford to be exclusive. Again, there is no need to incorporate women into the infantry.”

I think I saw a figure that less than 20% of the US population is actually eligible to serve in the military. How many of those are going to be in the infantry? By citing the Israeli and Kurdish armies, she actually defeats her argument: women are capable of doing the job. She just doesn’t want them to because she wants to preserve…what exactly?

Oh, right, the “Infantry Brotherhood: Having women in an infantry unit will disrupt the infantry’s identity, motivational tactics, and camaraderie. The average infantryman is in his late teens or early twenties. At that age, men are raging with hormones and are easily distracted by women and sex. Infantry leaders feed on the testosterone and masculinity of young men to increase morale and motivation and encourage the warrior ethos. Few jobs are as physically and emotionally demanding as the infantry, so to keep Marines fo- cused, the infantry operates in a cult- like brotherhood.”

I don’t actually deny that there is a brotherhood or that it serves a purpose. What I do take vehement issue with is her insistence that the brotherhood as she painted it is worthy of preserving.

“They can fart, burp, tell raunchy jokes, walk around naked, swap sex stories, wrestle, and simply be young men together. Although perhaps not the most polite environment, this is the exact kind of atmosphere that promotes unit cohesion and the brotherly bond that is invaluable.”

What kind of cohesion does this actually promote? Farting and sex stories are key to moral and support. Damn I’ve been doing it all wrong. Perhaps I should have been grabbing my first sergeant’s ass and swapping stories of what my husband and I did last night. Oh wait, it’s different because I’m a female? Sorry, that doesn’t actually fly with me and here’s why: because this kind of attitude is EXACTLY why we have a continued problem with sexual assault in the military.

“While standing in line at the shop- pette in civilian attire a few weeks ago, two young grunts stood behind me inti- mately describing the toned, ft body of a female on the front of a women’s ath- letic magazine. Subsequently, the Ma- rines discussed how attracted they are to women who are in shape and how they can’t wait for the weekend when their squad was planning to go to the club to pick up ladies. Women in the Marine Corps are already in better shape than the average civilian and it can be as- sumed that any infantry woman will be a physical specimen. In the young, testosterone-flled infantry ranks, this is asking for love triangles, unit drama, and the potential for intraunit relationships.”

So let me get her logic straight: women in the marines are going to be physically fit + male marines who are attracted to physically fit women = women should not be in the infantry because of love triangles. By that same logic then, sir, women shouldn’t be in the military at all because we are cause of all the unit drama ever. Seriously? This is her argument? I’m disappointed. I expected better.

But wait, there’s more.

“Platoon commanders in co-ed units already deal with a tremendous amount of drama, pregnancies, and sex in the co-ed unit barracks. Each time an issue arises, the platoon leadership spends a lot of time switching Marines’ barracks rooms, billets, etc. Oftentimes the unit equal opportunity (EO) representative must get involved to ensure gender bias does not occur. Infantry units bring signifcantly less drama to work because they don’t have women in their barracks or workspaces. This allows them to better focus on their mission, training, and readiness.”

I would like some stats on exactly how she’s quantifying “drama”. Because during my time in a brigade combat team, it was the infantry/engineer units who had the most arrests, the most rape allegations, the most domestic violence charges. So adding female Marines to the mix is going to make things worse?

But this next part is where I lost any shred of respect for this argument or this author.

“however, doing so for extended periods of time in isolated combat environments with a population of stressed out 18- to 22-year-olds poses the potential for sexual relations, unwanted incidents, and drama (again, disrupting the brotherhood and taking the focus off the mis- sion), not to mention the spouses of those who are married who now have the added burden of worrying about their husband sleeping next to another woman throughout his deployment.”

The spouses who now have the added burden of worrying about their husband sleeping next to another women throughout his deployment. Wait, let that sink in. Just by being present, female Marines are going to tempt their poor, innocent husband into a honey trap of infidelity? So the men who stray bear no responsibility for their actions whatsoever? No it’s all on the female Marines who lure these paragons of the nation into temptation.

I’m sorry but it’s this tired, pathetic bullish*t reasoning that I have been hearing my entire career. If your husband isn’t a scumbag, he’s not going to stray. Period. Another woman being present isn’t going to make a difference. And that’s about as much polite verbiage as I can must at the moment. Blame the women, don’t ever hold the man responsible for his actions. Sure.

Which brings me to my next gem from this magnum opus.

“Although already not immune to sexual assaults/ harassment, without women amongst their ranks, there are simply fewer op- portunities for infantry Marines to be involved in sexual assault/harassment cases. Incorporating women into in- fantry ranks will increase the number of cases in infantry units, subsequently taking time away from training, readi- ness, and unit morale.”

So Marines who rape once again are not actually responsible for their actions – they are not predators. No, they are merely taking advantage of an opportunity. A female being present is all the excuse these weak willed marines need to rape. I’m sorry, I’m still picking my jaw up off the floor over this one. This author flat out states that women being present = more rapes. Never mind that in order to have a rape you need A RAPIST.

“Every time there is a report of sexual assault/harassment, several Marines have to dedicate im- portant man-hours to resolving the issue…Overall, one sexual assault case ended up costing the Marine Corps an absurd amount of time and money. The opportunity cost for the Marines involved in the case was costly to the Marine Corps and hurt unit readiness. As the pinnacle fghting elements of the Marine Corps, it is in the best interest of the infantry units to mitigate the opportunities for sexual assault/harassment. If women are part of infantry units, it will be a mat- ter of when, not if, more sexual assault cases will happen.”

So the solution is remove the women and all of sudden no more rapes. Right? Let’s diagram this argument out: women + infantry units = rapes. No, I’m sorry that equation doesn’t actually add up. Let’s try again: women + rapists = rapes. Oh that makes a little more sense.

“As the ex- ecutive assistant to the Chief of Staff, I witnessed several EO and sexual assault/ harassment cases against senior military offcers—many of them substantiated.”

Tell me again about this “pinnacle fighting element of the Marine Corps”.

“Neither any amount of SAPR training nor the best leaders can completely prevent sexual assault/harassment and EO cases. It is an issue that should be kept as far away from the infantry as possible.”

She’s actually 100% correct here: preventing rape isn’t about training – it’s about not being a rapist. It’s about not harboring rapist and making an apology for rapists or excusing their behavior as boys will be boys as this author has done.

“Marine Corps infantry is not broken, so let’s not “fix” it.”

By pointing out that infantry Marines cannot be trusted to incorporate women into their teams without turning into marauding rapists, the author has clearly pointed out there *is* something broken in the Marine Corps and it’s broken across all of our forces.

There are actually good questions to be asked about putting women into ground combat units – especially ones with exceptionally high physical demands but this author asked none of them. Instead, she raised tired arguments about how women being around make men rapist and I for one expect more out of our Marines and our soldiers than this author clearly does. I am personally offended for the men I serve with – this author clearly seems to think very poorly of not only them but the women she serves with as well.

This article is a disgrace.

So Iraq

I have a lot of mixed feelings about what’s happening in Iraq right now. A lot.

On the one hand, I question why we ever went there in the first place. What was the mission? What was the perceived end state? What did we honestly hope to achieve there?

And our leadership was delusional. Let’s not forget Mission Accomplished or how long it took the powers that be to recognize that we were getting dragged into an insurgency. Let’s not forget our own version of Baghdad Bob running around talking about how things were getting better when on the ground, things were going to hell. Let’s not forget about the general’s revolt – when general officers went public with their disagreements over how the war was being run.

Or the personal fear when my husband called and told me he’d just gotten back from Fallujah. Or when a group of soldiers refused to run a convoy up to Taji because it was a so called death sentence. A place my husband was stationed at.

The war slogged on. We went through the Surge, where we took anyone who wanted to serve and dealt with the ramifications of allowing people who never should have been soldiers to join up. We took the felons and the delinquents and sent them happily off to war then the entire army lost it’s shit when we had massive problems back on the home front.

Of course, by then we were a few years into this mess. Maybe, just maybe, back to back to back deployments weren’t good for an army – or maybe the half or so of the force that actually bore the burden.

Then came New Dawn. When we were pulled out of the cities and told to let the Iraqi Army take the lead. We talked about partnerships and the strength of the new Iraq, all the while ignoring the sectarian violence just waiting for us to leave.

Because we were leaving. We went to war without paying for it. The American people didn’t pay for it. Not in taxes. Not in lost sleep. I’m not bitter – this is a simple statement of fact. We didn’t raise taxes. We didn’t ask anyone but the soldiers who volunteered to sacrifice.

And yet, those of us who served, continued to serve. We went to a war that some of us questioned.

Then came the day we left. I’ll never ever forget watching that last convoy cross the border into Kuwait, knowing my husband was on it. Knowing they were finally safe and holy hell does that bring back a lot of emotions. It was the end of our generations war. The end of wondering what we were doing. The end of lying to ourselves about building a peaceful Iraq. Iraq was in the hands of the Iraqi’s now and I was glad because we – my family, my soldiers, my army – were tired.

But today, watching Iraq burn and the potential for a regional war to spiral into something far worse, I’m thinking about the friends I’ve lost and I’m wondering why? Why the hell did they have to die? What the hell was it for? And don’t forget about the toll on the Iraqis. Yeah, we went. Sure, we could have gotten out and walked away – but that wouldn’t change the fact that people we care deeply about still served in harm’s way. Could we really leave them to go without us? It doesn’t really work that way.

There’s real concern about what’s happening there. This is no longer about whether or not the army is tired or arguing about whether we should have gone in and screwed everything up in the first place. We broke this nation. So what happens next is our responsibility.

I’m not saying I want to rush back in with boots on the ground or another invasion. God knows, that’s the last thing I want.

But are we really going to sit on our hands and watch it burn? There’s a lot a stake right now. And I only hope that the powers that be in the Pentagon and where ever else planning is going on are learning the lessons from the last time we did this. Don’t base plans on fantasies. Don’t lie to us about being greeted as liberators or how the war will pay for itself with Iraqi oil.

Give it to us straight. Let us know that if we do this, we’re looking at casualties. Tell us the cost up front.

Because no one – not even volunteers – deserves to die for a lie.

How to Read the Coming Home Series

All right so since the publishing of the Coming Home series was a little…out of sequence and I’ve been contacted by a bunch of readers who haven’t been able to figure out the series order, I’ve decided to post this as a primer until I update my website accordingly.

So, if you’re just starting out on the entire Coming Home series, here’s how to read it:

Coming Home #.5: I’LL BE HOME FOR CHRISTMAS ~ SGT Vic Carponti & his wife Nicole faces their greatest fear ~

Coming Home #1: BECAUSE OF YOU ~ SFC Shane Garrison and Jen St James discover the healing power of love

Coming Home 1.5: ANYTHING FOR YOU ~ catch up with Shane & Jen

Coming Home #2: BACK TO YOU ~ Captain Trent Davila & his wife Laura must learn to trust each other before they can love again

Coming Home #3: UNTIL THERE WAS YOU ~ Captain Evan Loehr and Captain Claire Montoya discover there is more to each other than the rank on their chest

Coming Home 4: ALL FOR YOU ~ SFC Reza Iaconelli meets his match with Captain Emily Lindberg

Coming Home 5: IT’S ALWAYS BEEN YOU ~ Captain Ben Teague squares off with Major Olivia Hale and sparks fly

I hope this makes things a little easier for everyone. Sorry it’s been such a pain in the neck lately!

All books are currently available from your favorite ebook retailer.

And the Winners are…

Thank you so much to everyone who helped spread the word about Ben & Olivia’s book IT’S ALWAYS BEEN YOU!!

It’s that time so without further ado, here are the winners.

Remember you have until Thursday March 13 to contact me and claim your prize!

Winners of my digital backlist

Kelly Lange

Shannon Ferguson

Teresa Kleeman

Stephanie Patrick

Bonnie Capuano

Joann Myers

Pamela Forgash

Kandice Williams

Cathy Genna

Janice Santillo

Winners of print copies of I’LL BE HOME FOR CHRISTMAS



Tammy Fail

Sheryl Larson

Jenny Ham

Lime Cello

John Knight

Toni LInenberger

Emily Kirkpatrick

Linda Golubski

Bea Connors

Lisa Cisneros

Jeffrey Davis

Rosemary Picardo

Michelle Hart

Debbie Shaw

May Waldron

Brenna McLeran

Joan Richard

Alisa Jenkins

Elizabeth Darrach

Kathy Crouch

Winner of print ARCs of ALL FOR YOU and IT’S ALWAYS BEEN YOU



Kay Polt

Karen Arrowood

Tina Hobbs Payne

Margaret Malia

LeAnn Daugherty

And the grand prize winner of the iPad mini is…



Robin C Greene!

Thank you all again so much for your amazing support!

xoxo

Jess

Break the Rules & Enter to Win an iPad Mini!

So let’s get Ben and Olivia off to a great start, shall we?

I’m giving away an iPad mini to celebrate Ben & Olivia’s novel IT’S ALWAYS BEEN YOU

Grand Prize – iPad Mini along with Jessica’s entire digital backlist & PRINT copies of IT’s ALWAYS BEEN YOU, ALL FOR YOU & I’LL BE HOME FOR CHRISTMAS

5 winners – PRINT copies of ALL FOR YOU & IT’S ALWAYS BEEN YOU

20 winners – PRINT copies of I’LL BE HOME FOR CHRISTMAS

10 winners – Jessica’s entire digital backlist

To enter, do any one of the following AND make sure you send a screenshot to contest@jessicascott.net in order to make sure we know about your efforts!

~ share this image or any other image featuring the cover of IT’S ALWAYS BEEN YOU

~ Post reviews on your blogs, Facebook, etc, or on sites like Amazon, B&N, Goodreads.

~ Email receipt for the preorder or purchase of IT’S ALWAYS BEEN YOU.

~ Share other reviews, news and Any other way you can think of to help spread the cheer far and wide!

Make sure to email a link to your entry or a screenshot to contest@jessicascott.net before midnight Eastern Standard Time on 8 March 2014.

Official rules are below!



Winners will be announced on March 9, 2014!

Order your copy today: BARNES AND NOBLE | AMAZON| IBOOKS | KOBO | ALL ROMANCE

Official Rules:

By submitting an entry to the Break the Rules Contest, you acknowledge that you have read and agree to be bound by these Official Rules and the decisions of the author and that you satisfy all eligibility requirements. This contest is void where prohibited or restricted by law. No purchase necessary. US Residents Only

HOW TO ENTER:

To enter, do any one of the following AND make sure you send a screenshot to contest@jessicascott.net in order to make sure we know about your efforts!

1. Share the image in the post far and wide

2. Email receipt for the purchase of IT’s ALWAYS BEEN YOU.

3. Post reviews on your blogs, Facebook, etc, or on sites like Amazon, B&N, Goodreads. iBooks, Kobo, etc

4. Share other reviews, news and any other way you can think of to help spread the cheer far and wide!

Official Rules and Disclaimers

All entries must be submitted during the period that the contest is being offered, according to all applicable directions as listed on the website, contest entry form, and/or emails or the entry will be void. Those who do not fill in all the required fields will be disqualified. Entries generated by a script, macro or other automated means will be disqualified. Jessica Scott is not responsible for lost, late, incomplete, illegible, incomprehensible or misdirected entries, bugs, failures in servers, hardware or software transmission failure or loss or delayed or corrupted data transmissions or any injury or damage to an entrant’s or any other person’s computer related to or resulting from downloading any portion of this contest. There is no limit to the number of entries per person. One entry per day. Entries must be received by 11:59PM Eastern Standard Time on 26 November 2013.

ELIGIBILITY:

This contest is open to legal residents of the United States who are 21 years of age or older. Employees, partners, service providers of Jessica Scott are not eligible to participate in the contest and/or win a prize. Additionally, relatives of such employees, partners, service providers are not eligible to win. For the purposes of this contest, relatives are defined as spouse, mother, father, in-laws, grandmother, grandfather, brother, sister, children and grandchildren.

PRIZES:

Grand Prize – iPad Mini along with Jessica’s entire digital backlist & PRINT copies of IT’s ALWAYS BEEN YOU, ALL FOR YOU & I’LL BE HOME FOR CHRISTMAS

5 winners – PRINT copies of ALL FOR YOU & IT’S ALWAYS BEEN YOU

20 winners – PRINT copies of I’LL BE HOME FOR CHRISTMAS

10 winners – Jessica’s entire digital backlist

No transfer, cash equivalent or prize substitution allowed, except at Jessica Scott’s sole discretion. The winner will be notified via e-mail that he/she, subject to verification, is a winner. If a winner cannot be reached after a reasonable effort has been made during three (3) business days from Jessica Scott’s first attempt, or if an entrant is found to be ineligible, an alternate winner may be selected. Jessica Scott withholds the right to substitute prizes for any reason.

ODDS OF WINNING:

The odds of winning depend upon the number of eligible entries received.

DISCLAIMERS:

All entrants, as a condition of entry, agree to be bound by these official rules and the decisions of Jessica Scott. In the event of a dispute over the identity of an online entrant, entry will be deemed submitted by the “Authorized Account Holder” of the e-mail address submitted at time of entry. Authorized Account Holder means the natural person who is assigned to an e-mail address by an Internet access provider, online service provider, or other organization that is responsible for assigning e-mail addresses for the domain associated with the submitted e-mail address. Except where prohibited by law, by entering this contest, each entrant consents to the use of his/her name, voice, picture, likeness and biographical data and/or any other information contained in his/her entry in advertising, promotional and marketing materials by Jessica Scott and any Affiliates without additional compensation, which may require, without limitation, winner to appear in person on a television, radio or Internet broadcast. In addition, by entering, all entrants, except where prohibited by law, consent to being photographed, filmed, taped and/or interviewed about the sweepstakes. In connection therewith, all entrants grant full permission and consent to Jessica Scott and any Affiliates to utilize any of the results of such photographing, filming, taping and/or interviewing in any and all media now known or hereafter devised and hereby release Jessica Scott and any Affiliates from all liability related thereto. Winner, by acceptance of any prize, agrees to release Jessica Scott and any Affiliates from any and all liability, claims or actions of any kind whatsoever for injuries, damages or losses to persons and property which may be sustained in connection with the receipt, ownership or use of any prize or while traveling to and from a location to obtain or use any prize. Further, no responsibilities are accepted for any additional expenses, omissions, delays, re-routing, or acts of any government or authority. Neither Jessica Scott and any Affiliates make any warranty, representation, or guarantee, express or implied, in fact or in law, relative to the use of any Prize including, without limitation, quality, merchantability, or fitness for a particular purpose. Neither Jessica Scott and any Affiliates are responsible for technical, hardware, software, or telephone malfunctions of any kind, lost or unavailable network connections, or failed, incorrect, incomplete, inaccurate, garbled or delayed electronic communications caused by Jessica Scott and any Affiliates, the user or by any of the equipment or programming associated with or utilized in this contest, its prizes or by any human error which may occur in the processing of the entries in this contest and which may limit a participant’s ability to participate in this contest. Entries that are incomplete, illegible or corrupted are void and will not be accepted. Any person who supplies false information, enters by fraudulent means, or is otherwise determined to be in violation of these official rules in an attempt to obtain any prize will forfeit the prize won and may be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. The contest shall be governed by U.S. law. Jessica Scott withholds the right to modify these official rules in any way or at any time, as long as it gives reasonable notice.

Back Cover for IT’S ALWAYS BEEN YOU

Just got the final back cover blurb for IT’S ALWAYS BEEN YOU featuring Captain Ben Teague and Major Olivia Hale.

What do you think??

She plays by the rules…

Captain Ben Teague is many things: a tough soldier, a loyal friend, and a bona fide smartass. He doesn’t have much tolerance for BS, which is why he’s mad as hell when a trusted colleague and mentor is brought up on charges that can’t possibly be true. He’s even more frustrated with by-the-book lawyer Major Olivia Hale. But there’s something simmering beneath her icy reserve—and Ben just can’t resist turning up the heat . . .

. . . …and he’s determined to break them

The only thing riskier than mixing business with pleasure is enjoying it…and Olivia can’t resist locking horns—and lips—with Ben. He’s got more compassion in his little finger than any commander she’s ever met—a fact that makes him a better leader than he realizes. But when the case that brought them together awakens demons from Olivia’s past, she will have to choose between following orders—or her heart . . .

Preorder your copy today!!

AMAZON | BARNES AND NOBLE | IBOOKS

New Excerpt: ALL FOR YOU

Just a few more days until SFC Reza Iaconelli and CPT Emily Lindberg hit your readers in ALL FOR YOU. Early reader reaction has been pretty doggone amazing over all.

“This has to be 5+ stars.” ~ Kame from Goodreads

“Some stories stay with you long after you read them and this will be one of them.” ~ Sophia from Goodreads

“Jessica Scott has penned a tale of sorrow, romance, redemption, and love–a reasoned look at what it means to grapple with the terror of war, and how love and care and support brings the wounded warrior home, to live another day.” ~ Penny from Goodreads

Want a little more? Here’s another sneak peak at Reza & Emily’s story.

Reza’s voice came from far off. His face came into focus as the smoke cleared. He’d long ago passed pissed. He was livid.

“Fuck, are you okay? Emily,” he said, his voice rough. “Look at me. You’re okay.”

Her eyes burned with tears she refused to shed. Her hip was on fire and she wasn’t sure she could walk. “Holy shit that hurts,” she whispered when she was

sure she wouldn’t embarrass herself by crying.

Reza smiled gently. “Come on, walk it off. I’ll check it out when we get out of here.”

She nodded shortly and limped out of the shoot house. She managed to hand Miller back the borrowed weapon.

“Sorry about that, ma’am.” Miller said with a worried grin.

Reza smacked him upside the back of the head and Miller flipped him off. Reza shadowed her on the long, painful walk to the truck.

“You okay?”

She nodded. “It hurts,” she whispered, her voice humiliating her as it cracked.

“Let me see how bad.”

She looked at him like he’d grown two heads. “You want me to pull my pants down right here?”

“Other side of the truck. I need to see if you’re bleeding or not. Nothing kinky, I promise.”

She made a wry grin but the prospect of possibly bleeding caught her attention. “These can break skin?”

Reza shot her a look that said “obviously” then followed her around the truck. She reached beneath her body armor and unbuttoned her pants. Reza knelt in front of her and gently eased the flap open, pushing the fabric aside so he could see her hip.

She looked down, overpowered by the sight of the big man on his knees in front of her. With a single movement, she reached out, her hands resting on his shoulders.

He looked up, concern etched onto his features. His eyes were dark, his mouth hard. His tongue slid over his bottom lip, his throat tense as he swallowed.

“You’re okay,” he whispered.

Emily was glad for two things at that moment: one, that she hadn’t actually peed her pants and two, that she’d worn sensible cotton panties that morning. He didn’t seem interested in her underwear, though, as he let out a low whistle.

She felt his fingers slide over the sensitive skin near her hipbone. She shivered beneath the hard echo of the pain. His fingers were rough on her skin. Gentle. “This is going to hurt like a son of a bitch tomorrow,” he said quietly.

“How bad is it?”

“You’ve got a bruise the size of an apple on your hip bone. It probably bruised the bone. We need to get some ice on that before long or you’re going to be walking funny tomorrow.”

He brushed his thumb along the edge of the bruise and she felt the echo of pain next to the gentle stroke of his touch. He tugged her pants closed, his knuckles brushing over her hips as he buttoned them. “But you’re not bleeding,” he said quietly. His voice was thick.

Her hands shook as she tried to take over and button her own pants. His fingers brushed hers as he helped her, deftly flicking the buttons closed and fastening her belt.

“It’s the adrenaline wearing off,” he said, motioning toward her hands. “It’s normal.”

“It feels like I’m never going to stop shaking,” she confessed.

“You will. Ready to head back?” He glanced at his watch. “If we stall long enough, you won’t have to go back to the office.”

She smiled, and felt shaky and weak and alive, her blood humming with latent energy that she didn’t know how to process. “I don’t think I can go back to the office like this, anyway.” She looked up at him, afraid to put into words the question she wanted to ask.

“Why not?” His voice was dark. Deep. Sensual. She couldn’t reconcile the sound of his voice now over the rough commands he’d barked in the shoot house.

“I’ve never felt this keyed up. I don’t think I can type with my hands shaking like this. Do you have to go back?”

His nostrils flared as she looked up at him. She hoped he wouldn’t make her say it out loud. She had too much energy, too much something running through her veins and all of this centered on the man standing in front of her.

“What are you asking me, Emily?” His voice rang heavy with echoes of war.

Her own felt heavy with a neediness she’d never felt before. She opened her mouth but there were no words for what she needed. At least not words she normally used. They were unfamiliar. Raw and hungry.

His gaze locked on hers. Powerful emotions radiated from his dark eyes. Turmoil and chaos and dark promises she didn’t have the words for.

She wanted this man. This man who’d gone to war with her over one of his soldiers, this man who’d taken her to training because she’d wanted to understand his world.

This man, who stood, rough and ready in front of her, power radiating off him and feeding the need that vibrated inside her.

His throat moved. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his fists clench. This was not an easy decision for him. She wanted to ask why but was afraid he’d come to his senses and say no.

Finally, he spoke. “Get in the truck,” he said roughly.

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Saturday Sneak Peak: ALL FOR YOU

It’s hard to believe that Reza & Emily’s book is only about three weeks away! I’m so so excited for you to read this one. It was a tough book to write but I love it in so many ways.

Here’s a sneak peak at the Prologue & Chapter 1 of ALL FOR YOU.

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Prologue

Camp Taji, Iraq

2007

Sergeant First Class Reza Iaconelli had seen better days. He closed his eyes, wishing he was anywhere but curled up on the latrine floor in the middle of some dirty, shitty desert. The cold linoleum caressed his cheek, soothing the sensation of a billion spiders creeping over his skin. He had to get up, to get back to his platoon before someone came looking for him. Running patrols through the middle of Sadr City was so much better than being balled up on the bathroom floor, puking his guts out.

He’d sacrificed his dignity at the altar of the porcelain god two days ago when they’d arrived in northern Baghdad. It was going to be a rough deployment; that was for damn sure. Dear Lord, he’d give anything for a drink. Anything to stop the madness of detox. Why the fuck was he doing this to himself? Why did he pick up that godforsaken bottle every single time he made it home from this goddamned war?

The walls of the latrine echoed as someone pounded on the door. It felt like a mallet on the inside of a kettle drum inside his skull. “Sarn’t Ike!”

Reza groaned and pushed up to his hands and knees. He couldn’t let Foster see him like this. Couldn’t let any of his guys see him like this. “You about ready? The patrol is gearing up to roll.”

Holy hell. He dry heaved again, unable to breathe until the sensation of ripping his guts out through his throat passed.

After a moment, he pushed himself upright and rinsed out his mouth. He’d definitely seen better days.

He wet his brown-black hair down and tucked the grey Army combat t-shirt into his uniform pants. Satisfied that no one would know he’d just been reduced to a quivering ball of misery a few moments before, he headed out to formation, a five- to seven-hour patrol through the shit hole known as Sadr City in his immediate future.

He was a goddamned sergeant first class and he had troops rolling into combat. They counted on him to do more than show up. They counted on him to lead them. Every single day.

Maybe by the time he reached thirty days in-country, he’d stop heaving his guts up every morning. But sick or not, he was going out on patrol with his boys.

The best he could hope for was that he wouldn’t puke in the tank.

Chapter One

Fort Hood, Texas

Spring 2009

“Where the hell is Wisniak?” Reza hooked his thumbs in his belt loops and glared at Foster.

Sergeant Dean Foster rolled his eyes and spat into the dirt, unfazed by Reza’s glare. Foster had the lean, wiry body of a runner and the weathered lines of an infantryman carved into his face, though at twenty-five he was still a puppy. To Reza, he’d always be that skinny private who’d had his cherry popped on that first run up to Baghdad. “Sarn’t Ike, I already told you. I tried calling him this morning but he’s not answering. His phone is going straight to voicemail.”

Reza sighed and rocked back on his heels, trying to rein in his temper. They’d managed to be home from the war for more than a year and somehow, soldiers like Wisniak were taking up the bulk of Reza’s time. “Have you checked the R&R Center?”

“Nope. But I bet you’re right.” Foster pulled out his phone before Reza finished his sentence and started walking a short distance away to make the call.

“I know I am. He’s been twitchy all week,” he mumbled, more to himself than to Foster. Reza glanced at his watch. The commander was going to have kittens if Reza didn’t have his personnel report turned in soon, because herding cats was all noncommissioned officers were good for in the eyes of Captain James T. Marshall the Third, resident pain in Reza’s ass.

Foster turned away, holding up a finger as he started arguing with whoever just answered the phone. Reza swore quietly, then again when the company commander started walking toward him from the opposite end of the formation. Reza straightened and saluted.

It was mostly sincere.

“Sarn’t Iaconelli, do you have accountability of your troops?”

“Sir, one hundred and thirty assigned, one hundred and twenty-four present. Three on appointment, one failure to report, and one at the R&R center. One in rehab.”

“When is that shitbird Sloban going to get out of rehab?” Captain Marshall glanced down at his notepad.

“Sloban isn’t a shitbird,” Reza said quietly, daring Marshall to argue. “Sir.”

Marshall looked like he wanted to slap Reza but as was normally the way with cowards and blowhards, he simply snapped his mouth shut. “Who’s gone to the funny farm today?”

The Rest and Resiliency Center was supposed to be a place that helped combat veterans heal from the mental wounds of war. Instead, it had become the new generation’s stress card, a place to go when their sergeant was making them work too hard. Guys like Wisniak who had never deployed but who for some reason couldn’t manage to wipe their own asses without someone holding their hands abused the system, taking up valuable resources from the warriors who needed it. But to say that out loud would mean agreeing with Captain Marshall. Reza would drop dead before that ever happened.

Luckily Captain Ben Teague approached, saving Reza the need to punch the commander in the face. The sergeant major would not be happy with him if that happened. Reza was already on thin ice as it was and there was no reason to give the sergeant major an extra excuse to dig into his fourth point of contact.

He was doing just fine. One day at a time, and all that.

Too bad guys like Marshall tested his willpower on a daily basis.

“So you don’t have accountability of the entire company?” Marshall asked. Behind him Teague made a crude motion with his hand.

Reza rubbed his hand over his mouth, smothering a grin. “Sir, I know where everyone is. I’m heading to the R&R Center after formation to verify that Wisniak is there and see about getting a status update from the docs.”

Marshall sighed heavily and the sound was laced with blame, as though Wisniak being at the R&R Center was Reza’s personal failing. Behind him Teague mimed riding a horse and slapping it. Reza coughed into his hand as Marshall turned an alarming shade of puce. “I’m getting tired of someone always being unaccounted for, Sergeant.”

“That makes two of us.” Reza breathed deeply. “Sir.”

“What are you planning on doing about it?”

He raised both eyebrows, his temper lashing at its frayed restraints. His mouth would be the death of him someday. That or his temper.

Right then, he didn’t really care.

He started ticking off items on his fingers. “Well, sir, since you asked, first, I’m going to stop by the shoppette for coffee, then take a ride around post to break in my new truck. I’ll probably stop out at Engineer Lake and smoke a cigar and consider whether or not to come back to work at all. Around noon, I’m going to swing into the R&R Center to make sure that Wisniak actually showed up and was seen. Then I’ll spend the rest of the day hunting said sorry excuse for—”

“That’s enough, sergeant,” Marshall snapped and Teague mimed him behind his back. “I don’t appreciate your insubordinate attitude. Accountability is the most important thing we do.”

“I thought kicking in doors and killing bad guys was the most important thing we did?” Reza asked, doing his damnedest not to smirk. Damn but the man tried his patience and made him want to crack open a cold one and kick his boots up on his desk.

Except that he’d given up drinking. Again. And this time, it had to stick. At least, it had to if he wanted to take his boys downrange again.

The sergeant major had left him no wiggle room. No more drinking. Period.

“Sergeant—”

“Sir, I got it. I’ll head to the R&R Center right after formation. I’ll text you…” He glanced at Foster, who gave him a thumbs-up. Whatever the hell that was supposed to mean. Wisniak was at the R&R Center, Reza supposed?

“You’ll call. I don’t know when texting became the army’s preferred technique for communications between seniors and subordinates. I don’t text.”

Reza saluted sharply. It was effectively a fuck off but Marshall was either too stupid or too arrogant to grasp the difference. “Roger, sir.”

“Ben,” Marshall mumbled.

“Jimmy.” Which earned him a snarl from Marshall as he stalked off. Teague grinned. “He hates being called Jimmy.”

“Which is why you’ve called him that every day since Infantry Officer Basic Course?”

“Of course,” Teague said solemnly. “It is my sacred duty to screw with him whenever I can. He was potty trained at gunpoint.”

“Considering he’s a fifth generation army officer, probably,” Reza mumbled. Foster walked back up, shaking his head and mumbling creative profanity beneath his breath. “They won’t even tell you if Wisniak has checked in?”

“I practically gave the lady on the phone a hand job to get her to tell me anything and she pretty much told me to kiss her ass. Damn HIPAA laws. How is it protecting the patient’s privacy when all I’m asking is if the jackass is there or not?”

Reza sighed. “I’ll go find out if he’s there. I need you to make sure the weapons training is good to go.” Still swearing, Foster nodded and limped off. Too bad Foster wasn’t a better ass kisser; he’d have already made staff sergeant.

But Marshall didn’t like him and had denied his promotion for the last three months because Foster was nursing a bum leg. Granted, he’d jammed it up playing sports, but the commander was being a total prick about it. It would have been better if Foster had been shot.

“Damn civilians,” Reza mumbled, glancing at Teague. “I get that the docs are only supposed to talk to commanders but they make my life so damn difficult sometimes.”

“They talk to you,” Teague said, pushing his sunglasses up on his nose and shoving his hands into his pockets.

“That’s because they’re afraid of me. I look like every stereotype jihadi they can think of. All I have to do is say drka drka Mohammed jihad and I get whatever I want out of them.”

“A Team America: World Police reference at six-fifteen a.m.? My day is complete.” Teague laughed. “That’s so fucking wrong. Just because you’re brown?”

Reza shrugged. Growing up with a name like Reza Iaconelli had taught him how to fight. Young. With more than just the asshole kids on the street. He’d learned the hard way that little kids needed a whole lot more than attitude when standing up to a grown man.

“What can I say? No one knows what to think of the brown guy. Half the time, people think I’m Mexican.” He started to walk off, still irritated by Marshall and the unrelenting douche baggery of the officer corps today. They cared more about stats than soldiers. It was total bullshit. The war wasn’t even over yet and it was already all the way back to the garrison army bullshit that had gotten their asses handed to them from 2003 on.

“Where are you heading?” Teague asked.

“R&R. Need to check up on the resident crazy kid and make sure he’s not going to off himself.” He palmed his keys from his front pocket. Reza slammed the door of his truck and took a sip of his coffee, wishing it had a hell of a lot more in it than straight caffeine.

He ground his teeth. Things would have been different for Sloban if they’d gotten things right. If he’d gotten sober sooner. But no. He’d dropped the ball and Slo had paid the price.

He’d rather have his balls crushed with a ball peen hammer than deal with the R&R Center. He hated the psych docs. They were worse than the bleeding heart officers he seemed to find himself surrounded with these days. Just how he wanted to start off his seventy-fourth day sober: arguing with the shrinks.

Good times.

***

“I don’t really think you understand the gravity of the situation, Captain.”

Captain Emily Lindberg bristled at the use of her rank. The fact that a fellow captain used it to intimidate her only irritated her further.

Add in that he was standing in front of—no, he was leaning over—her desk trying to back up his words with a little threat of physical intimidation and Emily’s temper snapped. Captain Jenkowski was built like a snake—tall and solid and mean—and he was clearly used to bullying his way through docs to get what he wanted.

Well not today.

She inhaled a calming breath through her nose and spoke softly, deliberately attempting to keep her composure. “I’m sorry, Captain, but I’m afraid you’re the one who doesn’t understand. Your soldier has experienced significant trauma since joining the military and his recurrent nightmares, excessive use of alcohol to self-medicate, and inability to effectively manage his stress are all indicators of serious psychological illness. He needs your compassion, not your wrath.”

“Specialist Hendersen needs my size ten boot in his ass. He sat on the damned base last deployment and we only got mortared a few times. He’s a candy pants wuss who has a serious case of I do what I want-itis and now he’s come crying to you, expecting you to bail his sorry ass out of a drug charge.” Emily could practically see smoke coming out of the big captain’s ears.

Once upon a time she would have flinched away from his anger and done anything to placate him. It was abusive jerks like this who thought the army was all about their ability to accomplish their mission. The mouth breather in front of her didn’t care about his soldiers.

It was up to folks like Emily to hold the line and keep the army from ruining yet another life. There had already been more than fifty suicides in the army this year and it was only April. “What Hendersen needs, Captain Jenkowski, is a break from you pressuring him to perform day in and day out. My duty-limiting profile is not going to change. He gets eight hours of sleep a night to give the Ambien a chance to work. And if you don’t like it, file a complaint with my boss. He’s the officer in charge of the hospital.”

“You fucking bitch,” he said. His voice was low and threatening. “I’m trying to throw this little motherfucker out of the army for smoking spice and you’re making sure that we’re stuck babysitting his sorry ass. Way to take care of the real soldiers who have to waste their time on this little weasel instead of training.”

The door slammed behind him with a bang and Emily sank into her chair. It wasn’t even nine a.m and she’d already had her first go round with a commander. Good times.

A quick rap on her door pulled her out of her momentary shock. “You okay?”

She looked into the face of her first friend here at Fort Hood, Major Olivia Hale. “Yeah, sure. I just…”

“You get used to it after a while, you know,” Olivia said, brushing her bangs out of her eyes.

“The rampant hostility or the incessant chest beating?” Emily tried to keep the frustration out of her voice and failed.

“Both?”

Emily smiled grimly. “Well that’s helpful.”

Moments like this made her seriously reconsider her life in the army. Of course, her parents would be more than happy for her to take the rank off her chest and return home to their Cape Cod family practice. The last thing she wanted to do was run home to a therapy session in waiting. Who wanted to work for parents who ran a business together but had gotten divorced fifteen years ago? At least here she was making a difference, instead of listening to spoiled rich kids complain about how hard their lives were or beg her for a prescription for Adderall so they could stay up for two days and prepare for their next exam.

Here she could make a difference. Do something that mattered.

Her family wouldn’t understand.

Then again, they never had.

“Can I just say that I never imagined that I’d be going toe-to-toe with men who had egos the size of pro football linebackers? Where does the army find these guys?”

“Some of them aren’t raging asshats,” Olivia said. “There are a lot of commanders who actually care about their soldiers.”

An Outlook reminder chimed, notifying her that she had two minutes. Emily frowned then clicked it off. “It must be something special about this office then that attracts all the ones who don’t care.”

She’d recently moved to Fort Hood because it was the place deemed most in need of psychiatric services. They had the unit with the highest active-duty suicide rate in the army. She was trying her damnedest to make a difference but the tidal wave of soldiers needing care was relentless.

Add in her administrative duties on mental health evaluations and sometimes, she didn’t know which day of the week it was.

“Does it ever end?” she whispered, suddenly feeling overwhelmed at the stack of files on her desk. Each one represented a person. A soldier. A life under pressure.

Lives she did everything she could to save.

Olivia shrugged. “Not really.” She glanced at her watch. “I’ve got a nine o’clock legal brief with the boss. You okay?”

She offered a weak smile. “Yeah. Have to be, right?”

Olivia didn’t look convinced but didn’t have time to dig in further. In the brief moment she had alone, Emily covered her face with her hands.

Every single day, Emily’s faith in the system she’d wanted to help weakened. When officers like Jenkowski were threatening kids who just needed to take a break and pull themselves together to find some way of dealing with the trauma in their lives, it crushed part of her spirit. She’d never imagined that confrontation would be a daily part of her life as an army doc. She’d signed up to help people. She wasn’t a commander, not a leader of soldiers. She was here to provide medical services. She’d barely stepped outside her office so all she knew was the inside of the clinic’s walls.

She’d had no idea how much of a fight she’d have on a daily basis. Three months in and she was still shocked. Every single day brought something new.

She wasn’t used to it. She doubted she would ever get used to it. It drained her.

But every day she got up and put on her boots to do it all over again.

She was here to make a difference.

A sharp knock on her door had her looking up. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of the single most beautiful man she’d ever seen. His skin was deep bronze, his features carved perfection. There was a harshness around the edge of his wide full mouth that could have been from laughing too much or yelling too often. Maybe both.

And his shoulders filled the doorway. Dear Lord, men actually came put together like this? She’d never met a man who embodied the fantasy man in uniform like this one. The real military man was just as likely to be a pimply-faced nineteen-year-old as he was to be this…this warrior god.

A god who looked ready for battle. It took Emily all of six-tenths of a second to realize that this man was not here for her phone number or to strip her naked and have his way with her. Well, he might want to have his way with her but she imagined it was in a strictly professional way. Not a hot and sweaty way, the thought of which made her insides clench and tighten.

She stood. This man looked like he was itching for a fight and darn it, if that’s what he wanted, then Emily would give it to him.

It was just another day at the office, after all.

***

“Can I help you, Sergeant?”

Reza glanced at the little captain, who looked braced for battle. She was cute in a Reese Witherspoon kind of way, complete with dimples and except for her rich dark hair and silver blue eyes. If Reza hadn’t been nursing one hell of a bad attitude and a serious case of the ass, he would’ve considered flirting with her.

Except that the sergeant major’s warning of don’t fuck up beat a cadence in his brain, so he wouldn’t be flirting anytime soon. Besides, something about the stubborn set of her jaw warned him that she wasn’t someone to tangle with.

She didn’t look tough enough to crumble a cookie, and yet she’d squared off with him like she might just try to knock him down a peg or two. This ought to at least make the day interesting.

Reza straightened. She was the enemy for leaders like him, who were doing their damnedest to put bad troops out of the army. People like her ignored the warning signs from warriors like Sloban and let spineless cowards like Wisniak piss on her leg about how his mommy didn’t love him enough.

This wasn’t about Sloban. He couldn’t help him now and that fact burned on a fundamental level. He released a deep breath. Then sucked in another one. “I need to know if Sergeant Chuck Wisniak signed in to the clinic.”

“I’m sorry but unless you’re the first sergeant or the commander, I can’t tell you that.”

Reza breathed hard through his nose. “I’m the first sergeant.”

Her gaze flicked to the sergeant first class rank on his chest. He wasn’t wearing the rank of the first sergeant, so his insignia was missing the rocker and the diamond that distinguished first sergeants from the soldiers that they led.

Sergeants First Class were first sergeants all the time, though.

Her eyes narrowed. “Do you have orders?”

Reza’s gaze dropped to the pen in her hand and the rhythmic way she flicked the cap on and off. He swallowed, pulling his gaze away from the distracting sound, and struggled to hold on to his patience.

“First sergeants are not commanders. We don’t have assumption of command orders.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Ma’am, I just need to know if he’s here. Why is this such a big deal?”

“Because Sergeant Wisniak has told this clinic on multiple occasions that his chain of command is targeting him, looking for an excuse to take his rank.”

“Well, maybe if he was at work once in a while he wouldn’t feel so persecuted.”

The small captain lifted her chin. “Sergeant, do you have any idea what it feels like to be looked at like you’re suspect every time you walk into a room?”

Something cold slithered across Reza’s skin, sidling up to his heart and squeezing tightly. “Do you have any idea what it feels like to send soldiers back to combat knowing they lost training days chasing after a sissy-ass soldier who can’t get to work on time?”

A shadow flickered across her pretty face but then it was gone, replaced by steel. “My job is to keep soldiers from killing themselves.”

“And my job is to keep soldiers from dying in combat.”

“They’re not mutually exclusive.”

Silence hung between them, battle lines drawn.

“I’m not leaving here without a status on Sarn’t Wisniak,” Reza said.

Captain Lindberg folded her arms over her chest. A flicker in her eyes, nothing more, then she spoke. “Sergeant Wisniak is in triage.”

“I need to speak with him.”

Lindberg shook her head. “No. I’m not letting anyone see him until he’s stable. He’s probably going to be admitted to the fifth floor. He’s extremely high risk. And you’re part of his problem, Sergeant.”

Reza’s temper snapped, breaking free before he could lash it back. “Don’t put that on me, sweetheart. That trooper came in the army weak. I had nothing to do with his lack of a backbone.” Reza turned to go before he lost his military bearing and started swearing. She’d already elevated his blood pressure to need-a-drink levels and it wasn’t even nine a.m.

He could do this. He breathed deeply, running through creative profanity in his mind to keep the urge to drink at bay.

Her words stopped him at the door, slicing at his soul.

“How can you call yourself a leader? You’re supposed to care about all your soldiers,” she said, so softly he almost didn’t hear her.

He turned slowly. Studied her, standing straight and stiff and pissed. “How can I call myself a leader? Honey, until you’ve bled in combat, don’t talk to me about leadership. But go ahead. Keep protecting this shitbird and tie up all the counselors so that warriors who genuinely need help can’t get it. He doesn’t belong in the army.” He swept his gaze down her body deliberately. Trying to provoke her. Her face flushed as he met her eyes coldly. “Neither do you.”

***

Emily sucked in a sharp breath at Iaconelli’s verbal slap. In one sentence, he’d struck her at the heart of her deepest fear.

It took everything she had to keep her hands from trembling.

Her boss Colonel Zavisca appeared in the doorway, saving her from embarrassing herself.

“Is there a problem, Sergeant?”

Sergeant Iaconelli turned and nearly collided with the full-bird colonel, who looked remarkably like an older version of Johnny Cash.

Sergeant Iaconelli straightened and his fists bunched at his sides. “You don’t want me to answer that. Sir.”

“I don’t think I appreciate what you’re insinuating.”

“I don’t really give a flying fuck what you think I’m insinuating. Maybe if your doctors did their jobs instead of actively trying to make my life more difficult, we wouldn’t have this problem.”

“What brigade are you in, Sergeant?” her boss demanded.

She watched the exchange, her breath locked in her throat. The big sergeant’s hands clenched by his sides. “None of your damn business.”

Colonel Zavisca might be a medical doctor but he was still the senior officer in charge of the hospital. Emily had never seen an enlisted man so flagrantly flout regulations.

“You can leave now, Sergeant. Don’t come back on this property without your commander.”

The big sergeant swore and stalked off.

Emily wondered if he’d obey the order. She suspected she already knew the answer.

Her boss turned to her. “Are you okay?” he asked. Colonel Zavisca’s voice was deep and calming, the perfect voice for a psych doctor. It was more than his voice, though. His entire demeanor was something soothing, a balm on ragged wounds.

His quiet power and authority stood in such stark contrast to Sergeant Iaconelli.

Men like Sergeant Iaconelli were energy and motion and hard angles. And he was rude. Colonel Zavisca was more like some of the men at her father’s country club except without the stench of sophisticated asshole. He was familiar.

“I’m fine, sir. Rough morning, that’s all.”

Emily stood for a long moment, Sergeant Iaconelli’s words still ringing in her ears. He had no idea how much his comment hurt. She didn’t know him from Adam but his words had found her weakness and stabbed it viciously.

In one single sentence, he’d shredded every hope she’d held on to since joining the army. She’d wanted to belong. To be part of something. To make a difference. He’d struck dead on without even knowing it. Her family had told her she’d never fit into the military. She fought the urge to sink into her chair and cover her face with her hands. She just needed a few minutes. She could do this.

The big sergeant didn’t know her. His opinion did not matter. Her parents’ opinions did not matter.

If she kept repeating this often enough, it would be true.

Her boss glanced at the clock on her wall. “It’s too early for this.”

She smiled thinly. “I know. Shaping up to be one heck of a Monday. Is triage already booked?”

He nodded. “Yes. I need you in there to help screen patients. We need to clear out the folks who can wait for appointments and identify those who are at risk right now of harming themselves or others.”

“Roger, sir. I can do that. I need to e-mail two company commanders and I’ll be right out there.”

“Okay. Don’t forget we have the staff sync at lunch.”

Even this early, the day showed no sign of slowing down and all she wanted to do was go home and take a steaming hot bath. She’d been trying to work out a knot behind her left shoulder blade for days now and things just kept piling up.

She needed a good soak and a massage. Not that she dared schedule one. She’d probably end up cancelling it anyway.

“There’s that smile. Relax. You’re going to die of a heart attack before you’re thirty. The army is a marathon, not a sprint.”

“Roger, sir.” She waited until he closed the door before she covered her face in her hands once more. She could do this.

She just needed to find her battle rhythm. She’d get into the swing of things. She wasn’t about to quit just because things got a little rough.

Her cell phone vibrated on her desk. Oh, perfect. Her mother was calling. Not that she was about to answer that phone call. She couldn’t deal with the passive-aggressive jabs her mother was so skilled at. Besides, she was probably just going to press Emily to give up on—as she put it—slumming in the army and come home.

She’d worked too hard to get where she was and she damn sure wasn’t about to go limping home. How could she? Her parents had looked at her like she was an alien when she’d told them about Bentley. As though she had somehow been in the wrong for her fiancé’s betrayal. As though, if she’d been woman enough, he never would have strayed.

If she ever went home again, and that was a really big if, she would do it on her own terms. She’d walked away from everything in her life that had been hollow and empty.

She was rebuilding, doing something that mattered for the first time in her life. Every day that she avoided calling home or being the person her father and his friends wanted her to be was a victory. No one in her family had supported her when she’d needed them. She might not have found her place yet in the army but just being here was a start. It was something new and she wasn’t about to give up, no matter how much Monday threw at her.

Tuesday really needed to hurry up and get here though, because as Mondays went, this one was already shot all to hell.

***

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Amazing early reviews for BACK TO YOU

So um, I have a book coming out tomorrow that I’m not at ALL neurotic about. But, I have to say, I’m truly grateful for the amazing reviews that are coming in for Trent & Laura’s story. For everyone who has waited so patiently for me to get my head out of my fourth point of contact and get this story out there, thank you so so much.

Check out some of these amazing reviews!! So far no one has said it’s sucked eggs – at least not in public -, which is always nice, you know?

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“Back To You is exactly was it sounds like. It is two people trying to find their way back to each other. Trying to work through their problems and what’s best for everyone involved. It is not an easy story. It’s rough and emotional and real.” ~Romancing Rakes for the Love of Romance

“The tears shed while reading Back to You weren’t all sad. Yes some were tears of frustration, but there were happy tears and even some ‘laugh out loud’ tears. By the end of this one I can honestly say that both the tears and the wait were totally worth it.” ~Creative Deeds Reads

– “I really liked how the story was written. Not only was it gripping, it was sincerely written. It made me feel all the emptiness, hollowness, the awkwardness, the pain what Trent and Laura felt, but also, it made me feel hopeful, taking all the small steps together with the main characters building up the trust again. It gives you a feeling, that the author knows what she is writing about.” ~ Me and Reading

“I. LOVED. IT. Sooooooooooo good. Jessica Scott just may be the best romance author out there…If you like contemporary romance, then you have to read “Back to You”. It’s a perfect blend of romance, pathos, humor, and characterization.” ~ Bea’s Book Nook

*note, I don’t think this link is working yet but it should be up today!* “From the moment I began reading the first book in Jessica Scott’s Coming Home series, I knew that this was an author whose voice I would like to listen to forever. The sensitivity and compassion with which she depicts the soldiers in this series, wounded physically and psychologically by the immense toll of war, reverberates within your heart as you read these novels…Five stars for Back to You, a compelling, engrossing, and moving love story!” ~Fab Fantasy Fiction

There are also many great Goodreads reviews (seriously, this is like my highest rated book yet):

“Jessica Scott has written a heart-wrenching story of friendship and loyalty, of determination and disappointment and desperation, of stubborn fear, of stubborn love…”

“All I can say is WOW. What a wonderfully moving and compelling story…This book is full of emotion you feel from the very first page. I highly recommend this one!”

“I have found another favorite author! Her writing style is beautiful, honest, and real. Her ability to tell a story from both POV is incredible…I can’t wait to read more of her work.”

“Block off some time when you get this book; I myself could not put it down – I couldn’t sleep so I just got up and finished it with only 3 hours sleep! You will laugh (come on Vic is in this book!), you will cry (some of those happy tears) and your heart will ache. It is that good!”

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