Holiday Daddy Doms:

Zinnia’s Solstice Daddy

Chapter 1

Mitch lifted a spotting scope, hoping to get a glimpse ahead. His Spidey senses were tingling, both from the uncanny wind and the dust haze obscuring his vision. “Are we sure about your informant’s tip?”

“As sure as I can be, sir.”

“I just don’t see how an American woman would still be alive after all this time. She’s already been declared dead.”

Zinnia Ann Turner had been a beautiful woman with dark hair and mahogany skin kissed with gold. She’d been barely twenty-seven with a brilliant future ahead of her. Despite being missing for over a year and presumed dead, Mitch still carried her photograph. He’d been fascinated with her since the moment his friend Kaden mentioned he still harbored hope of finding her. The chances of her being alive were a million to one, but it was a reminder of why he was here and what he fought against. He never wanted to see another woman lose her life like that.

Hell, he still stalked her social media memorial page. It was probably strange to be so fascinated with a woman who was most likely dead, but he couldn’t seem to help himself.

This mission was his last chance to find her. The entire base was about to be shipped home. At forty-two, he’d spent over half his life in the Army, and it would soon be time to retire. He wanted to settle down, find a little girl of his own like his best friends, Kaden, Tennyson, and Ryan had done, and maybe get a dog. Not necessarily in that order.

Then again, at his age, finding a little girl wasn’t going to be as easy as it might have been for his friends.

“It probably isn’t Zinnia, sir, but if there’s a chance some other woman is here…” Corporal Jason Mendez shrugged. “We have to try.”

“Yeah.”

Moving into the point position, Mitch waved his men back, the silent command obeyed without question. He said a prayer to anyone who might be listening—in both his Christian mother’s and his Buddhist father’s faiths—in a desperate hope for the wind to quiet itself to a low roar and let the dust settle.

Without warning, the wind simply stopped, leaving him frozen in shock for a split second. Brilliant sunlight illuminated the crags and cliffs of the foothills, revealing dozens of armed men in black arrayed less than a hundred yards in front of them.

From behind him, one of his men shouted, “Twelve o’clock! Target at twelve!”

The pop and whoosh of a mortar spurred him into action. Cursing, he dove to the side, then looked back to see if his men had similarly avoided the deadly shell.

From his right, Private Carter Pritchard laid down covering fire from his perch behind a boulder. Two men fell, then a third, their dying cries echoing. Returning fire, the enemy closed the distance, obviously sure their greater numbers would prevail.

“Dumbasses,” Carter muttered, slapping another magazine into his rifle. “Fish in a fucking barrel.”

“The mortar first,” Mitch ordered. “Then you can have fun.”

“Yes, sir. I’m going to have words with Mendez’s informant. He led us into an ambush.” Lifting the rifle, he took careful aim and fired, removing both men who had been aiming the artillery.

Grimacing, Mitch picked off two combatants who had been trying to flank them. He and his unit had been an easy target. Just a whispered mention of an American woman being held hostage had sent them running. It wouldn’t be Zinnia, but one woman brought to safety and sent home would make everything they did mean something.

Lifting his head, Carter pointed. “We’ve got a runner at ten—”

“No, we don’t.” Mitch took aim and fired, dropping the last combatant in his tracks.

“Nice shooting, Tex.”

Instead of answering, he gave the command to fan out for survivors. He didn’t want to miss a single one. Lifting his spotting scope, he scanned the area, but saw no immediate signs of life. A flash of red caught his attention, but disappeared before he could focus.

Odd, it looked like a woman’s dress shoe.

Shaking away the perplexing image, he eased around the boulder he’d been hiding behind and stayed low as he crept toward the dead combatants. Now was not the time to lose concentration.

“Colonel!”

The shout came too late, and the sudden punch of a bullet hitting his body armor knocked him backward. Silhouetted against the sun, a man stood and lifted a rifle to his shoulder, setting up another shot.

Bullets screamed over his head from all directions, riddling the man’s body until he collapsed in an unmoving heap.

“You okay there, sir?” Marcus Jones asked, his freckled face creased with concern.

“I’m good.” Mitch touched his ribs, wincing at the sore spot. He’d have a hell of a bruise in the morning. “Any casualties?”

“Nope. Think we got them all.”

“Good.” He took the hand Marcus offered and stood. “Stay alert. We probably won’t find anything, but it won’t hurt to look for what we came to find.”

“Think there’s a woman here?” Carter asked.

“No,” Jason said, scowling. “We got our asses set up.”

“Not your fault, Corporal. It’s happened to all of us,” Mitch replied. “But we’ll still look.”

“We have an hour until dusk,” Marcus said. “Not much time.”

“Ten minutes,” Mitch replied, knowing he couldn’t put his men at risk for a lost cause any longer. “After that, we bug out.”

***

Zinnia was absolutely positive she heard English. After so much time hearing and speaking nothing but Dari, her ears ached for the sound of her native language.

Of course, she heard loads of gunfire too, but that was normal, and she didn’t pay it much notice until it stopped completely.

What she couldn’t ignore was the chain around her ankle. She supposed it was better than the alternative though. Her captors had threatened to smash her feet with a hammer if she tried to run again. She might be malnourished, filthy, and have a couple of loose teeth, but if this was a rescue, she’d be able to walk out of here under her own steam.

At least they hadn’t touched her, aside from a few slaps here and there, thanks to the cheap wedding ring she always wore while on assignment. Even her escape attempts had been somewhat tolerated at first because the men who held her thought she’d been trying to return to a husband.

Aside from a small hole in the ceiling of her cave, the only exit was a steel door mounted into the stone, locked and barred against escape. Even if she managed to get past the door, the cave system was riddled with unlit passages she had no hope of navigating without a map and a light source.

Didn’t mean she hadn’t tried.

She crossed her fingers and sent up a prayer. Judging by her probably incorrect calculations, it was Ostara. If there was one person on this planet who needed a joyous equinox, it was Zinnia Ann Turner.

Crawling to the bottle of cloudy water her captors had given her, she took a deep swallow and grimaced at the taste of iron, hoping she had enough air in her lungs to do what needed to be done.

She lifted herself as high as she could toward the single pinpoint of light marking the opening to her cave, then willed her voice to rise up and be heard.

“If you’re American, help me!” she screamed. “Canadian or British works too!”

Dead silence met her words.

Biting back a sob, she tried again, her voice weaker, but no less needful. “Français? Deutsch? Español? Italiano?”

Goddess, please let them hear.

“Help me, please!”

“Ma’am, say something!” a male voice shouted, thankfully in English. “Tell us where you are!”

The tears came, full-blown sobs that stole her breath. “Down here,” she choked out. “I’m down here!”

“I see her!” someone else shouted. “Jesus, someone get this hole open and call a chopper for evac!”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Without warning, rock fell around her, chips bouncing off what used to be a cheerful blue burka. After so long, it was a muddy brown and reeked to high heaven.

“Ma’am, I’m coming down to help you. Just stay still for me, okay?”

“Bring something to cut chain,” she called, sitting down to conserve her strength. She wanted to meet her rescue on her feet, but her heart pounded and she felt as if she might faint. “I’m chained to the wall.”

Something struck the ground a few feet away. The end of a rope twitched, making her hope they didn’t expect her to climb it. Even healthy and fit, she’d have been hard pressed to shimmy her ass up a rope.

To her surprise, a man wedged his body into the hole over her head and slid down like he did it every day. Crouching next to her, he touched her shoulder.

“Ma’am, can you tell me your name?”

She turned to look at him but saw nothing but a shaggy beard concealed by a helmet. “I’m—”

“Holy shit. You’re Zinnia Turner.” Jumping to his feet, he shouted, “Where’s that chopper?”

“Fifteen out!”

He said another swear under his breath, then knelt and tried to help her sit up. “I’ll get this chain off you in a second. Can you stand?”

“Maybe,” she said dreamily, leaning against his chest. He smelled like cordite and camouflage paint, but there was a sweet, almost floral scent under the perfume of war. Like jasmine and white ginger. It was the fragrance of safety, and she relaxed, letting him take care of her. She wondered if she was hallucinating though. The scent of flowers didn’t belong in a war zone.

“Send down more rope!” he shouted, tugging a pair of bolt cutters from a loop on his belt.

“You smell good.” She tried to drag herself closer, but he eased her back to the ground and cut the chain. He replaced the tool in his belt, then bent to retrieve the rope his comrades dropped behind him.

“Zinnia,” he said, his voice softening. “I’m going to tie this around you so I can get you out of here. Are you okay with that?”

“Your voice sounds like chocolate, and you smell like incense.” She was so lightheaded with relief and the sudden absence of fear that she must have sounded like an idiot but couldn’t bring herself to care.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he muttered.

Carefully, he tied the ropes around her, knotting them at various points until he had her trussed into a harness. Lifting her carefully, he held her to his chest and snapped a metal clip on the rope hanging overhead.

“We’ve got a belay in place whenever you’re ready, sir!”

“Go!”

The rope jerked, making Zinnia whimper and press her cheek against his shoulder.

“Hold on as tight as you can,” he murmured into her hair.

“Do I get to go home?”

“I will take you home myself, and I promise I won’t leave your side.”

“Blessed be. Thank the Goddess,” she whispered. Lowering her head to his chest, she let him carry her to the sky.