Stranded With Ella Read online

  STRANDED WITH ELLA

  Shelley Munro

  Military Men #4

  Table of Contents

  Introduction

  Note to Readers

  1 – Meeting the Soldier

  2 – Body Language

  3 – Trapped

  4 – Evening Shenanigans

  5 – The Beard Episode

  6 – A Nightmare Changes Dynamics

  7 – The Mysterious Discovery

  8 – Home Again To Face The Gossip

  9 – Things Start To Make Sense

  10 – The Ghost Sings A Warning

  11 – The Sting

  12 – A Search For A White Kiwi

  13 – Dillon Makes A Mistake

  14 – Back In Afghanistan

  15 – A Call In The Middle Of The Night

  Epilogue – The Wedding

  Excerpt – Protection

  Excerpt – Secret Lovers

  About Shelley

  Other Books by Shelley

  Copyright Page

  Introduction

  A ghost propels them together. Danger will try to rip them apart…

  Ella Liddington-Walsh is turning quietly—make that noisily—insane, and it is all soldier Dillon Williams’s fault because the ghost harassing Ella belongs to HIM. Sleep-deprived and desperate, she drives to his country property to confront the man. One way or another, she will pass on her problem and finally sleep through the entire night. Not that her task will be easy since Dillon strikes her as a no-nonsense military man. A believer in ghosts—not so much.

  Widower Dillon judges Ella’s pink hair, her weird stories of haunting and decides she’s crazy. He sends her packing, but a landslide brings the sassy lady returning like a boomerang. Unable to deny her shelter during the stormy night, he discovers an unwilling fascination and attraction for the curvy Ella, along with common ground and whoa! Steamy hijinks in his big bed.

  After his wife’s murder, Dillon isn’t looking for romance, but a chance discovery brings the past and the present on a collision. Dillon realizes he likes Ella more than he should, and if he doesn’t stay alert, he’ll lose her in the same way he lost his wife.

  Contains a determined, vintage-wearing heroine and a grumpy soldier who wears guilt like a second skin. On paper, they shouldn’t work but there’s no accounting for the power of attraction and a landslide blocking the road.

  Note to Readers

  This new addition to the Military Men series has been a long time coming. If you’ve been waiting impatiently, you’re not alone. Some of the more vocal readers have emailed, prompting me to get a move on so I thought I’d better focus more on Dillon. It took a visit to Eketahuna before an idea formed and the story started to take shape.

  I think you’ll enjoy Dillon. He is a practical soldier who believes in what he can see. I’ve paired him with Ella, a woman who is more open to the unusual. She has pink hair, which alarms Dillon at first, and she loves vintage clothes.

  I hope you enjoy their romance and their adventure in the small country town of Eketahuna. If you’d like to see pictures of the birds, the town of Eketahuna and some of the other items I mention in this romance, please check out my Pinterest board for Military Men.

  Happy reading,

  Shelley

  P.S. If you’d like to keep up with my upcoming releases, you can join my newsletter here.

  1 – Meeting The Soldier

  Eketahuna, New Zealand

  Ella Liddington-Walsh yawned—a mouth wide, jaw-busting attempt to pump oxygen into her sleep-deprived body. Visions of her cozy bed floated through her mind as she pulled from the employee parking lot at Pukaha Mt. Bruce National Wildlife Center. Instead of turning left toward her cottage, she opened the window and drove right. The blast of frigid winter air did the trick, and by the time she indicated another right turn, her foggy fatigue had lifted a fraction.

  Instead, nerves danced a spirited tango in the pit of her stomach. Dillon Williams would call her crazy. She’d glimpsed the big, bearded soldier from a distance last week. One of her girlfriends had whispered this was the oldest Williams son, and he was home on leave. A single look had told her this military man’s bullshit meter would ping the instant she poured out her unlikely tale.

  A tremor spread from her arms to her fingertips, and in self-defense, she tightened her grip on the wheel.

  Heck, she’d pooh-pooh her story.

  The tarmac gave way to gravel as the narrow country road twisted and turned up a valley and deeper into the hills surrounding the Eketahuna region. Pastureland grew steadily rougher and soon native bush crammed the spaces and towered overhead, darkening the road as it scaled yet another hill. Ella flicked on her headlights.

  “How much farther is this house?” she muttered as her compact car shuddered up the steep grade.

  When she’d convinced herself she’d missed the driveway, she spotted a white farmhouse with a curl of smoke drifting from the chimney. The building nestled against trees while half a dozen alpaca grazed in a paddock to the left of the house. One of the smaller animals jumped and leaped, enjoying the last of the day’s sparse sunshine.

  A black utility vehicle—the type of monster transport owned by most of the farming families in the district—sat on the rutted driveway.

  This must be it. Dillon’s mother had given her directions when Ella had attempted to phone Dillon. Evidently, cell phone coverage was spotty, which was why Ella hadn’t managed to connect earlier.

  Marlene Williams had asked lots of nosy questions and confided Dillon worried her and her husband, especially since his wife’s murder. An in-person visit with someone his own age would do her son good. And how had they met?

  Ella had mumbled her way through a stupid excuse about a search of his land for kiwis. Total rubbish of course, and she suspected Mrs. William saw right through her. She’d assumed Ella wanted her son for different reasons and had encouraged the interaction.

  Prize him out of his shell.

  Renewed embarrassment fired Ella’s cheeks with heat as she replayed that mortifying phone call.

  Marlene Williams had practically urged Ella to seduce her son.

  That was unlikely, given her experience and track record with men. Best to stick to friends only and leave the romance to others. Her circle of friends, along with her pursuits of handicrafts and her job at the wildlife center, which she adored, all kept her busy.

  However, if she wanted an entire night of uninterrupted sleep, she had to speak with the taciturn Dillon Williams.

  With a sigh, Ella eyed the gate blocking the driveway and the potholes beyond. Several of them appeared large enough to swallow her car. Perhaps she should park here and walk the rest of the way. Decision made, she pulled up in front of the gate and switched off the ignition. She hesitated. No, dithered.

  This situation had disaster written all over it.

  “Stop procrastinating, Ella. You will never have peace if you don’t do this.” After a deep inhalation, she opened the door and climbed out. Her favorite boots sank into three inches of mud, and she groaned.

  Great. Just great.

  Determined to create a positive impression, she’d changed at work into one of her favorite vintage dresses and a houndstooth swing coat. She should’ve stuck with her comfy uniform of polo shirt, jeans, and gumboots.

  Ella yanked her leather boots from the mud. Sanity prevailed, and she stomped through yet more mud to her trunk. Creating a favorable impression wasn’t worth ruining her expensive boots. She did an ungainly one-legged stork hop as she exchanged muddy leather boots for practical gumboots.

  Every instinct told her to forget this mission and return to her cottage. Who needed sleep anyway?

  A su
dden blast of frigid air struck her in the face. Her skin turned to goose flesh, the hair at her nape prickling with preternatural unease.

  “Okay. Okay. I’m going.” Ella stomped to the gate and let herself through. She weaved her way past potholes filled with water and patches of mud and congratulated herself on not attempting to drive to the house.

  A low growl froze her on the spot. Her gaze jumped from the mud puddle at her feet to the big, shaggy gray dog regarding her like its next dinner.

  “Good doggie.” Ella’s voice trembled. She was so not a dog person. Give her a purring cat, a sexy romance on her e-reader, a glass of wine and call her happy. “G-good d-doggie.”

  “What the hell are you doing?” a harsh voice demanded.

  Ella’s tense muscles melted in relief. Soldier to the rescue. “I-I… Dillon Williams?” She recognized him, of course, but one didn’t plunge willy-nilly into a conversation of this sort.

  “I repeat, what are you doing here?” In the rapidly dimming light, he was huge. Despite the cold, he wore a gray T-shirt covered by a red-and-black check flannel shirt. No coat for the tough soldier. A bushy black beard hid his features, but his bright blue eyes fired salvos of distrust.

  “I need to talk to you, Dillon.” There, that had sounded positive and assertive.

  “If you want to fuck a soldier, you’ve come to the wrong one. I’m not interested. Go, before I let Rufus say hello.”

  “I-I—what? Why would you presume that?” Ella’s voice rose to chipmunk heights in her disbelief.

  “You’re not the first,” he snapped.

  “For your information, I prefer my men well-groomed and at least half-tame. You are neither. Are you going to invite me in or not? Look, I don’t want to be here, but I need sleep. So bad. I had to drive here with the window open to stay awake. I…” Aware she was babbling, Ella trailed off.

  To cap things off, it started to rain. Not delicate drops but hard, driving bullets of water.

  Dillon cursed.

  Ella sucked in a breath and tried again. “Please. Let me talk, then I’ll leave. You might have a sexy body, but I have no designs on it. Truly, you’re not my type.”

  Dillon snorted and clicked his fingers at the dog. “I can spare you five minutes before I feed the alpacas and get them into the shelter for the night.”

  “Thank you,” Ella said, but Dillon had turned his back and was striding away, stepping over the puddles with ease.

  The dog growled, baring sharp white teeth, before following his master.

  Ella tackled the rest of the driveway, thankful for her gumboots. Her gaze jumped to the man’s jeans-clad backside. Fuck a soldier, indeed. She’d rather kick his sexy, muscular arse. Big oaf!

  Breathless with the rapid ascent of the last bit of the sloped driveway, Ella was panting when she reached the impatient soldier. “I don’t have long legs.”

  “Your legs look fine,” he said.

  With any other man, she’d have expected a wink or at least a smile. Dillon Williams did neither, which left her floundering.

  “We’ll talk in here,” he said, gesturing toward the carport.

  “Fine.” She got it. She didn’t want to be here any more than he wanted her on his property.

  Ella stepped out of the rain. The hard splatters rattled against the iron roof. Her gaze zapped to Dillon.

  The man folded his arms over his wide chest. The gray dog sat at his feet, the canine’s amber eyes alert and watching her every move.

  Such a warm welcome.

  “Well,” Dillon demanded in a not-so-silent prod for her to get talking.

  “I-I don’t k-know where to start.”

  “The beginning.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Obvious.”

  He inclined his head, his big hand rubbing behind the dog’s ears.

  Thoughts of those hands stroking her body popped into her mind, and she jerked away her gaze. A croak wriggled its way up her tight throat. She coughed and tried again.

  “I’ve been having dreams.”

  Dillon snorted.

  “Will you give me a chance? This is difficult enough without your smartarse commentary.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “There is a woman haunting me,” Ella blurted. “Every night. I’m not getting any sleep. And she says she won’t leave me alone until I give you a message. That’s why I’m here.”

  “A ghost?” His dark brows rose above those bright eyes of his. Suspicion radiated off him in waves.

  Ella swallowed, her gaze settling on her muddy boots. She’d guessed at his disbelief. Who in their right mind believed in ghosts? “She said I should tell you not to blame yourself, that you have to move on with the future.”

  “The ghost said this?”

  “Yes, she said it’s not your fault. Okay, I’ve delivered the message, and I’m going now.”

  Ella stepped from the shelter of the carport. Rain pelted her hot cheeks, and she welcomed the chilly blast.

  Strong fingers banded around her biceps, yanking her to a halt.

  “Lady, you’re a piece of work. What is your game?”

  “No game,” Ella took a giant step back, pulling from the contact. “I’m leaving, and you’ll never need to deal with me again. Promise.” Ella turned her back, holding her breath as she made her escape. This time, he let her depart, and she trekked to the gate and her vehicle in double-time.

  She jumped in her car and grabbed a packet of tissues from her handbag. She wiped her wet face, dragged on the seatbelt and started her car for the journey home. Once there, she’d shower, have a glass of wine, and forget the rude soldier and this entire crazy situation.

  It was much darker now, the wet conditions making driving difficult. Ella drove at a snail’s pace, confident she was the only idiot on the road in this weather.

  “I hope you’re satisfied.” Ella had no idea whether the woman haunting her was listening. “He thought I was a fruit-loop. I knew it. Men like him only understand the tangible things right in front of their faces.”

  Lightning flashed, illuminating the road for an instant. Thunder rattled her little car and nudged her anxiety a notch higher. Storms always pushed vulnerabilities to the surface. They brought back memories of her parents who’d died in an accident during a winter storm. Ella slowed a fraction more, steering to the middle of the road. After a week of inclement weather, today had been sunny. A promise of spring. Now, Mother Nature was thumbing her nose at everyone again.

  Ella crossed a narrow one-lane bridge, the stream beneath a raging torrent. She rounded a corner.

  “Danger!”

  An icy chill crawled across Ella’s limbs. Fear lurched her stomach, tightened her chest, and she slammed on the brakes. A loud roar penetrated the car. A second later, the headlights flickered out and darkness filled Ella’s vision. Silence fell, and her heart thundered in her ears. After a long moment, she attempted to open the driver’s door. It refused to budge.

  Ella removed her seatbelt and scrambled over the console separating her from the passenger seat. The door on this side opened without a hiccup. She tumbled out, her breath catching once she realized what had happened.

  A landslide.

  Horror flooded her as rain flattened her hair and water dripped down her face. If she hadn’t stopped when she had, she’d be buried beneath that huge pile of dirt and trees. A flash of lightning showed her the scale of the problem. The entire hill had come away and now obstructed the road. She doubted she’d free her car, given the mountain of earth and flora blocking the way. No way to make it to her cottage tonight, which left one alternative.

  She’d have to plead with Mr. Grumpy to give her shelter.

  Ella grabbed her handbag. While her phone mightn’t work in this maze of hills, at least it held a full charge, so she could use the torch app.

  She wasn’t sure how far she’d driven—two or three kilometers from Dillon Williams’s property. A soft groan squeezed past her trembling lips. That meant she h
ad a decent walk in front of her. With her handbag hitched over one shoulder, she sloshed through puddles and jumped each time lightning lit the night sky and thunder echoed through the hills. Water seeped into her dress and slid under the collar of her coat. Cold sank into her bones. Ella forced herself onward and tried not to dwell on bogeymen who lived in the dark.

  After a hot shower, Dillon studied the contents of his fridge with disinterest. Finally, he selected a container of beef stew. With his alpacas fed and under shelter, he had nothing pressing to do for the rest of the evening. Restlessness kept him from planting himself in front of the telly, a sense of something about to happen bringing uneasiness. Those spidey senses at work.

  That woman…

  She refused to leave his mind. Not his sort. Too weird with her talk of ghosts and the bright pink streaks in her light brown hair. Nice figure, but the type of woman that caused too much trouble for him to bother.

  A ghost.

  He shook his head. How the hell did she expect him to buy that bullshit story?

  No doubt, the local gossip featuring him had reached her, and she’d hit upon an original way of approach. Newsflash—her plan had bombed, just as the other local women had failed to attract his interest. He pulled a pot from a cupboard and transferred the stew. Perhaps he’d strip the old paper off the walls in here. He and Hana had planned to redecorate one room at a time. At least, he’d keep busy.

  Hell. Life was so much simpler when he was with his team.

  But Hana’s death, the snafu that had been his last mission… He’d needed time out to get his head straight. He knew this instinctively without letting the medical experts poke at his brain. So he’d applied for leave, coming home to sort himself out and recharge. A return to the house where his wife had been murdered. His mother had protested, wanting him to stay at the family home. He’d refused the offer.

  This was his land, and he needed something to do, so it made sense to stay here and work. Sure, he missed the easy friendship he’d experienced with Hana, an interpreter he’d met while in Afghanistan, but he hadn’t loved her. Theirs had been a marriage of convenience although they’d done an excellent job of pretending otherwise for family and officials. After dissidents had shot the rest of Hana’s family, Dillon had wanted her safe in New Zealand, so they’d married.