Warrior's Rise

Warrior’s Rise

By

Brieanna Robertson

World Castle Publishing

http://www.worldcastlepublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

World Castle Publishing

Pensacola, Florida

Copyright © Brieanna Robertson 2009

ISBN: 9781937593728

First Edition August 10, 2009

2
^nd
Edition World Castle Publishing December 1, 2011

http://www.worldcastlepublishing.com

Licensing Notes

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles and reviews.

Cover: Karen Fuller

Editor: Traci Markou

To the warrior deep within.

And to the group of people who stand at the right hand, ready to defend, ready to protect, and ready to fight to the death.

Prologue

Medford, Oregon

The bailiff was a definite hottie. Blonde, petite, slender waist, nice rack. He could tell she had a killer body even in that unflattering uniform. His fingers itched to peel her out of it. He caught her eye across the court room as the judge began to pass the sentence. He gave her a boyish smile and a flirty wink. That always did the trick. This time was no exception. She smirked and averted her eyes, obviously trying not to attract attention, but she slid her gaze back up to his and chewed on her bottom lip.

Logan heard the judge sentence him to so many hours of community service and he suppressed a gloating chuckle. That’s right. No jail time for Logan Savage. He stole a sidelong glance at the tall brunette representing him. His sister was one fine attorney. He could murder someone and she’d be able to get him a lesser sentence, if not get him off completely.

Logan threw a momentary glance back at the cute bailiff, but followed after his sister. “Isabelle, what the crap did I ever do to you? Name calling? That’s not very professional. You do that to all of your clients?”

“Only the really clueless ones.” She sneered. She shook her head. “I swear, Logan, when are you going to grow up?”

He blinked and grabbed her elbow, stopping her and turning her to face him. “What are you talking about? It’s not like I’m living in Mom’s basement. I have my own apartment. I have a good job.”

Isabelle heaved a sigh. “Logan, you’re twenty-nine years old and you’re still getting into bar brawls. You beat a guy within inches of his life. You think you’re
sooo
cool, but you’re really just making a fool out of yourself.” She shook her head and handed him a manila envelope full of papers. “I’m not bailing you out again. The next time you decide to pull your macho crap and deck an officer of the law, figure it out yourself. I’ve been fixing your mistakes my entire life and I’m not going to do it anymore.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah. If you’d been paying attention to the judge instead of trying to undress the bailiff with your eyes, you would have heard him say that. You’re to serve out your sentence working as a volunteer counselor at a kids’ summer camp.”

His first reaction was repulsion. Just what he needed was to be stuck hanging around a bunch of stupid nose-pickers all summer long, but his second thought was that it might not be so bad. Summer camp was full of outdoor activity. He could teach the ankle biters how to hunt and fish, be men’s men. He could see the reverent looks on their faces now. “Cool. Thanks, Izzie.”

“Don’t thank me. Just quit being stupid. I’m sick of having the delinquent brother who never grew out of his teenage years. Get over yourself and get a life.”

She turned her back on him again and he let her go this time. No point in following after her if she was only going to verbally bash him.
Whatever.
Isabelle had no idea who he was or what he did with his life. Get over himself? He snorted. He wasn’t stuck on himself. It wasn’t his fault that every woman he met wanted to do wicked things to him… And it wasn’t his fault if the men that were with those women felt really inadequate, thus resulting in bar brawls that got him arrested. Besides, how was he supposed to know that the man he’d shown what-for was a cop? Not like he asked for a resume before he handed someone their butt on a plate.

Besides, Isabelle was probably just jealous. She was stuck in a tedious routine living in suburban, 2.5 kid land. That kind of torturous existence would make anyone look at someone free and rootless like him in envy.

Dismissing his sister’s words, he opened up the envelope and looked at the information packet he’d been given.
Rogue River Fantasy Camp.
He frowned. Fantasy Camp? What in the world did that mean? His interest piqued. Maybe there were strippers involved. That would definitely be a fantasy. Somebody in a Catholic school girl outfit maybe…

He smirked and shoved the papers back into the envelope. No biggee. It was somewhere in between Gold Hill and Shady Cove. He’d find it easy enough. He’d camped and hunted most of the forests in his area of Oregon. Shouldn’t be too hard. All he had to do was find the camp and show up on the scheduled date. No use in reading a bunch of papers that would just bore him to death. He had better things to do with his time.

He glanced at his watch and smiled, then smoothed his sandy brown hair. Perfect. It was happy hour and he was still in his suit. That would definitely attract some attention. He’d get his game on tonight. He was feeling particularly lucky.

Squaring his shoulders, he folded the papers in half and shoved them in his back pocket, then made his way out of the courthouse.

Chapter One

Willow shoved at some unruly auburn strands of hair as she rummaged through the bottom drawer of her filing cabinet in an attempt to find…well, everything. She was usually much more organized before her kids arrived, but today she felt like her brain was spinning around in her skull like a top. She couldn’t even focus on anything long enough to get something worthwhile accomplished. It was bad enough that her family had gotten a hold of her to tell her that all was not well at home and that she needed to be extra cautious. That kind of information would put anyone on edge, but then knowing that she also had to play babysitter for some hotheaded degenerate did not help. Seriously, why did the judge have to send him to
her?
She needed another counselor, yes, but this had not been what she’d had in mind.

She breathed a sigh of relief as she finally located the near to bursting file that contained all of the information on her campers, activity plans and the rule policy. She pulled it out and transported it to her desk only to drop it and send papers flying in all directions. She muttered several unsavory words and bent to gather them.

“Helloooo?”

Willow jumped at the unexpected voice and smashed her head against the bottom of her desk. She swore, covered her head and extracted herself from underneath the piece of furniture, shooting a contemptuous glance over her shoulder at the intruder.

He bit his lip as if to stop a smile. “Sorry about that.” He let his eyes graze brazenly over her body and, before she stood, she noticed them linger on her backside.

Scowling, she asked, “And you are?” She snarled and flung her papers on the desk, put her hands on her hips and turned to face him.

He grinned. “Logan Savage. I’m looking for Willow Avaris.”

She gave an agitated sigh. Great. She could already tell he was going to annoy her. He was tall with an athletic build and light brown hair that hung roguishly in front of his face. He was undeniably good-looking and he knew it. Arrogance was etched into every line of his body. He stood like the world owed him something. It made her jaw clench in irritation. “Ah yes, my parolee,” she jeered as she turned back to her desk.

He frowned. “I’m not a parolee,” he corrected. “I never did any prison time.” He snorted. “I mean, not like I killed anybody.”

“Right,” she grumbled. “You just felt like hammering your fist into someone’s face.” He opened his mouth to speak, but she held up her hand and negated him.

He frowned again and folded his arms across his chest as she continued to search through her scattered papers. “So,
you
are Willow Avaris?” he asked.

“Unfortunately. I own and run this camp.”

He nodded and glanced around the office before resting his eyes back on her. She saw him smirk out of the corner of her eye, and she bristled as he sidled up next to her.

“What are you looking for? Need some help?”

He was standing entirely too close. Sexual energy pulsed off of him like he was radioactive. Thankfully, she spotted the last paper she had needed to retrieve. She added it to her pile, turned and plastered the stack against his chest, pushing him back a few steps. “No, I don’t,” she stated. “Those are yours. It’s the rules and a list of suggested activities. You are in charge of your own lesson plans, but there are suggestions in case you get stuck or can’t think of anything creative. There’s also a map in there. I circled where your cabin is. You’re a big boy. I’m sure you can read a map, right?”

His smile was gorgeous, but so egotistical she almost gagged. “Honey, I can find my way around anywhere. I don’t even need a map.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Good for you. Now, breakfast is at seven every morning. Lunch is at noon and dinner is at six. Lights out is at nine, but that rule is only really enforced with the younger kids. The older ones kind of do whatever they want. I put you in charge of some of the older ones as I didn’t think having a felon watch over the little ones would go over necessarily well with the parents.” She handed him another paper. “This is your list of kids. They’ll be arriving on a bus in about an hour. At that time all of the counselors will call role and take their group to their assigned bunks. That’s also on the map.”