Watching Over Her

For her.

With her.

“No,” he said. “I need to talk to you.” And he gave a pointed look to the doctor and nurse, who finally took his not-so-subtle hint and left them alone.

“It’s okay,” she said. “I understand. You don’t have to explain to me that you were just doing your job—protecting me and Drew. I know that you don’t feel the same way about me that I do about you.”

He reached out again and covered her silky soft lips with his fingers. “Sweetheart, you do talk too much.” She’d said it herself, but until now he hadn’t agreed with her.

“Sweetheart?” She mouthed the word against his fingers.

“But that’s the only thing you’re right about,” he said. “You’re wrong about everything else.”

She stopped trying to talk now, and she waited for him to speak. That had never been easy for him—to share his feelings. He’d been hiding them for too long.

And obviously he’d hidden them too well from Maggie because she had no idea how he felt about her.

“You were never just a job to me,” he said. “If you were, I wouldn’t have had to protect you myself. I would have trusted you to Truman or someone like him way before I had to—”

“But you did,” she murmured against his fingers.

“I had to,” he said, “or I was never going to figure out who was trying to hurt you and the baby. But it killed me to not be with you every day.” And when he’d had to leave them again—after Drew had been born—it had literally nearly killed him. “I don’t want to be away from you and Drew again.”

Tears began to shimmer in those enormous brown eyes of hers. “Blaine...?”

He knew what he wanted to say, but he didn’t know how to say it. “I don’t have a ring...”

He couldn’t forget the size and shine of the diamond Andy had given her. But Andy was gone. She had accepted that; Blaine needed to accept it, too.

“And I can’t get down on one knee right now...” Hanging on to her hand had sapped all his strength. If he tried getting out of bed, he would undoubtedly pass out at her feet.

“I don’t need a ring,” she said. “I don’t need any gestures. I just need to know how you feel about me.”

“I’m not good at expressing my feelings,” he said apologetically.

“Just tell me...”

“I love you,” he said. “I love your sweetness and your openness. I love how you worry and care about everyone and everything.”

“You love me?”

He nodded. “I know I’m not your first choice and that you’d promised to marry another man. But Andy’s gone. And I’m here. And I will love you as much as he would have—if not more. I will take care of you and Drew. I will treat your son just like he’s mine, too, if you’ll let me.”

The tears overflowed her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. “I don’t deserve you,” she said. “And I didn’t deserve Andy. Tammy was right about that. I didn’t love him like I should have. I loved him because he was my best friend. I didn’t love him like a woman should love the man she wants to marry. And I didn’t want to marry him. But I didn’t know how to say no to his proposal without hurting him.”

And with her big, loving heart, she would have given up her own happiness to ensure someone else’s. He didn’t want her doing that for him.

“You won’t hurt me if you tell me no,” he lied. It would hurt him. But he’d heard what she’d said when she’d thought him unconscious. He didn’t think she would tell him no. But he wanted her to say yes for the right reasons. “You’ll hurt me if you say yes and don’t really love me.”

“I love you,” she said. “I love you like a woman loves a man. I love you with passion. I love you like a soul mate, not just as a friend.”

The tightness in his chest eased, and he grinned. “I love how much you talk,” he said. “I really do...especially when you’re telling me how much you love me.” But then he realized what she had yet to say. “But you haven’t answered my question.”

“Did you ask me something?” she asked with a coy flutter of her lashes.

“I will get out of this bed,” he said, but they both knew it was an empty threat at the moment.

“I don’t need the bended knee or the ring,” she said. “I just need the question.”

So he asked, “Will you marry me, Maggie Jenkins? Will you take me as your husband and as Drew’s father?”

“Yes, Special Agent Blaine Campbell,” she replied. “I will marry you.”

He used their joined hands to tug her closer, to pull her down for the kiss to seal their promise.

Someone cleared his throat above the sound of a baby crying. “Excuse me,” Truman said. “But someone was looking for his mama...” The burly agent carried the tiny fussing baby over to Maggie.

She laid the little boy on Blaine’s chest, and the baby’s cries stopped. He stared up at Blaine as if he recognized him. “Here’s your daddy,” she said.

Blaine had a perfect record—every case solved with the FBI, every criminal caught—but this—his family—meant far more to him. This woman and their child was what made his life special now and for always.

* * * * *

Read on for an extract from THE DEPUTY’S REDEMPTION by Delores Fossen.

Chapter One

Deputy Colt McKinnon caught the blur of motion from the corner of his eye.

He hit the brakes, not hard, because there was likely some ice on the road, and he pulled his truck to a stop on the gravel shoulder.

There.

He saw it again.

Someone wearing light-colored clothes was darting in and out of the trees. Since it was below freezing and nearly ten at night, it wasn’t a good time for someone to be jogging.

Colt took a flashlight from the glove compartment and got out, sliding his hand over the gun in his belt holster, and he tried to pick through the darkness to see what was going on. Thankfully, there was a full moon, and he got another glimpse of the person.

A woman.

She was running and not just an ordinary run, either. She was in a full sprint as if her life depended on it.

Colt hurried down the embankment toward her to see if anything or anybody was chasing her. There were coyotes in the woods, but he’d never heard of a pack going after a human. However, before he could see much of anything else, the woman ducked behind a tree.

“I have a gun!” she shouted.

Ah, hell.

He instantly recognized the voice. Elise Nichols. A voice he darn sure didn’t want to hear at all, much less her yelling about having a gun.

Her house was a good five miles from here, definitely not close by enough for her to be on foot. So what in the Sam Hill was she doing running in the woods in the middle of the night?

“It’s me—Colt,” he said, just in case she thought he was a stranger.

“I know exactly who you are.” Her voice was loud but very shaky. “And I have a gun.”

“So do I,” he snarled, and Colt drew it to prove his point.

Colt hadn’t exactly expected a warm, friendly greeting from Elise, but he hadn’t thought she was to the point of threatening to do him bodily harm.

“What the heck are you running from?” he asked.

She didn’t jump to answer. The only sounds were the February wind rattling through the bare tree branches and his heartbeat pumping like pistons in his ears.

“I’m running from you,” she finally answered.

Colt jerked back his shoulders. That sure wasn’t the answer he’d been expecting. Nor did it make a lick of sense.

“I’m a deputy sheriff of Sweetwater Springs,” he reminded Elise just in case she was drunk or had gone off the deep end and couldn’t remember what was common knowledge around these parts.

And he reminded her also because her comment riled him.

“People generally don’t feel the need to run from me,” he added with a syrupy sweetness that she would know wasn’t the least bit genuine.

“They’d run if you were trying to kill them.”

He tried not to let his mouth drop open, but it was close. “And you think that’s what I’m trying to do to you?”

“I know you are. You ran me off the road about fifteen minutes ago.”

He glanced around, didn’t see another vehicle. But there was a road not too far away, and it would have been the one Elise would likely take to get to and from her place located just outside town. It was possible someone had sideswiped her and maybe she’d hit her head during the collision. That was the only explanation he could think of for a fish story like that one.

“Come out so I can see you,” Colt told her, “and I’ll drive you to the hospital.”

She didn’t answer.

Didn’t move, either.

Fed up with Elise herself, her story, the butt-freezing night and this entire crazy situation, Colt huffed. “Get out here!” he ordered.

“Right. So you can kill me,” she accused. “Then I can’t testify at your mother’s trial.”

Good grief. Colt figured that subject would come up sooner or later. But he hadn’t expected it to come up like this, with Elise accusing him of trying to kill her. His mother, Jewell, was the one about to stand trial for murdering her lover twenty-three years ago.

And Elise would be the key witness for the defense.

That alone was plenty bad enough because Colt figured his mom had indeed killed the guy. Anything that Elise would say in Jewell’s defense could be a lie at best, and at worst it could tear his family to pieces.

Because Elise was expected to testify that not Jewell but rather Colt’s father, Roy, had committed the murder.

No way would Colt or his brothers let that happen.

His father wasn’t going to pay for Jewell’s sins.

But there was also no way Colt would murder a witness to stop that testimony from happening. The badge he wore wasn’t for decoration. He believed in the law. Believed that his mother, and Elise, would get what was coming to them.

Without his help.

“Come on out here,” he repeated. “You probably got sideswiped by a drunk or something.”

“A drunk driving a truck identical to yours,” she countered.

That sent a bristle up his spine, and that bristly feeling went up a significant notch when Elise finally stepped out. He didn’t see a gun, but from her stance, she looked as if she were challenging him to a gunfight in an Old West showdown.

“Call the county sheriff or the Texas Rangers,” she insisted. “I know they won’t try to kill me.”

Colt huffed again and turned the flashlight on her. He prayed she didn’t do something stupid and pull the trigger of the weapon that she claimed she was holding. It was a risk, but he figured Elise was only a liar and not a killer like his mother.

He moved the light over her face and then her body. She was wearing a pale blue coat and a stocking cap, but wisps of her light brown hair were flying in the wind and snapping against her face like little bullwhips.

And yeah, she had a gun.

Pointed right at him.

That didn’t help his racing heartbeat. Nor did the white-knuckle grip she had on the weapon. There were a lot of nerves showing in that grip.

“Put down the gun,” Colt insisted.

“Call the county sheriff,” she insisted right back.

Neither moved. Colt certainly didn’t turn to make that call, but somehow he had to convince Elise to surrender her weapon. And he didn’t want to have to wait the forty-five minutes or so that it would take the county sheriff to get out here.

“It’s not like when we were kids, huh?” Elise said. The corner of her mouth lifted, but it wasn’t a smile. “We used to play cops and robbers with toy guns. You were always the cop. I was the bad guy. Remember?”

In too perfect detail. Once, way too many years ago, Elise had been his best friend. The first girl that he’d kissed. Okay, she’d been his first love.

But he darn sure didn’t feel that way about her now.

Hadn’t felt that way in a long time, either. He wanted to ring her neck for trying to drag his dad into the middle of this murder trial mess.

Colt drew in a long, weary breath. “Look, can we just have a truce? Besides, you really do need to see a doctor. If you were run off the road, you could have bumped your head.”

She touched her fingertips to her temple, just beneath the edge of the stocking cap, and Colt was stunned to see the dark liquid.

Blood.

That did it. He cursed and walked toward her. Colt lowered his gun to his side, just so she’d feel less threatened, but it was clear she was injured and needed help. Even if she didn’t want that help from him.

Elise didn’t lower her gun, however, and she backed up with each step he took. Colt kept watch to make sure her finger didn’t move on the trigger. It didn’t. And when he got close enough to her, he dropped the flashlight and snatched the gun from her hand.

He expected her to try to get it back. Or curse him for taking it, but she turned and ran.

Hell.

Not this.

He really didn’t want to be chasing an injured woman through the woods at night, but Elise was the job now. She’d become that when she’d accused him of attempted murder and pointed the gun at him.

Colt shoved her gun in the back waist of his jeans, grabbed the flashlight and took off after her. For a woman with a bloody head and dazed mind, she ran pretty fast, and it took him several moments to catch up with her. He snagged her by the shoulder, spun her around and pinned her against a tree.

It didn’t put them in the best position. They were now body to body and breathing hard. But at least she wouldn’t be running anywhere.

Colt reholstered his gun so he could use the flashlight to get a look at her head. Yep, there was an angry-looking gash at least two inches long. Not a lot of blood, but she would have taken a hard lick to get that kind of injury.

“Did you hit your head when you went off the road?” he demanded.

She opened her mouth. Closed it. “I’m not sure.” Her eyes were wide. Startled. But Colt couldn’t tell if it was because she was still afraid of him or because of her injuries.

“The air bag deployed,” she said a moment later. “The windshield broke.”

So, something could have come through the glass and smacked her. “What happened then?”

Her mouth started to tremble, but she clamped her teeth over it. She also met him eye to eye, nudged him several inches away from her and hiked up her chin. No doubt trying to look a lot stronger than she felt.

Yeah, that was Elise.

“After I crashed, I heard someone get out of the truck,” Elise finally answered. “The man was armed. Dressed like you.”

Her gaze drifted from his Stetson to his buckskin coat. And lower. To his jeans and boots.

His uniform for this time of year.

“Exactly like you,” she added.

“Plenty of people around here dress like me.” Well, except for the badge. “Plenty of people drive trucks, too. In the dark most trucks look the same.”

There was no indication whatsoever that she believed anything he was saying. Elise just kept staring at him as if trying to piece things together. But Colt figured that was better worked out at the hospital after a doctor had examined her.

Of course, he’d have to file a report. Of course. And he’d have to say that a witness in an upcoming murder trial had accused him of doing her bodily harm. He wasn’t looking forward to having to explain himself, especially when he’d done nothing wrong. Still, that was part of the job, too.

“Come on.” This time Colt hooked his arm around Elise’s waist and got her moving. He was thankful when she didn’t resist. Or collapse. Though she suddenly looked ready to do just that.

“I’ll drop you off at the hospital,” he explained, “and then come back and have a look at your car. Where exactly did you go off the road?”

“Just a few yards from Miller’s Creek. I crashed into the guardrail.”

He knew the exact spot and winced. That creek was deep and icy this time of year. If her car had gone over, then she might have gotten a lot more than just a bloody gash on her head. She could have drowned or died from exposure, especially since there likely wouldn’t have been anyone to come along and rescue her.

He leaned in to smell her breath. No scent of booze. But she did scowl and shoved her elbow against him to get him out of her face.

“I’m not drunk,” she grumbled. “Or crazy. I know what happened, and I know what I saw.”

Yes, and sometimes what a person saw wasn’t the truth. But Colt kept that to himself. No sense getting in an argument about this particular incident.

Or the trial.

Though he was positive Elise hadn’t seen what she thought she’d seen all those years ago, either.

“So, you crashed into the guardrail,” he repeated while he continued to lead her to his truck. “What happened then?”

She took a deep breath. Paused. “I managed to bat down the air bag, and I got out on the passenger’s side. I just started running.”

Colt was about to remind her that she could have run for no reason. But he didn’t get a chance to say anything.

The slash of lights stopped him.

Since the road was only twenty yards or so away, it wasn’t unusual for a vehicle to come this way. But Elise obviously didn’t feel the same.

“Oh, God.” She turned and pulled him behind one of the trees. Elise also reached down and turned off his flashlight.

Colt kept his attention on the truck. It was indeed the same model and color as his. And it wasn’t going at a normal speed. It was inching closer as if the driver was looking for something.

Probably Elise.

And not for the killer-reasons that she believed but maybe the driver was trying to find her to make sure she was okay.

Still, Colt stayed put. Watching. Waiting. Wondering if he, too, had lost his bloomin’ mind to hide behind a tree instead of just trying to have a chat with whoever was behind that steering wheel.

Next to him, Elise’s breath was gusting now, and she had her hand clamped on his left arm like a vise. Every part of her was shaking.

The truck pulled just ahead of Colt’s. Stopped. And the automatic window eased down. It was too dark for him to see inside, but he could just make out the silhouette of a driver. A man, from the looks of it.

The driver turned off his headlights.

That didn’t help the prickly feeling down Colt’s spine.

Nor did the other thing he saw.

He stepped from his truck, taking slow cautious steps while he looked at the ground.

And the man was carrying a gun.

Copyright © 2015 by Delores Fossen

The Marine’s Temptation

Jennifer Morey

“What were you thinking just now?” Carson asked in an intimate voice.

“That I’d be a fool to fall for you.”

He studied her awhile, not showing any reaction. “Are you ready to go?”

She nodded, and they walked out of the restaurant. A valet summoned Carson’s limo. The excessive show of wealth should have repulsed her. Instead, it was a fitting end to a wonderful evening—a drive home in a princess carriage. Everything she’d previously thought about rich people wasn’t true tonight.

Carson tugged Georgia’s hand. She stopped and faced him.

“I had a nice time tonight,” he said.

“I did, too.”

“I won’t tease you about that.” He grinned, sexy and full of affection.

Her heart flopped into more excited beats.

“I’d like to do this again, Georgia.”

“Oh … I …” She may as well have melted right there.

He slid his arm all the way around her, pulling her close. And then he kissed her … before she could react. His mouth over hers sent tingles of shocking pleasure all the way through her, brewing desire she wasn’t expecting.

“Gun!” someone shouted.

Two-time RITA® Award nominee and Golden Quill Award winner JENNIFER MOREY writes single-title contemporary romance and page-turning romantic suspense. She has a geology degree and has managed export programmes in compliance with the International Traffic in Arms Regulations (ITAR) for the aerospace industry. She lives at the feet of the Rocky Mountains in Denver, Colorado, and loves to hear from readers through her website, jennifermorey.com, or Facebook.

For my twin sister, Jackie,

my number one supporter.

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