Security Blanket

Security Blanket

Delores Fossen

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Table of Contents

Cover Page

Title Page

About The Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Copyright

Imagine a family tree that includes Texas cowboys, Choctaw and Cherokee Indians, a Louisiana pirate and a Scottish rebel who battled side by side with William Wallace. With ancestors like that, it’s easy to understand why Texas author and former Air Force captain Delores Fossen feels as if she was genetically predisposed to writing romances. Along the way to fulfilling her DNA destiny, Delores married an Air Force Top Gun who just happens to be of Viking descent. With all those romantic bases covered, she doesn’t have to look too far for inspiration.

To the Magnolia State Romance Writers. Thanks for everything.

Chapter One

The man was watching her.

Marin Sheppard was sure of it.

He wasn’t staring, exactly. In fact, he hadn’t even looked at her, though he’d been seated directly across from her in the lounge car of the train for the past fifteen minutes. He seemed to focus his attention on the wintry Texas landscape that zipped past the window. But several times Marin had met his gaze in the reflection of the glass.

Yes, he was watching her.

That kicked up her heart rate a couple of notches. A too-familiar nauseating tightness started to knot Marin’s stomach.

Was it starting all over again?

Was he watching her, hoping that she’d lead him to her brother, Dexter? Or was this yet another attempt by her parents to insinuate themselves into her life?

It’d been over eight months since the last time this happened. A former “business associate” of her brother who was riled that he’d paid for a “product” that Dexter hadn’t delivered. The man had followed her around Fort Worth for days. He hadn’t been subtle about it, either, and that had made him seem all the more menacing. And she hadn’t given birth to Noah yet then.

The stakes were so much higher now.

Marin hugged her sleeping son closer to her chest. He smelled like baby shampoo and the rice cereal he’d had for lunch. She brushed a kiss on his forehead and rocked gently. Not so much for him—Noah was sound asleep and might stay that way for the remaining hour of the trip to San Antonio. No, the rocking, the kiss and the snug embrace were more for her benefit, to help steady her nerves.

And it worked.

“Cute kid,” she heard someone say. The man across from her. Who else? There were no other travelers in this particular section of the lounge car.

Marin lifted her gaze. Met his again. But this time it wasn’t through the buffer of the glass, and she clearly saw his eyes, a blend of silver and smoke, framed with indecently long, dark eyelashes.

She studied him a moment, trying to decide if she knew him. He was on the lanky side. Midnight-colored hair. High cheekbones. A classically chiseled male jaw.

The only thing that saved him from being a total pretty boy was the one-inch scar angled across his right eyebrow, thin but noticeable. Not a precise surgeon’s cut, a jagged, angry mark left from an old injury. It conjured images of barroom brawls, tattooed bikers and bashed beer bottles. Not that Marin had firsthand knowledge of such things.

But she would bet that he did.

He wore jeans that fit as if they’d been tailormade for him, a dark blue pullover shirt that hugged his chest and a black leather bomber jacket. And snakeskin boots—specifically diamondback rattlesnake. Pricey and conspicuous footwear.

No, she didn’t know him. Marin was certain she would have remembered him—a realization that bothered her because he was hot, and she was sorry she’d noticed.

He tipped his head toward Noah. “I meant your baby,” he clarified. “Cute kid.”

“Thank you.” She looked away from the man, hoping it was the end of their brief conversation.

It wasn’t.

“He’s what…seven, eight months old?”

“Eight,” she provided.

“He reminds me a little of my nephew,” the man continued. “It must be hard, traveling alone with a baby.”

That brought Marin’s attention racing across the car. What had provoked that remark? She searched his face and his eyes almost frantically, trying to figure out if it was some sort of veiled threat.

He held up his hands, and a nervous laugh sounded from deep within his chest. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to alarm you. It’s just I noticed you’re wearing a medical alert bracelet.”

Marin glanced down at her left wrist. The almond-shaped metal disc was peeking out from the cuff of her sleeve. With its classic caduceus symbol engraved in crimson, it was like his boots—impossible to miss.

“I’m epileptic,” she said.

“Oh.” Concern dripped from the word.

“Don’t worry,” she countered. “I keep my seizures under control with meds. I haven’t had one in over five years.”

She immediately wondered why in the name of heaven she’d volunteered that personal information. Her medical history wasn’t any of his business; it was a sore spot she didn’t want to discuss.

“Is your epilepsy the reason you took the train?” he asked. “I mean, instead of driving?”

Marin frowned at him. “I thought the train would make the trip easier for my son.”

He nodded, apparently satisfied with her answer to his intrusive question. When his attention strayed back in the general direction of her bracelet, Marin followed his gaze. Down to her hand. All the way to her bare ring finger.

Even though her former fiancé, Randall Davidson, had asked her to marry him, he’d never given her an engagement ring. It’d been an empty, bare gesture. A thought that riled her even now. Randall’s betrayal had cut her to the bone.

Shifting Noah into the crook of her arm, she reached down to collect her diaper bag. “I think I’ll go for a little walk and stretch my legs.”

And change seats, she silently added.

Judging from the passengers she’d seen get on and off, the train wasn’t crowded, so moving into coach seating shouldn’t be a problem. In fact, she should have done it sooner.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I made you uncomfortable with my questions.”

His words stopped her because they were sincere. Or at least he sounded that way. Of course, she’d been wrong before. It would take another lifetime or two for her to trust her instincts.

And that was the reason she reached for the bag again.

“Stay, please,” he insisted. “It’ll be easier for me to move.” He got up, headed for the exit and then stopped, turning back around to face her. “I was hitting on you.”

Marin blinked. “You…what?”

“Hitting on you,” he clarified.

Oh.

That took her a few moments to process.

“Really?” Marin asked, sounding far more surprised than she wanted.

He chuckled, something low, husky and male. Something that trickled through her like expensive warm whiskey. “Really.” But then, the lightheartedness faded from his eyes, and his jaw muscles started to stir. “I shouldn’t have done it. Sorry.”

Again, he seemed sincere. So maybe he wasn’t watching her after all. Well, not for surveillance any way. Maybe he was watching her because she was a woman. Odd, that she’d forgotten all about basic human attraction and lust.

“You don’t have to leave,” Marin let him know. Because she suddenly didn’t know what to do with her fidgety hands, she ran her fingers through Noah’s dark blond curls. “Besides, it won’t be long before we’re in San Antonio.”

He nodded, and it had an air of thankfulness to it. “I’m Quinn Bacelli. Most people though just call me Lucky.”

She almost gave him a fake name. Old habits. But it was the truth that came out of her mouth. “Marin Sheppard.”

He smiled. It was no doubt a lethal weapon in his arsenal of ways to get women to fall at his feet. Or into his bed. It bothered Marin to realize that she wasn’t immune to it.

Good grief. Hadn’t her time with Randall taught her anything?

“Well, Marin Sheppard,” he said, taking his seat again. “No more hitting on you. Promise.”

Good. She mentally repeated that several times, and then wondered why she felt mildly disappointed.

Noah stirred, sucked at a nonexistent bottle and then gave a pouty whimper when he realized it wasn’t there. His eyelids fluttered open, and he blinked, focused and looked up at Marin with accusing bluegreen eyes that were identical to her own. He made another whimper, probably to let her know that he wasn’t pleased about having his nap interrupted.

Her son shifted and wriggled until he was in a sitting position in her lap, and the new surroundings immediately caught his attention. What was left of his whimpering expression evaporated. He examined his puppy socks, the window, the floor, the ceiling and the rubyred exit sign. Even her garnet heart necklace. Then, his attention landed on the man seated across from him.

Noah grinned at him.

The man grinned back. “Did you have a good nap, buddy?”

Noah babbled a cordial response, something the two males must have understood, because they shared another smile.

Marin looked at Quinn “Lucky” Bacelli. Then, at her son. Their smiles seemed to freeze in place.

There was no warning.

A deafening blast ripped through the car.

One moment Marin was sitting on the seat with her son cradled in her arms, and the next she was flying across the narrow space right at Lucky.

Everything moved fast. So fast. And yet it happened in slow motion, too. It seemed part of some nightmarish dream where everything was tearing apart at the seams.

Debris spewed through the air. The diaper bag, the magazine she’d been reading, the very walls themselves. All of it, along with Noah and her.

Something slammed into her back and the left side of her head. It knocked the breath from her. The pain was instant—searing—and it sliced right through her, blurring her vision.

She and Noah landed in Lucky’s arms, propelled against him. But he softened the fall. He turned, immediately, pushing them down against the seat and crawling over them so he could shelter them with his body. Still, the debris pelted her legs and her head. She felt the sting of the cuts on her skin and reached out for something, anything, to use as protection. Her fingers found the diaper bag, and she used it to block the shards so they wouldn’t hit Noah.

The train’s brakes screamed. Metal scraped against metal. The crackle and scorched smell of sparks flying, shouts of terror, smoke and dust filled the air.

Amid all the chaos, she heard her baby cry.

Noah was terrified, and his shrill piercing wail was a plea for help.

Marin tried to move him so she could see his face, so she could make sure he was all right, but her peripheral vision blurred. It closed in, like thick fog, nearly blinding her.

“Help my son,” she begged. She couldn’t bear his cries. They echoed in her head. Like razorsharp daggers. Cutting right through her.

Sweet heaven, was he hurt?

There was some movement, and she felt Lucky maneuver his hand between them. “He’s okay, I think.”

His qualifier nearly caused Marin to scream right along with her son. “Please, help him.”

Because she had no choice, because the pain was unbearable, Marin dropped her head against the seat. The grayness got darker. Thicker. The pain just kept building. Throbbing. Consuming her.

And her son continued to cry.

That was the worst pain of all—her son crying.

Somehow she had to help him.

She tried to move again, to see his face, but her body no longer responded to what she was begging it to do. It was as if she were spiraling downward into a bottomless dark pit. Her breath was thin, her heartbeat barely a whisper in her ears. And her mouth was filled with the metallic taste of her own blood.

God, was she dying?

The thought broke her heart. She wasn’t scared to die. But her death would leave her son vulnerable. Unprotected.

That couldn’t happen.

“You can’t let them take Noah,” she heard herself whisper. She was desperate now, past desperate, and if necessary she would resort to begging.

“Who can’t take him?” Lucky asked. He sounded so far away, but the warmth of his weight was still on her. She could feel his frantic breath gusting against her face.

“My parents.” Marin wanted to explain that they were toxic people, that she didn’t want them anywhere near her precious son. But there seemed so little breath left in her body, and she needed to tell him something far more important. “If I don’t make it…”

“You will,” he insisted.

Marin wasn’t sure she believed that. “If I don’t make it, get Noah out of here.” She had to take a breath before she could continue. “Protect him.” She coughed as she pulled the smoke and ash into her lungs. “Call Lizette Raines in Fort Worth. She’ll know what to do.”

Marin listened for a promise that he would do just that. And maybe Lucky Bacelli made that promise. Maybe he spoke to her, or maybe it was just her imagination when the softly murmured words filtered through the unbearable pain rifling in her head.

I swear, I’ll protect him.

She wanted to see her son’s face. She wanted to give him one last kiss.

But that didn’t happen.

The grayness overtook her, and Marin felt her world fade to nothing.

Chapter Two

Working frantically, Lucky slung off the debris that was covering Marin Sheppard and her son.

No easy feat.

There was a lot of it, including some shards of glass and splintered metal, and he had to dig them out while trying to keep a firm grip on Noah. Not only was the baby screaming his head off, he wriggled and squirmed, obviously trying to get away from the nightmare.

Unfortunately, they were trapped right in the middle of it.

“You’re okay, buddy,” Lucky said to the baby. He hoped that was true.

Lucky quickly checked, but didn’t see any obvious injuries. Heck, not even a scratch, which almost certainly qualified as a miracle.

As he’d seen Marin do, Lucky brushed a kiss on the boy’s cheek to reassure him. Though it wasn’t much help. Noah might have only been eight months old, but he no doubt knew something was horribly wrong.

This was no simple train derailment. An explosion. An accident, maybe. Perhaps some faulty electrical component caused it. Or an act of terrorism.

The thought sickened him.

Whatever the cause, the explosion had caused a lot of damage. And a fire. Lucky could feel the flames and the heat eating their way toward them. There wasn’t much time. A couple of minutes, maybe less.

And even then, getting out wasn’t guaranteed.

They couldn’t go through the window. There were jagged, thick chunks of glass still locked in place in the metal frame. It wouldn’t be easy to kick out the remaining glass, and it’d cut them to shreds if he tried to go through it with Noah and Marin, especially since she was unconscious. Still, he might have to risk it. Lucky had no idea what he was going to face once he left the car and went into the hall toward the exit.

Maybe there was no exit left.

Maybe there was no other way out.

“Open your eyes, Marin,” he said when he finally made it through the debris to her.

Oh, man.

There wasn’t a drop of color in her face. And the blood. There was way too much of it, and it all seemed to be coming from a wound on the left side of her head. The blood had already seeped into her dark blond hair, staining one side of it crimson red.

“Look at me, Marin!” Lucky demanded.

She didn’t respond.

Lucky shoved his fingers to her neck. It took him several snail-crawling moments to find her pulse. Weak but steady.

Thank God, she was alive.

For now.

But he didn’t like the look of that gash on her head. Since she was breathing, there was no reason for him to do CPR, but he tried to revive her by gently tapping her face. It didn’t work, and he knew he couldn’t waste any more time.

Soon, very soon, the train would be engulfed in flames, and their chances of escape would be slim to none. They could be burned alive. He wasn’t about to let that happen to her or the precious cargo in his arms. He’d made a promise to protect Noah, and that was a promise he intended to keep.

Moving Marin could make her injuries worse, but it was a risk he had to take. Placing Noah on her chest and stomach, he scooped them both up in his arms and hugged them tightly against him so that Noah wouldn’t fall. Noah obviously wasn’t pleased about that arrangement because he screamed even louder.

Lucky kicked aside a chunk of the displaced wall, and hurrying, he went through what was left of the doorway that divided the lounge car from the rest of the train. A blast of thick smoke shot right at him. He ducked his head down, held his breath and started running.

The hall through coach seating was an obstacle course. There was wreckage, smoke and at least a dozen other passengers also trying to escape. It was a stampede, and he was caught in the middle with Noah and Marin.

The crowd fought and shoved, all battering against each other. All fighting to get toward the end of the car. And they finally made it. Lucky broke through the emergency exit and launched himself into the fresh air.

Landing hard and probably twisting his ankle in the process, he didn’t stop. He knew all too well that there could be a secondary explosion, one even worse than the first, so he carried Noah and Marin to a clear patch about thirty yards from the train.

The November wind was bitter cold, but his lungs were burning from the exertion. So were the muscles in his arms and legs. He had to fight to hold on to his breath. The air held the sickening smell of things that were never meant to be burned.

He lay Marin and Noah down on the dried winter grass beside him, but Noah obviously intended to be with Lucky. He clamped his chubby little arms around Lucky’s neck and held on, gripping him in a vise.

“You’re okay,” Lucky murmured. And because he didn’t know what else to say, he repeated it.

To protect Noah from the wind and cold, Lucky tucked him inside his leather jacket and zipped it up as far as he could. Noah didn’t protest. But he did lookup at him, questioning him with tearfilled eyes. That look, those tears broke Lucky’s heart. It was a look that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

“Your mom’s going to be all right,” Lucky whispered.

He prayed that was true.

Lucky pulled Marin closer so his body heat would keep her warm, and used his hand and shirt sleeve as a compress. He applied some gentle pressure against her injured head, hoping it would slow the bleeding. She didn’t move when he touched her, not even a twitch.

He heard the first wail of ambulance sirens. Already close. Thankfully, they were just on the outskirts of Austin so the response time would be quick. The fire-fighters wouldn’t be far behind. Lucky knew the drill. They’d set up a triage system, and the passengers with the most severe, but treatable injuries would be seen first. That meant Marin. She’d get the medical attention she needed.

“You’re going to stay alive, Marin,” Lucky ordered. “You hear me? Stay alive. The medics are on the way. Listen to the sirens. Listen! They’re getting closer. They’ll be here in just a few minutes.”

Noah volleyed uncertain glances between Lucky and his mother. He stuck out his quivering bottom lip. For a moment Lucky thought the little boy might burst into tears again, but he didn’t. Maybe the shock and adrenaline caught up with him, because even though his eyes watered, he stuck his thumb in his mouth and snuggled against Lucky.

It wasn’t a sensation Lucky had counted on.

But it was a damn powerful one.

What was left of his breath vanished, and feelings went through him that he’d never experienced. Feelings he couldn’t even identify except for the fact that they brought out every protective instinct in his body.

“What are your injuries?” Lucky heard someone shout. He looked up and saw a pair of medics racing toward him. They weren’t alone. More were running toward some of the other passengers.

“We’re not hurt. But she is,” Lucky said pulling back his hand from Marin’s injured head.

The younger of the two, a dark-haired woman, didn’t take Lucky’s word about not being injured. She began to examine Noah and him. Noah whined and tried to bat herhands away when she checked his pupils. The other medic, a fortysomething Hispanic man, went to work on Marin.

“She’s Code Yellow,” the medic barked to his partner. “Head trauma.”

That started a flurry of activity, and the woman yelled for a stretcher.

Code Yellow. Marin’s condition was urgent, but she was likely to survive.

“I need your name,” the female medic insisted, forcing his attention back to her. “And the child’s.”

Lucky’s stomach clenched.

It was a simple request. And it was standard operating procedure for triage processing. But Lucky knew it was only the beginning of lots of questions. If he answered some of those questions, especially the part about Noah being a near stranger, they’d take the little boy right out of his arms, and the authorities would hold on to him until they could contact the next of kin.

The very thing that Marin didn’t want to happen.

Because her parents and her brother, Dexter, were Noah’s next of kin.

Some choice.

As if he understood what was going on, Noah looked up at him with those big blue-green eyes. There were no questions. No doubts. Not even a whimper.

But there was trust. Complete, unconditional trust.

Noah’s eyelids fluttered down, his thumb went back in his mouth, and he rested his cheek against Lucky’s heart.

Oh, man.

It seemed like some symbolic gesture, but it probably had more to do with the kid’s sheer exhaustion than anything else. Still, Lucky couldn’t push it aside. Nor could he push aside what Marin had asked of him when they’d been trying to stay alive.

If I don’t make it, get Noah out of here. Protect him.

And in that crazy life-or-death moment, Lucky had promised her that he would do just that.

It was a promise he’d keep.

“Sir,” the medic prompted. “I need you to tell me the child’s name.”

It took Lucky a moment to say anything. “I’m Randall Davidson. This is my son, Noah,” he lied. He tipped his head toward Marin. “And she’s my fiancé, Marin Sheppard.”