Chapter One
She could do this.
Courtney Meadows held back a yawn and snuck down the winding grand staircase of the mausoleum she had called home for the past year and five months. A place she would have stayed in if she hadn’t overhead her in-laws plotting against her.
After her husband, Jet, died while on duty as a firefighter, Muriel and Robert Meadows had insisted she continued to live with them. Their house was considered a landmark in Druid Hills, Georgia, and with nine bedrooms and twelve bathrooms on the property, there was more than enough room for them to spread out. At least that had been Jet’s response when Courtney suggested they get a two-bedroom apartment or purchase a condo since they were newlyweds instead of living with his parents. He reasoned he wouldn’t be worried about her while he was at work since his parents would be there to care for her.
As if she needed looking after. Courtney and her sister, Kaylin, had been taking care of themselves since they were children growing up together in foster care.
Remembering the single area of contention between her and Jet, Courtney gritted her teeth. He hadn’t wanted her to continue working as a mere waitress. Never mind that he had met her while she was busing tables and asked her out. They had married within eight weeks.
Since Jet lived with his parents, he banked most of his money, so Courtney could be a stay-at-home mom. When he broached the idea, Courtney suggested they wait on children and take a year to continue to get to know each other. But he had been insistent and here she was. Eight months pregnant.
Alone.
Sort of.
She yawned again and patted her round stomach, acknowledging her constant companion. A son. A son with a pair of interfering grandparents.
Courtney had been in their floor-to-ceiling library earlier that day curled up behind the chaise longue, reading a book when Robert and Muriel entered the study. As she was about to show her face, she heard Muriel utter her name in a condescending tone. Courtney then tucked her legs close to her chest so she could listen in.
Of course, her phone began to vibrate from the pocket of her biking shorts. Courtney had pressed the ignore button and held her breath for a tense second, just knowing she would be discovered. But they continued their conversation.
Muriel stood a few feet away from her. “How long do I have to smile in Courtney’s face like it isn’t her fault that Jet died?”
Courtney covered her mouth to keep from gasping. And responding. And making them aware of her presence. She squeezed her legs tight, her pulse escalating. She yearned to confront them, but she made herself stay absolutely still.
Robert poured himself a drink. “Lower your voice, dear. Our lawyer said the easiest way to get her to sign the custody papers is to play nice.”
“I can’t wait. Courtney isn’t ready to be anybody’s mom. She can barely take care of herself.” Muriel snorted. “I can’t wait to redecorate Ansel’s room.”
Courtney fought the urge to lash out. This was the same woman who had gushed to her that very morning how much she loved the gray walls and elephant theme. Courtney had spent hours choosing the furnishings and preparing the space for her son, Jayson—not Ansel.
“All in due time, dear.”
Courtney folded her lips inside her mouth to keep from screaming at the calm certainty in Robert’s voice. Like it was a foregone conclusion that they would be raising her child. Not as long as she was alive and breathing.
Muriel narrowed her eyes. “It’s a pity we can’t declare her unfit.”
Robert rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Jet did say her mother had a mental illness…”
Hot tears sprung and rolled down her cheeks. She had told Jet that in confidence. Her mother had suffered from bipolar disorder and had self-medicated with illegal drugs, which was how Courtney and her older sister, Kaylin, had ended up in foster care at six and seven years old. The girls had learned to rely on no one but each other. And Courtney had remained independent until she had fallen in love with a dashing firefighter the color of midnight.
Never again would she allow herself to be swept off her feet by a man. Especially one in uniform.
Robert held out his arm. “Let me see what Todd thinks about that.” Todd Lansing was the family attorney and friend.
With a nod, Muriel wrapped her arm around her husband. Courtney watched them depart the room.
The door clicked softly.
From within, panic rang loudly.
Uncurling herself, Courtney pulled out her cell phone to check her personal bank account. She had kept it open against Jet’s wishes. Good thing too, because she was going to have to get out of this place. In the early morning. Because even though his parents had been generous, covering all her expenses, they hadn’t given her cash. Jet hadn’t gotten around to declaring her as his beneficiary, so Todd was working on getting all that straightened out through the courts.
Or so he said. Holding on to the chaise longue, Courtney wobbled to her feet.
Todd was on the Meadowses’ payroll. And if she were being honest, Courtney had been too grief-stricken to pay attention. It had taken every ounce of strength she had to get out of bed, to eat so that her baby had the necessary sustenance to survive. As long as Jet’s son was taken care of, Courtney hadn’t been concerned about anything else.
She swallowed. She should have been.
Blinking away her tears, Courtney focused on the small screen. She had $237.41. If she took food from the pantry and used rest stops instead of a hotel, that should be more than enough to take her from Druid Hills, Georgia, to where Kaylin lived in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. Her sister worked on a cruise ship and was away at sea, but Courtney knew where Kaylin kept a spare key.
All through dinner that evening, it took all her self-control not to show her hurt. Not to show how disgusted she was at their false concern. But she had done it. She had forced herself to eat a small portion of her lasagna, garden salad and garlic bread, nodding and smiling like she was clueless. She had even insisted that she take a picture with her in-laws under the guise that it was for her baby album. Courtney wanted to have photos to share with Jayson when he was an adult. He deserved to know his background, and she wouldn’t hold that information from him once he was old enough to understand. But that was years away. Right now, she had to focus on the day-to-day. Her and her baby’s survival.
After dinner, Courtney had packed a lunch bag and stuffed a small duffle bag with a few outfits along with her laptop. Then she had donned a pair of black jeans, T-shirt and sneakers. Tucking her curls under a cap, Courtney waited until it was close to four in the morning, setting the alarm on her phone as a backup. Robert was a night owl. She wanted to be sure he was in bed before exiting this place for good.
For a split second, now standing in the grand foyer, cell phone in hand, Courtney hesitated. She was close to the end of her term, and her eyelids were heavy with sleep. Maybe she should wait until she delivered before traveling. Then she stiffened. She wouldn’t put it pass the Meadowses to take her baby while she recuperated from giving birth. They had strong political clout, and to put it simply, she couldn’t trust them not to do something underhanded.
No, it was best if she left for Florida in the wee hours of the morning. When they were sleeping. By the time they awakened, she would be long gone.
Feeling a twinge of guilt, she placed a hand over her pounding heart. Regardless of their nefarious intentions, the Meadowses had lost their only child. Courtney knew they cared about their grandchild. It would gut them to be excluded from Jayson’s life. But these were the same people who had no qualms about snatching him away from his own biological mother.
She squared her shoulders and ambled toward the alarm by the front door. Her sneakers made squeaking sounds on the marble floor. With a slight tremor in her hands, she rested her cell on the entry table, keyed in the code and opened the front door, tensing at the chime. Slipping outside, she locked the door behind her and wiped her brow.
Whew.
The crickets and cicadas’ night song this first week of June was a crescendo in her ears. Remembering the tiny frogs that liked to hang like a garland on the side of the house, Courtney cringed, hunched her shoulders and trotted down the three front steps before dashing into the dark to the right. The muggy summer morning made her crave the cool central air of the house behind her.
Entering the garage, she beelined for her twenty-year-old sedan nestled in the corner, an eyesore compared to the five other premium vehicles inside. Robert had insisted she drive the Range Rover, and Courtney was glad she had begged them not to junk her trusty Kia. Despite the dings and scratches, it had been her ride for five years, her second vehicle now at thirty-one and the first she had paid for with her own money. Unlocking the passenger door, she placed her duffle and lunch bag on the seat before darting to the driver side.
She adjusted her seat to accommodate her expanded tummy and started up the car. She tossed her cap off her head, her tendrils damp against her face, then took a moment to bask in the blast of the air conditioner before putting the car into gear.
Keeping the headlights off, Courtney crept down the gravel on the driveway, her pace slow, her heart thumping with the precision of a drummer boy. As soon as she turned out of their property, Courtney turned on the lights and accelerated.
Pumping her fists, she yelled, “We did it, Jayson!” A fierce kick made her stomach jump, and Courtney smiled. Patting her stomach, she said, “You feel it too, little guy, don’t you? Freedom. Wait until you’re out of there. Then we’re really going to celebrate.”
With each mile, her worries melted away like an ice pop in the sun. Her neck muscles relaxed, and the tension oozed from her body. A tension she must have been carrying around for the past seven months following Jet’s death. She hadn’t realized how constricted she had been. How…constrained. Courtney straightened, anticipation injecting energy into her being. She was now wide awake. She couldn’t wait for the sunrise, for the first glimpse of a new day, a new beginning. A new life with her son.
Chapter Two
On days like today, Brigg Harrington reminded himself he had become a police officer to help other youths as he had been helped as a teen. But he hadn’t been like these modern teens making bomb threats at the middle school near the ending of the school year. Brigg had been pulled from his post as a school resource officer at Love Creek High to assist with evacuating the nervous gaggle of students and teachers during the chaotic lunch hour. Thankfully, his captain had allocated the task of easing the minds of the worried parents to the superintendent and town mayor while dealing with the vicious Florida heat. The sun’s rays had seared his exposed skin with laser-like precision, and he regretted not wearing sunscreen.
Brigg had had to change out his wet, sweat-stained uniform for a clean one before working the rest of his shift doing traffic duty on highway patrol.
Exhaustion cloaked his body like a warm blanket. He took a sip of coffee, needing a shot of caffeine, although his fatigue was more mental than physical. Three thirteen-year-olds had been arrested. Brigg hadn’t relished putting handcuffs on their wrists and reading them their Miranda rights. It was a part of the job, but his heart had constricted when seeing the fear in the young men’s eyes and their tear-streaked faces. He wished he could have given them a stern warning, but the boys had actually placed two homemade bombs in the bathroom stalls as retaliation against their bullies. His stomach knotted remembering the change in the atmosphere when it had become evident this was no harmless prank. Brigg had been stupefied. He knew those boys and their families, had seen them waddling about in Pampers under the town sprinklers when they were toddlers, so he was beyond flabbergasted at their actions. The most Brigg had done during his senior year in high school was steal candy and chips from one of the two quick-stop stores in Love Creek, Florida. And that had been a major to-do.
The shop owner had called Brigg’s father, Patrick Harrington, plus there had been a police officer in the next aisle. A police officer who fortunately decided to mentor instead of punish. Beckett Sparks was almost a second father to him, a work father, because Patrick Harrington didn’t need a substitute. He was among the best there was.
Lightning flashed, followed by a crack of thunder and then heavy plops of rain. Within seconds, Brigg was in the middle of a downpour. He wasn’t worried though. Within in a matter of minutes, the rain could end and they could have clear blue skies. That was Florida weather for you. Squinting up at the skies, though, Brigg saw huge dark clouds. With all the commotion earlier in the day, he hadn’t thought to check the weather. Pulling up the weather app on his phone, Brigg’s eyes went wide. There was a tropical storm farther out, and most of the area was under a tornado watch. According to the app, it could be upgraded to a hurricane. June heralded the beginning of the Hurricane season, so it was a definite possibility. But he chose to focus on the key words: could be.
He looked at the time and exhaled. Thirty minutes to go before the end of his shift at 6:00 p.m. He had felt every hour of this ten-hour workday.
Settling into the leather of his patrol vehicle, Brigg rubbed his jaw and yawned. Sleep was a siren fanning at his eyes. Twenty-eight minutes. Then he was off for three days. Seventy-two glorious hours of just him and three of his seven brothers—Caleb, Drake and Ethan—fishing and cutting it up on Hawk’s yacht.
Brigg hoped the weather turned and the weekend would bring nothing but sunshine. He could already smell the scent of the sea-foam, feel the lull of the vessel and see the shoals of fish while he and his brothers engaged in some good-natured ribbing.
No women allowed.
It was supposed to be all seven of them lounging about, but two of his older brothers, Lynx and Axel, had honey-do lists now that one was married and one was engaged. Both had bowed out. Then Hawk, his eldest brother and NFL quarterback, started seeing someone and dropped out. The relationship was new and fresh, which meant Hawk was spending all his spare time with Stacey. But Hawk had left the keys, and his place would be stocked and staffed with a chef and housekeeping. Brigg smoothed his pants leg. It wouldn’t be the same without all seven of them though. Unlike Lynx or Axel, Brigg wasn’t getting married or engaged or doing long-term relationships like Hawk. As far as he was concerned, love was for suckers and he didn’t eat lollipops. Besides, he thoroughly enjoyed being a serial dater. When he had time to date.
Which was almost never.
He was too tired. Yep, at the ripe old age of thirty, Brigg was tired of the dating scene. Or rather, the pretense. Because there were women out there who only cared about the number of zeroes in his bank account, his penis size and how long they could milk both. Ask him how he knew. That’s why he had stopped swiping right or left and had deleted the myriad dating apps. He couldn’t be bothered anymore.
If he had to describe himself, he would say he was a no-nonsense by-the-book kind of guy. He liked his own company, though he had entered the world with a womb-mate. His fraternal twin, Caleb, lived nearby, and though they spent time together, growing up in a house with all those siblings made Brigg crave his solitude. That’s why he didn’t mind the hours he spent in a vehicle waiting for the unsuspecting speeding motorist.
Swiveling the mount to bring his laptop closer, Brigg pulled up his recorded statements from some of the other students at the middle school. After rereading them, Brigg submitted his paperwork, along with the digital photos he had taken while on the scene. There would be hundreds of others from other officers, but Brigg knew the importance of a single photo and a different angle. During his nine years on the force, he had seen where a tiny piece of evidence had acquitted or condemned. Plus, though tedious, it was good police work. He tapped the steering wheel.
Twelve minutes. Plus, the rain abated somewhat.
Just as he slammed the lid of the laptop, a call came in, and he was quick to answer when he saw who was on the line.
“Hello, Cap,” he said, greeting his former mentor, now captain. He rarely called him by his first name, though Beckett had urged him to do so many times.
“Just calling to check on you. Don’t know if you heard, but in the next town over, a young woman parked on the side of the road was hit by a semi. She’s in critical care at Love Creek Hospital. That’s how we heard about it.”
“No. I didn’t hear. Is she…?”
“It’s out of our hands, now.” Beckett’s voice sounded grim. “Be careful out there.”
Brigg’s heart squeezed when thinking of that woman’s family. “Thanks for looking out for me, sir. With this weather, I may not be going anywhere. If so, I’ll be working.”
“All right, but you’re still taking that vacation when this all dies down. And Tara and Violet are looking forward to having you at dinner next week.” It had been months since Brigg had taken time off. His captain emphasized that an odd day here and there didn’t count and that it was important for him to relax and recoup.
“I will.”
Brigg looked at his watch and smiled. Just as he started up the truck, a burgundy sedan shot past. He clocked it at seventeen miles above the speed limit. The last ten minutes of his shift too. Of course it wouldn’t go any other way. He sighed and moved to turn on the patrol lights when he heard a loud bang, and the unmistakable squeal of the tires.
Great. His seventy-two hours off would be about sixty-eight once he was finished here. That’s if he was lucky.
He reminded himself his profession wasn’t just about making arrests or giving citations but included helping someone stranded on the side of the road during hurricane season. Even if that person had been going forty-two in a twenty-five-mile-per-hour zone. Brigg drove the few feet to where the vehicle had stopped, grabbed his raincoat and jumped out of his SUV right into deep mud.
A huge crack of thunder was accompanied by even more rain.
With a grunt, he wiped his boots and stomped over the car. The headlights were on, and the wipers swished back and forth, furiously fighting the torrent and failing. Brigg stood off to the side and rapped on the window careful to avoid the splatter of water from the wipers. The window rolled down with slow precision. He squared his shoulders and looked into the eyes of one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen.
Lightning bolt.
She had high cheekbones, a nose as cute as a button, and her skin appeared smooth and soft like cocoa butter. She had hair the color of copper stuffed under a baseball cap and a pair of hazel eyes framed with long lashes. But those pouty lips distracted him. They looked inviting and…kissable.
For a second, Brigg was speechless. Her mouth was slightly ajar. Brigg took in her spiked lashes, wet from the rain or from crying? Immediately, he prayed it was because of the rain. That he could handle. Then her expression changed to quizzical while he reigned in thoughts akin to popcorn popping around in his brain.
“Do you want my license and registration?” she asked, her voice sultry and low. Now she looked at him like he was addlebrained.
Brigg bent so she could hear him over the rain. Water from the wipers whipped him across the face, and he saw her cover her mouth, her pupils wide. The abrupt onslaught shocked him back to his senses. Jumping back, he folded his arms and yelled. “Turn off the windshield wipers.”
With a jerky nod, she complied. “Sorry.” He could see her clenching her cheeks to keep from laughing. Normally, Brigg would crack up at his misfortune, but he didn’t find his internal reaction to her amusing. If he had to put a name to it, he would call it attraction, but his job superseded this unexpected case of…whimsy.
Frowning, Brigg stuck out his hand. “License and registration.” Once she handed them to him, he gestured for her to wait, though it was evident she wasn’t going anywhere, and stomped back to his vehicle.
Punching in her information in his laptop, Brigg waited for the results. He held her license in his palm. Her name was Courtney. Nice solid normal name. His eyes slid back to the screen, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Good to know he hadn’t been jolted by a convict or serial killer.
Then he raised an eyebrow. Her registration had lapsed over six months ago. That meant she had driven all the way from Druid Hills, Georgia, with expired tags. Brigg sighed. Technically, this was a misdemeanor, which could be sixty days in jail, plus a five-hundred-dollar fine. A quick scan showed she had no prior arrests or violations, so he decided to write her ticket instead. He opened the door to his vehicle.
Thankfully, the rain had eased to mere sprinkles and the sun peeked through the clouds. Since he wasn’t sure how long that reprieve would last, Brigg hurried back to her car. That’s when he saw the steam coming up from the hood. That’s right. On top of having to cite her for improper registration, Brigg would have to help sort out her defunct vehicle. He had hoped the loud bang had been the result of a flat tire, but it was evident there was much more going on. In weather like this, it could be hours before a tow truck arrived. For a brief second, he considered calling backup, but his replacement was a rookie.
He’d better handle this himself.
As a result, when Brigg’s eyes met hers a second time, the only thing his brain registered was annoyance. Deep annoyance.
Chapter Three
It was bad enough he had an imposing large frame, but now he was glaring at her as if she was an irritant. Courtney hurried to roll down her window.
“Your registration lapsed months ago,” he said, handing her the slip of paper. Their fingers connected and she felt a minor electrical shock. Pulling her hand away, Courtney refused to look at the ticket, knowing it had an astronomical fine she had no idea how she would pay. In her defense, she hadn’t had cause to renew her tags. She had been driven anywhere she needed to go. He cocked his head. “Now, what’s going on with your car?”
There he was pinning those deep chocolate brown eyes on her again. For some reason that got her heart racing.
Was he staring at her like he would anyone else, or was he staring at her vitiligo? She had similar depigmentation of skin on each side of her face, on her arms and hands. That was the question Courtney pondered the entire time the police officer spent in his vehicle running her license and tags. That and the fact that he was particularly good-looking, with skin the hue of sepia, a squared jaw and strong cheekbones. The officer had a tight lineup and fade with tight black, shiny coils.
“I don’t know…” Her lips quivered. Goodness, she knew her hormones would have her balling in seconds if she didn’t take deep breaths. In two, three, four. Out two, three, four.
“Is it the alternator? Or the pump?” he asked.
“One minute it was fine and then…” She gulped. A fat tear drop began its descent and was promptly joined by others. Her shoulders shook. There was no stopping the flow. So she gave in, covered her face with her hands and had herself a good ugly cry.
She heard the officer say, “Ma’am, please don’t cry,” which of course made her wail even harder. She tilted her head to face him.
“I—I can’t help it,” she hiccupped. “Believe me, I would stop if I could. It’s just that…”
He stalked toward his vehicle, and Courtney tried to reign in her emotions to no avail. All the stress of the past day was pouring as hard as the rain had been moments earlier. The officer returned with a handful of tissues. Thanking him, she stared straight ahead and wiped her face. If she looked at him and saw any level of sympathy, that might lead to an even greater crying fest. She hated having anyone feel sorry for her. But she sure did feel sorry for herself.
“Is there someone you can call?” he asked once her tears subsided.
“N-no. I forgot my cell phone.” Courtney had discovered that fact hours later. Even now, she could picture the device resting on the desk by the front door. She had put it there to enter the security code and, in her haste, hadn’t slipped it in her purse. Berating herself for that stupid mistake, Courtney had gripped the wheel and pressed down on the gas, willing herself not to turn around but to keep pressing forward.
He gave her a speculative glance. “Where is it?”
Disliking the suspicious tone, she answered the question through gritted teeth. “Back in Georgia.” Then, because she couldn’t hold her sass, she said, “Forgetting a phone isn’t a crime. It’s a common mistake.”
For a second, his jaw jutted, but he looked at his watch. “I’m almost off the clock, but I can call you a tow truck. You’re only about five miles from town, and I think I can convince Lenny to come get you.”
She released a shaky breath. “I don’t have any money for repairs.”
Her eyes misted as the enormity of her situation sunk in. She was stranded with less than twenty dollars and no means of communication. Her heart began to pound. Most of the funds she had carried had been used to fuel this gas-guzzler. That had been an unexpected expense. Come to think of it, that should have tipped her off that something was wrong with her vehicle. Not that it would have changed her desperate escape plan.
Her stomach rumbled. And she was hungry, having eaten the remainder of her snacks an hour ago.
The officer cleared his throat. “What about a credit card?” She gave him her attention, noting the name on his badge on that broad chest read, Brigg Harrington. Her pride was as flat as the puddles in front of her. She had several credit cards. However, the Meadowses had canceled them, along with her phone.
When she realized she left her phone, she had attempted to get another cheaper model, and that’s when she had learned her old number was no longer in service. Then she experienced an embarrassment at the store when she inserted the credit card to buy a new cell phone. At least she’d had enough in her own account to fill her tank for the last time. Pity that the car was now out of commission. Permanently.
“That’s not an option for me right now.” Even if she had to walk to Fort Lauderdale—okay, now was not the time for that kind of a blanket statement. She couldn’t walk any serious distance in her condition. Especially since she was considered high risk, even though she was only thirty-one.
He bunched his fists and lifted his eyes upward. She could feel the mixture of impatience and disbelief wafting from his persona. “Who travels like this in this day and time? And am I really supposed to believe that you have no one. No one that you can call?” She kept silent because his tone suggested he was releasing his frustration and not expecting an answer. Pointing at her, he commanded, “Wait here,” and stormed off.
It’s not like she could go anywhere. She placed her tongue between her teeth to keep from saying that to him. Somehow, she doubted he would welcome her sense of humor.
Still, she felt horrible she was keeping him from ending his shift on time. Yet, it wasn’t like she had planned this. She rubbed her tummy. She hadn’t planned any of the events of her life for the past year. Peering in the rearview, Courtney could see he was on his phone, most likely radioing for assistance.
It was now dark, and any second, the rain could start pouring again. Courtney was stuck, and she had no idea what to do. Taking off her cap, she allowed her hair to fall to her shoulders, wiping her now sweaty brow. She really wanted to step out of the vehicle but wasn’t sure if the cop would want her to do that.
And she wasn’t about to take any chances without any witnesses around. Not that he gave off a bad vibe or anything. Still.
The humid Florida weather made the air stifling and dense. Reaching in the back seat for her bag, she pulled out a maternity tank top, then pushed her seat back to swap her T-shirt damp from sweat and tears with the tank top. That’s when she noticed him standing there with his arms folded showing off well-shaped biceps. Waiting or watching? She couldn’t be sure.
A blush crept up her body. “I was hot,” she explained, noting the rain had petered off again,
His tone remained professional. “The tow truck will be here soon. I’ll wait with you until it comes.”
“Just impound it. I can’t afford to fix it.”
He dipped his chin. “Lenny will work out something. Don’t worry about that now. The more pressing thing is you need a place to stay. There’s a town shelter, but it’s late, and with the weather, I can almost guarantee that it’s at capacity.”
Then why suggest it? Again, she kept that thought to herself. His matter-of-fact tone grated her nerves. “Officer, maybe you can cancel the tow truck and I can stay here in my car?” Even as she spoke the words, she knew that wasn’t feasible.
“That’s not safe. Your car is a dark color and there are no streetlights. Parked as you are, you could get hit and seriously injured by a passing truck or car.” He gestured for her to come out of the vehicle. “We can try the next town over to see if they have boarding for the night.” His mannerisms suggested he couldn’t wait to be rid of her.
Resigned, she stuffed her hair back under her cap, snatched her bag then looked around for the baby bag. An image of the bag she had packed since month five resting by her bedroom door came into her mind. She groaned. She had meant to take it on her way out the door, but it was obvious she had forgotten. She sighed. Pregnancy brain was real. She gathered her other meager belongings and pushed the door open, giving it the usual shove. Then holding on to the door frame, she carefully maneuvered herself out of the sedan.
The cop’s eyes bulged. He pointed a finger and sputtered in an accusatory tone. “You’re pregnant?”
“Yep,” she quipped, enjoying seeing the unflappable man appear caught off guard. “Good to see your observational skills are on par.” Oh boy, her sarcasm and wit tended to go in overdrive when she was scared or hungry or broke. Didn’t take much to loosen her tongue. She needed to dial it back though, considering this man was her source of rescue.
“How far along are you?”
“I’m eight months.”
“Yet, you would have had me leave you here on the side of the road?”
Frustrated, she flailed her arms. “I don’t know what else to do. I’ve been driving for hours, and if this piece of crap had just held out for a little longer, I would have been in Fort Lauderdale with my sister.” Touching the car, she said, “I’m sorry. You’re not crap. I’m just frustrated.”
An eyebrow rose. “I thought you said you had no one.”
“Nothing gets by you, eh?” she shot back. “Well, for your information, I didn’t lie. My sister works for a cruise ship, and I’ve got about fourteen days or so before she returns.”
He studied her for a beat before calling the town shelter. Hearing they had no space, he then called two others in two nearby towns. All stated he should try tomorrow. He pressed his lips together and ran a hand over his fade before groaning.
There was a crack of thunder. She lifted her head, and a plop of rain landed on her nose. Another drop hit her forehead.
Placing his hands on both of his hips, he declared. “You can stay with me. Just for tonight.” He sounded ungracious making that generous offer, and for a second, Courtney was tempted to say no.
“Don’t do me any favors, sir.”
“Don’t give me any sass, ma’am.” Her mouth dropped. He was quick on the comeback. She would have laughed if her situation wasn’t so sorry. The rain began to come down, soaking her shirt and hair. “Get in my truck,” he said in a much milder tone.
With a nod, she waded through the puddle, her sneakers dipping into mud. She opened the passenger door and dropped her belongings on the floor. No way was she riding in the rear. The last time Courtney had been inside a police vehicle, it had been with her sister as they were being taken away from their mother. Fighting back that terrible memory, Courtney climbed up into the front seat, eyeing him, daring him to tell her she couldn’t.
Fortunately for him—and her—he didn’t say a word.
Except from TWENTY-EIGHT DATES by Michelle Lindo-Rice. This material is protected by copyright.
Seven Brides for Seven Brothers
Book 1: Rivals at Love Creek
Book 2: Cinderella's Last Stand
Book 3: Twenty-Eight Dates
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