Protecting What’s Mine: A Small Town Love Story

by Score, Lucy

  He held his glass up to Mack’s. “Congratulations.”

  “Chief Reed here saved two lives last night,” Mack countered.

  “Well, don’t I just have myself a bar full of heroes today?” Sophie said cheerfully.

  “All in a day’s work, little lady,” Linc said with an exaggerated wink.

  But it was. Their job was to preserve life. And now, there were three souls that would live to see the weekend. It gave Mack a little tingle of satisfaction. Of pride.

  She’d saved lives before. Many of them. But proximity made this one different. She’d see Dalton at the grocery store or on the ball field. She’d run into his parents at the Italian place. And they’d all be connected. Forever.

  Linc, not even trying to be subtle about it, dragged her stool closer. Positioning it and her between his muscular thighs.

  “You look happy,” he said.

  She gave a shrug and picked up her beer. “It was a good day.”

  “And last night?”

  She playfully gave him a scan that started at those pretty blue eyes and traveled south to the distinctive bulge in his jeans. “Last night was pretty okay, too.”

  He pinched her, and she laughed.

  There was a small scrape on his jawline. “What happened here?” she asked, tapping a finger next to the abrasion. “You didn’t have that last night.” Her inner thighs would have noticed it.

  He captured her hand in his. “A manly injury incurred from being manly.”

  “Uh-huh. You could have just said you fell off the toilet,” she teased.

  “You’re beautiful when you’re hilarious.”

  “So, where’s our girl?” she asked, changing the subject.

  “Sunny is entertaining my sister Rebecca’s family tonight. She has a little crush on my brother-in-law.”

  “She has a crush on everyone.”

  “Love is love, Dreamy.”

  The door to the bar opened, and a blue-collar crew flush with fresh paychecks ambled in, talking shit and ribbing each other.

  They were followed by a thirsty group of dental hygienists.

  The jukebox song clunked off and the next started.

  Tuesday and Freida whooped and jumped off their stools at the first twangy bars of the song.

  “Come on, Dr. Mack! Let’s dance,” Tuesday said, grabbing Mack’s wrists and pulling.

  “What the hell is this?” she asked as they dragged her toward the space in front of the empty stage that apparently served as a dance floor.

  “‘Down to the Honkytonk!’ Dare you to not love it,” Freida said.

  “What’s a Honkytonk?”

  “Just listen to the song and follow us,” Tuesday insisted firmly.

  The song had caught the attention of a few of the other patrons.

  More joined them, lining up on the wood floor facing the door.

  “I only have one good foot,” Mack reminded them.

  Linc set his beer down on the bar and joined her. “Just follow my lead, doc.”

  “You dance?”

  But her question and his answer were lost in a coordinated heel stomp. And all questions were gone as Mack tried to mimic the line’s shuffle forward.

  Tuesday called out the steps—at least that’s what Mack assumed a step pivot cross and a turning jazz box were—and the small crowd followed.

  It was a catchy song, Mack had to admit when everyone around started singing along.

  Linc made whatever this line dance was look sexy as hell. Thumbs hooked into his front pockets, his scarred boots moving to the beat.

  Sophie bopped out from behind the bar, joined by one of the cooks from the kitchen, and seamlessly jumped into the front line.

  Mack considered it a victory when she managed to clap along with everyone else at the appropriate moment.

  When the song came to the line about Sheila and the effects of tequila, the entire bar hooted, including the four firefighters who’d just walked in.

  By the end of the song, there wasn’t an inch left on the dance floor, and there was a very patient three-deep line at the bar.

  Sophie hustled off to man the bar. “Everyone gets a discount if your first drink is a draft,” she yelled.

  When Mack made a move to head back to the bar, Linc stopped her with a hand on her arm.

  “One more,” he insisted.

  “One more what?”

  “Dance.”

  The song was slow, and Mack was relieved that all she had to do was step into Linc’s arms. There was no complicated choreography here. Just an appreciation of the fine male form that was here to celebrate with her. Two bodies that were getting acquainted. Simple. Sweet.

  She caught a whiff of something manly.

  “You smell like sawdust and…” She leaned in and took another whiff. “Paint?”

  “Imagine that,” he said, spinning her out slowly and then drawing her back. “How’s your ankle holding up?”

  “Not gonna lie, I don’t think I’d be any better at that line dancing with two good feet.”

  “I like just about everything about you, Dreamy.”

  She bit her lip coyly. She couldn’t help herself. “I kinda like you, too, Hotshot.”

  “My place tonight?” he asked huskily.

  “Yeah.”

  He grinned. “Good. My bed’s bigger.”

  He pushed her out again. And every time he pulled her back into his arms, she felt the flutter in her belly. It felt a little something like joy.

  Russell appeared next to her with a stunning woman on his arm who looked fancy even in jeans and a cashmere sweater.

  “Dr. O’Neil, my wife, Denise. Denise, Mackenzie O’Neil.”

  “I’ve heard a lot,” Denise said with a warm smile. She offered a hand with a large, tasteful diamond on it.

  “I can only imagine,” Mack said, shaking her hand.

  “Chief Reed, how’s our daughter doing under your care?” Denise asked. There was nothing veiled about the question. Her message was clear: Take care of my daughter. Or else.

  “Skyler is a great addition to the department. Cool under pressure,” Linc said.

  Denise nudged her husband. “She gets that from me.”

  “Although her rookie toilet scrubbing skills leave something to be desired.”

  “And she gets that from me,” Russell said.

  “We’ll talk later,” Denise promised. “First, I’m going to dance with this handsome doctor.”

  The Robinsons moved off to their own corner of the dance floor, and Mack was once again in Linc’s arms. The song was about not being fooled by love songs and the trappings of romance. She could relate.

  She looked up, found Linc watching her. There was a softness in his eyes that belayed the confident smirk that lived on his talented lips.

  Her knees gave out. Just a bit. And only because she’d somehow forgotten how to keep her joints stable, she told herself.

  “Need a break?” he asked, misreading her embarrassing half-swoon as injury-related.

  “Yes.” And another beer.

  32

  The mood was festive in Remo’s as if everyone were celebrating something that night. Linc’s crew filled him in on their calls. Calls as in multiple.

  They’d responded to a missing person report, a toddler locked in a car, and a garden shed fire that had spread to a farmer’s dry pasture. All three calls were successful. And, just like that, his department’s drought was officially over.

  He fired off a text to Aldo when Mrs. Moretta stormed the bar with another new boyfriend. He was a tall, black man with shoulders so broad Linc wondered if his sport coat was tailor-made. “He played for the Steelers in the 80s,” Mrs. Moretta bellowed to anyone who would listen.

  Linc: Your mama’s here with your new daddy.

  Aldo: He’s too good for her. I’m going to ask him to adopt me when he comes to his senses and runs screaming back to Pittsburgh.

  Georgia Rae, requisite small-town gossip, was cel
ebrating the birth of her seventh grandchild and quizzed both Linc and Mack for a good twenty minutes on their most recent heroics. He could tell Mack was thanking the baby Jesus for HIPAA laws that protected her from most of the inquisition.

  The appetizers were devoured, and actual dinners were ordered. Mack switched from beer to water, and Linc did the same. They debated who was going to be more hungover the following day: Tuesday or Linc’s lieutenant, Zane Jones. The guy brewed his own beer but had been goaded into switching over to shots of Fireball with Tuesday.

  “Good thing neither of them work tomorrow,” Mack pointed out.

  “We’ll still drive an engine past his apartment and blow the sirens,” Linc told her cheerfully.

  “Mean.”

  “But funny.”

  Sheriff Ty, out of uniform, meandered through the door around eight and laid a baby-making kiss on Sophie when she leaned across the bar to greet him.

  “Evening,” Ty said to Linc and Mack once his tongue was back in his own mouth.

  “Sheriff,” Mack said.

  “We’re filing charges tomorrow,” Ty said, cutting to the chase. “Just givin’ y’all a heads up.”

  “Appreciate it.”

  “If anyone makes their displeasure known, you tell me.”

  “Will do.”

  Linc gave Ty a not-so-subtle nod in the direction of the men’s room and then excused himself.

  Ty met him in front of the urinals, leaving a respectable amount of space between them.

  “You expecting trouble?” Linc asked, unzipping his jeans and trying not to piss on himself with his half hard-on thanks to those big green eyes and smart mouth at the bar.

  Ty sighed. “I wouldn’t put it past them. The Kershes aren’t known for being logical or taking responsibility for themselves.”

  “You just expecting Mack and that girl’s family to fend for themselves then?”

  Ty broke urinal man code to give him an “are you stupid?” look. “I am not. And fuck you for thinking that I would. I’ve got regular patrols going past both houses for the next week or two to keep an eye on things.”

  “Eyes on your own paper, sheriff,” Linc told him. “What about the clinic?”

  “That, too. It would help if a trusted neighbor maybe insisted on a basic alarm system, some new locks,” Ty mused.

  He’d install them himself, Linc decided, zipping back up. Mack had handled herself in war zones and through every imaginable emergency situation. However, she hadn’t yet dealt with an ignorant redneck family hell-bent on revenge. It was a different beast and required a different kind of vigilance.

  He returned to the bar, finding their dinners had arrived.

  “Did you two cowboys have fun man-talking about how to protect the poor, frail womenfolk?” Mack asked, batting her lashes at him over her chicken salad.

  “You’re in a walking boot. You can’t outrun a threat,” he started.

  “What makes you think I’d run away?” she shot back.

  This was why he’d done what he’d done today. And why he’d be perusing new door locks tonight.

  “Let’s argue about this tonight when we’re naked,” he said.

  “Sex fighting? Hmm. I like it,” she mused.

  Sophie came out from behind the bar.

  “Hey there, beautiful,” Ty said, sliding an arm around her shoulder and pulling her into his side.

  She sparkled up at him. “Guess who doesn’t have any kids tonight because my parents are keeping them overnight and just got kicked off the bar early?”

  “Does she also have two thumbs, and can she do that weirdly wonderful thing with her tongue?” he asked.

  Laughing, Sophie threw her arms around his neck. “Let’s dance, sheriff.”

  “Yes, ma’am!”

  Linc watched them go. A feeling settling over him like a blanket. He wanted that. The wife. The partner. The history of old pain and inside jokes and good memories. He wanted the whole package.

  And Dr. Mackenzie O’Neil was the first woman in his life that he could picture having it all with.

  He brushed a finger over the scrape on his jaw he’d earned that morning. Yeah, he was in for a bumpy ride.

  They called it a night, and Linc insisted on following her home.

  “I’m coming over to your house. You don’t have to shadow me,” Mack complained.

  “Maybe I want to see if Gloria dropped off any more pies?”

  “Or you think you’re going to find a Kersh lurking in my closet?”

  “Nah. Your closet’s too small. I was thinking maybe the basement.”

  “I was in the military, Linc. I know how to defend myself,” she said dryly.

  “Me wanting to make sure you don’t have to defend yourself in no way implies that I don’t think you can handle yourself. If you had two good feet, I’d feel sorry for someone who tried to hide in your basement.”

  That seemed to appease her.

  He parked on the street and walked to the door with her.

  “You’re being ridiculous,” she complained.

  “I prefer to think of it as chivalrous and charming.”

  She let them in and switched on the living room lights.

  “I’m coming back here tonight,” she insisted, stowing her purse and her med bag precisely by the front door.

  There were better ways around resistance than butting heads. And Linc could be very persuasive when he wanted to be.

  “You say that now,” he said, prowling into the dining room, then poking his head into the kitchen. “But when you get into that big, luxurious bed, when you see the body jets in the shower, you’re going to cry. And then I’m going to feel sorry for you. And I hate feeling sorry for beautiful doctors.”

  “Body jets, you say?” She raised an interested eyebrow.

  “Pack a contingency bag. There’s no pressure to use it. But then you’ll have it if you succumb to the charms of my very comfortable mattress.”

  “This better be one hell of a mattress or I’m going to be very disappointed.”

  “Dreamy, I don’t oversell anything in the bedroom.”

  “In that case, we’d better hydrate. Want a water?” she offered over her shoulder as she headed for the fridge.

  He waited for it and wasn’t disappointed when he heard her gasp of outrage.

  “You cut a hole in my fence!”

  “My fence actually,” he said, joining her in the kitchen. “And it’s a gate. It makes sneaking into your bed or you sneaking into mine more convenient. Besides, now I can mow your yard without driving around the block.”

  There were several emotions flickering in rotation on that lovely face. Most of them varying shades of annoyance.

  “I’m concerned that there’s something wrong with you that goes far beyond my medical expertise,” she told him finally.

  “Full disclosure. I fell on my face jumping that stupid fucking fence this morning. Landed in a shrub.” He stroked a hand over the scrape on his jaw. “Felt like I needed to solve the problem with a chainsaw.”

  Mack laughed.

  33

  The man was not lying about his bed.

  Nor his shower.

  She’d helped herself to the latter last night after two athletic rounds of very satisfying sex. They’d forgotten to fight. But she’d beat him in number of orgasms and considered it a win.

  As for the bed, it was a big, beautiful dream. The king mattress took up most of the space in the loft. Soft enough to gently hug any sore body parts but firm enough that she didn’t feel like she was being swallowed by a cloud.

  The sheets were good quality and clean. And there were pillows. Many, many pillows. They were a decadence she’d forgotten about in her years of deployments or bunking in tiny air ambulance lounges. But she remembered now. Pressing her face into the one Linc’s head had vacated, she sighed.

  Spending the night wasn’t her plan. But the man singing Beyoncé in the shower had proven to be far more convincing tha
n she’d given him credit for.

  Mack stretched as the rising sun lightened the room.

  The room was spartan, which her orderly sensibilities appreciated. There was a non-descript dresser on the wall facing the bed and a pair of matching nightstands. Two baskets of clean, folded laundry were stacked in the corner.

  She helped herself to a BFD hooded sweatshirt and tiptoed downstairs so as not to disturb the amusing rendition of “Irreplaceable.”

  The concrete floors were chilly under her bare feet. She found a Keurig on the counter and was pleasantly surprised to find a box of green tea K-cups sitting next to it. There was also a mug that seemed suspiciously new.

  World’s Okayest Trauma Doctor.

  She snorted and powered up the coffee maker.

  While she waited for it to warm up, she snooped. The kitchen was barely bigger than her own. One wall of cabinets and countertop. Simple gray cabinets. White counter. She opened the cabinet next to the stove.

  Apparently, she hadn’t been the only one to snoop. An unopened container of her preferred protein powder sat on the shelf next to Linc’s bulk tub of manly firefighter muscle producing stuff. She found acceptable smoothie ingredients in the fridge and freezer and went to work on making a double.

  By the time Linc came downstairs, dressed in his BFD polo and cargo pants and now whistling what sounded like a Hall and Oates ballad, she had two protein smoothies ready to go.

  He was unfairly gorgeous. Sexy. Cute. Looking at Chief Reed was rapidly becoming a favored pastime.

  “I like this,” he said, spinning his cap around backward so he could kiss her unimpeded.

  “What? The little woman barefoot in the kitchen?” she teased when she drew back. Surprised that her body could get that revved that fast from a little morning peck.

  He pinched her bare ass under the sweatshirt.

  “Smartass. You wearing nothing but my sweatshirt with your hair all messed up and your eyes all dreamy.”

  “Shut up. They are not all dreamy.”

  “Wish I could stay and prove you wrong,” he said, picking up the smoothie and giving it a testing taste. “Mmm. A hot doctor in my sweatshirt and a healthy breakfast. I might just save all the lives today.”