“Then don’t.”
“You actually do see yourself not being a marine anymore?” she asked with a glimmer of hope in her voice.
“Once a marine, always a marine. But active? No. I see myself with you,” he said simply.
Oh, it wasn’t easy to let go of so much that protected her from more pain...
But her guard had dropped, and once it had, she knew why it wasn’t just his looks and sex appeal that had made her stop him from leaving.
She loved him.
She came out from behind the chair and met him halfway. “You’re sure?”
Quinn closed the rest of the space between them to stand directly in front of her again. “Of everything.”
Clairy breathed a tiny laugh. “Maybe it’s strange that I doubted that,” she mused.
“Or maybe I earned some of it,” he conceded. “Just say we can put this fresh start back on track and take it from here.”
“All the way to the altar and kids and a whole life together?”
“All the way,” he confirmed unfalteringly.
“I do love you,” she said, as if she was helpless not to.
“I’m a lovable guy,” he joked, making her laugh.
“You haven’t always been,” she chastised playfully.
“I will be from now on, though,” he vowed.
Clairy was again looking up into those eyes, that face, and this time she was brimming with what she felt for him. “I love you,” she said with some awe.
“Enough to marry me? Have babies with me? Get old and cranky with me?”
“Old, maybe, but let’s try to avoid cranky.”
Quinn smiled that smile that only made him all the more handsome. “I’ll give it my best shot,” he promised as his hands cupped the sides of her face and held it for the kiss he placed softly on her lips.
The kiss that couldn’t stay that way for long before all the passion of the previous night came alive again.
And as Clairy closed her eyes and indulged in it, not only could she envision a future with him, but suddenly all the pain and struggle and offenses of the past also seemed worth it if it meant she could have the man he’d become.
* * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from Not Their First Rodeo by Christy Jeffries.
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Not Their First Rodeo
by Christy Jeffries
Chapter One
Marcus King hated funerals.
As the sheriff of Ridgecrest County in Wyoming, he even avoided traffic details for cemetery processions, often assigning a junior deputy for the task, just so he wouldn’t have to deal with the painful reminder that death could happen to anyone at any time. A fact he knew only too well, having lost his wife five years ago.
However, Marcus hadn’t been able to avoid this particular memorial service, with thousands of mourners lined up outside the crowded church and millions more at home watching live on their televisions. Celebrities, national heroes and world leaders were all crammed into the too-small First Congregation of Teton Ridge, watching somberly as the president of the United States gave the eulogy for her second-in-command.
Vice President Mitchell “Roper” King had been many things to many people, but to Marcus he’d simply been Dad.
And how did one escape his own father’s funeral while hundreds of news cameras were strategically placed both inside and outside the church to capture every tear, every sniffle, every flicker of emotion that crossed the faces of those who had known and loved Roper King the most?
Well, not everyone in attendance felt that way, Marcus thought as he shifted in the tight confines of his pew to angle his head toward the opposite side of the building.
“Stop squirming in your seat,” his brother Duke whispered out the corner of his mouth. “You’re not five anymore.”
“I’m checking on my sons,” Marcus replied before giving a curt nod to his twin boys sitting with their younger cousin in the pew behind them. “They’ve got to be bored out of their minds.”
Six-year-old Jordan and Jack were hanging in there like a couple of champs, though. Sad, but hiding their restlessness way better than their old man. Probably because their aunt had promised all the kids doughnuts and brand-new iPads loaded with their favorite video games if they could keep still during the nearly one-hour service.
Marcus glanced past his sons’ honey-blond heads to the packed pews behind them and caught a glimpse of the upper corner of a woman’s face.
No. That couldn’t be...
Surely she wouldn’t come to the funeral, especially knowing Marcus would be there. He craned his neck to get a better look and felt his brother’s elbow ram directly into the cold piece of steel secured in place below his rib cage.
Duke stifled a curse, and their mother gave them both a withering stare through her sheer black veil. When she returned her attention to the president speaking in front of the flag-draped casket, Duke muttered, “Did you seriously wear your duty holster to the service?”
“I always wear it,” Marcus said, tugging on the lapels of his uncomfortable suit. “Just in case something comes up and I need to respond to a call.”
“You’re allowed to take the day off.”
Yet Marcus never took time away from work. At least, not mentally. This was his home, his county. These people, most of them visitors, were ultimately his responsibility until they all returned to their own worlds. He glanced down at his watch. Hopefully, that would be in less than fifteen more minutes. They just needed to get through the video montage and then the procession before he could—
“Where’s Tessa going?” His brother nodded to where their sister was rushing down the center aisle toward the small vestibule that led to the front doors.
“I’ll go check.” Marcus began to rise, but his mother, who was on his opposite side, quickly shot her arm across his midsection, just like she used to do when she’d driven him to school or baseball practice and had to slam on the brakes.
“Don’t you dare stand up and cause a bigger scene.” She spoke quietly, but firmly. “We have people stationed outside who can see to her.”
The Secret Service agent positioned in the shadows behind the organ put his hand over the clear wire of his earpiece. Marcus had attended the pre-op briefing earlier today with several deputies from his department, as well as numerous other law-enforcement personnel from neighboring counties. Right now, he would’ve given anything to know what was being transmitted over the radio communications. The agent made eye contact with Marcus and gave a very discreet thumbs-up before resuming his stance.
Which meant he had to stay put and actually deal with the grief of losing his father. Instead of thinking about something simple like logistics and security perimeters, he had to think about how much he was going to miss seeing his dad’s proud, but crooked smile. How he was never going to hear that rugged, but reassuring voice give him any more words of advice. Damn it. Marcus wanted to mourn in private, on his own schedule. Certainly not in front of a crowd.
The final ten minutes of the ceremony seemed to last longer than the first fifty, but finally the pallbearers, consisting of members of each branch of the armed services, carried the casket down the center aisle. His mother followed, supported by the president who’d been sitting in the front pew on the opposite side. That left Marcus to walk next to the first gentleman while mourners nodded their condolences at them as they passed each row.
If there was anything Marcus avoided more than funerals, it was politicians. Sure, the president and her husband were polite enough, and his father
had made numerous friends with elected officials and cabinet members over the years. But there were plenty of people who’d traveled all the way to Roper King’s small hometown in the middle of Wyoming just for the opportunity to be seen rubbing elbows with some of the most powerful leaders in the country.
Like the senior senator from the great state of Texas. And wherever Senator Cortez-Hill went, her famous husband followed, causing even more of a stir with his celebrity status as a member of the Baseball Hall of Fame.
Perfect. The only thing that would make this day even more unbearable was if they’d brought...
Oh, hell. There she was.
Violet Cortez-Hill.
Marcus’s lungs seized, and his knees threatened to buckle as his eyes locked on hers. It had been her sitting way back here, after all. And she was even more beautiful than she’d been the last time he’d seen her—almost fourteen years ago. Her black hair was still silky straight, but slightly shorter, and framed her heart-shaped face. Her light bronze complexion still smooth and flawless, and her narrow nose still regal. But her cheekbones were sharper and more defined, and her green eyes held more wisdom and cynicism. His gaze flickered lower to her lips, which were drawn tight, as though she was holding her breath as she boldly returned his stare.
He should’ve listened to his instincts earlier and volunteered for traffic detail. Funerals didn’t just force people to publicly confront their grief and their own invincibility. They often forced people to confront mistakes from their pasts. And now he was face-to-face with his.
Why had Violet come? Didn’t she know how uncomfortable this would be for all of them?
A hand clasped his shoulder and propelled him forward.
“Keep on moving, Lover Boy,” Duke grunted from behind. Marcus hadn’t heard the nickname in years, and instead of sending him on a trip down memory lane, it immediately snapped him back to the present.
Putting one foot in front of the other, he squared his shoulders and followed the procession down the aisle, outside the church and into the bright January sunshine and the even brighter lights of the news cameras. He shoved his dark sunglasses on just in time, once again wishing he could be anywhere but here.
As the casket was loaded into the back of the hearse, he felt the small hands of his boys, each on one side, taking his bigger palms in theirs. Marcus couldn’t afford to think about anything but taking care of his children, being the support that they needed through the devastating loss of another family member. He’d told his children that it was okay to cry, that it was okay to be sad. They’d both been so young when their mother had died, their grieving process had been somewhat delayed. As though they’d known they were missing something but didn’t quite understand who or what until later. Losing their beloved grandfather, though, had the potential to stir up all sorts of feelings they’d yet to deal with about their mom’s death.
Marcus’s dad had once been his rock, and now more than ever he was determined to provide the same stability to his own sons.
“Where’s Aunt Tessa?” Jordan whispered, concern permanently etched across the serious boy’s brow. “She left real quick, and her face was all white.”
“Maybe she was hungry and wanted to get something to eat,” Marcus replied, doubting the excuse before he even said it.
“Well, I have to go pee, and I don’t think I can hold it,” Jack announced much louder. Despite being older by three minutes, Jack was the free-spirited twin. The impulsive one that counterbalanced his brother’s tendency to worry about every little thing. “She better not eat all the sprinkle doughnuts before we get there.”
Marcus bit back a groan, yet he couldn’t help but also feel a sense of relief. His sons were actually handling the funeral crowd much better than expected. Being a single father, he’d dealt with plenty of tears and tantrums in the past and knew it came with the territory. Today, though, he’d much rather deal with doughnuts and bathroom breaks.
He squeezed their hands and said, “Let’s go back inside and use the restroom. Then we’ll go see if they have any more snacks left in the MACC staging tent.”
In fact, it felt good to have something concrete to focus on, to have a task at hand. Plus, it didn’t hurt that his sons’ requests gave him the perfect excuse to get away from everyone in the crowd and check on his sister all at the same time. While he was there, he could ask his deputies stationed in the Multi-Agency Command Center temporarily set up behind the building if they needed anything from him.
Marcus chanced a glance behind him at the guests spilling onto the church steps to see if anyone was watching them, then told his kids, “Come on. Let’s hop over those bushes by the sidewalk and double back to the side door. It’ll be the quickest way.”
It would also be the only route that guaranteed he didn’t come face-to-face with the woman who’d made him stop in his tracks earlier.
The woman who used to hold his heart in the palm of her hand.
* * *
Violet Cortez-Hill knew when she’d landed at Jackson Hole Airport it would only be a matter of time before she’d see Marcus King, the man who’d once been her best friend and her first love.
Everyone probably would have understood why she couldn’t find time to attend the funeral in Wyoming. But she was in between high-profile cases right now, and after fourteen years, it felt cowardly to use work as an excuse just to hide behind all those emotions that belonged in the past. And nobody had ever accused Violet of being a coward.
Besides, she’d spent so much of her adolescent summers with the older King children when their parents had forced them to attend the same political events, and she had adored their father, Roper. How could she not be here to pay her respects in person? To offer any support she could.
Yet, when her eyes had locked on Marcus’s during the final procession, she’d been slammed with a million memories. It felt as though a wave had crashed into her, practically knocking her back into the hard, wooden pew.
How was it that he’d grown even more handsome over the years? That his shoulders had gotten broader and his face had gotten more chiseled? The teenager she’d once dated used to wear ripped jeans, T-shirts with goofy slogans and an old ball cap from Dorsey’s Tractor Supply. Yet the man who’d stopped in the middle of the aisle to stare at her with openmouthed shock wore an expensive tailored suit and a short, neat haircut, looking nothing like the guy she used to know. Unfortunately, his nearness still caused her pulse to spike with the same level of attraction as it had all those years ago.
His brother Duke had given him a shove and Violet was left to stand there and wonder if the few seconds they’d made eye contact was really long enough for her to conclude that his reaction to seeing her had been just as intense as hers. She fought the urge to rub away the dull ache in her temples, telling herself that Marcus’s response was simply due to his surprise.
The church was small and the aisle narrow, so it took ages for the rows in front of them to empty. As the rest of the mourners filed out of the church, Violet whispered to her mother, “I’m going to use the ladies’ room.”
“Now?” Senator Eva Cortez-Hill said through her teeth as she nodded somberly at the other politicians and A-list celebrities making their way down the aisle. “All the networks have cameras outside, and it would be a great opportunity for you to get some coverage before my next election.”
“Mom, we’ve already been over the fact that I have no intention of running for superior court judge. Now’s not the time to rehash that argument.”
“You aren’t hoping to run into you know who, are you?” After all these years, her mother still couldn’t bring herself to say Marcus’s name.
“Of course not, Mom. That’s all in the past.”
“Fine. But be outside in five minutes. Our car will be the third one behind the president’s in the motorcade, and the Secret Service won’t want to wait.”
Violet nodded before going in the opposite direction toward the vestibule hallway that led toward the restrooms. Her family had been in the public eye for as long as she could remember, so the cameras and parades of vehicles and formal appearances were certainly nothing new. Yet, that didn’t mean she relished living her life in the spotlight, even if she was good at pretending otherwise. In fact, being a public defender, representing some of the most heinous criminals in the justice system, she’d quickly learned how to mask any facial expressions that might give away how she was truly feeling inside. Every day, she sat beside strangers in orange jumpsuits accused of an array of charges and didn’t hesitate to defend their right to a fair trial.
So then, why was she currently ducking into the bathroom of a small church in the middle of Wyoming? Why was she hiding out in a cramped powder room that hadn’t had its floral wallpaper or framed cross-stitch decor changed out in at least four decades?
Violet braced her hands on the pink-tiled counter and stared at her reflection over the sink. “Because the last time you saw Marcus King, your world fell apart shortly after.”
Her phone vibrated in her purse, and she felt a stinging pressure building behind her eyes, the telltale sign of a migraine coming on. Yanking out her phone, she saw the text from her father asking if she was okay. She fired a quick response.
I’m fine. Go on without me and I’ll catch up with you guys later at the airport.
She dug around in her purse for the pills her doctor had prescribed for migraines. Even though taking them made her feel as though she were admitting defeat, she knew that it was smart to stay ahead of the pain and the accompanying nausea before it got worse. Turning on the water, she cupped her hand under the faucet and took a deep drink.
Next, she reapplied her lipstick and tried to ignore how pale her cheeks looked in the fluorescent lights and pink-hued surrounding of the ladies’ room. Checking the time on her phone, she convinced herself that the motorcade was likely long gone, hopefully with Marcus in one of the first vehicles. She could slip outside and pretend nothing was amiss.
The Major Gets it Right Page 21