Erin's Way

by Laura Browning

  Erin shrugged. “I guess. It must have been a dream, but it seemed so real at the time.”

  “I saw her too,” Tabby offered quietly, “while I was in surgery after my accident. I didn’t realize who she was until later when I saw her picture at the Homestead.”

  Stoner sucked in a breath, feeling his heart pound heavily. They had nearly lost Tabby then, so it seemed logical the same applied to Erin. He looked around at all of his children and felt immense gratitude. He’d come so close to losing them either to injury or alienation, but now he felt like he’d been given a gift, a second chance.

  “I love you, Erin,” he told her.

  “I knew I was doing the right thing when I came back. I love you too, Daddy.”

  * * * *

  Jenny kept her in the hospital a couple days. Sometimes Erin wasn’t sure if it was solely for her. She glanced over to the recliner where Sam was now stretched out, still sleeping as the first rays of light filtered through the window. They would be going home today. Erin felt so much stronger. Her wrist was still bandaged, but her lip and her cheek were well on the way to mending, and a butterfly bandage had closed the cut near her hairline.

  She wondered just how strong Sam was feeling. She was desperate to get him home where he could finally relax, and she could get a look at his injuries. Erin needed to reassure herself that he would be all right. The focus had been all on her, but she still couldn’t get the picture out of her head of him lying so still and silent in the muddy farmyard.

  “Erin? What’s wrong, baby?” His eyes opened, concern coloring their dark depths.

  She shook her head. “It’s nothing. I just want to go home, Sammy.”

  “Home as in my farm?”

  “Yes. Our home.” Peace settled deep in her soul. Sam’s farm was home.

  He smiled, the concern vanishing. “God, Erin, you have no idea how wonderful that sounds.” He shifted, gingerly lifting his injured leg and setting it on the floor. Grabbing his cane, he pushed to his feet. “I’ll see if I can get the ball rolling.”

  A couple hours later, she was being wheeled downstairs while Sam limped next to her. Stoner and Catherine awaited them at the door. “If you don’t mind,” her dad said, “we’ll be your chauffeurs until Jenny clears both of you to drive.”

  When they pulled off the highway and approached Sam’s old farmhouse along the gravel drive, Erin’s fingers tightened on his hand.

  “Okay?”

  She leaned against him. “I will be. I keep seeing you sprawled there so still. Oh, Sammy, I thought you were dead.” She bit her lip and blinked back tears. This was supposed to be a happy event. She shouldn’t be dragging up that nightmare.

  “Don’t remember that, squirt,” he murmured. “Think of some of the other happier memories.”

  Stoner glanced in the rearview mirror. “You mean like the day I arrived and both of you were covered head to toe and wallowing in the mud?”

  Sam flushed, laughing a bit nervously, and Erin’s tension eased. “Thank you, Daddy. I’ll picture that instead.” To Sam, she whispered, “I also remember how much fun we had washing the mud off each other.”

  “I heard that,” Stoner growled.

  “Mind your own business, Senator,” Sam growled back.

  * * * *

  Over the next week, they had plenty of visitors. Friends and family came by with food or to handle work around the farm. Sam limped around, hoping his strength would return, but he was also keeping a close eye on Erin. On the surface, she seemed much better, but at night, nightmares haunted her, and by day she would only leave the house in his company. Finally, as they sat on the couch watching the news, Sam figured out what it was that had been bothering her. He’d been paying only half attention to the announcer while he read Amanda Brown’s account of the investigation in the local paper. Suddenly, he felt Erin tense, and he looked up.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Look!”

  He saw a white-haired man in what appeared to be a wrinkled linen suit being escorted away from a shimmering, pastel yellow mansion. “Who’s that?”

  “Andre’s father!”

  Sam snagged the remote and increased the volume.

  “Authorities on St. Thomas today arrested the head of the powerful Delacroix family on charges of drug trafficking and conspiracy to commit murder. Sixty-year-old Philippe Delacroix has headed the family’s business ventures for the past twenty years. Charges of drug trafficking surfaced after his son’s death at the hands of police snipers in Virginia earlier this month. Former private cruise ship captain Rick Nelson also faces charges in the case, but prosecutors say it’s possible he’ll be granted immunity in return for his testimony against Delacroix.”

  Sam muted the sound and gathered Erin against him. “It’s over, baby.”

  Erin sucked in a deep breath, let it out slowly, and smiled. “I was so afraid they’d come back.”

  “I know you were, but you wouldn’t talk about it. Why?”

  “I felt silly.”

  He slid two fingers beneath her chin and tilted it. “There was no reason to feel silly, but I don’t want fear to rule our lives. There are always going to be some risks out there each and every day. You’ve faced probably the worst you’ll ever have to face—and you made it. Do you know how proud I am of you? And how much I admire the way you’ve kept on going—working with Rachel, working with everybody’s investments?”

  She touched his cheek with her palm, then leaned in to kiss him slowly and thoroughly.

  Sam groaned. “I love you, Erin. I’ll never get tired of saying it. I wanted to do it all up with hearts and flowers, maybe a dinner someplace out of town, but that’s not who I am. I’m just a county sheriff and a farmer. Will you marry me? I can’t give you anything fancy like Richardson Homestead….”

  “Oh, Sammy,” she said and laughed. “I don’t care about that. I never have. Wherever you are, that’s where I want to be. If that means we never leave Castle County and Mountain Meadow again, then I’m happy to be here at your side. I think the real question is can your career stand my reputation? Can you stand a wife who’ll always need some help reading any complicated correspondence?”

  Sam tweaked her nose. “Tell you what, you can manage my finances on my next campaign, and I’ll find someone else to make the election signs.”

  “You’re on.”

  He kissed her again, his hand wandering down to cup her breast. “If we’re careful, you think we could…?”

  Her slender fingers began undoing his belt buckle. “Oh definitely.”

  * * * *

  Two months later, Erin looked out the window of her mother’s sitting room at Richardson Homestead. Late spring flowers bloomed in the beds lining the walk out front. All along the driveway, as far as she could see, cars were parked and people walked up the drive and around to the gardens behind the guest house.

  “Erin?” Tabby spoke quietly from behind her. “You should probably go ahead and get your dress on now. Jenny’s gone to get your garter, but she’ll be back in a minute.”

  Erin looked over her shoulder at Tabby, beautiful in a sapphire satin sheath, her dark hair swept up off the slender column of her neck and a sapphire pendant hanging from a fine gold chain nestled against her chest. Erin’s eyes shifted just beyond her to a photograph that hung among several other family pictures. It was black and white, softened with age, but the man and woman in it still leaped vividly from the paper. She was tiny and curved against his long, lean frame as he leaned back against a shiny luxury car. The woman’s face was turned in profile, gazing adoringly at the man beside her.

  Erin turned and looked at Tabby.

  “You remember I said I saw our great-grandmother that day Jake and Sam found me? It was strange, like I was at a big party…”

  “…and the guests were all our relatives,” Tabby finished quietly.

  Their eyes locked.

  “She talked to
me.”

  “Me too.”

  “She told me to use my gifts and talents and to stand on my own.”

  Tabby smiled. “I think we may have gotten similar pep talks.”

  “Was it real?” Erin asked her younger sister with a tilt to her head.

  “I have no idea, but it does seem like an odd coincidence.” Tabby brought her dress over. “What you need to believe right now is that you are less than an hour away from marrying one of the best men I know. Sam is a rock, Erin. He will never desert you, and he would move heaven and earth to make you happy.”

  Erin blinked. “I feel the same way about him. I spent so many years feeling like a misfit and trying to get away from here. I never suspected when I came back just how much I had really missed having a place I could call home…having this place to call home.

  * * * *

  Sam was so nervous, he was afraid he’d embarrass himself and start crying in front of the eighty million or so guests it seemed Stoner and Catherine Richardson had invited. Either that or he’d get sick. At this point, though, it scarcely mattered. He’d shed so many tears over Erin he knew his tough guy image had been blown all to hell. Now he’d blow it in front of the whole county. He looked out the window of Stoner’s study. County hell. Half the doggone state must be here. He could already see Amanda Brown moving around, camera clicking away as she shot photos for what would no doubt grace the front page of the next issue of the Castle County Messenger.

  He gulped the shot of bourbon Evan had poured for him and nearly choked. Sam had agreed to the big wedding to make Erin and her parents happy, but he would have been just as content if they’d gone to the courthouse and tied the knot in front of the magistrate.

  “Ready?” Jake said from the doorway. “We’re needed out on the terrace.”

  Sam swallowed, wanting desperately to loosen the tie and collar that now felt like they were strangling him. He’d tried to reach Luke, Jake’s older brother, to see if he could serve as best man, but he’d already planned a family vacation. Jake was by no means a second best choice. He was about as close a friend as Sam had. As he stepped out onto the terrace, he nodded to a few acquaintances and moved to take his place next to the flowered archway where Joseph stood. When Joe winked at him, Sam managed a smile that was nearly painful. He glanced at the guests again and swallowed.

  Yeah, the justice of the peace idea had real merit. Then they could have already been on their honeymoon and he could be peeling off…oh God! He felt his cock stir, his face flush, and he quickly turned back to Jake who stood next to him as his best man. He saw Jake’s eyes flick downward and back up. A wicked grin curled his wide mouth.

  “Try reciting multiplication tables. It helps me.”

  Sam looked at his friend’s twinkling hazel eyes.

  “Will it always be like this?”

  Jake laughed. “You better hope so. Turn around, buddy, your bride’s getting ready to walk down the aisle.”

  Sam was vaguely aware of Melodie, Jenny, and Tabby preceding her, but his eyes were only on Erin. He wished she didn’t have that lacy veil thing over her face. It would help his nerves a lot if he could see her expression, see that she wanted this. But as they got closer, and he could make out her features beneath the veil, what he saw was the most radiant smile in the universe. His eyes shifted to Stoner, whose gaze held his. In addition to the seriousness, he thought he saw a twinkle there.

  The next few minutes flew by, but Sam wasn’t sure how. He spoke when Joe told him to, and he must have done all right. No one laughed. Then he was lifting Erin’s veil. His hands shook, but he couldn’t worry about that. When he gazed into her blue-gray eyes, what he saw shining back at him was a love so intense it blazed. Sam was amazed she didn’t set the whole dang garden on fire.

  “I love you.”

  He wasn’t sure which one of them had spoken. Their lips met and everything else faded but that single moment and the feeling of coming home.

  Also from Lyrical Press, Book #2 of Melissa Shirley’s

  Storybook Lake series, available now!

  Falling Grace

  Finding the fairytale in Storybook Lake . . .

  Grace Wade left Storybook Lake hoping to escape her crazy family and the demands of her job as a defense attorney. But not twenty-four hours after landing in a small Texas town where she hopes to find new beginnings, Grace instead finds herself in the middle of an investigation that’s turning the town inside out. Once she agrees to be the defense attorney on the case, Grace suddenly finds herself torn between twin brothers Blane Sheperd, the bad boy prosecutor on the case, and Jamie Sheperd, the sweetheart town Sheriff . . .

  Grace thought life in a small town would be simple, but simple has a way of eluding her. To find her way to a happy ending, she’ll have to master the art of following her heart . . .

  Learn more about Melissa at

  http://www.ekensingtonbooks.com/author.aspx/31684

  Visit us at www.kensingtonbooks.com

  Chapter 1

  “My wife killed our daughter.”

  Nathan Gabriel strolled into the office and threw out the line as though he said things like that every day. For such a serious statement, he’d said it with no stuttering sense of urgency, no affect whatsoever. The sheen of sweat on his face and his pinhead sized pupils spoke to something underlying his serenity as he spoke.

  “Your wife killed your daughter?” As a criminal attorney, I dealt with some big baddies, but never with someone who confessed so readily for his wife.

  “They think she did.” He twitched and scratched the side of his face. “She wants Rory Allden to defend her.”

  “But you said…” I shook it off. “Rory isn’t here. I’m her partner, Grace Wade. I might be able to help you.” I never offered services without knowing the actual client’s name and never without a few more details than a statement condemning the person meant to be my client, but something about him…

  He looked around, glanced back as though waiting for the door to open. His wife was suspected of murder, and he needed a lawyer. I fit that description. What was the hold up?

  After a few long minutes, a couple of frustrated huffs and puffs of his chest, and more waiting, he nodded. “Fine. Let’s go.”

  I jogged with him across the street to the police station armed with only his name and what I could remember of his words. His first damning statement spun around my mind.

  It wasn’t my usual mode of attack on a case, but I brushed my confusion aside and peppered questions at his back. He hurried faster than I could keep up in my pencil skirt and four inch heels.

  Conveniently located in viewing distance from the new offices of Allden and Wade, Attorneys at Law, the police station looked more like a refurbished coffee house, with a picture window in front under a black awning with its edges flapping in the wind and a park bench on its wide sidewalk. The whole town had been designed right out of a Rockwell and the sheriff’s department was no different.

  I stepped inside a heavy glass door and breathed in the pungent smell of sweat and chilidogs. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I approached a counter marked Information in crooked gold lettering.

  An officer behind the waist-high counter that doubled as a desk barely looked up from his Bikes and Babes magazine. “Can I help you?”

  I curled my fingers in my palm to resist the urge to smack his feet off the cluttered Formica. “I’m Grace Wade, and I want to speak to my client.”

  “What client would that be?”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize your town was so rife with crime that you could possibly be confused.” Well, more confused. “Mrs. Quinn.” I didn’t even know her first name, for goodness sake.

  He rolled his eyes and flipped a page. “Have a seat over there.” He nodded to a semi-stained seating arrangement that I wouldn’t risk my clothes to sit on. “I’ll let the detective know you’re here.”

  The magazine crinkled as he br
ought it closer to his face, investigating something on the inside. He’d missed a button when he dressed and more of his lunch dotted his shirt than could possibly have landed in his mouth.

  He ignored the long, huffy breath that billowed between my lips. I counted down the ten more seconds I waited by drilling my fingers against the counter for each one that ticked off. Enough. I snatched the magazine from his fingers and shoved it behind my back as he reached for it.

  “I can charge you with assaulting a police officer.”

  “Not until I smack you with it.” I slammed the flimsy paperback down in front of me. “Listen, Einstein. If your detective is in there questioning her and she’s asked for counsel, anything she says is going to get thrown right out of court, and who do you think is gonna get the blame? Hot shot detective or desk jockey?” I gave my most endearing and practiced grin as I mimicked his twang. “So, if I were you, I would get my big, lazy, too-many-biscuits-dipped-in-gravy ass out of that chair and let your detective know I’m here.”

  His white cowboy hat tilted as he shoved a phone receiver to his ear and punched a single digit into the phone. “I know that, Detective. Her attorney is here.” He looked up at me. “Name?”

  “Grace Wade.”

  “Miss Grace Wade.” He took a pointed look at my ring finger, and I slid my hand off the counter to my side.

  The sassy miss he added to my name was in an accent that drew out the syllables.

  “I’ll let her know.” He took his time, polishing the receiver with his soiled shirt, then replaced it in its cradle. “She’s in the interview room.” After extricating all seven feet of his body from the chair, he made his way around a wall to stand beside me.

  At five-foot-seven with another four inches of heel, I barely made it to his shoulder. “Right this way, Miss Wade.” I didn’t have to ask how he felt about single women.