What was he supposed to do if he lost what he was?
Mark rested his elbow on the chair arm, a hand over his mouth, and trained his gaze on the television in the conference room. Deeply aware of Trooper Keith Hickey’s attention to the screen, he tensed as the images and sound flickered to life. Roger in dispatch had downloaded Troy Lee’s shift video from the server to a DVD, cueing it to begin moments before the first radio transmission from Whitman’s deputy.
Watching the events unfold from Troy Lee’s perspective leant the experience a surreal quality. Winter sunlight filtered through trees and slanted across the rural road in front of the squad car. The dialogue replayed, the Whitman deputy’s refusal to stop at both Troy Lee’s and Tick’s requests coming in loud and plain.
“C-13, can you intercept with the spike strip?” Tick’s voice as the straightaway before the curves opened up, and Mark tensed further, knowing what was coming.
“Negative, C-2. If they passed Long Lonesome, suspect is headed in opposite direction. C-5 should be able to intercept.” Troy Lee, sounding calm and collected, entering the first curve. On the second, Paul Bostick’s Ford flashed across the line, a blur of red paint and glimmering chrome. “Oh, fuck.”
Palpable shock colored Troy Lee’s brief expletive. On screen, Paul’s truck slid sideways, the tail end coming around, into Troy Lee’s path. The arc of blue sky over the adjacent field spun wildly, the ditch rising before the windshield. The view rocked in a violent quaking, dark ground slamming into the glass. Then sky and earth rolled over and over one another, a crazed tumble filled with a shower of broken glass, flying objects and Troy Lee’s muffled grunts. At last, the dizzying spin came to a rest, the screen depicting only freshly turned soil and crumpled white metal. A gurgling groan rattled and Mark’s skin crawled, his mind flipping through horrifying flashbacks of Troy Lee’s bloodied face, his arm protruding from the broken window and lying motionless against the dirt, his awful stillness as they’d extricated him from the vehicle.
Tick pointed the remote at the television, the screen fading to black. Hickey leaned back in his chair and fixed them both with a measuring look. “Well, I’ve seen enough.”
To her relief, when Angel slipped back into Troy Lee’s room after Christine’s visit with him, a quiet pensiveness replaced Troy Lee’s earlier anxiety. With the bed elevated, he scribbled across a notepad and she caught a glimpse of sketchy sheet music on the top page. His gaze flicked to hers, and the glow of contentment and love there kindled an answering warmth in her. A prayer of gratitude whispered through her mind, that he was alive and doing better than Dr. Mackey expected.
As she approached the bed, he laid his pen aside. She stroked her thumb across his wrist. “Don’t stop on my account. I just wanted to be with you.”
Gaze on hers, he rotated his hand to squeeze her fingers then reached for the dry-erase board. Christine says you have the ring.
Her breath hitched, and lips parted, she nodded. The little burgundy box resided in the side pocket of her purse, zipped securely away.
He quirked one eyebrow. Well?
“Well what?” She ran her fingers along the inside of his elbow. She leaned down and lowered her voice to a teasing whisper. “Just because I have it doesn’t mean I’ve peeked. That’s like unwrapping Christmas presents early. I was waiting for you.”
He touched a finger to the ventilator tube and slashed words across the board. Mind waiting a little longer? Want to be able to do it right.
“I’d wait forever for you.” She feathered her fingertip along one of his eyebrows. “But you, Troy Lee Farr, do everything right where I’m concerned.”
Pleasure glinted deep in his eyes. He lifted his hand to caress the corner of her lips, the softest of kisses in the contact. She blinked away a wash of tears at the sweetness of that touch.
He gestured at the ventilator and reached for the board once more. Mackey says two more days, maybe three. Can’t wait.
“I know.” She laid her palm under his jaw, just below the bruising there, darkening from angry red to deep purple. The shivery what-could-have’s shuddered through her mind. With her thumb, she traced the outline of a tendon in his neck. “You should—”
The hushed click of the door handle turning drew their attention. He tensed under her hand, but the palpable stiffness drained as Cookie stepped into the room. His gaze darted over them. “Hey. Brought you something.” He held up a small sheaf of papers. “Preliminary ART report.”
Beneath her palm, Troy Lee went rigid all over again, his brows dipping into a worried scowl.
“Relax,” Cookie said, his voice firm and soothing. “It’s good. See for yourself.”
He approached the bed and Angel stepped back so Troy Lee could take the proffered papers. She tapped his knee. “I’m going to step out for a second and let you talk.”
His heart thudding to a higher rate, Troy Lee skimmed over the first page. Despite Cookie’s reassurance, he couldn’t get away from the fact that these papers could very well hold the key to his future, or lack thereof. The summary of the accident and scene conditions bogged him down. Frustrated, he flipped to the second sheet and ran his finger along the lines of typed script.
Two thirds down the page, he found the line he sought. A shudder worked over him.
Deputy Farr is not at fault.
He closed his eyes on a wave of relief, the papers crumpling slightly under the pressure of his fingers. Cookie patted his shoulder. “Told you everything would be fine.”
Troy Lee fumbled for the dry-erase board. Bostick?
“Paul’s looking at charges from driving with a suspended license to vehicular manslaughter. Tick and the sheriff are meeting with the county attorney now, and they’re supposed to get together with Bostick and his lawyer later today. It’ll be okay, Troy Lee. It’s in the best hands and they’ll do everything they can to shut Bubba’s mouth down.”
Troy Lee lifted an affirmative finger. He could let go at this point, let Reed and Calvert handle it.
Cookie cleared his throat and rubbed his thumb over the bed rail. “Angel told me about the baby.”
Surprised, Troy Lee lifted his gaze to Cookie’s. Worry threaded through him, and with all of his protective instincts singing, he narrowed his eyes at the older man.
Cookie’s mouth twisted with a hint of ironic humor. “Don’t look at me like that. She and I are good. If the baby’s mine, we’ll work it all out.” Cookie clapped his shoulder once more. “I’m going before the nurses toss me out again. Get some rest. We need you back on the road.”
Once the door shut behind him, Troy Lee closed his eyes. Even with the hiss-click-pause rhythm filling his ears and his body, he slid into true relaxation for the first time since he’d awakened on the ventilator. Things remained out of his control, but he could roll with that. He still had who he was and he had Angel.
Everything else would fall into place.
***
Not bad. Not bad at all.
Seated at the dining table, Angel compared December’s ending recap to November’s. Even with her away from the bar, with Julie running things, the profit margin had gone unaffected. Maybe she could turn loose of the reins a little more. She laid a palm over the tiny pooch beneath her navel. Actually, come July, she was probably going to have to turn loose of those reins a lot more, but if this level of profit kept up, she could promote Julie to manager and give her a raise.
Bare feet whispered on hardwood and a hard male arm wrapped around her neck from behind. She sighed. “You’re supposed to be in bed. Resting.”
“I’ve been in bed for more than two weeks.” Troy Lee nuzzled her ear as he spoke, his voice still raspy from the mechanical ventilation and the bout of bronchitis he’d fought once it was removed. “You could come to bed with me. I rest better when you’re there.”
She turned her head to look into those mischievous blues. “If I come to bed, rest is not going to be what you want to do.”
He chuck
led. “You know me awfully well.”
“It’s too soon, Troy Lee.” She kissed the corner of his mouth, wishing it wasn’t, needing that closeness and connection with him, and he levered slightly away. “Your ribs aren’t completely healed and—”
Her voice died. He held the little burgundy box, the one she’d tucked in his nightstand drawer, before her eyes. Her surprised gaze met his suddenly serious one.
“Open it.”
He pressed the velvet square into her palm. Her fingers shaking with anticipation, she flipped the lid.
“Oh.” Awe left her breathless. She touched a reverent finger to the large bluish opal, cut into an oval and surrounded by shimmering diamonds.
“It was my grandmother’s.” A hint of uncertainty tinged his voice. “It’s not the traditional solitaire, but—”
“It’s perfect.” She lifted her eyes to his and she laid that same reverent fingertip on his bottom lip. “You’re perfect.”
“I love you, Angel. I love you and I love the Butterbean and I…” On his haunches beside her chair, the kitchen light glinting off his bare shoulders, he swallowed hard, the muscles in his throat moving. “I want you to be my wife.”
She smiled, not bothering to blink away the happy tears blurring her vision. “I want that too.”
“So that’s a yes?” He plucked the box from her hand and removed the ring. He lifted her left hand and held the ring poised before her third finger.
“That’s a yes.” She laughed through the tears, and he slipped the circle onto her hand. It was a little big, but she didn’t care. It, he, they were absolutely perfect. Framing his face, she kissed him, carefully avoiding his healing nose.
“Ah, Angel baby, I love you so damn much.” He tucked her close to his chest, but not too tight, the just right that was all him. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”
“Me too.” She caressed the line of his jaw, stubble scratching her skin. “And I can’t wait.”
“There you go,” he murmured into the curve of her neck. “Speeding again.”
“Oh but, Troy Lee sweetheart, you said you didn’t mind, as long as it was with you.”
Epilogue
Angel killed the engine and glanced in the rearview mirror, eying the Chandler County patrol car pulling into the parking lot behind her. The new Dodge Charger sported a dark blue paint job and silver markings, a departure from the standard white and brown. A familiar tall figure emerged from the driver’s seat and sauntered toward her Mustang. She lowered the window and he leaned down, his handsome face serious.
“Mrs. Farr, do you know why I stopped you?”
“I’m pretty sure I wasn’t speeding this time, Deputy.” She slanted a quick check at the console clock. “And besides, aren’t you off duty?”
“I am. Just went 10-6, 10-42.” White teeth flashed in his wonderful grin and Troy Lee bent farther to whisper his lips across hers. “Figured I’d see if my 10-42 and a half wanted to have dinner.” He glanced sideways into the backseat, his blue gaze lighting further. “Hey, Butterbean.”
Secure in her car seat, Tatum chortled and kicked her feet. She waved her arms, and the pink stuffed kitty she’d been clutching tumbled into the floorboard. Troy Lee pulled the door open and tilted his head toward the strip mall behind them. “Hop out. I’ll get her and we’ll grab a bite.”
Angel snagged her tote, which served as both purse and diaper bag, and stepped free of the car. The evening sun glared across the parking lot and she slid on her sunglasses. Troy Lee contorted himself into the backseat to extricate Tatum, talking to her the whole time. She responded with a stream of happy, chirping gibberish.
He straightened with the baby in his arms, and she patted little hands against his cheeks, pressing an open-mouth kiss to his nose. He laughed and Angel smiled. Tatum had discovered giving kisses as a new talent the previous week, just days before her first birthday, and Troy Lee and her granddaddy proved to be her preferred kissees. Neither man seemed to mind, as Tatum enchanted Angel’s daddy as much as she did Troy Lee.
Tote over her shoulder, Angel tucked her arm through his as they turned toward the little Chinese restaurant at the end of the strip. “How was your day?”
“Oh, baby.” He dipped his knees on a self-satisfied groan, making Tatum giggle and pop her head under his chin. “I have been tearing them up today. Had to start a new ticket book.”
“There’ll be letters in the paper again, about you and your speed traps.” She poked a teasing finger beneath his ribs, at the point where his vest ended.
“Speed trap, my ass.”
“Troy Lee.” She poked him, harder, and he grimaced.
“Ow.” He rubbed at the spot. “What did y’all do today?”
“Not much. We went to see Grandma and Aunt Hope, didn’t we, Tatum? Then we met Julie to go over the books—”
“Wait a minute. You took my kid in the bar and I get poked for saying ‘ass’?”
She rolled her eyes. “It wasn’t open.”
He lifted Tatum until they were nose-to-nose and eye-to-eye. “Wait until Miss Maureen Sutter hears about this one, Butterbean. There will be scandal all over town and your mama will be right in the middle of it.”
“Troy Lee.” She shook her head at him as they reached the sidewalk. The mischief glinting in his blue eyes killed his attempt at a serious look. Laughter tickled her throat. Lord, she loved him, even when he teased unmercifully, which was most of the time.
“Hey look, Tatum.” He turned with the baby and pointed down the walkway, toward one of the gift shops tucked between the Chinese place and an insurance agency. “There’s your daddy.”
With her first glimpse of Cookie, Tatum squealed and leaned forward from her perch in Troy Lee’s embrace, her arms outstretched. “Dada.”
“That’s right. Daddy.” Angel laughed. Lord help her, the child was never going to say “mama”. Daddy, milk, kitty, and something that sounded suspiciously like Troy Lee, but no “mama” yet.
“Hey, little girl.” Love and pride lighting his entire face, Cookie crouched on his haunches and held out both hands as Troy Lee carefully set Tatum on her feet. Sucking her fingers, she toddled the few steps to her father. He swept her up in a hug and she chattered gleefully before gracing his chin with a wet kiss. With a satisfied murmur, she rested her head on his shoulder. Cookie rubbed his hand over her back, early-evening sun glinting off his wedding band. “Where are y’all headed?”
Troy Lee slid his arm around Angel’s waist and tilted his head toward the restaurant. “China Wall for supper. You want to join us?”
“Wish I could. I’m supposed to meet Tick over at the women’s center in a few minutes. First night of the self-defense class. If I don’t get moving, I’ll be late.” He lifted Tatum to buss her cheek and she giggled. “Go eat with Mama and Troy Lee, little girl. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The baby went back to Troy Lee’s arms easily. After brief goodbyes, Cookie sauntered to his unmarked unit, and Angel steered Troy Lee toward the restaurant. She eyed Tatum, who was intent on figuring out how to release his whistle chain from the button on his epaulet. “You know, the two of you are the reason she is so rotten.”
“She’s not rotten.” He grinned against Tatum’s wispy brown hair, just one shade lighter than Cookie’s. “She’s well loved.” He raised their daughter to the nose-to-nose position again and she chortled. “Two moms, two dads, three grandmas, your grandpa, and more aunts and uncles and cousins than you can count. Probably the most loved little girl in Chandler County, aren’t you, sweetheart?”
Angel smiled and tucked her hand through his elbow. That little bit of mathematical logic was impossible to argue.
“Goodnight, Butterbean.” Troy Lee whispered a kiss across Tatum’s brow and settled her in the crib. She yawned, her little lids heavy, and scrunched up against the bumper pad. Her lashes fluttered, and she blinked a few times, as though afraid she’d miss something if she gave in and went to sleep.
<
br /> At the foot of the crib, Angel folded her hands on the rim and rested her chin on them. “She’s almost out.”
“Yeah.” He stepped back and looked over at Angel. Her blue eyes glittered at him in the dim light, and the squeezing in his chest had nothing to do with the residual pain he still had every so often in his rib cage. No, this was pure, old-fashioned so-in-love-he-hurt, and he absolutely relished every second of it.
Angel straightened and reached for his hands, pulling him toward the door. “So now that our sweetheart is down, are you ready for bed?”
“Well, that depends.” A smile hitched at the corners of his mouth.
“On?”
“On what number you had in mind.” He dipped his head to kiss her, murmuring against her lips. “Are we doing the experienced older woman seducing the impressionable younger man bit, or—”
“Troy Lee.” Her sigh held equal parts exasperation and laughter.
“—even better, experienced older woman trying to seduce impressionable young cop out of giving her a ticket. I’ll even put my uniform back on.”
“You are so bad.” Her shoulders shook with shivery giggles, and he pressed her against the wall, kissing her hard.
“How about this one?” He nudged her nightgown’s thin strap aside, giving him access to her shoulder. “Adoring husband ravishes the wife he loves to distraction.”
She looped her arms about his neck. “Oh, I like that one, Deputy Farr.”
“So do I, Mrs. Farr, so do I.” Sliding an arm beneath her knees, he swung her into his arms. Their lips met again. “As a matter of fact, it’s my absolute favorite.”
About the Author
How does a high school English teacher end up plotting murders? She uses her experiences as a cop’s wife to become a writer of romantic suspense! Linda Winfree lives in a quintessential small Georgia town with her husband and two children. By day, she teaches American Literature, advises the student government and coaches the drama team; by night she pens sultry books full of murder and mayhem.
Fall Into Me: Hearts of the South Page 29