by Vicki Tharp
Jenna tried to blink back the tears, but she was too far gone. Quinn grabbed a handful of mane and swung back up on Vader. He pulled a velvet box from his pocket and opened it, holding the ring out.
Jenna stepped closer. Her hand trembled as she reached for the familiar box, the one she’d hidden at the bottom of her drawer, the one Quinn had given her four years ago. She glanced at her grandmother. Her grandmother smiled. She’d been the one to give it back to Quinn.
“Jenna Nash.” She looked up at him. At his earnest face, and his soft brown eyes and the love shining there. “Everything you are, you are also my strength, you are my family, you are my safety net. You are what matters most in my life. Will you marry me?”
This time she didn’t back away. This time she didn’t look at him, horrified. This time, she said, “Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.”
Quinn blew out a breath and plucked the ring from the tiny pillow in the box. His hand shaking more than hers as he placed it on her finger. He stuffed the box back in his pocket and held out his arm to her.
She clasped his forearm with hers like a lifeline. Remembering a time when her life had depended on his strength. Now and forever, that strength would be hers, too. He swung her up and she settled behind him, her front to his back, her hands around his waist, his ring on her finger.
He turned his head and whispered, “Just so we are clear. I’m calling it. This is my night with you.”
The night she’d let him win in the pool game.
The heat rushed up to her cheeks as everyone gathered around, offering congratulations and wanting a look at the ring.
“About time,” Alby said.
“You’d better take good care of her.” That, of course, from her father.
“I guess I can’t call you a coward anymore,” Sterling said to Quinn.
Jenna laughed. “What’s that all about?”
Quinn patted her hand. “Don’t listen to anything she says.”
“Any beer left at this party?” The voice was loud and deep and familiar.
Jenna turned, Quinn turned, Vader turned. Everyone turned. A man walked down the road, the moon casting his face in shadows, but his bulk, his brawn, was recognizable.
Moo—Gil Brant.
“Ooo la la,” Sterling said. “Who. Is. That?”
“I had a cancellation. He’s the newest veteran in my program.”
“Trouble,” Quinn said, though Jenna heard the affection in his voice for the Marine, the agent, the man who’d helped save their lives.
Sterling thumped Quinn on the leg and backed up the road, a crooked, wicked smile on her face. “One thing you’ll learn about first responders, Powell. We’re the ones who run toward trouble.”
About the Author
Vicki Tharp makes her home on a small acreage in South Texas with her husband and an embarrassing number of pets. When she isn’t writing, you can usually find her on the back of her horse—and avoiding anything that remotely resembles housework.
Vicki’s website is www.VickiTharp.com, her Facebook address is www.facebook.com/VickiTharpAuthor, and she can be found on Twitter @vickitharp.