by Lori Power
“Doubt that.” Hank laughed outright, now moving to the other side of Mitch’s bed. “I’ve gotta tell ya, if you’ve the magic formula for handling this guy, I’ve a Chief who’d pay good money for that recipe.”
Unamused by the banter, Mitch turned his attention to his partner. “Lorna?”
“She’s down at the station,” Hank said, clasping Mitch’s shoulder. But Mitch would not give ground and lie back down. “They checked her out here, and I took her down to the depot myself. She won’t be long.”
“Station? What? After all she’s been through? That’s—”
“Oh, there now,” the nurse interrupted, straightening up by his bed to lay her hands on her well-rounded hips, rocking back on her heels. “You see. Nothing to worry about.”
Directing her gaze to Hank, she continued, “The young man has been quite concerned about his wife.”
“His wife?”
“No, not my—”
The nurse cut him off. “That’s right.” She shook her head. “Not yet, is what you said.”
“Planning to propose in your pajamas?”
Hoping the glare he alternated between the two people hovering above his bed would be sufficient to shut them up, he ignored the pain in his shoulder and thigh to pull himself up to a sitting position. “I want to see her,” he said between gritted teeth.
“Do you now?” She was bending her face close to his. “You’ve lost a great deal of blood. They operated on your wounds. You’re to rest. If I have to sedate you, I will. Your choice.”
Slumping back against the pillows, he looked at his partner, who merely shrugged, crossing his arms across his ample chest, a grin spreading from ear to ear.
When the nurse turned back towards them in apparent victory, Mitch mouthed, “You bastard.” This served only to widen Hank’s smirk and cause him to chuckle as he exited the room.
***
Would this nightmare ever be over?
Why did her nose tickle?
Everywhere she turned her attention, she ached, but her nose tickled.
The droning of voices was bringing her back from wherever she had been. She struggled to open her eyes, to focus.
“Why is she still out?”
Is that Mitch? Can it be? He’s okay. She moved her head from side to side and tried to talk. Her nose still tickled.
“Stop that,” came a sharp voice, and the tickle on her nose ceased. “Though her wounds may, by your standards as an officer, be considered superficial, her body’s taken quite a beating during her, ah…” the woman’s voice paused, searching for words. “During her ordeal, let’s say. Exhaustion combined with severe dehydration is serious and she has to recover.”
“How long?” It was Mitch again, and her heart soared. He sounded impatient.
“Listen, I’ve already provided a detailed summary to the other officer,” the woman’s voice was clearly frustrated by the interrogation. “The only reason I even let you in is because you’re also a patient. Not long.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll be back after I make my rounds.”
A whooshing sound let her know the doctor had left, and the tickling of her nose started again. She moved her head to rid the sensation. “That’s it, sleepy head.” Mitch’s deep voice pierced her fog. “Come on now, show me those beautiful eyes.”
He thinks my eyes are beautiful? Making a concerted effort, she opened first one, then the other, trying to pull him into focus. Her first vision of him made her mind reel. Pale and bandaged, he looked both horrid and wonderful at the same time. He’s alive. And he’s here with me. Her hand twitched and he scooped it up, holding it within his uninjured one, his other hand secured in a sling.
Mirth lit his deep eyes as he seemed to read her mind. “You’re no prize yourself.” He smiled, acknowledging her reaction to him. “But you’re here safe and sound, and that’s all that matters.”
She reached a heavy hand to her hair to smooth it, and he laughed outright, shaking his head. “Oh, yes, you’re a fine mess. I’m going to take pictures and post them on the Internet,” he continued, letting go of her other hand to illustrate a banner in the air. “Masterful marketing guru, Lorna Tymchuk, who never has a hair out of place, looks like a right disaster…”
Something about her look made him stop teasing and he turned serious eyes on her. “Will you promise me one thing?” He again took her hand in his and she squeezed to convey the words clogged in his throat. “When we’re married, can we avoid the whole helmet-hair thing? It really makes you look all stiff and uptight, and we both know you’re not that way at all.”
What? “Mar…” she croaked, and his eyes turned serious.
“I’m not good with words like you.” He looked almost apologetic. “I don’t say the right things at the right time. But I love you, Lorna.”
“Married?”
Moving his hand from hers to cup her cheek. “Goddamnit, I’ve loved you since you first tripped into my life at the library as my tutor.”
“Love me?” Why were her reactions so stunted? “But I’m—”
“What?”
“Tainted. How could you love someone like me?” She turned her gaze away, unable to imagine life without Mitch but not seeing how he could love a woman with a past like hers.
“Of course I love you.” He leaned forward to brush his lips across hers in a gentle caress. “Your past is your past. I don’t care. I’ve always loved you. There’s only ever been you for me. We’ve stupidly lost so much time. I don’t want to waste another second.”
“You can love me even though you know about—” She couldn’t look him in the eye. “I’m–I’m—”
“Strong,” he cut in. “A survivor. You’re caring and kind and capable. The list goes on and on. You want me to make your head swell with all this praise?” He smiled tenderly, rubbing his thumb along the edge of her lips, making her feel cherished.
She drew a shaky breath. “I love you.” Her vision blurred as her tears pooled.
“Yes.” He leaned in to kiss each eye. “I know. I forgot to mention how forceful you are. I love that too, by the way.”
She shook her head, his watery image the best vision she ever had. “Mitchell.”
“Oh, we’re back to that are we?”
She laughed shakily, lifting her hand to his uninjured shoulder. “I’m so glad you’re okay. I need you.” Her hand inched up along his neck. “You found me.”
“Yes, and took a bullet for you too.” He grinned widely, now obviously enjoying himself.
She focused on the wadded bandage on his shoulder. “I can’t believe you’ve been shot because of me.”
“Lorna, I love you with every fiber of my being. I would tackle the seven rings of hell for you and ours.”
***
“Here’s the phone you requested,” the nurse said, coming in the room. Lorna had expected Mitch to back away from the bed, but he didn’t. Retaining his hold on her hand, he nodded and turned his attention back to her.
“I figured you’d want to call Kris and Mariam right away.”
“Ohmigod, I’m a wreck,” she hick-upped on a small sob. “I can’t stop crying.”
“Happy tears, I hope,” he looked anxious until she nodded.
“Of course happy tears.” Lorna pulled his head towards her to kiss him.
Coming Soon…
The Tables Have Turned
Under Suspicion Series ~ Book Two
Sneak Peek
Chapter One
A blanket of inky purple shrouded the neighborhood. The dim streetlights were held hostage by the low cloud cover. Mitchell Morgan walked without shadow or sound along the sidewalk. The fog and starless night worked in his favor. No one was to know—except one.
Out of habit and an acute sense of paranoia, he checked over his shoulder before reaching to unlatch the fence gate. The metallic click seemed amplified in the silent night. The hinges mewed a squeak. He paused and slipped through the narrow opening
, and turned quickly to re-latch the door.
The sugary soft scent of the lilac bush permeated his senses. No dog impeded his progress. He scanned the house and the yard. No lights. He trod forward, skidded on the wet grass, and tripped over a child’s truck. He rolled into a crouch, braced, and paused to listen. Nothing.
Mitch stepped lightly onto the deck and contemplated the garden doors. Ceiling and floor latches, combined with the deadbolt, posed a problem.
Then he shook his head. The side panel was opened just a crack to the night breeze. Enough for him to do what he had to. A bird sang out from a nearby tree. He expected an answering trill. The birds were apparently as bedded down as the neighborhood.
He removed the screen and reached in to release the latches and deadbolt. The door opened soundlessly. He replaced the screen, not wanting to leave any evidence of his existence before he proceeded with the mission.
A creak of a floorboard above stopped him dead. He waited, but nothing more sounded. Too close to waste more time with dawn less than two hours out, he took the stairs to the landing two at a time.
The bedroom door stood half open. A nightlight cast wayward shadows over the walls. He crept toward the child’s room. The small boy slept with his head cocked to the side, arms splayed and the covers kicked off. Mitch pulled the blankets up and tucked them under his chin.
He returned to the main bedroom, closed the door, and secured the lock. He paused beside the bed, expectant, his breath coming quick. His pants fell to a puddle at his feet, and he tossed his shirt on the chair.
Lorna’s blonde hair fanned across the snow-white pillowcase. She curled to one side of the bed, an arm under the pillow, her other tucked under her chin. Angelic in her serenity, he was almost remorseful to wake her—almost.
Mitch crawled under the fluffy duvet, feeling the chill of the evening now that he was encased in the heat she emitted.
Edging close, but not too near, he soaked in her uniqueness—her smell, her aura—all of the things that made her special. He had been away more than a month on a mission and missed her. It was certainly a trial to maintain a relationship when his job demanded so much secrecy. But she seemed to take it in stride.
He’d be reprimanded severely if the Chief found out he took the chance to see her. He was in town for only the day before heading back to the field. Since they were not yet married, he didn’t receive the same exceptions as others.
He breathed in her fragrance and lightly traced the line of her spine with the tip of his index finger. She shivered but didn’t wake. With a bolder touch, he cupped her backside and ran his palm along her leg. Her head tossed a bit, and she seemed to mumble something he couldn’t pick up. Mitch smiled.
She wore a battered t-shirt and boxer shorts—wide across the thigh. He reached a hand under the hem of the shorts and wiggled his fingers closer. His tongue, a hairsbreadth from her ear, flicked the edge of her lobe while his fingers found their mark in the folds of her sex.
She jumped and spun towards him. “Mitch!” Her voice was husky with sleep.
“I’m here, baby,” he said and scooped her closer, melding her to his body, showing her his need.
Her fingers threaded through his too-long hair, and she pulled him to her. Her lips slipped across his, inviting. She wrapped her leg around his waist and pushed into him. He groaned. “Not so fast.”
He felt her nod, and then her lips were on him again, raining across his cheek, and he wished he had thought to shave. Her skin was so fair and sensitive, he was sure she’d have a whisker rash in the morning. As her hand cupped his penis, thoughts of sensitivity fled with the rush of blood through his veins.
She pulled her face from his, eyes luminous in the dim light. “How long?”
“Just ’til dawn.”
About the Author
Turning passion into words in print is a dream come true for Lori Power.
From Radio host (best job ever!), DJ, news reporter to newspaper journalist, like many authors, Lori has been writing most of her life, going so far as to secretly love writing the essays for school.
In writing, Lori has discovered a truism: everyone has a great story to tell. All you need to do is listen. Over the years, with all the people Lori has meet previously and daily, both professionally and personally, with an ear to the ground, readers can often find these ‘characters’ fictionalized in Lori’s stories.
Not confined to one genre, Lori has published select children’s books and one cookbook, based on a gluten-free diet, as well as non-fiction industry blogs.
Lori’s first novel “Storms of Passion” was published by Wild Rose Press under their Champagne line, in 2014.
Collaboration is important to improving one’s craft and as such, Lori is an active member of the TransCanada Romance Writers, The Alberta Romance Writers Association and belongs to both a Critiquing group and a Beta Reading weekly group.
Lori looks forward to continuing to find the good story; hashing out a scene, having fun with a character and writing the story she would love to read.
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