by Susan Stoker
“Yes, ma’am,” Rowdy said, with an eyeroll she didn’t miss, and a salute. “Brock is gonna have his damned hands full for sure,” she thought she heard him mumble as he walked over to pull Lucy to her feet.
An hour and a half later, Melanie felt a lot better about Brock’s prognosis when she exited the helicopter. The door across the roof burst open and medical personnel from the level one trauma center she insisted they fly him to, even though it was twenty minutes outside of Atlanta and a lot further away, rushed toward the helicopter.
The flight nurse and medic, who probably hated her guts now, got out and swung the narrow stretcher out through the doorway, then helped the hospital staff transfer Brock to the gurney along with IV bags and monitors. She watched them hang blood, and was damned happy to see it since he’d lost so much. During the flight, Melanie had been on the horn with the head ER doctor here, so she knew as soon as that blood was on board, a trauma surgeon waited to take Brock into surgery.
It was all she could do not to insist on being in charge as they surrounded him and pushed him toward the door across the roof, leaving her standing there feeling like a piece of useless driftwood in a raging storm. Being on the other side of a trauma this time gave her new insight on how those relatives who depended on her to save their loved ones felt.
Melanie looked up and frowned when the crew surrounding Brock stopped just short of the door and buzzed around him. Two nurses separated from them to run inside, and fear overwhelmed her as she ran toward them.
When she got closer, she realized what the problem was. Brock was awake now and struggling with them. Melanie shouldered her way between two nurses and grabbed his arm just as he opened his mouth and roared her name.
“Brock, settle down—you’re at the hospital and they’re trying to help you,” she said, forcing calm into her voice that she definitely didn’t feel. Melanie wanted to bawl like a baby at that moment because he was finally awake and obviously alert.
His pain-filled eyes shot to hers, and he growled, “I fucking love you, Hooty—so don’t you dare think about leaving until we talk!”
Melanie’s insides turned liquid, her face heated and she felt six sets of eyes burning into her, but she didn’t care. She leaned down and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth then whispered, “If you want me to stick around, you just said the magic words. Now that you have, though, you better not fucking die or I’ll find you in hell.” She raised up, and glared at him, but her lips trembled. “Now stop being a difficult patient and let them fix you.”
They pushed the gurney a foot, but he stopped them again. “What about Brady?” he demanded, gripping one of the nurse’s arms.
“Brady is safe, Lucy is in jail, and I’m in love with you,” she grated, as she walked over to glare at him again. “You have nothing to worry about other than getting through surgery. Now, let them take you there so I don’t have to knock you out!”
The corner of his mouth ticked up and that dimple appeared. Her heart slid down in her chest then melted and flowed to her toes.
“You sure are bossy, aren’t you?” he asked, then relaxed back on the gurney still wearing a smile. “I think I need someone like you in my life to keep me in line.” The hospital crew pushed him through the door and Melanie sighed.
What in the hell had she gotten herself into? Whatever it was, she looked forward to a lifetime of it, and it appeared that that lifetime would be spent in Sunny Glen, Georgia, a place where five hundred of the oddest hillbillies on earth lived.
Make that five-hundred and one.
Epilogue
‡
Melanie’s body tensed as she watched Brady step behind the center and put his hands down for the ball. This always made her nervous, especially when there was a kid two times the size of her stepson on the other side of the line waiting to cream him if he had a chance.
Brock didn’t seem to be nervous at all, though, his expression was one of calm intensity as he focused on the game. Pee Wee Football, according to him, was serious business. The league that Brock started this fall as his first official act as the new mayor was proof of that. Well, his first was really the only stoplight in town, but he’d seen that done before he resigned as sheriff when the Morris’ left town to be near Lucy in Atlanta.
She liked when Brock was focused like this because it gave her time to watch her sexy new husband in his element and fantasize about him like she did in high school. The only difference now was she could live out those fantasies when she got him home and out of those tight football shorts to have a shower with him.
That was her favorite part of Saturday afternoon, and happened right after they dropped Brady off at his new grandmother’s house for some tea time, leaf reading lessons and lots of love. Unless he insisted on helping Brock with chores before he went.
Please just go over there after the game today, buddy.
Her mother adored Brady, and Aunt June doted on him, and he begged to go over there every chance he got, so maybe he’d just let them drop him off. Unless he insisted Brock give him another lesson on Lorrie today. Brady was getting to be a very good rider, and Brock was talking about upgrading him to one of the mares soon.
That would have to wait until she foaled next year though. He’d had both of the mares inseminated. With the heifers he bought, and the new bull she gave him as a wedding present, next spring the ranch was going to have a lot of new babies. She wondered if the following spring they’d have another. She and Brock had been talking about giving Brady a sibling.
It had taken long enough, over a year, for them finally get to the altar so she had the official freedom to think about their future and plan. But good things were worth waiting for, and her new husband and son were definitely worth the wait.
But if Melanie would’ve had to live with her mother one more month while Brady finished his counseling, she probably would have committed herself to that mental facility where Lucy was being held and treated until she was fit to stand trial for murder.
The D.A. delayed filing charges for felony child abuse and attempted murder hoping they would get out of having to testify. Mostly so Brady wouldn’t have to testify—he agreed the kid had been through enough. The prosecutor thought the murder would probably get her life in prison, so he wouldn’t need to charge her with the lesser crimes.
Brady’s call for the ball jerked her attention back to the offensive line. She knew that’s what it was called now, because her stepson had explained the game to her in intricate detail. Melanie hated football, but she listened intently because she loved her stepson to distraction—almost as much as she loved his father.
The kid was funny and so damned energetic now she wondered how she’d ever keep up with him when he became a teenager. She would pass that duty off to Brock then, she thought, cringing as helmets crunched together and Brady ran toward the far end of the line. It was a good thing she was a doctor, because she had a feeling she’d be seeing half of these kids in her office before this first season of the Sunny Glen Pee Wee Football League was over.
Melanie’s breath caught in her throat, her fists closed and she held her breath as the last pair of players at the end of the line fell and Brady swooped by them with the ball under his arm. Brock bent to cup his hands to his mouth and yell, the crowd started buzzing and Melanie shot to her feet to watch. He pushed his hand into the chest of a defender and blew by him, then his feet moved so fast they looked like a blur as he streaked toward the end zone.
“Go Brady!! Run, baby, run!” she shouted, pumping her fists as pride swelled her chest to near bursting. And he did run all the way into the end zone where he promptly spiked the ball, then turned to fist pump Brock, before he picked up the ball and jogged back toward the sideline.
Melanie couldn’t stand it.
Brock told her to stay in the stands, but she had to hug Brady, and he needed her hugs, he told her so, because they made him happy. She quickly stepped on each bleacher seat until her feet hit the
ground then ran toward the bench where Brock was talking to the players.
“Did you see me?” Brady shouted, as he ran over to grin up at her.
“I did see you, and I’ve never seen anyone run so fast! You were freaking awesome,” she praised, and he beamed. “What was that play called? A quarterback sneak?” she guessed, because it was the only one involving a quarterback that she could remember.
He squealed and threw his arms around her waist. “You got it right! Cause I’m a good coach, huh?” he asked, stepping back to smile at her.
“You’re the best coach, ever,” she said, then leaned down to whisper. “Even better than your daddy.”
Brady giggled and she felt eyes on her, so she glanced over to find Brock glaring at her. She smiled and waggled her fingers, and Brock’s lips twitched as he rolled his eyes.
“Cooper stop flirting with my wife and get back over here so you don’t miss the play,” he said gruffly, and Brady’s eyes widened before he spun to run over there. “Dr. Cooper get your pretty butt back in those bleachers before I spank you.”
Brock stared at her with that look, and a delicious chill snaked down her spine.
“You sure are bossy these days,” she mouthed, and he grinned, that dimple popped and her panties went up in flames.
The End
Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed Laying Down The Law (#4 Cowboy Way). If you did, I’d greatly appreciate you leaving a review. You can find the other books in my Cowboy Way Series here:
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Just Shoot Me
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Too Hot To Trot
Where There’s Smoke
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About the Author
A Jill of many trades, New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Becky McGraw has been an optician, a beautician, a legal secretary, a real estate broker, web designer, graphic artist, and romance writer. She knows just enough to make her dangerous, and her humor-laced contemporary cowboy, military and romantic suspense novels varied and interesting.
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Texas Justice
Cynthia D’Alba
‡
Dedication
I can honestly say that without the support of the D’Alba Diamonds, my street team, this book would never have been finished. They’ve carried me over the past months as I’ve struggled with newly diagnosed breast cancer. This writing gig would be a much lonelier life without them. Thank you, Diamonds.
Thank you also to Eileen McCall and Ruth Smithson for all the reading and suggestions you did for this book. Hugs to Angie Campbell for all her edits and corrections. Any mistakes are mine and mine alone.
And without the support of my fellow Cowboy Justice authors, I would have quit. But they were always there, supporting me, encouraging me. Thank you, ladies.
Copyright © 2016 Cynthia D’Alba and Riante, Inc.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be reproduced book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author—except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine, newspaper, or on the web. For information, please contact the author via email at [email protected]
This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Cover Artist: Elle James/Myla Jackson
Editor: Heidi Moore
Chapter One
‡
“Sorry, ma’am. I’m gonna have to frisk you.”
“But, Sheriff, I didn’t do anything,” Tess Sweeney said, rapidly batting her eyelashes. “I swear.”
She dragged out the last two words in the best damned Scarlet O’Hara imitation she could do. The corners of his mouth twitched for a minute before his face transformed into a stern expression.
“Spread ’em,” he ordered, deepening his voice into a growl.
“If I don’t, are you going to pistol whip me?” She made a point of sticking out her lower lip in a pout.
“No, ma’am, but I might have to use my big nightstick on you.”
Tess squealed with laughter. “Has that line ever worked?”
Tess looked up into the steel-gray eyes of Kyle Monroe. He gave her a smile that sent her heart racing. Sexual energy flared, melting her insides.
“Nope, but a man’s gotta have hope.” He brushed the back of his fingers along her cheek. She pressed her face into his touch. His eyes darkened with desire. Every cell in her body lit up.
“Have I told you how beautiful you are?”
A huge lump formed in her throat. Too thin and too plain as a child, she’d never had much attention from boys. By the time she’d reached high school, she’d developed large breasts, a narrow waist, and hips that swung when she walked. But inside, she was still that skinny, ugly little girl nobody picked for their kickball team.
Tess’s elbows sank into the mattress as she arched her back, crushing her breasts against his chest. She savored the feel of the rough hair there against her sensitive nipples. “You might have mentioned it once or twice over dinner.” She ran her tongue around his nipple and caught it between her teeth, tugging gently on the rigid flesh.
He caught her head between his hands, holding her against his chest. His deep-throated moan told her how much he loved the rasp of her tongue on his flesh.
Moving up his body, she kissed and nibbled until she reached his lower lip. She sucked it between her lips and then looked at him. “But for now, less talk. More action.” She raked her taut nipples through his chest hair again.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said as he rolled her onto her back and worked his way down her neck.
Beside her right ear her cell phone vibrated on the oak bedside table. It pulsated twice more, followed by loud gonging.
“Argh,” she moaned, dropping her arms out to her sides. Did she have to get a call the first time she was in bed with this incredibly sexy man? Of course she did.
“Don’t answer it,” he said, tightening his arms around her like a steel band.
“You know I have to.” She glanced at the clock and sighed. One a.m. Nobod
y got good news at this hour. “I’m on call. No choice.”
Tess kissed the tip of his nose and slipped from the mattress. She hurried around the bed and grabbed her cell phone off the table. “Dr. Sweeney.”
She glanced back at the man in her bed and wanted to weep at being on call. He’d scooted up until his back rested against her headboard. His chest was a rock-hard display of muscle and sinew that begged to be touched…and she wanted to stroke it so bad her fingers itched. His eyes were on her, listening as she took her call from the emergency department.
She forced her attention back to the call.
“Dr. Sweeney. This is John Tanner from St. Michaels Hospital.”
“Oh, hi, John. What’d you have?”
“MVA. Young boy. Thrown from the car upon collision.”
“Uh-huh. How old?”
“Five but quite small for his age.”
She opened the bedside table drawer and pulled out a sheet of paper to jot notes as the Emergency Department physician continued his report. “Okay. Have you already done the type and cross for blood?”
“Sent it off to the lab a couple of minutes ago. The parents say they think he is O positive, which would be great. I’m sure the blood bank will have that.”
“Great. Parents are there at the hospital then?”
“Yep. Last name’s Lloyd. Hold on.” Papers rattled. “Um, parents are Preston and Constance.”
“Preston Lloyd, our district attorney?” Her chest squeezed her heart.
“Yeah.”
“Great, just great.” She blew out a long breath and tapped a dozen ink splotches on the paper with her pen. Lloyd was a first-class asshole. She’d done a first-class job avoiding him in the two years she’d lived in Diamond Lakes, Texas.
“And I have to tell you, Tess. He reeks of alcohol.”