Forever Oregon #2

by Sara Jane Stone

  And now it became clear. The suit and tie. The polished shoes. He’d been at the courthouse.

  “They’ll take him away for good.” He pointed the gun at her head. “But if you call—­”

  She felt tears well in her eyes. “Mr. Stanton, there is nothing I can do.”

  “Call,” he barked.

  Oh God, what would Dominic do? Fight him? She didn’t have the strength. Or would Dominic pretend to make the call? Was this man so crazed he wouldn’t realize she’d dialed for help and not the courthouse? And if he did?

  Did it matter? He’d beaten her and cut her up with a knife in a fit of rage. He blamed her for losing a child he should never be allowed near.

  The child.

  Jay Stanton was a shy boy who loved to color, play on the slides at recess, and hated everything about frogs, even pictures of them. He’d brought a tuna fish sandwich and a yogurt for lunch every day last year. He spoke with a slight lisp. And he’d been in her care, her student, for an entire year.

  “OK. I’ll call,” she said. But her cell phone was in her purse, which was lying beneath a pile of stickers and crayon boxes on the porch. “My landline is in the kitchen.”

  She took a step back and Louis nodded. She kept walking, her eyes on his gun as she made her way into the kitchen. She needed to make that call. Her safety came second to that little boy’s future. If Louis Stanton shot her, walked out of here and back into that courtroom, if by some horrible twist of fate the judge granted him access to Jay . . .

  “Do you have the number?” she asked.

  He reached in his pocket and withdrew a slip of paper. Of course he’d brought the contact information. He was crazy, but clearly on a mission. He held it out to her and she took it, careful not to touch his hand. One touch and she might lose her nerve and start screaming, begging, and trying to run away.

  She picked up the cordless phone. She looked at the number scrawled on the paper, then drew a deep breath and dialed Big Buck’s Bar.

  “Hello, this is—­”

  “Is this the Forever courthouse?” She spoke fast, talking over the man on the other end. If the words “Big Buck’s” carried through the receiver, if Louis Stanton realized she’d called for help . . .

  “I need the family court division.”

  “Lily?”

  She heard the shock in Dominic’s tone and pressed forward. “The extension is three, three, two? Could you, um, connect me?”

  Her voice faltered over the words. She closed her eyes and hoped the man she’d kicked out of her house got the message and rushed to her rescue.

  Chapter Sixteen

  FUCK THE FLOWERS.

  Dominic dropped the phone. By the time it hit the rubber mat, he’d vaulted over the bar’s polished surface.

  “Lily needs help,” he called to Noah as he pushed through the customers. “Call my dad. Call the station. It has something to do with the family court in town.”

  He’d reached the door and had his hand on the knob. Three, three, two? What the hell did those numbers mean? Where was she? Not at the courthouse, if she was pretending to call. Her house? She lived at number sixty-­eight. Hell, he’d memorized her address in high school along with her home phone number.

  Three, three, two—­the first three digits on her home phone number.

  “She’s at home,” he added. And then he ran out the door and headed for his rental. But Caroline beat him to the driver’s side door.

  “Take this.” She thrust a pistol into his hand. “It’s loaded with a round in the chamber.”

  “Thanks.” He didn’t have time to ask questions and figure out if she’d broken into Noah’s gun safe. He climbed into the car and peeled out of the parking lot.

  Please let there be a cop between here and there. He’d lead them right to her damn house. If the man who’d attacked Lily in the park was with her, if he was hurting her, Dominic needed backup. Hell, he wanted the whole damn police force with him. Otherwise he was going in with a gun, one good hand, and the determination to bust in there and save her.

  I can’t let her down.

  The stakes were too damn high. If she died, if that bastard killed her because he hadn’t believed her when she’d told him again and again that she’d been targeted . . .

  But he had been on her side. Until he’d started to doubt his judgment and wonder if he’d been blinded by fucking love.

  Still, he’d looked into her list. He’d used his dad’s computer—­and the police department’s resources—­to search for anything he could find on the list of names.

  Which one has a connection to family court?

  The peanut butter dad was a certified ass, but from everything he’d dug up on the family, the man’s wife was his perfect match.

  Dominic accelerated down the familiar stretch of road leading to Lily’s quiet neighborhood. Family court. The dad who didn’t have the correct paperwork to pick up his son . . .

  Louis Stanton.

  He turned on her street and mentally ran through everything he knew about Louis Stanton. Nine years at a desk job outside of town. He was laid off about a year ago. His wife kicked him out, filed for divorce and sole custody. She’d won. Louis moved back to Washington to live with his uncle. He’d secured a new job that paid well. Apart from being dealt a rough blow when he lost his job, Louis Stanton was a model citizen. He didn’t even have a parking ticket. The man was a getting his life back.

  But not his son.

  Dominic slammed on the brakes and put the car in park. He didn’t know why Louis thought Lily held the key to getting his son back. But any man who’d attack a woman was crazy in his book.

  A patch of red on the white porch steps caught his eye.

  Not Lily. Oh God, please not Lily.

  He was out of the car, running for the house before he saw the bottles strewn about the porch. Boxes of crayons spilled everywhere. There was a patch of blue in the corner. Hell, it wasn’t blood. It was finger paint.

  He pushed open the door and fought like hell to control his ragged breathing. All those years of training, all that time spent away from the woman he loved trying to make himself better, hoping to come home her hero—­this was his chance. Now he needed to execute as if he were a mission.

  He raised the gun, his right index finger wrapped around the trigger. Silently, he moved into the entryway and scanned the space. She wasn’t here. But—­

  “I swear I’m on hold.”

  He heard Lily voice, firm and fearful. But fucking alive. And he headed for the kitchen. He stopped beside the wine cabinet in her living room. The archway leading to the kitchen stood a few inches in front of him. He could see Louis from his vantage point, but Lily was out of sight.

  Where was her phone? He tried to picture the room. The coffeepot in the far corner by the sink . . . The window above the sink looking out the side of the house . . . The phone by the fridge, which stood on the opposite wall.

  “It’s been fifteen minutes,” Louis Stanton said. And damn, his voice sounded a helluva lot more panicked than Lily’s. “I need to get back there.”

  The man directing a pistol at Lily looked down at his watch. Dominic needed to move now. He glanced down at the gun in his right hand.

  At this distance, he could hit Louis and disarm him if his finger pulled the trigger. And there was no guarantee his damaged nerves would receive the signal and follow orders. He silently switched the gun to his left hand. He could make the shot at this distance. Hell, he didn’t have a choice. He couldn’t fail her. Not here. Not now.

  “I need to be back to the courthouse in ten minutes,” Louis said as if timing was his big fucking problem, not the fact that he was holding a woman at gunpoint.

  Dominic took advantage of the other man’s momentary distraction and stepped into the room, with his weapon raised and prepared to
fire.

  But dammit, nervous and terrified Louis Stanton moved first. The bastard stepped toward Lily. He held the gun up to her face and said, “Give me the phone.”

  He saw the panic in Lily’s eyes. Dominic didn’t have a clue who was on the other end of that line. Noah? Caroline? It sure as hell wasn’t a representative from family court.

  But he also saw her blue eyes widen as she spotted him. Her lips parted as if she might call out. He shook his head and hoped she got the message.

  “Give me the phone,” Louis repeated, waving his gun-­free hand in the air like an impatient child.

  Dominic didn’t have a choice right now. He had to reveal his position. And he couldn’t do it by firing at Louis. Not while the bastard stood in front of Lily.

  If he missed, if he hit her . . .

  Not an option.

  “Louis,” he called.

  The man who’d hurt Lily, who’d hunted her down and held a fucking gun to her head, turned. He looked crazed and pretty damn surprised to see a gun pointed in his direction. But still Dominic didn’t fire. He couldn’t take advantage of the other man’s shock with Lily so close. He didn’t have the accuracy.

  “Lily! Move!” he barked. Please listen to me, honey. Please trust me. Give me a second chance and even if I can’t win your heart, I’ll keep it beating.

  She obeyed. Thank fucking God. She dove for the floor at the foot of the refrigerator, her arms raised to cover her head.

  Dominic spared her one last glimpse. The long blond hair. The faded marks on her forearms. Her blue eyes wide with fear. He loved her. He would always love her.

  Then he turned his attention back to Louis. He aimed and he pulled the trigger.

  And so did the man trembling in his shoes.

  Dominic’s shoulder exploded with pain. It was on fire. And fuck a duck. It was his right arm. As he fell to the kitchen floor, he turned away from the man who’d dropped like a stone and looked at the woman he loved.

  “I had to, Lily,” he murmured. He saw tears streaming down her face. “I love you too much to let him hurt you.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  LILY CRAWLED ACROSS the floor. Her entire body shook from the roller-­coaster ride of fear. The gun aimed at her, the sound of Dominic on the phone, the wondering if that would be the last time she heard his voice, if the madman with the gun would shoot her first . . .

  “Dominic,” she whispered as she reached his side. He turned his head toward her, his green eyes open and alert.

  Oh, thank goodness.

  “Is he moving?” he asked.

  She stole a brief glance at the other body sprawled on the floor. Louis Stanton’s right hand was open and his gun rested on the floor a few feet away. She watched his fingers, waiting for them to reach for his weapon, to try to hurt her again, to take more from them . . . And nothing. Not a twitch.

  “No,” she said, turning her attention back to Dominic. Her gaze traveled south to his black Big Buck’s T-­shirt. The right side looked wet. And below his shoulder, blood pooled, seeping out from beneath him.

  “You’re bleeding,” she said.

  “Gunshot,” he said. “And it had to be my right shoulder.”

  Oh God.

  “I need to call an ambulance,” she whispered.

  “On their way. I had Noah call the cavalry when I left. My dad’s probably leading the charge . . .”

  “They’ll be here soon,” she said, trying for reassuring. It wasn’t a question. The paramedics needed to get there. He needed help. They had to save him.

  She stared at the blood, her mind racing through the first-­aid course she took every year as part of her teacher training. Gunshot wound. Lots of blood. Apply pressure. Soak up the blood.

  Hands still trembling, she pulled off her white shirt and pressed it against the wound on his chest. “That’s better,” she murmured as the fabric turned pink, then red as the color spread.

  “Thanks for calling me,” he said, his lips curved into a smile.

  His lips . . . She could see his mouth. A thin layer of stubble covered his jawline.

  “You trimmed your beard,” she muttered. The mundane fact, so unimportant to whether he lived or died . . . but she couldn’t stop looking. Not that it mattered if he had a beard a mile long or not. She loved him.

  He chuckled. Then he grimaced as if laughing delivered a strong dose of pain. “Noah said you’d like this better. I also wanted to bring you flowers. Today. Later. I was . . .” He drew a sharp inhale.

  “Dominic, please—­” She glanced down at her hands, now covered in his blood as she pressed her shirt to his wound. The white fabric was bright red. He needed an ambulance. Now.

  “I was giving you time.” He managed the words through ragged gasps for air. “And space.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Two days?” She’d kicked him out, yet this time he planned to spin around and come back to her. He’d respected her request, but he hadn’t disappeared for good. Maybe he couldn’t. Maybe he’d meant it when he said he loved her . . .

  “I know,” he muttered. “I waited too long. But it was Noah’s idea. Blame him. And I still—­” He inhaled sharply. “I still drove by every morning and every night. Last night I came by five times. I’m sorry, Lil. I know you wanted . . . wanted me to stay . . . away . . .”

  He drew another ragged breath.

  “Shh,” she murmured. Outside she heard the sirens growing closer and closer. It was her turn to laugh as relief seeped in. Help was coming. “They’ll be here soon.”

  “Noah told me to tell you I’ll mess up,” Dominic whispered. “Again and again. In the future . . . I’ll keep fucking up, Lil. Noah knows it . . . I know it . . .”

  Mess up?

  “You saved me,” she said firmly. “If you hadn’t rushed in . . .”

  Louis Stanton had hurt her once. This time, he might have killed her. If Louis had discovered that she’d called a bar instead of the courthouse . . .

  “I had to, Lil.”

  “They’re almost here,” she said. “The paramedics. You’re going to be OK. They’ll help—­”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  She nodded, clinging to his certainty even though the blood beneath her hands told a different story. The sirens stopped in front of her house and she glanced at the door.

  “Look at me, Lily.”

  She tore her attention away from the rush of footsteps on her front steps and focused on his pale, oh-­so-­familiar face, his deep green eyes.

  “I’m not leaving you, Lily. Not this time. Not ever again if I can help it.” His eyes closed. “But I might . . . I might need a little . . . nap.”

  The paramedics burst in as the love of her life passed out on her kitchen floor.

  “Help him,” she begged, tears rushing freely down her face now. “Please, help him!”

  Hands wrapped around her bare shoulders and drew her away from Dominic. “You can ride with him, ma’am,” a deep voice promised. “But let us take care of him now.”

  She wrapped her arms around her waist and watched. More bodies filled the room. Men and women in uniforms. Forever’s chief of police rushed in and the sea of ­people parted for him.

  “Lily, you’re all right,” Dominic’s father said, his expression transitioning to relief. Then he looked down at his son. “Oh God. Oh no. Dominic.”

  “He was hit in the shoulder,” one of the paramedics called as they prepared to carry him out to the waiting ambulance.

  The chief of police nodded, his jaw tight. “Exit wound?”

  “Yes, sir. Close range. We’ll know more when we get to the hospital.”

  And they carried Dominic out. She stepped forward and a woman, also in uniform, handed her a shirt. “For the ride to the hospital.”

  Lily nodded and pulled it over her hea
d. Behind her, she heard Chief Fairmore ask: “And the suspect?”

  “He’s dead, sir.”

  Lily walked out of the kitchen. It was over. The man who’d hurt her, who’d left her living in fear, he was dead. She walked faster, stepping over the paint and stickers still covering her front porch. She needed to get to Dominic. She had to be there when he woke up. She had to tell him the words she should have said when he’d first come home, or later when he’d stood in her kitchen and told her that he loved her.

  She climbed into the ambulance and moved to the side, allowing the paramedics to do their work. But once they pulled away, sirens blaring, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his ear. And she whispered, “I love you, Dominic Fairmore.”

  DOMINIC WOKE UP to a chorus of beeping machines. He felt like he’d been dragged back in time. He blinked, studying the hospital ceiling, trying to orient himself. He’d been shot again. Only this time, he was in Oregon. And this wasn’t a military hospital.

  “You’re awake?”

  He turned his head and saw the woman he’d rushed to save. Lily. His Lily. Unharmed. She’d pulled her blond hair back into a ponytail. Her familiar blue eyes were red and puffy as if she’d been crying. And she was wearing an oversized navy T-­shirt that read “Forever, Oregon, EMS Squad” with bright pink bloodstained pants. But still, she looked so damn beautiful.

  “Hey.” His voice felt rusty and unused. He tried to reach for the water pitcher and paper cups on the bedside table, but Lily moved faster. She poured a cup and held it to his lips as he drank.

  “Was I out long?” he rasped.

  She smiled. “You slept for ten straight hours.”

  “Huh. It must be the painkillers.” He could see the IV. Plus, he knew his shoulder should be hurting a lot more than it did. He looked at her over the rim of water cup.

  “The nurses and I have been taking bets—­painkillers or caffeine withdrawal. I had the advantage. I know your coffee habit. But the overnight nurse was on my side too.”

  “Don’t tell me you spent the entire time sitting is that chair and watching me sleep.”