Can't Take My Eyes Off You

by Kait Nolan

  “This pink wrap is gonna look so nice and cheerful,” Keisha said as they opened the door. “Doctor Campbell is gonna put this on you now.” She’d already fitted Rene with a plastic drape to keep her clothes dry during the process.

  “Thanks, Keisha.”

  With a raise of her eyebrows that clearly said good luck, the nurse stepped out.

  Ethan stepped quietly into the room in her wake. Rene’s eyes went wide at the sight of him. He shut the door and nodded at her. “Ma’am.”

  Again, Miranda had the ridiculous notion that he ought to be wearing a cowboy hat so he could take it off in the presence of women. His pause had that air of polite respect.

  “Rene, this is Chief Greer. He’s here to take your statement. Chief, this is Rene Forbes, Harley Forbes’s wife.”

  He kept his focus on Rene as he came over, folding himself into the visitor’s chair as Miranda started the casting process.

  Good move. Make yourself look less intimidating.

  His eyes fell on the bruises as Miranda tugged up her sleeve. “I understand you’ve had a little trouble.”

  Rene instinctively clutched her wrist against her chest, covering the bruising with her other hand. But Ethan had already seen. Gently, Miranda nudged the wrist back down and slipped the stockinette over her hand. “I need you to hold your thumb and forefinger together. Yes, exactly like that.”

  “No, no trouble.”

  Ethan just offered a reassuring smile. “You know, I’ve met your husband.”

  “Oh?” Rene’s eyes flickered back and forth between them, as if she couldn’t decide who was the greater threat.

  “Hauled him in a couple times for drunk and disorderly. Once for simple assault in a bar fight. Not a new thing based on his record. I’m guessin’ the bar isn’t the only place he gets aggressive after he’s had a few.”

  “A man has a right to a few drinks in peace.” The words fell from her like rote. Clearly a common phrase in the Forbes household.

  “Not everybody can drink responsibly. Some people get foolish. Some get mean. It’s not their fault. Just how they’re wired. Those kinda people need help learning how to handle it.”

  “He’s not gonna want help. If I wasn’t so stupid all the time—”

  “You’re not stupid.” Miranda snapped the words like a bullwhip. She cursed herself as Rene flinched back at the tone.

  Chill out. You’re not the one being called stupid. But Miranda couldn’t stop the instant flash of temper that particular term engendered, no matter who it was directed at. Gentling her voice, she repeated it as she wrapped the arm with cotton padding. “You’re not stupid. Don’t let him tell you that you are.”

  Rene’s throat worked. “How…how would this work?”

  Miranda all but held her breath as she began to wrap the Scotchcast around Rene’s wrist.

  “Well now, I’ll take a statement about what he did to you. I know that’s likely to be difficult. Dr. Campbell will stay right here with you, if you want.”

  “Of course, I will.”

  “Given Harley’s history, I’d then have to bring him in to the station to talk to him about what happened. And chances are, I’d have to arrest him.”

  “Arrest? No. No no no. You can’t do that.”

  “I’m afraid that’s how we’d get him in front of the judge. He’s the only one with the power to order Harley into treatment.”

  “I’m not doing that. I’m not. I won’t turn in my husband.” Rene’s breathing went short, her voice rising.

  Miranda choked back a curse. But Ethan stayed steady as a rock. “It’s a scary thing going up against somebody who’s got power over you. Someone who’s hurt you. Nobody can make you do it. We won’t push you about it today. But I’m gonna give you my card. It’s got my number at the station and my cell number. If ever you feel ready to press charges, or if you need help, or if you’re just scared and need to talk, you call. All right?”

  Rene didn’t answer, so he just tucked the card into the purse by her side.

  “I’ll just let y’all finish up with that cast. I hope you feel better soon, Mrs. Forbes.”

  With one last look at Miranda that told her he’d be waiting when she was through, he slipped out the door.

  Miranda took a hard grip on her temper. She finished up the cast in silence, with her patient staring at the floor. Once she’d applied the final wrap, she stayed calm and professional as she gave Rene her discharge instructions. As the woman slid off the exam table, Miranda stopped her. “Chief Greer is a good man. He wants to help you, just like I do. We’re here whenever you’re ready.”

  Rene jerked a nod. “Am I finished?”

  “Yeah.”

  The woman couldn’t get out fast enough.

  Miranda stayed where she was. A minute later, Ethan came back into the room.

  Frustrated and heartsick, she scooped a hand through her hair. “I thought I’d convinced her this time.”

  “I wish I could say this kind of thing didn’t happen all the time. I expect you know that.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I know. It’s always so hard to balance walking the line between HIPPA regulations and duty to report. And worrying over whether they’ll stop seeking treatment if the incidents are reported.”

  “Hey, you tried. That’s more than a lot of people would do. Plenty of others look the other way.”

  Miranda lifted her gaze to his. “I have never been that person.”

  His lips curved, just a little, as if he appreciated that about her. Then he sobered again. “She wasn’t going to press charges. Not when she got up close and personal with the idea. But I’ll still make a report, add it to the file. Every little bit of evidence helps.”

  “I’ll write up what I saw. I have no problem testifying about it, should it come to that. He’s escalating.”

  “That’s my read, too. Believe me, I’m keeping an eye on Forbes. He does anything else I can put him away for, I’ll do it.”

  “Let’s just hope nobody else ends up in the hospital when he does it.”

  “Your mouth to God’s ear.” He shifted, reaching into his pocket for something. “Speaking of reports. You haven’t picked yours up.”

  Miranda reached automatically for the folded paper he offered. “We’ve been swamped this week. Thanks for bringing it by.”

  He shrugged. “Since I was coming over anyway.” His radio crackled. Without breaking eye contact, he answered the call. “Greer.”

  The dispatcher came back. “Chief, we’ve got a report of a theft off of Buddy Dibley’s grill.”

  “You mean somebody stole his grill?”

  “No, sir. Somebody stole the ribs he was cooking right off it.”

  Ethan’s face went slack with shock. “Come again?”

  “You heard me. Texting you the address.”

  Clearly baffled, Ethan looked to Miranda. “I used to track dangerous fugitives for a living. This is my life now,” he muttered.

  Miranda hadn’t thought she could smile again so soon. “I’m sure Buddy would appreciate those investigative skills being put to the cause of locating his ribs. He’s spent the last five years trying to beat Abe Costello in the annual summer barbeque cook-off.”

  His lips twitched up into an answering grin and wow. It transformed his sober face into something that set her pulse tripping. “So you’re saying it’s prospective espionage in the name of barbeque?”

  Miranda shrugged. “It could happen.”

  “Never a dull moment.” He nodded at her again with that hat tipping motion. “See you around, Doc.”

  Saturday morning, as he was setting up for the hunter safety course in the community center gym, Ethan was still thinking about Miranda Campbell. Big-hearted, beautiful Miranda Campbell, who wanted desperately to help a woman who was so entrenched in the cycle of abuse, she wasn’t likely to ever listen. A foolhardy effort maybe, but Ethan had to admire her conviction in doing what was right.

  He’d been on edge the las
t couple of days, fully expecting a call for another domestic disturbance or a bar fight in conjunction with Harley. But all had been quiet. The guy was bad news. In his career as a U.S. Marshal, Ethan had chased the worst of the worst. He knew the type. It wasn’t a question of if Harley would go over the edge, but when. The waiting made him twitchy. As a Marshal, it hadn’t been his job to build a case to confirm someone’s guilt. By the time they’d been brought in, someone else had already done that. He’d had a warrant and a fugitive and a mission of bringing them in before they had a chance to hurt anyone else. He didn’t have that liberty here. Without Rene being willing to press charges, his hands were tied. Even if everybody in town knew he was beating his wife, without witnesses willing to testify about it, he couldn’t get the bastard off the streets.

  That didn’t sit well with Ethan.

  He needed a new angle. With that in mind, he joined Clint Yarbrough, the officer who’d agreed to help him teach today, at the sign in table.

  “You ever had any run-ins with Harley Forbes?”

  “Don’t think there’s a one of us in the department who hasn’t.”

  “You ever get wind of him being involved in any illegal activities? Beyond what’s in his record.”

  “Can’t say as I have. What are you thinking?”

  “Guy’s been unemployed a long time. Wondering how they’re getting by.”

  “Unemployment for him. And his wife cleans houses.”

  “She’s gonna have a damned hard time doing that with a broken wrist.”

  Clint’s eyes went hard. “It’s a shit situation. You expecting something?”

  “Don’t know. I just want everybody keeping their eyes and ears open. He steps one toe out of line, I want to know about it.” The doors at the end of the gym opened and the first of their students arrived. “We’ll talk about it more at next week’s briefing.”

  Ethan worked up a good-natured smile for the late-twenty-something guy who got there first. “Mornin’. You here for the bowhunter safety class?”

  “Yep.”

  “Name?” Clint asked.

  “Sean Murphy.”

  “I’m Ethan Greer, and this is Clint Yarbrough.” Ethan approved of the man’s firm handshake. “You ever shot a bow before, Sean?”

  He accepted the clipboard with the release and course contract. “A bit as a kid. Been a long time. I thought this would be a good refresher.”

  “Should be. Hope you won’t be too bored.” Ethan passed him his course materials and moved on to the next person in line.

  People trickled in for the next fifteen minutes. With each one, Ethan took the time to introduce himself and learn their names. When the clock ticked on to 10:10, Ethan figured they had all the students they’d get.

  “Reckon we’re about ready to get rolling here.”

  The door squeaked open and a petite woman with red hair slipped in, hurrying toward the table. “Is this the bowhunter safety course?”

  Clint eyed her with obvious surprise. “It is.”

  “Great. Sorry I’m late.”

  She was the only woman who’d shown up. Not that Ethan hadn’t known women who could and did bow hunt, but this girl hardly seemed the type. Still, looks could be deceiving. “Name?”

  Pink crawled across her fair cheeks. “Delaney Newell.”

  Clint handed her the clipboard with the paperwork, and Ethan racked his brain for why she seemed so familiar. As she handed the clipboard back, it popped. “You work at Dr. Campbell’s clinic.”

  Delaney’s eyes widened and her hands began to twist at the strap of her purse. “Yes. I’m the administrative assistant.”

  Because she seemed unaccountably nervous, Ethan offered her an easy smile. “Saw you when I was in earlier this week. You ever shot a bow before?”

  She shook her head.

  Only woman, never shot a bow, so what had prompted her to take the class? “This will be a good starter for you.”

  The three of them strode over to join the rest of the class. There were fifteen students in total. Most claimed to have some experience with a bow. Ethan figured they’d see about that. “All right,” he began. “Let’s get started with a little bit of history.”

  Jordan Linley raised his hand. “Not to be rude or anything, but a few of us were wondering, you being a city guy and all, what your qualifications were for teaching this class? Can’t be too much cause for bowhunting in Dallas.”

  Ethan wondered if he’d still be called the City Guy in fifteen years. “Fair question.”

  Instead of laying down the history of his youth in rural West Texas, he opened his bow case and withdrew the compound bow. Picking up one of his own practice arrows, he nocked it and verified no one was in the vicinity before he drew back and anchored, sighting the foam deer target about seventy-five feet away. He released on an exhale and the arrow hit the target in with a thunk, dead center mass. The whole shot took only a few seconds.

  Jordan was staring at the target, brows up. “Well, all right then.”

  “I didn’t always live in the city.” Ethan replaced his bow in the case. “Now, as I was saying, we’re gonna start with a little history.”

  Over the next few hours, he took them through it. There were grumbles as he went over the development of the sport and basic bowhunter education. Even more when he talked about wildlife conservation principles. Probably most of them had been through that with their regular hunter ed course, but it was a mandatory part of the state-approved curriculum. They perked up when he finished the unit on safe and responsible bowhunting and started on the segment about the weapons themselves.

  “You’ve got three different types of bows to choose from.” Ethan picked up the first. “This is the longbow. It’s the traditional bow. Simple, elegant, requires minimal additional equipment.” He swapped for the next one. “This is the recurve bow. It’s another more traditional bow. It’s smooth, quiet, fast shooter. It’s got shorter limbs than the longbow and tends to provide more power in a shorter package. This is what I grew up shooting. And finally—” Ethan picked up the compound bow. “—this is a compound bow. Far and away the most popular type for hunting or target shooting, the wheel and cam system can reduce the draw weight by at least fifty percent.”

  He went through an explanation of arrows, covering the different types of shafts, heads, and fletching.

  Dave Lautner’s hand shot up. “When do we get to shoot?”

  “Not for a bit yet. We’ve still got more to cover, and I want to make sure the track and gym are cleared of people before any of you takes on a target.”

  The other man’s expression turned mulish. “Some of us have done this before.”

  “But not all. Now, let’s talk about how you match arrows to your bow.”

  By the time Ethan made it through a description and demonstration of all the accessories, he could sense the mood of the group turning restless. So he sent Clint upstairs to clear all the walkers off the track.

  “We’re gonna divide into three groups. Each of you will have a chance to try out each type of bow, to get a feel for what you like, what the draw weight feels like.” He demonstrated proper technique for each, noting Clint in intense conversation with one of the blue-haired ladies on the track above. He made a mental note to reserve the entire space next time, as he went from student to student, correcting their form.

  Delaney frowned as she struggled to pull back the recurve bow. “It’s heavy.”

  Stepping behind her, Ethan adjusted her stance and hold. When she still had trouble pulling back, he took the bow from her hands. “It’s got a heavier draw than you need. This one’s intended for a much bigger person.” Picking up the compound bow, he handed it over. “Try that.”

  With minimal coaching and correction, Delaney managed to pull it back much more easily.

  “All clear!” Clint called.

  “Okay then. We’re going to get started with some actual target practice.”

  There was a bit of jos
tling as everybody lined up.

  “We’re going to let the lady go first,” Ethan announced. She was the most likely to accept instruction.

  Setting her at the line, he handed over one of the arrows with a practice tip. As he began to explain to the group proper technique, Delaney nocked the arrow, drew it back with perfect fluidity, and let it fly. It hit the outer edge of the red center. Her lips curved in a satisfied smile.

  Ethan arched a brow. “You sure you haven’t done this before?”

  “Nope.” The answer rolled out easily, but she didn’t quite meet his eyes.

  She was lying. He didn’t know why. Maybe it was a flirtation tactic? Trying to get him to show her up close and personal how to correct her form? Not that it really needed correcting. He reached for a second arrow.

  “Dude, I don’t think you should—”

  “Dave, put that down right now!” Clint snapped.

  Ethan started to turn. White hot pain erupted in his ass, and he went down to his knees. “Son of a bitch!”

  As he looked over his shoulder at Dave Lautner, who stood with a stunned expression on his face and Ethan’s compound bow in his hands, he officially decided he did miss the Marshal Service. Because he’d just been shot. Again.

  Chapter 3

  “What have we got?” Miranda asked, stepping out of one hospital room and preparing to go into the next. Her weekend rotation in the emergency room was keeping her hopping.

  Miranda didn’t mind. Between that and periodic surgical assists, she kept her skills sharp, and, up until recently, she’d enjoyed a flirtation with the sexy Dr. Phillips—dubbed by many as Wishful’s most eligible bachelor. It had never gone anywhere, and, in the last month or so, he’d started dating Mary Alice Reed. Miranda couldn’t get herself too worked up over the idea that that ship had sailed. She’d dated another doctor during her med school and residency days, and it simply wasn’t for her.

  The nurse, Corinne Dawson, met her in the hall. “Patient is a white male, thirty-six, with a puncture wound from an arrow.”

  “Well, that’s a new one.”

  “Oh, it gets better.” Corinne grinned. “He got shot in the ass.”