by Lori Foster
The two sheriffs had been talking but as she and Jordan neared the vehicle, they parted ways. Sheriff Hudson got behind the wheel.
The rain had almost let up, but a chill had settled in that seemed to seep into her bones. Her bare legs were freezing and she'd somehow managed to step into a puddle, getting both feet soaked. She would have changed clothes, but the sheriff was in an obvious hurry to get going and she didn't want to push her luck. The quicker she got this over with, the quicker she could get home. She was so weary she ached all the way down to her toes and more than anything she needed a good night's sleep.
But once she got home, there would be chores to do. If she didn't get some of the laundry taken care of, they'd all be running around naked. She had no doubt the sink was full of dishes, and there were bills that had to be paid before she lost her utilities.
She was so drawn into her thoughts, she nearly tripped over Jordan when he held the front door of the Bronco open for her. Belatedly, she realized he expected her to ride to the sheriff's station sandwiched between two overwhelmingly male bodies.
"I'll sit in back," she offered, hoping she sounded merely casual, not concerned.
Jordan narrowed his gaze on her. "You'll ride up front. I want to talk to you."
He appeared determined and unrelenting, so she looked past him to see the sheriff. "Excuse me," she said, and Morgan Hudson turned his head to look at her, then lifted one black brow. "I'd prefer to ride in the back like any other criminal being arrested."
Morgan opened his mouth to say something, but snapped it shut when she yelped. Jordan's hands were secure on her waist as he literally tossed her into the front seat and climbed in beside her too quickly for her to do anything about it. He looked at his brother and said, "Drive," and with a slight, barely suppressed chuckle, the good sheriff did just that.
~ 3 ~
GEORGIA STEAMED, she was so angry. At herself as much as at the two outrageous, oversized men. They'd driven a few minutes in silence when she finally couldn't hold it in any longer and growled, "I don't like you."
Jordan started, evidently surprised that she'd spoken after being quiet for so long. And Morgan grinned. She'd already decided that the sheriff was either frowning or grinning – there wasn't much middle ground.
"Which of us are you talking to?" Morgan asked.
She was just disgruntled enough to bark, "Both." Unfortunately, Jordan seemed unfazed by her pique and Morgan was amused.
She was still pondering what to do and how to get everything done tonight when Jordan gave Morgan directions to her home, telling her without words that he was indeed familiar with the old farmhouse she'd bought.
But more important than that, she realized they were taking her straight home, rather than to the station.
"Excuse me," she said, giving her attention to the sheriff while doing her best to ignore Jordan pressed up against her side, "but if you're only going to take me home, why did I just leave my car at the bar? Do you realize what a nuisance this will be now for me to get it?"
Morgan shrugged. "Don't worry about your car. We'll take care of it in the morning. Isn't that right, Jordan?"
Jordan made a noncommittal sound that she wasn't interested in deciphering. "I don't want you to take care of it!"
Jordan stared out his window. Morgan glanced at her, then back to the road. "Not much choice, now. There was a lot going on. I figured it'd be easier this way, rather than hassling with the arresting sheriff. He wanted you two taken off, so I took you off. And as to that, I suppose I should give you a ticket or something." She watched the sheriff rub his thick neck, as if pondering a difficult predicament. "You see, the thing is, Jordan said you weren't to blame and I've never known him to tell me a pickle. But I gotta say, I am curious as hell as to why you were picked up, why you were there in the first place, and why you're dressed that way."
He leaned around to see Jordan, and added, "And what the hell you've got to do with it."
Though she knew the sheriff was only trying to distract her, Georgia stiffened. "He has nothing to do with me! But he did attempt to intervene...well, sort of..."
Jordan made another exasperated sound and interrupted. "I don't need you to explain for me, Georgia."
She shrugged, stung by his biting tone. "Fine." Crossing her arms, she leaned back in the seat, silent again.
Morgan began to whistle. After a moment, he said thoughtfully, "I think I have it figured out."
"Morgan," Jordan said by way of warning.
"You're a dancer at the bar, right?" At her stiff nod, he continued. "And Jordan here got a little too enthused over your ... skill. Understandable. Although Jordan is a little slow on the uptake sometimes, at least where women are concerned—"
"Oh, for God's sake."
Georgia listened, fascinated despite herself.
"You see," Morgan said in something of a whisper, leaning toward Georgia, "in the last few years my brothers and I have all tied the knot. All except Jordan, and that leaves him sort of vulnerable to all the hungry single ladies looking to get hitched. He's so busy trying to fend them off, he's forgotten just how pleasant a nice, warm woman can be."
Georgia blinked. "I really don't think—"
"It's obvious to me that old Jordan here has lost his finesse. I'd be willing to bet he tried to defend your honor or something like that, is that right?"
Jordan growled, but Georgia paid him and his nasty temper no mind. This night had been endless and she'd had just about enough. "You think, perhaps, that I don't have any honor to defend just because I work for a living?"
Morgan surprised her by shaking his head. "Not at all. I don't make those type of assumptions about ladies. Malone'd have my head if I did, seeing as I once made a horrid assumption about her."
Before she could ponder that particular scenario too long, Jordan slapped one hand down on the dash and twisted in his seat to face them both. "You want the nitty-gritty details, Morgan? Is that it?"
"Of course."
Jordan glared at his brother, and Georgia could feel his hot breath as he leaned around her. Being stuck between these two big oafs was not her idea of fun. She pressed farther back in her seat.
"All right, fine." The words were ground out from between clenched teeth. "She finished dancing and some bozo started groping her leg. He wouldn't quit when she asked him to and I stepped in. Unnecessarily, it would seem, at least according to Ms. Barnes."
Slowly, Georgia turned toward him. She heard his brother mutter, "uh-oh" under his breath, yet all her attention was now on Jordan.
"For your information," she said in a slow, precise tone, "I work all week in the bar as a waitress. I deal with those bozos day in and day out. I know them, and I know just how to get them to back off. Without throwing any punches or starting any riots."
"Uh..." Morgan said, attempting to intervene, "Jordan actually punched someone?"
"Several someones!"
"Only two."
Morgan cleared his throat. "You dress like that to serve drinks? You must make some hellacious tips."
Contrary to what she'd just said, Georgia felt like throwing her own punch. "I dress like this to dance on the weekends because it pays a lot better than serving drinks through the week, and unlike some people—"she fried Jordan a look "—I have obligations, and have to do whatever I can to make ends meet."
The car slowed as Morgan pulled into her driveway. Even as angry as she was, a curious peace settled over her at being home. She'd loved the big old house on sight and dreamed of renovating it into a home her kids could finally be proud of, a home that would last them forever.
It needed work, no denying that. But the yard was spacious, giving the kids plenty of room to play. And the air out here in the country was clean, fresh, putting new color in her mother's cheeks. The house represented everything Georgia had ever wanted or needed for her family.
Her fist curled around the strap of her purse, now filled with the money that had been thrown ons
tage. With a little luck, a lot of determination, and enough fortitude, she could make everything right. She had to. Her options were sorely limited.
Morgan turned the car off and Georgia, pulled from her thoughts, realized Jordan was staring at her mouth. Again. Heat rushed through her like a tidal wave, stealing her breath until she nearly choked.
How did he keep doing this to her? He'd made it clear he didn't approve of her, yet he wanted her. And if she was honest with herself, she was far too aware of him as a man Absurd. She'd sworn off men!
"It looks to me," Morgan said softly, "as if a couple of small obligations have been waiting for you."
"What?" Georgia twisted around at the considering tone of the sheriff's voice, only to see her son and daughter standing anxiously in the open doorway of the house, their noses practically pressed to the storm door. She knew in an instant that something was very wrong. They should have been long in bed. Her mother never let them to the door without her.
In a single heartbeat her distraction with Jordan disappeared, as did her exhaustion. All that remained was mind-numbing fear.
"Oh, God." Georgia practically climbed over Jordan, who did his best to get the door open for her and to get out of her way. He didn't even complain when her elbow clipped him in the nose and she stepped on his foot.
"Georgia, wait!"
She heard his alarmed tone as he followed her from the car, heard Morgan talking low, his words concerned. And then her daughter Lisa, only six years old, threw the front door open and dashed across the yard in her long nightgown. Georgia forgot all about the men.
"MOMMY!"
Jordan nearly slipped on the wet grass. Knowing she was a mother and seeing a little girl address her as such were two entirely different things. His heart punched hard against his ribs when Georgia dropped to her knees, unconcerned with the soggy ground, and caught her daughter up to her.
"Lisa, what is it, honey? What's wrong?"
The little girl was crying too hard to make sense. A queer feeling of resentment – she'd left the child to dance in a bar, for God's sake – and tenderness, seeing her now, holding the child so closely, made Jordan almost breathless. He stepped closer and with a hiccup, the little girl looked up at him. She had huge brown eyes with spiked wet lashes and was about the cutest thing he'd ever seen.
Keeping a wary gaze on him, the little girl mumbled, "Grandma is sick. She won't wake up."
"Oh, my God!"
Just that quick, Georgia was back on her feet. She'd picked up the little girl and was running hell-bent across the lawn. Her high heels sank into the ground, hindering her a bit, but in no way holding her back.
Jordan rushed after her, aware of Morgan right behind him. He followed her down a short hall as she called out, "Mom!" in a heart-wrenching panicked voice.
Lisa clung to Georgia's shoulders and said in a wavering voice, "She's in her room."
They passed a family room with a television playing and every light on, toys all over the floor, then a dining room that held only one rickety table – still covered with dishes.
At the end of the hall, to the right, was a kitchen, and to the left, Georgia threw open a door then halted. Jordan could see her heaving, see the rigidity of her shoulders. Slowly, she set the girl on her feet and moved forward. "Mom?"
Jordan watched the little girl move to a corner, trying to make herself invisible. Beyond Georgia, lying in a rumpled bed, a slender woman of about sixty rested on her back, her eyes closed, her chest barely moving – until she started coughing.
Lisa cried. Jordan didn't know what the hell to do. Then Morgan was there and he went down on one knee in front of Lisa. "Hi, there. I'm the sheriff and a friend of your mom's. Are you okay?"
Lisa covered her face with her hands, hiding, and then she nodded. Seeing that Morgan had things under control there, at least as much as was possible, Jordan stepped close to Georgia and knelt by the bed. She was busy checking her mother over, her movements efficient and quick.
She glanced at Jordan. "We have to get her to the hospital. She has weak lungs and it looks like she's gotten a bad cold or something."
Jordan frowned in concern. "A cold can do this to her?"
"Yes." Georgia's voice was clipped as she moved to a portable oxygen tank and dragged it to her mother's bedside. As she sat beside her mother and pulled her into a sitting position, the older woman's eyes opened. Again, she started coughing.
"It's all right now, Mom. I'm going to take you to the hospital.
"I'm sorry, honey—"
"Hey, none of that! I love you, remember?" She glanced at Jordan. "You're going to have to take us since you left my car behind." Then, as if just realizing it, her eyes widened in alarm and she said, "Lisa, where's Adam?"
A small towheaded child peeked around the door-frame.
"They're not used to men in the house," Georgia explained, then gave her son a small smile. "Come here, sweetie. It's okay. Grandma's going to be fine."
With the oxygen over her face, the older woman did seem to be breathing easier. She kept dozing off, which alarmed Jordan, but Georgia was holding it all together. The little boy inched his way in the door. He looked to be around four and clung to his mother's knee, hiding his face in her lap.
Jordan felt thunderstruck, and at that moment, he almost hated himself.
With renewed purpose, he stood. "I can carry her out to the Bronco. Morgan—"
"I'll call it in," Morgan said before Jordan could finish. He smiled at the little girl and smoothed a large hand over her head. "Can you find some shoes and a jacket for you and your brother?"
She peeked between her fingers, then nodded.
"Good girl."
Georgia smiled an absent thanks at Morgan. "Hang on, Mom. We'll have you there in no time."
Jordan knelt beside her and added his own arm to support her mother. "Why don't you get her coat and shoes for her? I'll do this."
Georgia hesitated, her eyes on her mother's face. "Her lungs are weak from emphysema. Sometimes, if she overdoes it, she needs the oxygen so we always keep it handy. She knows—" Her voice broke and frustrated tears filled her eyes. Angrily, she swiped them away. "She knows that any kind of illness for her is serious. But...she never complains."
Jordan watched her struggle to pull herself together. He covered her hand on the oxygen mask and asked, "Are you all right?"
Lips tightly pressed together, she nodded, then pushed to her feet. She found her mother's slippers beneath the bed. When she started looking around the room, Jordan changed his mind on the coat.
"Let's just wrap her in a blanket. It'll be easier for her, and the hospital will put her in a gown when she gets there anyway." Jordan didn't say it out loud, but judging by the difficulty her mother had breathing, he thought she might have pneumonia. With his own brother being a doctor, he'd seen enough cases of it. Plus her skin was pale and dry and too warm, indicating a high fever.
Georgia took a deep breath and wrapped her mother in a pretty quilt. Jordan saw the tears glisten in her eyes again and knew he'd made a horrible mistake.
IT HADN'T taken long for them to be on their way. With the combined efforts of Morgan and Jordan, things had just fallen into place. They were obviously men accustomed to taking charge. Georgia didn't know how she felt about that, but she did know she was glad not to be alone.
Lisa and Adam were buckled into the front seat with Morgan, thoroughly distracted from any worries as Morgan let them play with his radio and turn on his lights. It amazed her that a man so large, so commanding, could summon up such a gentle tone for children. Right now, as he smiled at Adam, he looked like a big pushover, when her first impression of him would never have allowed for such a possibility.
He'd already spoken with the hospital and they were ready and waiting for them to arrive. The flashing lights, which amused her kids, were necessary, Morgan drove well past the speed limit. But at this time of night, the streets were almost clear of traffic.
"It's usually about an hour's drive to the hospital." Jordan watched her closely as he spoke, but then, he'd hardly taken his gaze off her since she'd first noticed him at the bar. "At least from our house. But I'd say you're fifteen minutes closer, and with Morgan driving and no cars on the road, it shouldn't take much longer."
Georgia realized he was trying to put her at ease. She appreciated his efforts. Morgan's, too. The kids, after their initial bout of shyness and upset, had taken to him with hardly any reserve. He had an easy way about him that would naturally draw kids.
She had a feeling Jordan would be the same when he wasn't busy tending to her mother's care. She'd seen how he'd looked at her children, the softness in his eyes. He was a man of contradictions – harsh one minute, soft the next. Always strong and confident.
At the moment, with her knees shaking and her heart beating too fast, she resented his strength even as she relied on it. She had to be strong. And she never wanted to depend on another man for anything.
They sat in the back, her mother propped between them on the carpeted floor of the storage area. Georgia supported her mother with an arm around her waist, offering her shoulder to lean on.
Streetlamps glowed, their lights flashing into the moving car with a strobe effect. They cast dark, shifting shadows over Jordan's profile, but in no way detracted from his look of genuine concern. He was an incredibly handsome man, Georgia decided, and obviously very caring.
"Almost there," he said with a reassuring smile. "Just hang on." His mesmerizing voice soothed her as nothing else could. Even her mother, dozing and waking every few minutes, wasn't immune to it. Georgia held her close, but it was Jordan's hand she gripped like a lifeline, his voice that occasionally coerced her eyes open.
Georgia leaned close and kissed her mother's cheek. Everything would be all right. She had to believe that.
JORDAN KEPT HOLD of the woman's limp hand while watching her closely for any signs of distress. Her breathing was still ragged, occasionally racked by harsh coughing, but the oxygen had helped. That, and the fact that she knew she was almost at the hospital. Georgia looked like hell. Though she tried to hide it, her own distress far outweighed her mother's. At that moment, Jordan wanted so badly to hold her close, to protect her. There seemed to be so much he hadn't understood. Her house was a shambles, inside and out. It had potential, but it would take a lot of sweat and money to make it what it could be.