Lori Foster Bundle

by Lori Foster

  Morgan’s eyes narrowed. “Got a husband waiting for you?”

  She shook her head and felt a raindrop slither down her nose. “Two children.”

  Jordan’s hands bit reflexively into her shoulders. ” What?”

  Georgia felt hemmed in by testosterone. The sheriff looked too grim by half, and she could feel the tension radiating off Jordan. She shifted her shoulders slightly at the pressure of his fingers and he loosened his hold, then turned her around to face him.

  “You have kids?” His eyes were like green fire.

  She lifted her chin. “Yes.”

  The shock on his face was replaced with disgust. “Where the hell is your husband?”

  She owed him nothing, certainly no explanations. “Ex-husband. And I have no idea.” Jordan’s brows smoothed out, and she added, “But wherever he is, I hope he stays there. Now, are you done with your interrogation?”

  The sheriff snorted. “Maybe you should ask me that.”

  Jordan, no longer looking like a thundercloud, pulled her behind his back. Georgia couldn’t see around him, but she heard him plain enough as he addressed his brother.

  “You’re not going to arrest her, Morgan, and you know it, so quit taking your bad temper out on her.”

  The sheriff seemed to be spoiling for a fight. “Or what?”

  “Or I’ll tell Misty.”

  Georgia had no idea who Misty was or why her name would make the sheriff relent, but that’s exactly what happened. Sheriff Hudson still sounded annoyed, but no longer so angry. “It’s a lousy night for you to do this to me, Jordan.”

  “Yeah, well, it wasn’t my idea for you to be called, you know.”

  “No? What was your idea? To start an all out brawl? I thought you came along to see that there was no trouble, not to insure that there was.”

  “I didn’t cause the trouble. I was only…”

  His words trailed off as Georgia stepped around him and headed for the bar. If the fool men wanted to stand around in the rain and discuss the situation to death, that was fine with her. But now that she felt certain she wouldn’t be locked up, she had a better way to spend her time.

  Before she’d gone five feet, Jordan’s hand closed around her elbow. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  With a sigh, she drew up short and turned to face him. She shook back one of the long sleeves of his jacket to free a hand, and then shoved her hair out of her face. Her makeup, she knew, was a disaster.

  Not that she cared.

  Jordan’s hold on her arm was gentle. His light brown hair hung over his brow, now more wet than otherwise, and his eyes reflected the bar lights, appearing almost…hungry. She looked quickly away. “I’ve got money on the stage. If I don’t get it now, Bill will abscond with it and I’ll have wasted the night for nothing. Since you two don’t seem in a big hurry to rush off, and the other sheriff is apparently done inside—”

  “Bill?”

  He did seem to get hung up on every male name she mentioned. “The owner of the bar. The man you came to see before you got…sidetracked.” She tried to pull away but Jordan wasn’t letting go.

  He turned to Morgan. “Can you give us just a moment?”

  “Just.” Morgan didn’t look happy over the concession, but then, she doubted that this one ever looked happy. “Malone will only stay in bed when I’m there to force her to it. Otherwise, you know how she is. She’ll be up and running around, making herself feverish again….”

  “We’ll be quick. Why don’t you go warm up the car?”

  With a shrug, the sheriff turned away. Georgia watched him go with relief. “Who’s Malone?”

  “His wife, Misty.”

  So it was his wife that Jordan had threatened him with? That seemed curious to Georgia.

  “Why does he call her Malone…never mind.” Disgusted with herself, Georgia turned away. She didn’t care about these men or their strange ways. She walked briskly into the bar, doing her best to ignore the warm touch of Jordan’s hand on her arm as he kept pace with her. Even through his coat sleeve, she could feel his strength, his heat. And for some absurd reason, she reacted to it. He had her thinking things she hadn’t thought in years, contemplating pleasures she was certain didn’t even exist.

  Bill was just scooping up the money off the stage when they walked in. Jordan released her and she marched forward, saying sweetly, “Why thank you, Bill. I so appreciate you looking after my money for me.”

  Bill had the kind of slick good looks that he assumed would get him anything he wanted from women. To Georgia, his perfectly styled blond hair, dark blue eyes, and capped teeth only emphasized what a fraud he was. She didn’t trust him one iota and never would.

  Bill flashed her a surprised look. “Georgia! I thought you were gone.”

  “Almost.” She stuck out her hand expectantly and Bill tucked the money closer to his chest. “I’m waiting,” she said, well used to having to deal with Bill and his miserly ways. Like most men, he had a self-serving streak a mile wide, a selfish attitude whenever it came to money and he didn’t hesitate to screw someone when he thought he could get away with it.

  “What about the damages to my bar?” he blustered, and cast a nasty look at Jordan Sommerville.

  Georgia glanced at Jordan, too, and saw that he had an expression almost as fierce as his brother’s. It was the same look he’d worn earlier, when Larry had held on to her wrist. He’d said he was furious…because he thought she might be hurt.

  She turned away. “That wasn’t my doing, Bill, and you know it. Take up your grievances with the boys locked away. But give me my money.” When Bill still dithered, looking undecided as to whether or not he had to obey, she narrowed her eyes and said, “You know I can dance anywhere, Bill. Don’t push me. I need the money.”

  With a foul curse that would have embarrassed her as little as a month ago, Bill thrust the wad of bills into her hands. Most of them were ones, but altogether, it should amount up to a hundred dollars or more, money she needed to make repairs to the house she’d recently bought. With a sugary sweet, utterly false smile, she muttered, “Thank you.”

  She turned to Jordan, saw his look of contempt, and sniffed. Sanctimonious jerk. “I’m ready if you are.”

  Jordan held the saloon door open for her and kept stride with her on the way to the large black sport utility vehicle his brother drove. Some official car, she thought, eyeing the shiny black four-wheel-drive Bronco.

  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.”

&nb
sp; 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 onstage. 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 steppe
d 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?”