Wanted by the Lawman (Lawmen of Wyoming Book 2)

by Rhonda Lee Carver

  She felt him stand and carry her away, still cradling her with amazing arms that offered safety. This was where she wanted to be every day.

  “Your brothers. Are they here with you?” she mumbled.

  “Cullen and Nix, yes. So is Rudy.”

  “Is everyone okay? Are you okay?”

  “Yes, we’re all fine.” He reassured her in a quavering voice. “My clothes are wet. I’m getting you wet. I didn’t think. I just reacted.”

  “I’ll take you anyway I can get you.”

  He didn’t let her go until they’d reached his truck and he deposited her in the passenger seat. She hated that she was no longer in his arms, but his finger came to her chin and he lifted her face to meet his gaze. “The EMT will be here soon and they’ll check you over.”

  “I’m fine. Really, I am. They should check Lansing. I stuck the syringe in him.”

  “Yes, you did, and you helped us out, sweetheart. You’re a heroine.” He kissed her on the forehead.

  ~~~**~~~

  Wynn sat on the couch, her feet tucked up under her and she snuggled in Zander’s hold. She’d been checked by the EMT and got a stamp of approval, then came home to take a long hot shower to erase any remaining scent of Lansing. It was now one in the morning and her body and mind were so tired, but she was so happy that everyone was alive, even Lansing, that she didn’t want to sleep.

  She did find out that the bullet that Lansing had shot off had skimmed Cullen’s shoulder, but he’d been bragging at the scene that he’d have a story to tell.

  Lansing had been out for blood, anyone’s blood. Hopefully, he’d get the help that he needed. He obviously was suffering from PTSD from the death of his wife, but Wynn believed there was more to the story and hopefully a licensed psychologist could wade through the disorder inside his head. Sheriff Rudy had taken statements, just for protocol, and he had advised Zander, his brothers, and Wynn that the case would be closed on his side but expect Agent Gaines to possibly ask questions later about Rory’s death.”

  For now, Wynn wanted to embrace the fact that tonight could have been far worse, but she was safe. Zander was safe. And that’s what mattered.

  “I knew you’d save me. I had trust in the fact that you would find me,” she divulged.

  His fingers were in her hair, massaging her scalp. “I would have done anything to save you.”

  “Will you get into trouble for any of this? Will I be in trouble for the money I gave to Rory?”

  “It’ll all work out, sweetheart.”

  Wynn believed him. She yawned and allowed her eyes to drift closed as he continued to massage her. She felt him shift and then he slid onto his back on the couch, drawing her alongside him. She didn’t even open her eyes but settled contently into the crook of his side. “This is nice.”

  “You’re going to be sore tomorrow. You already have bruises on your arms.” He gently caressed her shoulder with his thumb.

  She groaned sleepily. “This is nothing. I survived.”

  He kissed the top of her head. “Way to stay positive, baby, but tomorrow you’ll not have to move a muscle. I’ll help you.”

  “Before I can’t stay awake any longer tonight, there’s something I must tell you, Zander.” She muttered sleepily.

  “What is it?”

  “I love you.”

  She heard him suck in a deep breath. “And I love you too.”

  “I’m glad because I’m not going anywhere. Please tell me you don’t want me to go.”

  He chuckled lightly. “Never go away.”

  He heard her soft snoring and he smiled. “I truly love you, Wynn. Today, tomorrow, and forever. I want you for my wife.” He planned to offer her a better proposal when she was wide awake.

  Thinking she was a sleep, he was surprised when she shifted, lifting her head to look at him, “What?”

  “I want you as my wife. This isn’t the romantic proposal I had planned.”

  “Well, I’ll pretend I didn’t hear you, but just so we’re clear, my answer will be yes. A thousand times…yes.” And she drifted into sleep.

  Not the end, but only the beginning…

  From the author:

  Thank you for reading. Please leave a review and let others know your thoughts.

  Hugs,

  Rhonda Lee Carver

  At an early age, Rhonda fell in love with romance novels, knowing one day she’d write her own love story. Life took a short detour, but when the story ideas were no longer contained, she decided to dive in and write. Her first plot was on a dirty napkin she found buried in her car. Eventually, she ran out of napkins. With baby on one hip and laptop on the other, she made a dream into reality—one word at a time.

  Her specialty is men who love to get their hands dirty and women who are smart, strong and flawed. She loves writing about the everyday hero.

  When Rhonda isn’t crafting sizzling manuscripts, you will find her busy editing novels, blogging, juggling kids and animals (too many to name), dreaming of a beach house and keeping romance alive. Oh, and drinking lots of coffee to keep up with her hero and heroine.

  For other titles by Rhonda Lee Carver, please visit: www.rhondaleecarver.com.

  Find me on Facebook, too! www.facebook.com/rhondalee.carver

  Other books by Rhonda Lee Carver

  Diamond in a Rose

  Double Dare

  Delaney’s Sunrise

  Second Chance Cowboy (Book 1, Second Chance Series)

  Second Ride Cowboy (Book 2, Second Chance Series)

  Second Round Cowboy (Book 3, Second Chance Series)

  Second Dance Cowboy (Book 4, Second Chance Series)

  Second Song Cowboy (Book 5, Second Chance Series)

  Second Burn Cowboy (Book 6, Second Chance Series)

  Second Hope Cowboy (Book 7, Second Chance Series)

  Second Sunrise Cowboy (Book 8, Second Chance Cowboy Series)

  Castle’s Fortress

  Dreaming Ivy

  Friends With Benefits

  Sin With Cuffs

  With Honor

  Wicked Pleasures (Book 1, Wicked Wolves Series)

  Wicked Lust (Book 2, Wicked Wolves Series)

  Fighting Flames

  UNDER PRESSURE (Book 1, Rhinestone Cowgirls)

  PRESSURE RISING (Book 2, Rhinestone Cowgirls)

  PRESSURE POINT (Book 3, Rhinestone Cowgirls)

  SECRET PRESSURE (Book 4, Rhinestone Cowgirls)

  RESISTING PRESSURE (Book 5, Rhinestone Cowgirls)

  Under the Mistletoe

  Cowboy Paradise (Cowboys of Nirvana)

  Ropin’ Trouble (Book 2, Cowboys of Nirvana)

  Smoke. Fire. Cowboy (Book 3, Cowboys of Nirvana)

  Kissed, Spurred, & Valentined (Book 4, Cowboys of Nirvana)

  Cowboy is Mine (Book 5, Cowboys of Nirvana)

  The Discreet Cowboy (Book 6, Cowboys of Nirvana)

  Leather for Two, Wings of Steel MC

  An Unexpected Hero (Buttermilk Valley)

  A New Year’s Cowboy

  Pride & Pleasure (Book 1, The KNIGHT Brothers)

  Roman’s Choice (Book 1, Saddles & Second Chances)

  Letting Go (Sable Hunter’s Hell Yeah! Kindle World)

  Have you read Letting Go? Here’s the first chapter as a gift. Please grab your copy and find out how hard letting go can be…

  CHAPTER ONE

  Brooke Winslow heard a child’s laughter and looked across the lobby, spotting the little girl cheerfully playing with a set of building blocks. Her blonde hair hung in one long braid down her back and she wore a pretty yellow dress. She had beautiful bright green eyes. “Look, Mommy. I built a tower.”

  Her mother glanced up from the magazine she was flipping through. “Oh sweetheart, what a stable tower it is too.”

  Feeling a sudden twinge in her chest, Brooke turned away, barely able to catch her breath. Why was she doing this? She stood up, gained her equilibrium, then started for the glass doors that would take her back out to her ca
r—away from the possibility of having a panic attack in front of the people waiting in the lobby. She’d gotten better at staying in control, but on occasion she found herself coming unglued from the demons that still haunted her.

  She gripped the cold handle of the door just as she heard her name being called, “Ms. Winslow. The doctor will see you now.”

  Her mind raced. Her heart skipped a beat. She could easily scurry out and skip the appointment. Being here didn’t help anyway. She hated opening up and talking about the tragedy that turned her world upside down. Why couldn’t people just understand that not everyone needed to talk about their feelings?

  Fingers touched her shoulder and she spun around, coming face to face with the receptionist. “Ms. Winslow, Dr. Forester will see you now.”

  Several people had turned to watch her. She wondered if they too wanted to break free?

  “Ms. Winslow?”

  Oh, phooey. Brooke had no other choice but to let go of the handle to freedom and follow the receptionist. Part way down the hall Brooke heard sniffling coming from a room to the right. She caught a glimpse of a woman with her head bowed and her shoulders shaking. Brooke’s breath hitched and she clenched her hands into fists. Crying happened a lot here. But not for her—not anymore. After three years, the tears had dried up. Too bad the memories were as fresh as newly picked blueberries.

  “How are you today, Ms. Winslow?” the receptionist asked as she motioned for them to continue on their way.

  The question came more as a distraction than civil conversation. “Peachy.”

  If the other woman picked up on any sarcasm in the answer, she didn’t let on.

  They stopped at the last doorway, Dr. Forester’s office—a forty-something, attractive blonde who always dressed in impeccable pant suits. She had also recently divorced her husband of ten years. They had no children and a mansion with lots of bedrooms and a tennis court. Brooke only knew this because she’d overheard the receptionist and a nurse discussing the details when they thought they were alone. Usually Brooke passed on eavesdropping, but it did break up the monotony of sitting in the lobby and staring at a watercolor.

  On the threshold into the room, she hesitated. It wasn’t that she disliked Dr. Forester or her help, but what could be done? The past was over and the pain had embedded itself deep inside of Brooke’s bone marrow. Not even a therapist could rid her of the heartache, the memories, and the knowledge that she couldn’t save Jessie.

  Many times in the last year, Brooke had picked up the phone to cancel her appointments, but then she’d hang up. Dr. Forester had become a crutch for Brooke.

  “Brooke, come in.” Dr. Forester stood up from behind her desk and smoothed her black jacket. Brooke couldn’t remember ever seeing the elegant woman unruffled or wrinkled. Her clothes were pressed and spotless. Her makeup had been applied with a detailed hand, hiding any physical flaws that she might have. She had to have at least one, but up until now, Brooke hadn’t found it. Even the desk was tidy and clean.

  Brooke crossed the room, aware of her own disheveled appearance. Before leaving the house she’d thrown on a T-shirt and jeans and pulled her hair up into a messy bun. If she cared, she would have gone for the right side of her closet where her nicer things were hung, but the problem was, she didn’t.

  Sitting in the comfortable flowered chair next to the window that overlooked downtown Atlanta, she had to admit that she liked the view…and the overstuffed chair that gave her a cushiony hug. It was the highlight of her visits to her therapist. She placed her purse on the table.

  Dr. Forester took the chair across from Brooke, her handy notepad and pen sitting on the coffee table between them, probably from her last client who she’d needled through their problems for answers. Brooke reminded herself that she needed to stay open to help, but there came a point when Dr. Forester would have to come to the conclusion, just as Brooke had, that some things just couldn’t be fixed. Instead, they had to be buried instead. She had the shovel and the spot for burial, but it just didn’t seem possible to start digging. Not yet.

  “Good morning, Brooke.” Dr. Forester smiled and picked up her notebook, clicking the pen exactly three times, as always. Brooke guessed it was a form of energy release, or maybe a habit.

  “Good morning.” Brooke smiled in return.

  “How are you? Are you sleeping any better?”

  Brooke crossed her legs, gearing herself up for reflecting on her issues and her messy emotions. “I’m now sleeping four hours straight so definitely an improvement.”

  “Are you still taking the pills I prescribed?” Her blue eyes seemed to drill straight through Brooke.

  “Not for a long time. I didn’t like how they made me feel.” Honesty was the best policy, but it probably wouldn’t settle well with Dr. Forester.

  Although she was always careful not to show her displeasure in her body language, Dr. Forester actually had several wrinkles appear around her eyes. She leaned forward and met Brooke’s gaze. “I understand you don’t want to take medication, but you have to be willing to try. It’s been three years, Brooke. The accident…you must stop feeling guilty that you lived and they didn’t. Remember, the accident was investigated and the driver of the other vehicle ran a red light. You could have easily died too.”

  “Dana,” Brooke whispered.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Dana was the woman’s name, and her daughter was Jessie.”

  Dr. Forester looked down at her finely manicured hands for a second. “I can relate to how you must have felt—”

  “No, you can’t. I assure you, no one knows until they’ve experienced it firsthand,” she muttered, clasping her hands together in her lap.

  The other woman’s features softened slightly. “You know I’m here to help you. If only you’d let me.”

  “Medication won’t help.”

  “Time will help heal.”

  Brooke laughed, but the sound was cold and grating, even to her own ears. “The screams…they were awful. The little girl was only four. She was crying for her mommy…who-who was already gone. I tried everything to reach the backseat—I tried…then I was pulled away.”

  “You were saved.”

  Brooke’s gaze automatically fell to her scarred hand, barely remembering the time she spent in the hospital while they worked on her. They’d told her she was lucky to have survived the car fire, but she hadn’t considered herself lucky, not when she’d never forget the face of Jessie, the frightened look in her eyes just seconds before the upside down car caught on fire. “This isn’t saved,” she murmured and tugged her sleeve down her wrist. Sometimes it was the only way to hide.

  “I understand you feel that living when the mother and child didn’t is an act of punishment, and not fortune, but when you were struck by the vehicle, you suffered severe injuries. It was a miracle that you made it out of your car at all, not to mention having an opportunity to help Jessie and her mother. It’s difficult to see this now, but in time you will find happiness.”

  “Happiness? These aren’t the only scars I carry.” Brooke tapped her wrist through the shirt.

  “Have you thought about opening another flower shop? You had a lucrative business before…” She must have rethought mentioning the accident again.

  “I lost interest. That’s why I sold the shop.”

  “Have you started painting again? Painting can actually be very therapeutic.”

  Brooke gave her head a quick shake. “No.” Before the accident she had lived and breathed her flower shop along with her painting. It was her livelihood—and her life. She had been coming home from a late night at work preparing arrangements for a wedding when her life had changed. She often wondered if things would have been different if she’d left work just a few minutes earlier or later, would the mother and child have lived?

  After months of rehab and therapy on her hand and her mind, she tried to get back to her business, but sales had suffered. Deciding to sell had been one of the h
ardest decisions she’d ever made, but in the long run, the best choice. Once she was home with nothing to occupy her thoughts, she’d picked up a brush again, but her mind refused to cooperate. Dr. Forester had encouraged Brooke many times to start again, but saying it and doing it were two different things.

  Dr. Forester eased back into her chair, one corner of her mouth lowering in discontent. “I worry that if you’re not getting enough sleep—”

  “That I’ll try to do this again?” Brooke refused to look at the superficial white scar on her wrist. She wished she could take a scouring pad and scrub the reminders away of how lost she had been after the accident. Once the blade had cut her skin, she’d heard a voice, telling her that she must live. “Don’t worry, Dr. Forester. I’m not in the same place.”

  The other woman nodded. “I realize you’re not.”

  Although Brooke had heard the words, she doubted how truthful the doctor was being. It seemed that no one looked at her the same, especially her next door neighbor, Janet, who’d walked in and found Brooke in the bath tub bleeding. They’d once been best friends, but there was an iron wall between them now. Maybe Janet didn’t want to be friends with someone who’d be willing to give up living, but no one understood the torment of watching a child, crying for her mother, and not being able to save her. Every waking hour, every dream and nightmare, every second was consumed with the screams…

  “I know I must frustrate you, doc. That’s not my intention.”

  Dr. Forester smiled—a kind smile that she didn’t offer too often. “You need a change, Brooke. Have you thought about taking a vacation? Visiting relatives? Flying to a remote island and dance like no one’s watching.”

  “Is this your way of breaking up with me?” Brooke laughed, but it lacked humor.

  “This is my way of saying when the old ways of doing things aren’t working, it’s high time to try something else. New surroundings might be a breath of fresh air.”