Contents
Title Page
Series Guide
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Epilogue
About Amity
Lawful Heart
by
Amity Lassiter
Copyright © 2019 Amity Lassiter
ISBN: 978-0-9939240-9-5
Editor: Keriann McKenna
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
MAILING LIST | FACEBOOK
HEARTS OF THREE RIVERS
THE BAYLORS
Runaway Heart (Dane & Ren)
Homecoming Heart (Noah & Emma)
Secondhand Heart (Finn & Lily)
THE MONTGOMERYS
Secret Heart (Nate & Layla)
Lawful Heart (Banks & Norah)
Guarded Heart (COMING 2019)
HEARTS OF HEROES
A Cowboy SEAL’s Bride (Lane & Miranda)
—ONE—
This is not going to go well, Norah Clarke thought to herself as her boyfriend hit his blinker and turned off the Interstate.
“Just one,” Rob Bane said, giving her knee a squeeze that was not the kind of reassuring she imagined he intended.
“Okay,” she said, distracting herself with the scenery. A butterfly launched in her stomach, surprising her. Too early for the baby, she knew, from the app on her phone. Well, maybe. This could be what they called ‘quickening’, or it could have had to do with the fact that they were rolling into a town her parents had uprooted her from back in the fifth grade. Of all the places she thought they’d end up on this trip, Three Rivers was not one of them.
“Why don’t you smile a little?” he asked, moving her knee back and forth like her leg was a stick shift. He thought it was hilarious, but she could barely stand for him to touch her these days.
She didn’t smile because ‘just one’ never was, and they were only two hours into the eight hour trip from Denver to Salt Lake City. It was well past midday and unless the sleepy town where she’d gone to elementary school had livened up significantly, it was unlikely they could rent a room for the night, which meant they—he would be sleeping it off in the cab of his Ford Ranger while she tried to get comfortable and hold her bladder, with its already diminishing capacity.
But then she did smile because it was easier to acquiesce to his demands than to let this turn into a fight. She pasted on a big, toothy, over-exaggerated smile, with a nod that bobbed her high ponytail.
“That’s my girl,” he said, hitting his blinker again to turn onto the main drag of the town.
It was as she expected. Not much had changed. Most of the shop fronts were the same—one gas station, one diner, a grocery store, a general store, a doctor’s office—main staples for a town this tiny. Some of the smaller businesses had changed up, but that was about it. And there, at the end of the street, not far from Baylor’s general store, stood Danny’s. A place she knew too well from sitting in the family car in the parking lot as a child while her dad went in for ‘just one’.
But she would follow Rob inside. Because she’d been following him for the last year and she still couldn’t tell exactly why. Because it was easier than not, she supposed. Because she had no resources to do anything else. He was a convenient, warm body, but a mean drunk. She drew a breath to steel herself and then followed him into the dimly lit bar.
It smelled like any other bar, but this time the sour smell of alcohol made her stomach turn. Thanks, baby. Rob slid onto a bar stool and she got up beside him. He tapped his fingers on the bar and a tall, curvy brunette nodded from behind the long polished bar top. She approached and Norah noticed the slight curve of what she could only assume was a baby bump. She smiled to herself, feeling like a part of a secret team. Like the bartender, it wouldn’t be a secret for long.
“What can I get for you?” she asked, just the right amount of friendly.
“I’ll have a double rye and Coke, no ice, and it’ll be a Dark and Stormy for her.”
Norah held up her hand and shook her head. “Just a ginger ale, thanks.”
Rob’s head cranked around like he’d been struck, suspicion written all over his face. Maybe he’d pieced everything together but she doubted it. He wasn’t that smart. Their relationship was more about a warm body in the right place at the right time, and not borne of any great care for one another. She could still play this off. As long as she still just looked like she’d had a big turkey dinner, and not 16 weeks pregnant, she could play it off.
“How about a beer, then?” Rob pushed. As if a beer was just a slightly-stronger ginger ale. She hadn’t gotten any prenatal care yet, but she wasn’t going to be overtly negligent if she could help it.
She shook her head. “Nah, somebody’s gotta be the DD if we’re ever going to make it to Salt Lake.”
Rob narrowed his eyes down the bar at her, pressed his lips together.
“A ginger ale, then,” he conceded.
“Coming right up.”
The girl tipped a couple of rock glasses right side up on the bar and filled their orders in front of them. Rob slid a bill across the bar but he hadn’t taken his eyes off Norah.
“What are you, pregnant?” he asked casually, lifting his glass to his lips.
Very carefully, Norah schooled her features to avoid allowing the panic rising up in her throat to make it to her face. Of course she was going to have to tell him eventually. They’d never talked about children, but it didn’t seem like they’d fit into his nomadic life plan, and she could just imagine what was coming next.
When she didn’t answer right away, he straightened. Not smart, but perceptive. In this moment, at least.
“Are you fucking pregnant, Norah?”
She swallowed hard, but it did nothing for the lump in her throat. She looked to the bartender—the girl had moved down the line to another patron but made eye contact when she heard him curse.
“Answer me. Are. You. Pregnant?” Rob had come to the edge of his stool and startled her when he reached out to grab her upper arm, his eyes wild with a rage she’d never seen. It always surprised her how quickly he went from casual to caustic,
like flipping a switch, even though she’d seen it dozens of times by this point. She’d made a mistake leaving Denver with him while she was in this condition, and now he was going to drag her to Utah and she’d be miserable, miles away from her parents, worthless as they were, making her pay for his anger with cruel words and callous actions.
The only family she could assume was decent was right here in Three Rivers, but she didn’t know how to contact her Great Aunt Gloria or if she was even alive; her family hadn’t spoken of her since they’d left.
The bartender was working her way back down the bar and she’d eased her phone out of her pocket. It didn’t go unnoticed by Rob, who dug his fingers in deeper and gave Norah a little shake. He’d grabbed her like this before—never in public—but he’d never hit her and the shade his face had turned made her worry he might. How could she have miscalculated this so badly? An unplanned pregnancy was a bump in the road, but she’d never imagined it was the kind of bump that made Rob beat her in public.
“Everything okay down here?” the bartender asked, her voice low and level.
“No, it isn’t. This piece of shit has been lying to me.”
Norah felt herself withdraw, mentally cocooning herself inside of her own thoughts, insulating herself against his insults and the pain of his fingers digging deeper into the fleshy part of her arm. That’s gonna leave a bruise.
“I’m gonna have to ask you to let go of her,” Norah heard the bartender say.
“Fuck off, bitch,” Rob spat at her.
Norah startled clean out of her withdrawal when the bartender flipped the business end of a baseball bat over the edge of the bar top and brought it down just inches from Rob’s elbow with a crack.
“Well now I’m gonna have to tell you to get the hell out of my bar.” Norah was sure the woman had grown six inches, a formidable adversary for Rob and maybe Norah’s only hope. The brunette leaned across the bar toward Rob and tipped her head down, her voice dropping an octave. “Now.”
“Fine.” Rob shoved off the stool, jerking Norah off hers with that clamped hold on her arm. She stumbled but caught herself, his grip digging painfully into her arm, though he made no attempt to help her right herself. She looked to the bartender in desperation. More scared than she’d ever been, the last thing she wanted right now was to walk out of this bar with him. She’d seen him angry, but never like this, and she had no idea what the rest of the ride would look like if she got in the truck. Finding out hit pretty damn low on her list of priorities.
“Not so fast,” the woman said, lifting her bat to rest cocked over her shoulder, her fingers choked up about midway. She could have been casually carrying a bat but she also could have been completely prepared to knock Rob’s head off with it. Norah prayed it was the second option. “She stays. And you get the hell out of my bar before the sheriff comes out and takes you down to his office. By my estimation, you’ve got about five minutes to make that choice.”
Now she was talking. Rob would do anything to avoid law enforcement. He released Norah so violently she staggered back and caught herself on a table, watching as the bartender rounded the bar, her bat still angled over her shoulder as she strode toward Rob with confidence Norah wished she had even an ounce of.
“You lying bitch!” Rob shouted around the bartender’s shoulder as she crowded him toward the door. “You waited until I was taking you away with me to tell me you’re going to ruin my fucking life!”
Norah gripped the edge of the table she’d caught herself on. At the end of the day, it was better this way, but his words still stung.
“We’re not through here!” he growled menacingly as the bartender pushed him out the door with the end of her bat in the middle of his chest.
“Oh yes we are,” she said as she slammed it shut behind him and turned the dead bolt. She hit a button on her phone and lifted it to her ear. “Banks, we’ve got some POS out here causing a ruckus, you wanna come down to Danny’s?”
*
“Sure, Layla, I’ll be there in five,” Banks Montgomery said, then hung up as he gave Dixie’s neck a stroke. “Looks like you’re on your own for a few hours, girl. I think you’ll be all right.”
Three Rivers’ youngest sheriff let himself out of the broodmare’s stall. He’d been watching her close this week—she was due to foal anytime and after she’d lost her foal last year, he was nervous as a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.
“C’mon then, Crash,” he said to the shaggy dog that had been patiently waiting outside the stall door. He’d picked up the mutt—primarily border collie, but definitely with the brains and square head of a lab—from a kid with a box of puppies outside Turner’s grocery store six years ago and the dog had been his most faithful companion ever since. He rode everywhere with him, including in the front seat of the sheriff’s cruiser, where he readily jumped when Banks pulled the door open for him. “Load up. Let’s see what’s going on down at Danny’s.”
It wasn’t a long drive—nothing was in Three Rivers—and when he pulled up to the bar, a short, lanky, swearing stranger was kicking rocks at the door of the bar, which was firmly shut. Banks climbed out of the car, leaving Crash behind and locking it as he approached with caution. He knew most everyone in this town, including their families and their personalities and vices, but he’d never seen this fellow, so he took his time. People did come through off the highway from time to time, but they usually weren’t trouble.
The man didn’t seem to see him, and charged at the door again, banging his fist against it. “Norah! Norah, you better come out here!”
“Hey buddy, we got a problem here?” Banks asked, keeping a good distance between them.
“I’m not your buddy!” The man’s ire turned to the sheriff quicker than he expected. Banks often forgot that people in other places didn’t exactly have copacetic relationships with their local law enforcement. Here in Three Rivers, Banks and his deputies made only a handful of arrests every year. Most of the rest of the job description was keeping the peace, officiating weddings, and letting a few repeat culprits cool off in the drunk tank.
“What’s your name?” Banks asked, lowering his voice to diffuse the situation, acutely aware of the gun that hung on his hip. He’d never discharged it in this town. Not toward a person, anyway. He kept a rifle in the trunk for struck wildlife and livestock, but he’d never pull a gun on a town resident. He loved the people here like they were family. It was an absolute last resort, but this stranger seemed like a bit of a loose cannon and he’d do what he had to do to protect those people he loved. “You been drinking?”
“I’m at a fucking bar; of course I’ve had a drink.”
Banks held his hands up, maintaining a level, even voice.
“Relax. I’m just checking things out.”
“You should check out that bartender! She hit me with a bat, kicked me out of the bar. And I’m not leaving here without my girlfriend.” The man punctuated his last sentence with a fist on the door with every word, then shouted. “Norah!”
“How many drinks have you had?”
“What? It’s the middle of the damn day. I’m not drunk if that’s what you’re asking. I’m fucking pissed. Is there a law against that?”
Banks shook his head with a low chuckle. “No, there’s no law against being mad. But I can’t let you just whoop and holler out here, so I’m gonna give you a couple choices. You’re gonna stay out here and cool off—of your own free will—while I go inside to talk to your girlfriend, or I’m gonna take you down to the office and let you simmer in my drunk tank to cool off.”
The man frowned, spit on the ground beside him.
“What’s it gonna be, buddy?” Banks pressed when he didn’t reply.
“I said I wasn’t your buddy.”
“All right then, friend. Out here or my office?”
The man let out a short, terse laugh, but finally conceded, stepping away from the door of the bar and slumping onto a nearby bench. “Out her
e.”
“Good, then,” Banks replied, as he stepped up to the door and rapped his knuckles against the wood. Layla must have been standing just on the other side because it opened immediately and she let him in. “Hey Layla, how’s it going?”
“A lot better with him out there,” his sister in law said with a sigh, shaking her head and closing the door firmly behind her. “Should I lock it again?”
Banks shook his head. “Nah, I think he’ll stay out there. He knows what his options are if he comes inside.”
Layla led him into the bar where a young woman sat perched on a stool, her arms crossed protectively across her midsection, the fingers of each hand dug into the elbow of the opposite arm. Her expression was blank, and she kept watching the door even as Banks approached. The man in the parking lot pounded and shouted at the door intermittently. Now it sounded like he was remorseful. He would have done well to show it in a different way.
They definitely weren’t residents of Three Rivers, but she looked so familiar. Like a memory just out of reach, faded out with age. She finally snapped her gaze away from the door and met his eyes. Hers were hazel, stoic, more level than he expected considering by power of deduction, she had something to do with the idiot in the parking lot.
“This is his girlfriend,” Layla said, touching the girl’s shoulder lightly. “He grabbed hold of her pretty good before I chased him out with my bat.”
“Are you okay, miss? What’s your name?” Banks asked, approaching her the same way he’d approach a skittish colt at his ranch. Getting close enough to be there, but without the impression that he had any motive.
She was wearing ragged jeans and a baggy v-neck t-shirt. Her shoulder length dirty blonde hair was tied up in a ponytail with sections framing her face in waves. Her name came to his mind a millisecond before she said it.
Norah.
“Norah Clarke.”
She pressed her lips together, swallowed. She finally released her grip on her elbows, revealing red spots where each fingertip had pressed in. Considering the blossoming bruise further up her arm, she was surprisingly calm. Resigned, almost.
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