The Missing McCullen

by Rita Herron

  “Mama Mary would be happy to watch the boys,” Maddox said. “She made a great mama for me and Brett and Ray.”

  “I don’t doubt that,” Cash said, affection for the woman warming his heart.

  The trouble was, he wanted BJ to be with them, too.

  But she’d asked him to leave her alone.

  Maddox patted Cash’s back. “Don’t be afraid to go after what you want.”

  Cash straightened. Was that his problem?

  All his life he’d thought his mother and father hadn’t wanted him. That no one had.

  But he’d found the McCullens, and they’d embraced him with love and support.

  Was it possible that BJ might want him, too?

  * * *

  BJ SETTLED DREW into bed. He was still recovering from the surgery and needed rest, but he was gaining strength every day. He’d seen Aaron’s rainbow drawings and had wanted to paint one himself.

  Now both boys’ art hung on the walls.

  She tucked the covers around him. “I’ll be in the next room.” She brushed his hair from his forehead. His eyelids were already heavy, drooping. He reminded her of her son. Yet he was different, his own little man. “Call me if you need anything, sweetie.”

  His eyes widened for a second. “Where am I going after here?”

  BJ smiled. The poor little boy was so insecure. “You’re not going anywhere, Drew. I want you to live with me. Forever.”

  “Forever?” he said in a tiny voice.

  “Yes, sweetie.” She planted a kiss on his forehead. “That is, if you want. I’ll be your mommy.”

  “But what if you get tired of me?” he asked, big-eyed.

  BJ pulled him into her arms and rubbed his back. “I’ll never get tired of you, Drew. Never.”

  His little body trembled, but he sniffed and relaxed against her. She rocked him back and forth until his breathing evened and he fell asleep.

  BJ gently tucked the blanket around him, and guided her son’s stuffed lion into Drew’s arms. The lion had given Aaron comfort when he woke in the night. It had given her comfort, too, during the last two years.

  Now it was doing the same for Drew.

  She could almost see Aaron smiling, running in the yard, playing hide and seek, then curling with the lion at night as she read him a story.

  Odd, how, since the accident, she’d remembered only the anguish of losing her son. Although her heart longed for him, and it felt bittersweet, she was finally able to remember the happy moments. To see him smiling, not crying out for her to save him from death. She’d even dreamed the night before that he was holding his father’s hand and they were walking together in heaven.

  She planted another kiss on Drew’s forehead, then tiptoed from the room.

  It would take time, patience and love for Drew to heal and accept that he had a permanent home.

  His insecurities reminded her of Cash’s childhood. Never having love or the comfort of a secure home.

  Cash would give security to Tyler, though.

  Maybe at some point, once she overcame her heartbreak over not being with him, they could get the boys together. Tyler and Drew both deserved to know they had a brother.

  She showered and poured herself a glass of wine, then sank onto the sofa in her den. Tomorrow she’d start searching for a small house, someplace with a yard and trees to climb and acreage to run and play. Some place homey like the cabin where she’d stayed on Horseshoe Creek...

  Her doorbell dinged, and she tensed. Ever since Candace had called with the news that she could keep Drew, she’d been afraid that something would happen and the courts would reverse the decision.

  She took a deep breath and hurried to the door. Shock hit her when she saw Cash standing in the doorway, his expression strained.

  Something was wrong.

  “Did something happen with Tyler?”

  He shook his head. “No, he’s good. He’s with Brett’s boy. They’ve become fast friends. And Mama Mary is smothering him with love and food, just like he’s a McCullen.”

  BJ couldn’t help but smile at the reminder of the sweet, robust woman with the bigger-than-life heart. “She is special. Everyone ought to have a Mama Mary in their life.”

  Cash murmured agreement, then shifted as if he was suddenly uncomfortable. “The McCullens have all been great.”

  BJ smiled. “I’m glad, Cash. You deserve a family.”

  His gaze darkened. “It still feels weird. Like they might change their mind any day.”

  She understood that feeling. She was afraid of losing Drew. “I think you can count on them.”

  Cash sucked in a deep breath. “I want Tyler to feel that way about me.”

  The fear tinging his voice struck a chord.

  She motioned for him to come in. “I’m glad you stopped by. I...wanted to talk to you.”

  He stepped into the entryway. “You did?”

  She nodded. She wanted to tell him she loved him, but held her tongue. “I talked to Candace about Drew.”

  His eyes widened. “I was going to do that. I thought he should live with me and Tyler.”

  Her chest clenched. Was that the reason he was here? Because he wanted to take Drew away from her?

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Cash hadn’t meant to start out by talking about Drew, but if he and BJ had a chance, she had to accept him for the man he was, baggage included. No pretenses.

  “How did you know Drew was here?” BJ asked.

  Cash stared at BJ in surprise. “Drew is here?”

  She nodded. “Did you talk to the social worker?”

  “Not yet.” He’d wanted to talk to her first. “What’s going on?”

  “I have temporary custody of Drew.”

  Cash was shocked. “You do?”

  “Yes, I want to adopt him.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Is that why you’re here? To tell me you’re going to fight me for him?”

  “God, no,” Cash said. Her raised brow reeked of suspicion, a reminder that she had trust issues. “I just wanted to see you.”

  Her expression softened as she ran a hand through her hair. The movement drew his gaze to the fact that it was still damp. She wore pajama pants and a tank, too, just as she had the night they’d made love. This tank was more modest, built with one of those bras inside it, but her cleavage spilled over, making his mouth water.

  He wanted her again.

  A blush stained her cheeks, as if she’d read his mind. “Then what are you doing here, Cash?”

  A smile tugged at his mouth. The desire in her eyes gave him hope and courage. “I...miss you,” he said gruffly.

  She bit her lip, her expression wary. “If you came for a booty call, that’s not going to happen. Not with Drew here.”

  “I’m not here for a booty call,” he said gruffly. “I want more than that.”

  BJ’s eyes narrowed, but she took a step toward him. “What do you mean, Cash?”

  A rush of hunger shot through him, and he closed the distance between them. The scent of her feminine body wash suffused his senses, making him crazy. “I want you, BJ.”

  “Cash—”

  “Let me finish. Yes, I want to sleep with you, but I want to sleep with you every night.”

  “Ahh, Cash,” she said in a soft whisper.

  Her hair lay in long waves around her shoulders, and he reached out and tucked one silky strand behind her ear. “For a long time, I didn’t think I deserved to have someone like you in my life. That no one could love me.”

  Warmth and tenderness filled her eyes, and she pressed her hand against his jaw. “You’re a brave, honorable man, Cash. You deserve the McCullens. And you deserve love.”

  “I want us to be toge
ther. To be a family. Forever.”

  “If this is about Drew—”

  “It’s not about Drew, although he and Tyler will be part of this.” Cash traced a finger over her lips. “It’s about you and me, BJ. I love you, Brandy Jane Alexander. I...want to build a life with you.”

  Yearning glowed in BJ’s eyes, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. “I love you, too, Cash.”

  Then she tilted her head and fused her mouth with his. He yanked her to him, hungry and aching for her touch.

  But most of all for her answer.

  The kiss was erotic, teasing, promising more. But he needed the words.

  “BJ?” he whispered. “Will you marry me?”

  A sexy smile brightened her eyes, and she kissed him again, then whispered, “Yes.”

  Cash picked her up and swung her around. He’d gone from being locked in a cell, accused of murder, from feeling all alone, to finding a bride and two kids.

  Except for his missing twin, life was perfect. He had brothers and their families and Mama Mary.

  And now he’d have a family of his own.

  * * * * *

  Look for the final story in USA TODAY

  bestselling author Rita Herron’s miniseries

  THE HEROES OF HORSESHOE CREEK

  when THE LAST McCULLEN

  goes on sale next month.

  You’ll find it wherever

  Harlequin Intrigue books are sold!

  USA TODAY bestselling author Debra Webb

  begins a new thriller series with MIRA Books.

  Here is an excerpt from NO DARKER PLACE,

  a SHADES OF DEATH novel.

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  No Darker Place

  by Debra Webb

  Detective Bobbie Gentry wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. Despite the early hour, she was melting right here on the sidewalk like a forgotten ice-cream cone. The weather forecast called for a high of 101 today—the same kind of record-breaking temps the capital city had been experiencing for fifteen grueling days in a row.

  The line of thunderstorms that had swept through about the same time her phone rang that morning hadn’t helped one bit. Steam rose from the simmering asphalt, disappearing into the underbellies of the blue-and-white Montgomery PD cruisers lining the sidewalk. The meteorologist who’d insisted milder temps were on the way had seriously overestimated the cool front accompanying this morning’s storm. The rain had done nothing but ramp up the suffocating humidity.

  She’d been a cop for ten years, a detective for seven of those, and she’d learned the hard way that relentless heat made people crazy. Like the father of four currently holed up in the modest ranch-style home across the street.

  Carl Evans had no criminal record whatsoever—not even a parking ticket. According to his wife, the checkup he’d had three months ago showed him to be in good health. Their middle daughter had been diagnosed with a form of childhood leukemia a year ago, and they’d gone through a serious financial crisis a couple of months back, but both issues were under control now. The husband had no problems at work as far as his wife knew.

  And yet he’d arrived home at two this morning with no explanation for where he’d been and with no desire to discuss his uncharacteristic behavior. At seven, he’d climbed out of bed, promptly corralled all four of his children into one bedroom and told his wife to call the police.

  Bobbie’s radio crackled. “No go. I’m coming out” vibrated across the airwaves.

  “Son of a bitch,” she muttered as crisis negotiator Sergeant Paul York exited the house and double-timed it to her side of the police barrier. York was a small, wiry man of five-eight or so, the same height as her. His less intimidating size and kind, calming presence made him damned good at his job as a facilitator of nonviolent resolutions. Those same traits, however, belied his unquestionable ability to take charge of a situation and physically contain the threat when the need arose.

  “What happened?” she demanded, bracing her hands on her hips. She was not going to have a hostage die on her watch. The fear she refused to allow to gain a foothold kept reminding her that these hostages were children.

  This wouldn’t be the first time you allowed a child to die.

  Not going to happen today.

  “He won’t talk to me.” York tugged at his black tie, his gray shirt still crisp despite the rising humidity and immeasurable frustration. “His wife refuses to leave the house as long as the kids are in there.”

  “Who can blame her?” Bobbie exhaled a blast of exasperation. Before York had arrived on the scene, she’d spoken to Mrs. Evans by phone. Anna Evans insisted she had no idea what had set off her husband. To her knowledge, he had never owned a weapon, much less used one. He was a CPA at Latimer, Latimer and Burton, for Christ’s sake. He’d worked there since he graduated from Vanderbilt two decades ago. His wife was completely stunned by his actions.

  “Did he give you any idea what he wants?” Bobbie needed something here. Evans surely had a goal he hoped to attain or a statement to make. How the hell could a purportedly humble CPA cause this much damned trouble?

  “He wouldn’t say a word.” York’s lips flattened as he shook his head. “Not a single word.”

  SWAT Commander Zeke Miller held up his hands as if he’d experienced an epiphany. “We’re wasting time. He could kill those children while we’re standing out here with our thumbs up our asses. It’s time we went in.”

  Bobbie rolled her eyes. What was he thinking? The polar opposite of York, Miller was a big, muscular guy with an ego to match. His reputation for playing hard and fast was well known, but this was her crime scene, and she wasn’t going the guns-blazing route. At least not yet.

  “And get those kids killed for sure?” Bobbie argued, ignoring the fear gnawing at the edge of her bravado. “Evans has them standing around him in a huddle. Your guys can’t get a clear shot at him. A flash bang could freak him out and prompt a shooting spree. And you want to go charging in there?” She folded her arms over her chest and lifted her chin, daring him to challenge her assessment. “Is it just me, or is there something seriously wrong with that scenario?”

  Miller glowered at her, but neither he nor York had a ready response for her assessment. There was no easy way to do this, and everyone present understood that unfortunate fact.

  “Where the hell is Newto
n?” Miller demanded. “We need a senior detective on the scene. Are you even cleared for a situation like this, Gentry?”

  Despite the fury his words ignited, Bobbie smiled. This chauvinistic hothead was not going to get the better of her when four children’s lives depended on her staying calm and collected. “My partner’s daughter is getting married this weekend, so he’s not here. You’ve got me, and I’m as fit for duty as you, Miller. Deal with it.”

  His arrogant sneer warned her he wasn’t going to let it go so easily.

  “We got movement at the front door!” a uniform shouted.

  Renewed adrenaline rushing through her veins, Bobbie turned toward the house as the front door slowly opened. Please let it be the children coming out. As much as she wanted everyone present to believe she was as strong as she once was and that she had everything under control...doubt nagged at her. What if she failed? What if someone died—again—because of her mistakes?

  No looking back. Focus, Bobbie.

  Barefoot and wearing a white terry-cloth robe, Anna Evans stepped cautiously onto the narrow porch, her hands raised high and her red hair tousled as if she hadn’t combed it since climbing out of bed. Her face was as white as the robe she wore. She was immediately surrounded by Montgomery PD uniforms and ushered across the street.

  “One less potential victim,” Bobbie muttered. What the devil was this guy doing? He’d made no demands. He refused to interact with the negotiator. Any time a perp took a hostage and waved around a weapon, he wanted something.

  The distant ache in her skull that had started the minute she’d received the call expanded into a dull throb. She resisted the urge to yank free the clasp holding her long brown hair off her shoulders so she could massage the pain away. No need to illustrate to all present that her headaches were still around. The whole department already watched her every move to see if she would crack under the stress. No matter that she had been back to work for four weeks without falling down on the job, she was still the detective who, seven month ago, had shattered like delicate, handblown glass thrown against a wall. The whole damned world knew that a couple of surgeons and shrinks, as well as a good half of the year, had been required to put her back together again.