Marshall's Law

by Denise A. Agnew

  Dana looked around the formal living room with Lucille’s collection of never-sat-in Chippendale furniture. A red brick, double-sided fireplace resided between the formal area and the family room. The family room sported a cozy, sagging chintz sofa and loveseat. Two cracked windows graced the area, and the carpet was a tad wet under the windows.

  Once they’d surveyed the entire house and found no sign of Lucille, Dana felt a wild rush of relief barrel through her system that she hadn’t found her aunt injured or worse. A tight, odd trembling in her body overcame her, and she couldn’t remember feeling this weak in a long time. Not since Daddy had died all those years ago.

  The man’s gaze assessed her. “You’re shaking.” He put his hand on the side of her neck and held his fingers there. “Fast pulse. Are you going to pass out on me again?”

  “Of course not.”

  “I think you’re in shock and don’t realize it. You’re off to the hospital for an examination.”

  “I don’t need a hospital. I’m perfectly fine.”

  “Then where is all the blood coming from? It sure isn’t me.” He reached for her hand and looked at the index finger she’d gouged with the key. His tight, warm grip and stern expression said no nonsense. “You’ve cut your finger.”

  An irrational wave of anger went through her. “No? You think?”

  He caught and held her gaze with an intense, overwhelming attention. She took in his features and everything about him she’d missed before. He looked about thirty-five or thirty-six. Maybe six feet tall and one hundred ninety pounds of muscle. His long hair waved high off his forehead and back from his face. His beard and mustache were trimmed close to his face.

  “Something wrong?” he asked.

  “You sure don’t look like a man of the law.”

  “Yeah? And what exactly do you think the law should look like?”

  Embarrassed that she’d stared at him for so long, she shrugged. “Sorry. Forget I said anything.”

  Mister Tall, Dark, and Silent led her past the huge gourmet kitchen toward the back of the house. Rain had seeped under the door and soaked the rug at the utility room back door, and their shoes made squelching noises as they walked.

  His cynical frown remained. “You have identification on you, ma’am?”

  “It’s in the car.”

  “You usually leave your purse in the car?”

  “No. My fanny pack is—what are you looking at?”

  “You’re not wearing your fanny pack on your fanny.” His gaze centered on her jean-clad butt for longer than necessary, and to her complete surprise a grin about three miles wide stretched his mouth. A completely unrepentant male grin.

  She gave him a dirty look. “I’m Dana Cummings, and Lucille Maxine Metcalf is my aunt. My mother is Ethena Cummings, her sister.”

  His “yeah right” expression didn’t ease one iota. “As soon as we get to your car, you can prove it to me.”

  As they stepped onto the porch, Dana realized the rain had stopped and the sky had started to clear. A dramatic rainbow arched over innocent-looking clouds. The storm had moved away. Pine tree limbs littered the ground and deep puddles of water attested to the furious soaking.

  She took a deep breath and a tickling in the back of her throat threatened a cough. Determined not to be a weakling, she straightened. “Looks like the place is pretty unscathed for a tornado.”

  “Might have passed overhead without touching down.” He glanced around. “Or it might have plowed through some houses and forest farther down the road. Let’s hope not.”

  Thunder rolled low in the west, reminding her of the noise the tornado had made. “It really did sound like a train.”

  The lawman paused and looked down at her. “You’ve never been in a tornado before?”

  Dana shook her head. “Never. Bad storms, of course, but nothing like this. I saw the green clouds, and I knew something was up.”

  As she stared back at him, caught in the concentration in his eyes, the darkness seemed to ease.

  Despite his unbreakable grip on her arm, his touch gentled and so did his gaze. “You’re trembling.”

  Deep inside her a sensation unfurled, like a sweet, plucking, swirling delight in her stomach. She shoved it back, afraid of what the odd sensation meant. What she feared it meant. “Yeah, well, it isn’t everyday I get waterlogged, attacked by a madman claiming to be a police officer, crammed into a tub and almost eaten by a tornado.”

  One of his dark brows twitched. “The madman has a name. Brennan Marshall.”

  She smiled uncontrollably. “Marshall, eh? Isn’t that convenient? Howdy, Marshall.” The ridiculousness of the situation hit her. “It’s not every day I get to snuggle up to a lumberjack in a bathtub.”

  She knew the words sounded flirtatious, but they’d slipped from her lips before she could stop them. Way to go. My irreverent tongue will get me arrested for sure.

  They headed back toward Bertha.

  “Thank you Lord,” she said when she saw only a couple a fallen branches lying over the hood of her car. Next to Bertha sat a white Grand Cherokee, emblazoned on the side with a gold star declaring it Cedar County Sheriff’s Department.

  Suddenly, she felt exhausted. The tension of the storm and the thought of what had almost happened caught up to her. To her chagrin, the tickle in the back of her throat changed to an unstoppable cough. She cleared her throat, but it came on without remorse, settling into a hollow, hacking sound that vibrated her lungs and made her gasp for air.

  “What the—” Marshall put his arm around her as she bent over slightly and let the cough have its way with her. “Are you all right?”

  “Recovering from—” she gasped. “Pneumonia. Four weeks back.”

  Something that looked almost like regret covered his face, and a muscle twitched in his jaw. “No wonder you’re shaky. Come on, you’re going to the hospital.”

  She cleared her throat. “I’m not. This is silly. I thought you were ready to throw me in the clink for breaking and entering.”

  “Not until after a doctor says you aren’t going to drop dead in my custody.”

  “Gee, thanks.” She rubbed the back of her aching neck and her hand came away tinged with blood. “Oh, man. I think I know now where that blood was coming from. I guess that branch did some damage.”

  “What branch?”

  “The one that clobbered me on the way to the garden shed.”

  Marshall’s expression hardened. “Lean against the Taurus while I get the first aid kit and call for an ambulance.”

  “No ambulance. I’ve got to find my aunt.”

  He stopped on the way to the SUV and glowered.

  She licked her dry lips. “Please. If anything’s happened to her, it’ll be my fault. Look, if I fall over dead in the next few minutes, I won’t blame you.”

  Then he did something she didn’t expect. It started with a twinkle that lit his eyes and transfused his face for a nanosecond with something that looked like humor. Mister Poker Face actually grinned.

  He turned toward his Cherokee before the full impact of that devastating smile materialized. Had she imagined it? Had the whack on the head pulverized her brain? He’d looked—dare she think it—endearing? Human. Sorta cute. No. Sorta handsome.

  That bizarre little fluttering went off in her stomach again, and ignoring it did no good.

  She heard him talking on his police radio, but he didn’t ask for an ambulance, thank God. Dana stared in fascination at the way the T-shirt and flannel covered his impressive, wide shoulders. His slim hips and sculpted tight butt encased in jeans caught her attention next.

  She wiped the blood off on her jeans. “Face it, you’ve lost it, Dana. You’re actually lying in a coma in the hospital hallucinating.”

  He rummaged in the SUV. “What?”

  “Never mind.”

  As he marched toward her, his grim face had returned. Dana had the almost uncontrollable urge to stick her tongue out and mist him with
a huge raspberry. Instead, she wrinkled her nose. “So are you arresting me or what? Because if you aren’t, I’d like to find my aunt.”

  He put the first aid kit on the hood of her car and searched inside. “Please turn around and lift your hair.”

  “What’s this? A new search procedure?”

  Marshall’s deep sigh told her she’d pushed the edge, so she turned as commanded. “Anyone ever tell you that you’ve got a smart mouth?”

  Amused rather than angry, she held up her hair. “My agent.” She paused as he used gauze to clean the wound. “And my mother.” He touched something that stung like mad. She sucked in a breath. “And my friends.” A few seconds later she said, “Maybe the mailman…once.”

  “Humph.” He dabbed at her wound. “Doesn’t look too bad. A small cut right at the back of your neck.” She felt him apply gauze and tape. “That’ll hold you for now. You’re still going to the hospital.”

  Dana swung around. “I’m finding out what happened to my aunt first.”

  The stubborn set of his jaw told her she’d pressed him as far as he’d go on the issue.

  She put her hands on her hips. “I haven’t seen your identification, either and you expect me to just roll over and accept your—”

  “I’m off duty right now.” He held up a hand to stop her tirade, reached inside his back pocket and pulled out a badge and I.D. card.

  After scrutinizing the evidence, she handed it back to him.

  “Satisfied?” he asked.

  “No. I won’t be satisfied until I know where Aunt Lucille is.”

  “Agreed. We have to find her.” His gaze narrowed. He snapped the first aid kit shut and started toward his car. “Please get that identification I asked for, ma’am.”

  She opened her car and fumbled in her fanny pack for her wallet while he spoke on the radio. When he came back she handed him her driver’s license.

  After perusing the license, he called the dispatcher again. While he waited to see if she qualified as an escaped convict, bank robber or a serial killer, Dana crossed her arms and tapped her foot on the wet ground. Maybe she’d give Aunt Lucille that raspberry when she found her safe and sound. The fact that Marshall knew Aunt Lucille didn’t mean much. In a town as small as this, everyone probably knew the sheriff’s deputies.

  She decided she’d check Bertha for damage and when she tried to start the Taurus it wouldn’t even sputter. “Oh, great.”

  Marshall gestured at her to come to him, his expression worried. “A boy has fallen into a swollen river down the road.”

  As he started to turn away, she trotted toward him, fanny pack in hand. “My car won’t start. Can I come with you?”

  He hesitated a second, then nodded. “All right. Hurry.”

  She’d barely buckled her seat belt when he sent the car flying down the driveway. He slammed on the brakes at the end of the driveway, checked both ways, and then roared down the street. He snapped on the lights and siren.

  Dana grabbed at the dashboard as the car bounced over a huge dip in the road. She forgot the throb in her finger, the ache at the back of her neck and her pounding head. A boy’s life was in jeopardy.

  As they sailed down the road, she took covert glances at Marshall’s profile. When she’d first seen him, he’d looked mean. Of course, now that he didn’t have a gun pointed at her, it made him less threatening.

  She realized he’d lost his baseball cap somewhere during the tornado, and she hadn’t seen it since. His hair had almost dried into luxurious, shiny dark brown waves that curled over the collar of his shirt. His long lashes gave new meaning to the word sinful, turning his eyes from scare-me-silly to gorgeous-beyond-belief.

  No! She couldn’t afford to find anything about him intriguing, least of all thinking he had to-die-for eyes. Nope. Nada. I don’t even like him. He’s a bit arrogant. Not even good looking. Okay, sort of good looking. Mildly attractive.

  Enough.

  She realized she’d popped her lid. Everyone knew that during a crisis or near disaster heightened emotions could do funny things to perceptions. So she chalked up her pseudo attraction to this big cop as just that—heightened emotions.

  Seconds later, they came to a turnoff where the trees thinned and she could see two women standing at the riverbank. Marshall swung the vehicle off the road and careened over bushes and ruts as he went to the edge of the rampaging river.

  He slammed on the brakes so hard the back wheels fishtailed in the mud. “Stay in the car.”

  He jammed the vehicle into park, opened his door and jumped out. The young blonde at the side of the road grabbed his arm, babbling and gesturing all the while. Marshall peeled the woman’s hands away and ran toward the river.

  Dana left the SUV and trotted along in his wake. Then she saw the boy and her heart made a sickening jolt. “Oh, no.”

  The boy clung to the rock in the middle the river, his face ashen with shock and fear. He couldn’t have been more than ten. How much longer could the child hold onto the rock? Dana’s entire body stiffened with apprehension.

  A woman of about forty-five, her hair matted and her clothes covered in mud, slumped down near the riverbank. The blonde woman sobbed non-stop.

  Marshall flung off his flannel shirt, boots, and holster and with a quick leap, dove into the rushing water.

  “He’ll never get him in time. Tommy is already losing his grip,” the older woman said.

  The blonde choked back a strangled sound.

  “No. He’ll get him,” Dana said. He’d get the boy to safety if it were the last thing he’d ever do. How she knew this, she couldn’t say. “He’ll save him.”

  The older woman shivered. “He’s got to.” She swallowed hard. “I warned Tommy to stay away from the river. We stopped during the storm and took shelter in the ditch. When the storm was over the car wouldn’t start. He wandered to the river’s edge while we called for a tow.”

  Dana nodded. “It’ll be all right.”

  Dana’s breath snagged in her throat as Marshall swam with powerful strokes toward the boy. Then, just as Marshall reached the rock, the boy slipped and the water swallowed him up.

  The blonde screamed. “Tommy!”

  Marshall grabbed the boy’s arm and snatched him from oblivion. The current swept them down the river. Dana and the other women ran along the bank. Marshall struggled toward shore, hauling the boy along. A wave of water pushed over his head and Dana almost shouted his name in reflex. A log, bobbing along at a fast pace, was heading straight for Marshall and Tommy.

  Chapter Three

  “Marshall, look out!” Dana rushed for the river, terrified they would be hit by the log.

  The idea that she might see the cop lose his life sent an incredible frisson of shock through her.

  Seconds later, the wood grazed Marshall’s back with a glancing blow. The two women near Dana gasped. Marshall seemed unaffected and swam onward, each stroke powerful.

  Dana reached Marshall and Tommy before the others, and helped Marshall pull the boy onto shore.

  “He’s not breathing.” Marshall’s breath rasped in and out, pain etched on his face.

  He immediately started CPR. The blonde and the other woman stood nearby, shock holding them immobile.

  It took a couple of breaths, then the boy coughed. Marshall turned him on his side as the boy struggled for air. Just then the ambulance arrived, sirens blaring. Three paramedics rushed to the boy and took over. Marshall stood, winced and moved away from the group while the mother huddled near her son.

  “He’ll be all right, Brenda,” Marshall said, talking to the forty-something woman.

  She seemed to come out of her shock and put her arms around his waist. The woman looked tiny against Marshall’s sheltering arms. Marshall patted her back and crooned a few words of comfort. Dana watched the drama and realized she felt more than relief at the boy’s recovery. She admired this man’s bravery. He’d never hesitated, not one second, to put his own life in danger to save
the boy.

  Once Tommy and the two women left in the ambulance, Marshall walked back to where Dana stood.

  “You all right?” she asked as he reached her. She smiled. “You’re soaked again.”

  “Yeah.” To her surprise another one of those wide smiles creased his face, then disappeared as he winced. Concern pushed her to grasp his arm. A powerful bicep moved under her fingers, warm and hard. Startled by the pleasure she experienced touching him, she let go.

  “Are you sure you’re not the one who should go to the hospital?” she asked.

  “No.” He rotated his arms and shoulders about the size of Mount Rushmore rippled and flexed. “Guess I’ll have to hit the tub tonight to get the kinks out.”

  An image of him slipping into the tub naked dashed into her imagination and almost short-circuited her brain. Her cheeks flushed. Holy moly. Now there’s a thought. “But that log hit you.”

  “It wasn’t that big.” He slipped his boots on, then picked up his holster and retrieved his flannel shirt.

  A chill breeze raced through the trees, scenting the area with moisture and pine. “Maybe you should put a dry shirt on. Get out of that wet T-shirt.”

  The moment the words came out, she wanted to bite her tongue clear through. Before she could retract the statement, he stopped next to the SUV and flung his flannel shirt into the back seat.

  Throwing her a glance that burned right through her, he stripped off the T-shirt and tossed it in the back seat. In one glance he conveyed cocky sureness with something that looked like…nah…couldn’t be. Yep, there it was. Flirtatiousness and frankness. Her jaw dropped for a second, then she clamped her mouth shut.

  “Hop in the car,” he said.

  Just before she moved around to the passenger side of the car, she saw amazing muscles. Hard, carved arms. The kind of brute force that spoke of working the land rather than using a weight set. A generous amount of dark hair sprinkled around his pectorals and down his flat stomach.

  “Heaven help me,” she said.

  “What?”