by Kait Nolan
“Did they try to intimidate the women you brought home?”
“Girls. I was under eighteen for most of it. And no. It was more them looking out to make sure I was nothing more than the perfect gentleman. Which I was, because I knew the second I wasn’t, it’d get back to my mama, and I’d live to regret it. The only one they tried to intimidate was my wife. Which, looking back, I probably should’ve seen as a sign.”
Miranda’s curiosity sharpened. She’d known he was divorced, but this was the first time he’d mentioned her. “They didn’t like her?”
“It wasn’t personal exactly. They thought Becca was a perfectly nice woman. Just not right for me.”
“Why?”
“She was a city girl, for one. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. There was some question of common ground to start. Plus, I already had my eye on the Marshal Service by the time we got engaged. Mom wasn’t sure she’d be able to hack being married to someone in law enforcement. And, as it turned out, Mom was right.”
Miranda glanced at him as she loaded tamales and spicy Mexican rice onto plates. “What happened?”
He scrubbed a hand over his face. “She worried, of course. Didn’t really understand why I loved the job, and she sure as hell hated that the job so often had to come before her. But the final straw was when I got shot. She had me served with divorce papers while I was still in the hospital.”
“That bitch!” The words spilled out before Miranda could stop them. “Oh God, I’m sorry. That was inappropriate.”
Ethan chuckled. “Oh, my mama would like you. That’s a sentiment she shares, along with Paul, Clay, Julie, and everybody else who mattered in my life at the time.” He carried the plates to the table. “I won’t lie. It sucked. But at that point it was really just our marriage coming to an obvious conclusion. We weren’t well-matched. She kept hoping I’d go back to Clay, back to the music. That I’d finally agree to Nashville. She’d have been a lot more okay with that kind of lifestyle. But that’s not me, and I guess it just took us both too long to see that.”
Miranda choked back the irrational jealousy that he’d probably played and sung to his wife as he had to her the other night. “That’s all well and good, but she could have at least had the decency to wait until you were out of the hospital.”
“The papers had already been drawn up weeks before. She’d just been working up the nerve to give them to me. I guess my nearly dying lit a fire under her to get it over with as quickly as possible.”
She shook her head. “How do you get over something like that?”
“Is that your way of asking if I am over it?”
“You ought to recognize by now that if that’s what I wanted to know, I’d come straight out and ask.”
“I do appreciate the fact that you’re a straight shooter. And for the record, I am. I mean, I’ve got a few scars from it. But I don’t figure anybody makes it to thirty-six without a few.”
“True enough.”
“What about you? You ever get close to walking down the aisle?”
She thought of Stephen. “Not really. There was one guy I considered going there with during my residency.”
“Another doctor?”
“Yeah.”
“What happened?”
He’d shared his story. It was only fair if she reciprocated. “In the beginning it was great. Dating somebody in the same profession, you get each other on a level that someone who isn’t an insider just can’t. You’re both on the same page with the demands of the job, the stressors and the pressures. He knew exactly what I was facing because he faced the same thing every day. He was a couple years further along in the residency than I was.”
“Another trauma surgeon?”
“Yeah. Brilliant. We were good together. Until we weren’t. We handled the stress very differently. We had a revolving door of all kinds of trauma from violence coming through our hospital. Stephen followed our mentor’s example of erecting that wall between himself and his patients. I didn’t.”
“That was a problem?”
“Yeah. He grew to resent the extra time I spent with patients, trying to help them with linkage to better care, going above and beyond repairing the immediate damage to their bodies to try to save them from whatever shitty situation brought them to me in the first place. He couldn’t understand why I’d do that. Why I’d go that extra mile for junkies or gang members or prostitutes, who were just going to go back out there and engage in the same behaviors that got them hurt in the first place. He said I was stupid for putting so much into people who weren’t going to change.” The memory of that conversation, of the sneer on that aristocratic mouth, had her clenching her hand around the fork.
She dared a glance at Ethan. “I guess you probably wonder the same thing.”
He shook his head. “No. I know why you did it. He didn’t see them as human, as people. And you couldn’t see them as anything else. I may understand where he was coming from, recognizing that most of those people weren’t going to change. Doesn’t mean I agree with his approach. Your idealism doesn’t make you stupid or foolish, Miranda. It makes you a goddamned amazing doctor. And I don’t know how all of it works, but I’m willing to bet your patients probably had better outcomes because you gave a damn.”
Her throat went thick, her chest tight. This amazing, intuitive man absolutely got it. Got her. At that knowledge, she felt the edges of that long open wound start to close up. Unable to speak, she stood and circled around to his chair, slipping into his lap. Taking his face between her palms, she pressed her mouth softly to his. His arms came around her, an easy, comfortable hold, as his mouth opened under hers. There was heat simmering, as always, but this was about something else.
On a sigh, she rested her brow against his.
“Not that I’m complaining, but what was that for?”
“For understanding me.”
Ethan skimmed his fingers over her cheek, into her hair. “I’ve made something of a study of you the last few weeks.”
“You’re a very good student.”
“I’m looking forward to the practical, hands-on exam.”
Heat flared low in her belly, and she straightened to look into his eyes. “Are you now?”
“Been thinking about it an awful lot. But we’ve got these kickass tamales you worked so hard on, so I’m gonna be a good guest and appreciate them first.”
She twined her fingers in the hair at his nape. He was a couple weeks past due for a trim. “Putting on the brakes again, Cowboy?”
“Not brakes. Just pacing myself. Plus, I really love tamales.”
On a grin and a laugh, she slid off his lap and returned to her own seat. “Okay then. You’ll have to let me know if mine are up to snuff.”
The fact that he went back for seconds and thirds was answer enough. Conversation turned to lighter topics the rest of the meal. He earned a whole other set of brownie points for helping her not only clear up the plates, but wash all the dishes involved in prep. There was something unbearably hot about a man who wasn’t afraid to roll up his sleeves and do some dishes. By the time she put away the last of the pots and pans, the pleasant little hum in her blood cranked up to a simmer.
“You want coffee? A beer?” Me?
He held up a finger as his phone began to ring. “Greer.”
Miranda knew by the expression on his face that he wasn’t going to be having any of the above.
“I’m on my way.” He hung up the phone, his face set in lines of regret. “I’m so sorry.”
“Nature of the job, Cowboy.”
He snagged his coat and slid it on. “I’m not even technically on call tonight, but I’ve got several lines set right now, and I maybe just got a bite. I need to follow it through.”
“I get it.” She opened the door and kissed him. “Go, do your job. Catch the bad guys.”
Something flared hot in those smoky eyes. He slid both hands into her hair and laid his mouth over hers in a blistering ki
ss of frustration and promise that said he wasn’t gonna be putting this off any longer than he had to. “I’ll see you soon, Legs.”
Then he was striding toward his truck.
Blood pumping at more than a simmer now, she stepped out on the porch and watched him pull out of the drive. There was something to be said for all the interruptions. Whenever they did go to bed, the anticipation was going to add a really great edge.
As his taillights disappeared at the end of the road, Miranda felt a chill skate down her spine, poking holes in her warm, fuzzy happiness. Automatically she scanned the area, looking for the eyes she felt on her. She didn’t see any of her neighbors out, didn’t see any signs of movement in their windows. Of course, it was full dark. There was no telling who—or what—was out there.
Ethan has made you paranoid. It’s probably just Mrs. Gifford’s cat. I really hope he’s not nosing around the shed again.
Shrugging off the sense of being watched, she went back inside. But just in case, she locked the deadbolt.
Chapter 12
The one and only time Ethan had seen all the Campbells together, he’d been putting Cam’s father in handcuffs at his and Norah’s wedding. Miranda could only hope that this family dinner would be a calmer affair. Then again, she knew her family. She’d spent the last few days thinking up ways to derail prospective interrogation. Ethan might think he had the leg up in that arena, but he hadn’t ever faced a meal with the entire Campbell clan.
Ethan’s hand pressed into the small of her back as they made their way up Grammy’s front walk. “Relax. It’s gonna be fine.”
Miranda liked the possessive feel of it. She shot him a pitying glance. “Oh sugar, you keep believing that. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
She opened the door onto semi-controlled chaos. The din of conversation led them into the living room, where all twelve members of her family—including the latest contingent of fiancées and spouses—were sprawled or perched on the furniture. The crackling of Ethan’s radio drew everyone’s attention.
With an easy smile, he held up a finger and turned the volume down. “Sorry ’bout that. I’m on duty. Evenin’ everybody.”
Miranda’s mom rose immediately. “Welcome, welcome! We’re so glad you were able to make it.”
“I appreciate the invite.”
Oh look at him being all polite. Such a good Southern gentleman.
“Miranda, perhaps you’d like to make introductions?”
Miranda recognized an order couched as a suggestion when she heard one. “Everybody, this is Ethan Greer, our Chief of Police. But then y’all already knew that. Ethan, this is the peanut gallery, otherwise known as my family. You already know Cam and Norah; my brother, Mitch; and of course Aunt Sandy and her husband Trey.”
Ethan shook the hand of their resident billionaire. “Hard to forget a killer right cross. Good to see you again, sir. And you, Mayor Peyton.”
“Likewise.”
“Over here is my cousin, Reed, and his fiancée, Cecily Dixon. These are Reed’s parents, my Uncle Jimmy and Aunt Anita. This lovely lady over here is my Grammy, Helen Campbell.”
Ethan took her hand between both of his and actually bowed a little. “Ma’am.”
Grammy simpered.
“I believe you’ve already had the pleasure of meeting my mother, Liz, and this is my dad, Pete.”
Her father gave Ethan a thorough once over and a firm handshake. “Good to meet you, son.”
“And you, sir.”
Before he could launch into any variation of what are your intentions toward my daughter? Miranda mimed dusting off her hands. “There, introductions dispensed with. What are y’all talking about?”
Please, God, let it not be us. Or the vandalism to my car. She’d asked Mitch not to share. Norah, too, though she’d told Cam, of course. Despite the care Ethan had taken to have things repaired on the down low, Miranda knew there was still an excellent chance that the news had leaked from somewhere else.
“We just drew straws to see who gets stuck taking Mitch to the airport in the morning,” Cam announced.
Mitch grinned. “Mom won.”
“You have to be there at five-thirty. I’d say Aunt Liz lost,” Norah pointed out.
“Oh, I never regret time spent with my baby boy.” Liz reached up to frame Mitch’s face between her hands and dragged him down for a smacking kiss.
“Better you than me,” Miranda muttered.
“You weren’t even in the pool. Nobody’s gonna risk your wrath with a pre-dawn wakeup call.” Mitch shifted his attention to Ethan. “This one is liable to shoot morning people on sight and drink coffee while sitting on their cooling corpses.”
Miranda grimaced. “What a lovely pre-dinner image.”
“Hey, the man deserves fair warning—ow!” Mitch glared down at Norah, who had subtly dug her heel into his foot.
This was why they’d been best friends for more than a decade.
Grammy leapt into the conversational breech. “I can’t believe you’re going to be gone for three whole weeks!”
“It’s been ages since I took a proper vacation,” Mitch said. “The conference is nearly a week, and if I’m already on that side of the pond, it seemed like a good opportunity to do some sightseeing. Rhett and I are hitting up as many architectural wonders in Europe as we can fit in.”
“This is technically his going away dinner,” Miranda explained. She figured she could refrain from doing a happy dance that her brother would be out of the way as her relationship with Ethan progressed. At least until she was out of his sight.
“Speaking of dinner, now that everybody’s here, let’s eat!” Grammy herded them all into the big kitchen, where everybody grabbed a plate, bowl, or platter and carried it into the dining room.
Liz passed the roasted carrots. “Have you ever been to Europe, Ethan?”
“No, ma’am. I had a few fugitive cases that took me into South America, but they weren’t exactly vacations. Not the kind of places you want to sightsee.”
“Must’ve been exciting stuff, chasing bad guys.” Her father forked up a stuffed pork chop. “Big change to come here.”
Translation: Do you see yourself staying?
It was a question Miranda wanted the answer to herself but she hadn’t felt like they’d quite reached the point to ask it. She wasn’t sure he knew the answer yet and didn’t want to put him on the spot. They were good as they were, right now. Fun and simple. It was what they both wanted.
Ethan didn’t hesitate as he added green beans to his plate. “Yes, sir. I was looking for a change.”
“Why small town policing?” Uncle Jimmy asked.
Ethan’s lips twitched, the first break in his serious cop expression. “Well, I had hoped it would keep me from being shot again.”
“Of all the ERs in all the towns in all the world, you walked into mine,” Miranda intoned. “At least it was just a flesh wound.” The smile in his eyes unraveled some of the knots in her belly.
“Not complaining. You’ve got a way neater hand with stitches than my last doctor.”
Cecily’s eyes had gone wide. “You’ve really been shot?”
Oh really, don’t bring this up over dinner.
But Ethan just nodded. “Couple times. Once in the Army, once as a Deputy Marshal. If tradition dictates I’m gonna get a new scar for every new job, then I guess it’s good I got this one out of the way early.”
“Where are the other ones?” Grammy asked.
“We are not discussing battle scars at dinner,” Miranda interrupted. She was certain the other two didn’t have nearly as amusing a story to go along with them, and she didn’t want to bring up bad memories for him.
Norah—God love her—jumped in to change the topic. “The details for the fundraiser are all squared away, so now we’re down to just sorting the details for decorating and set up.”
Ethan raised his brows in polite interest. “Fundraiser?”
“We’re using par
t of the proceeds from the Valentine’s Dance as a fundraiser to help furnish the expansion at Monarch House,” she explained. “It was Miranda’s idea.”
Uncomfortable with the pride in her friend’s tone, Miranda shrugged and forked up a bite of pork chop. “You’re doing all the work.”
“You’ll have your turn when it’s time to set up. Speaking of setup, what are you doing on February 12th, Ethan?”
“I don’t know off-hand. I’d have to check the duty schedule.”
“If you aren’t on duty, do you think you could help us with setup at the community center? We can use more strong backs and tall people.”
“I’ll have to see.” Courteous, noncommittal.
Cecily laughed. “Oh, that’s cute. He thinks he can dodge you.”
Cam smirked and looked fondly at his wife. “You may as well give up now. She always gets her way.”
“Nicest steamroller you’ll ever meet,” Miranda added.
“Resistance is futile,” Aunt Sandy agreed. “Why do you think we made her the city planner?”
Norah just batted her eyes, the picture of innocence.
Ethan laughed, and Miranda knew he was going to capitulate. “You are a dangerous woman, Mrs. Crawford. Fine. If I am not on duty or otherwise tied up with police business, I can come haul tables or hang stuff or whatever.”
“Excellent.”
“But I’d like your help with something, too.”
Trey pointed at Ethan in approval. “Oh, quid pro quo. The man has brains.”
“I’ve got a kid who is, shall we say, at-risk. He got into some trouble for fighting, and I convinced Judge Carpenter to put him on community service and informal probation. By my choice, I set it up for him to work off those hours out at Chester Harkin’s farm.”
“Doesn’t he have some kind of feud going on with Maudie Belle Ramsey of the Casserole Patrol?” Norah asked.
“Well, we call it a feud. Apparently he calls it flirting. Chester and I have already talked about that in a separate conversation. Anyway, I wanted to pitch the idea of a more formal program that links teens with seniors. It wouldn’t have to just be juvenile offenders. If the high school has any kind of mandatory community service component, it would be a good way for students to meet that requirement. It’d help keep the kids out of trouble and provide some assistance to older folks who need it.”
