"You'd have survived today, though. You're a gutsy lady."
"You'd have still been in time, even if Foxfire hadn't decided to defend my life and honor." She smiled despite the threatening tears of emotion. "Or, more accurately, that he was definitely not getting into that trailer."
John's grin answered hers. "Not with some jerk shoving on his rump, anyway."
Pam and Natalie had managed to catch Foxfire, but not before he tore up and down a fence line trumpeting his presence to the grazing mares. Uninjured, he had been enjoying a special mash when Natalie left him.
Remembrance dimmed some of her joy. "I'll have to sell him, won't I?"
"Foxfire?" He looked surprised. "Assuming anybody can prove that Foxfire was bought with stolen money. It's not like anyone's putting in a claim. What you get for him would go to the victim's fund."
"He was bought with money from selling heroin. It should go to the victim's fund."
"Here's a suggestion." John bowed his head and kissed one of her bandaged palms. "What if we cut a deal where you put him up for stud, and the money you earn pays off what Stuart stole? I'm guessing they'd go for that."
"I … maybe." He'd given her hope. No, more than that. He'd said we. "We can try," she agreed. "Thank you."
"Now, can I get on with this proposal, before Evan decides he needs to use this bathroom?"
She could just picture it: John mid-proposal, his son throwing up in the toilet, John's mother hurrying to be sure he was all right, and Connor hanging out in the hall with laughter in his eyes at his brother's ineptitude.
She nodded vigorously.
"Natalie, you know cops make lousy husbands. We work bad hours, we're unreliable, we're…"
"Heroes," she finished.
"On rare occasions. Mostly, we push paper around our desks and write reports that will bore lawyers, judges and prosecutors."
Natalie studied his face, eyes that showed weariness and anguish as often as amusement and tenderness, premature creases in his forehead, jaw unshaven because he'd hurried to her rescue. "I don't mind the hours," she assured him.
"I have kids."
"I know."
"Obligations."
"I know that, too."
His gaze was dark and intense, his voice low and hoarse. "Since the day I brought you home, I've known you belong in my house, my bed, my heart. I don't like waking up and realizing you're not here."
Her own heart was near to bursting, her eyes to overflowing.
"Will you marry me?" he asked.
Tears ran down her cheeks as she laughed and exclaimed, "Of course I will!"
At the exact same moment, the doorknob rattled. "Da-ad!" a five-year-old complained.
"Use the downstairs bathroom," Dad said, just before he kissed his friend and lover and wife-to-be.
Who, grateful for his foresight in locking the bathroom door, flung her arms around his neck and kissed him back with complete trust and happiness greater than she had known possible.
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HIS PARTNER'S WIFE Page 24
