Safe in the Lawman's Arms

by Patricia Johns

  “I—” He cleared his throat. “I think I’ve made a mistake.”

  The room descended into silence, and all eyes turned to Mike. The Petersens braced, as if waiting for terrible news, but the adoption agent appeared relatively unfazed. It was Malory’s gentle gaze that drew him, and he met her eyes as the words came out.

  “I thought I was doing Katy a favor by finding her a family away from my own, but I’m not sure that’s the case anymore.”

  “It might be hard,” Ned broke in. “I know it’s hard, but think of Katy. Think of all we can offer her.”

  “I am thinking of Katy.” Mike shook his head. “She’s a Cruise, and that’s not going to change, but we can certainly change this branch of the family tree. I’m going to keep her and I’m going to raise her myself.”

  Malory put her hands up to cover her mouth, but he could see her joyful tears.

  “You’ll be my daddy now?” Katy asked, hope in her voice.

  “Yes, kiddo,” Mike said gruffly. “I’ll be your daddy now.”

  With a squeal, Katy hugged him close, her moist little face pressed into his neck as she wriggled in for the closest hug she could manage.

  “Are you sure about this?” Ms. Nelson asked softly, putting a hand on his arm.

  “Positive.” He offered the Petersens an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. I know this won’t be easy on you.”

  “It’s okay.” Ned nodded curtly, and they rose from the couch. “Our hopes were up, but I understand.”

  Mike shook hands with the Petersens, holding Katy in his left arm, and the adoption agent led them toward the door. After some awkward goodbyes, Katy, Malory and Mike were left alone.

  “Mike, this is amazing.” Malory smiled, and she slipped her arms around his waist and put her face next to Katy’s. “You’ll be very happy together, you two.”

  “Will you be my mommy, Nanny Mal?” Katy asked hopefully.

  Malory shook her head. “I’m sorry, sweetie, but I won’t be.”

  “Why not?” Katy persisted.

  “Because Nanny Mal is going to have a baby,” Mike said gently. “And she has to go back to her own home. So it’ll be you and me, kiddo. We’ll be okay, though, won’t we?”

  A car drove up outside the house, and Mike followed Malory’s gaze out the window. His stomach sank. It was her cab—already.

  “Look, Malory.” He wished he had the words to express what he was feeling. “I know this isn’t good timing, but—” he moved her hair away from her face “—I love you.”

  “Me, too,” she whispered, and his heart thrilled at those words. So she loved him, too—he wasn’t alone. If only it could end differently. She took a deep breath and stepped back.

  “You sure you won’t stay a little longer?” he asked hopefully.

  She shook her head. “If I do, I’ll never leave. I have to go, Mike.”

  She was forcing herself to walk away—he could see that much. Mike put Katy back down and picked up Malory’s luggage.

  “Let me bring your bags out,” he said.

  Malory followed him out the door. She gave Katy another hug, and after her bags were stowed in the trunk, she stood by the cab, trembling.

  “Bye,” she said softly. “I’m going to miss you, Mike.”

  He bent down and wrapped his arms around her. She was small in his embrace, even with her expanding belly, and he inhaled her soft scent. She leaned her face into his neck, and she grabbed handfuls of his shirt as she squeezed him back. He didn’t want to let go of her, but she pulled away, and he reluctantly released her.

  “I know you won’t let me take care of you,” he said gruffly, “but let someone, okay?”

  She nodded quickly. He met her gaze one last time, and he wished he could lean in and kiss those lips again—but he didn’t dare.

  Even with Katy by his side, his heart was tied to Malory.

  * * *

  “TO THE AIRPORT, MISS?” the driver asked through the open window.

  “Yes, please,” she said, but she found her voice not as stable as she would have liked. She was glad—deeply happy—that Mike was keeping Katy. She’d believed all along that those two belonged together, and walking away from them was harder than she’d ever imagined it would be.

  This was for her baby, though. This was the stability that she never got as a child. She’d raise him herself, and he’d never know that rocking, terrified feeling of having his world tipped upside down every time his mother thought she might have found Mr. Right.

  This is what I have to do, she reminded herself, but deep down, it hurt so much that she wondered if she wasn’t making a mistake, too.

  Mike reached for the door to open it for her, and she shook her head.

  “I can do this,” she reassured him, and he paused.

  “Okay.” He stepped back. “Take care, Mal.”

  “You, too.” Her words caught in her throat. “Katy, you be a good girl for your dad, okay?”

  She gathered the girl into her arms and hugged her close.

  “Bye, Nanny Mal.”

  “Bye, sweetie.”

  Katy didn’t want to let go, but after a moment, she pulled back and asked, “Will you miss me?”

  “With all my heart,” Malory whispered. She swallowed hard. “Now it’s time to go back inside, okay?”

  Mike took Katy’s hand. With one last look, he turned and led the girl—his daughter—toward the porch. The cab driver cranked up his radio as a highway traffic report came on, and at that moment, another car careened into the drive, the sound of the tires drowned out by the voices on the radio.

  The car stopped, and the door opened almost simultaneously. The glint of a gun reflected in the sunlight, and Malory’s heart nearly stopped. The only thing she could think of was Mike and Katy, their backs turned as they climbed the steps to the front porch. For all of her fear of needing a man, Mike and Katy now needed her, and there was no way she was letting anything happen to them while she had breath in her body.

  “Mike!” she shouted. “Mike!”

  The man froze, then turned toward her, the gun now pointed directly at her. She didn’t have time to say another word, and her heart leaped to her throat as she realized that she was now the target. The moments slowed, her heartbeat thudding in an agonizingly slow rhythm in her ears. The gunman’s glittering graphite eyes were fixed on her, and she put her hands up instinctively. She didn’t take in much detail in that moment, only the piercing coldness of his eyes and the steadiness of that gun.

  “Please don’t—” Her mouth was moving, but she couldn’t hear any words.

  The slow motion in her mind suddenly caught up to real time as Mike took advantage of the gunman’s distracted focus and sprinted forward. The man spun toward Mike at the same moment that Mike collided with him. A gunshot cracked through the air as they both landed on the ground. The gun skittered off under the car.

  With a sob, Malory ran toward Katy on the porch, whose little mouth had formed the square shape of a terrified wail. Mike rammed a knee into the back of the man as he squirmed under Mike’s weight.

  “Hold on, big guy,” Mike said gruffly. “Keep fighting me, and I’ll only hurt you more, I can promise you that.”

  Malory gathered Katy up in her arms and sank to the grass next to her.

  “Hey, babe,” Mike said, grinning crookedly. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

  “Who is that?” she gasped.

  “This?” Mike pulled out some cuffs and tightened them down onto the man’s wrists until the smaller man winced. “He and I have a bit of a history. This is Sinclair Moody.”

  “Is he the one—?” She didn’t finish, afraid to say too much.

  “This is him.” He patted the man on the back of the head. “Say, you were supposed to be in FBI custody, weren’t you?” A car crunched into the driveway, and Mike nodded toward it. “Here they are now,” he said with a grim smile.

  “The thought of anything happening to you two—” Tears choke
d off her voice.

  “Malory,” he started, but the FBI agents were out of their car now and heading toward them—two big men in plain black suits who looked as though they meant business.

  “Sheriff Cruise?” the first agent asked.

  “Hold on—” Mike said testily and turned back to Malory. “I’m not asking you to stick around and see how it goes, Mal. I’m all in. I love you. I want you to be part of our family. I want to do this together.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me!” Moody roared. “You’re proposing with a knee in my back?”

  “Shut up,” Mike retorted, and rose to his feet, hauling the man up with him. “You’re going with the feds. By the way, why isn’t he in custody?” He cut the FBI agents a baleful look. “You told me he was in custody!”

  “An embarrassing oversight,” the FBI agent snapped. “It won’t be repeated, I can assure you.” He took Moody by one arm and angled him toward the car.

  “Hey, that’s my kid!” Moody shouted, jutting his chin toward Katy, who cowered in Malory’s arms. “I’ve got legal rights to her!”

  “No, that’s where you’re wrong,” Mike barked back. “She’s my kid. Enjoy prison!”

  As Sinclair Moody was hauled off to the car, Mike sank down onto his knees and pulled Malory and Katy into his strong arms, holding them close against his chest. Malory closed her eyes, listening to the comforting thud of his heart.

  “So what do you say?” he asked, his voice rumbling in his chest. “Will you marry me?”

  Malory looked up into his face, stunned. A little hand tugged at her shirt.

  “Nanny Mal?” Katy asked breathlessly. “Nanny Mal? Will you be my mommy?”

  “Yes!” Malory pulled Katy into their embrace. “Yes, I’ll marry you, Mike. And I’ll be your new mommy, Katy.”

  Mike’s arms tightened around them both and she closed her eyes, sinking into the love she felt. This was right—this was finally right. Her baby boy gave a little jump from within, and as she looked up, Mike’s lips came down onto hers.

  “Kisses!” Katy sang happily.

  When Mike pulled back and her eyes fluttered open again, Malory found several more deputies and an FBI agent staring at them.

  “Hello,” she said weakly. The yard was now bustling with officers and another couple of squad cars were now arriving. Hope was like that—Hope took care of its own.

  “Let’s get you inside,” Mike said, rising to his feet. He pulled her with him, then scooped her up into his arms. She let out a squeak and laughed as he carried her effortlessly toward the front door.

  “Doctor’s orders, remember?” He grinned. “Come on, Katy. Let’s get Mommy inside.”

  Mommy. Malory liked the sound of that, and when she would look back on this day, she would realize that this was exactly the kind of mother she wanted to be—the kind who protected her own and who loved her family with every ounce of strength she had.

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from COME HOME, COWBOY by Cathy McDavid.

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  Come Home, Cowboy

  by Cathy McDavid

  Chapter One

  Twice every year, Cara Alverez fell apart. First, on the day of her sweet little boy’s birthday. Second, on the anniversary of his death. Today happened to be the latter.

  Crying constantly since early morning and not fit company for anyone, she had kept to herself, shunning well-meaning, but ineffectual platitudes. After seven hours of hard work on one task or another, her chores were done. One problem remained. Her watch read 2:17 p.m. Far too much time left in the day to fill...and survive.

  Dabbing at her damp eyes with a wadded-up tissue, Cara wandered to the horse stable. Yesterday, in preparation for this moment, she’d moved Hurry Up from the mustang sanctuary to a stall for the night.

  The small gelding, with his mousy brown coat, Roman nose and stubby legs, was perhaps the homeliest horse Cara had ever seen. He was also the slowest, hence the name. But all that mattered little because Hurry Up had the disposition of a kitten and an eagerness to please. Of the over two hundred head of abandoned and rescued mustangs residing at the sanctuary, Hurry Up displayed the most potential for an excellent child’s mount.

  Had Cara’s son, Javier, lived, he’d have been four, almost five. The perfect age for his first horse.

  Fresh tears threatened to flow, but Cara kept them at bay. Barely. Removing a halter from the row hanging outside the tack room, she walked to the stall where Hurry Up waited. Patiently, of course, as was his nature.

  “Hola, chiquito. Ready for a workout?”

  The gelding nuzzled her affectionately while she buckled the halter.

  “Wait, wait,” she said, pretending to scold him. “We’ll get there.”

  “There,” in this case, was a small corral adjacent to the round pen where Cara planned to exercise Hurry Up and maybe reinforce a lesson or two.

  Dos Estrellas was a cattle ranch currently running over two thousand cows, calves and young steer. The mustang sanctuary occupied sections six and seven of the ranch, about five hundred acres. The late owner, August Dempsey, had bequeathed the land to Cara for her exclusive use.

  August had been under no obligation to name Cara in his will, though he’d loved her like a daughter and she him like a father. But he had named her. The sanctuary, with its neglected and sometimes abused mustangs, was what gave Cara a reason to rise every morning and step outside her room when she’d rather remain buried beneath the covers.

  Saddled and bridled, Hurry Up looked a little less ugly. He waited stoically at the gate for her to open it, then stood while she mounted. After several laps at a leisurely walk, she nudged the horse into a trot and circled the corral. Eventually, they practiced reining. Hurry Up executed perfect figure eights and zigzags.

  “Come on, chiquito.” Cara attempted to coax the horse into a lope, to no avail. Hurry Up had exactly three speeds: slow, slower and slowest.

  On the plus side, there was never any danger of him running away or bucking. The only way a rider could fall off this plug was to misjudge the distance while dismounting.

  Her son, Javier, had been fearless and wouldn’t have thought twice about leaping from a horse’s back. Had he been a tiny bit more timid, he might not have...have climbed up the shelving unit and—

  Cara promptly burst into tears. This time, there was no stopping them.

  A cold January breeze, originating in the nearby McDowell Mountains, chased through Mustang Valley and across Dos Estrellas, drying Cara’s cheeks almost the moment they were wet. Hurry Up stumbled—probably because he was getting mixed signals from his rider—then quit moving altogether.

  Vaguely aware that someone might see her, she climbed off the horse. That was as far as she got. Holding on to him for support, she buried her face in the side of his smooth neck and allowed grief to consume her.

  Cara mourned more than the death of her beautiful little boy. She also mourned the demise of her marriage to Javier’s father and the loss of a life she’d never know again.

  It wasn’t fair. It was also her fault. Everything.

  Cara’s crying jag was nearing an end when a soft, concerned and decidedly male voice interrupted her. It came from the other side of Hurry Up, just outside of the corral.

  “Are you all right?”


  She winced, then quickly gathered herself, using the sleeve of her denim jacket to wipe her face. Apparently, she’d lost her wadded-up tissue.

  “I’m fine,” she said, sounding stronger than she felt.

  “You sure?”

  She dared a peek over the top of Hurry Up’s mane, only to quickly duck down.

  Josh Dempsey, August’s oldest son, stood watching her. She recognized his brown Resistol cowboy hat and tan canvas duster through the sucker rod railing. Of all the people to find her, why him?

  Heat raced up her neck and engulfed her face. Not from embarrassment, but anger. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Josh. Okay, to be honest, she didn’t like him. He’d made it clear from the moment he’d arrived at Dos Estrellas a few months ago that he wanted the land belonging to the mustang sanctuary.

  She understood. To a degree. The cattle operation was the sole source of income for the ranch, and the sanctuary—operating mostly on donations—occupied a significant amount of valuable pastureland. In addition, Cara didn’t technically own the land. She’d simply been granted use of the two sections and the right to reside in the ranch house for as long as she wanted or for as long as the ranch remained in the family.

  Sympathy for the struggling cattle operation didn’t change her feelings. She needed the sanctuary. She and the two-hundred-plus horses that would otherwise be homeless. For those reasons, she refused to concede, causing friction in the family.

  Additional friction. Gabe Dempsey and his half brothers, Josh and Cole, were frequently at odds over the ranch, the terms of their late father’s will and the mustang sanctuary.

  “You need some help?” Josh asked from the other side of the corral.

  “No.”

  “Okay.”

  But he didn’t leave.

  A minute passed, then two. What was the matter with him? Was he truly dense or simply being obtuse? She’d told him she was fine.