Melinda Curtis - Support Your Local Sheriff

“Not exactly,” Nate said in a gruff voice, not riled enough to fully engage in battle.

“What a pleasure to see a new babe in our neck of the woods.” It was the miniature old lady from the town council, the one with the relaxed pixie-cut silver hair. She bestowed Duke and Julie with a friendly smile, and then gave Nate the kind of smile grandmothers bestowed on favored grandkids before turning to Flynn. “Can the council borrow you for an assignment?”

Flynn accepted the job and edged past Nate, who was staring at the ceiling as if searching for divine intervention.

Julie hoped April wasn’t smiling down on him. Her younger sister had always been the forgiving type.

“Who is this adorable young man?” An overly wrinkled woman with unnaturally black hair and a severe widow’s peak stood behind Julie and ruffled Duke’s hair.

“I Duke,” Julie’s nephew repeated, thrusting his shoulders back. He loved attention.

“More important, who are you?” A pale elderly woman wheeled an oxygen tank to Julie’s pew and adjusted the cannula in her nose.

“Oh, heavens, no. The important question is are you here to stay?” This from a rotund gentleman waggling a smile and bushy white brows.

At least ten elderly folk clustered around Julie’s pew, clogging the aisle. They leaned on walkers and canes and the pew itself, waiting for Julie’s answer.

“Is this how we treat visitors to Harmony Valley?” Nate asked them in a voice infused with patience.

For a moment, no one answered. And then someone said, “Yes,” which made the group laugh.

“Her name is Julie,” Nate said, still in patience mode. “And you can ask her questions some other time. Now, does everyone have a ride home?”

They dutifully nodded and pointed to their rides, or volunteered to take others home.

Amid the subsequent shuffle toward the door, Julie studied Nate some more, trying to figure out how he won everyone over.

He had that ramrod-stiff posture that signified confidence and a history of military service. His black hair was parted to the side where a cowlick prevented the hair over his forehead from lying flat. His brown eyes were serious more often than not, and when others were grinning he only allowed a half smile. He was bottled up and wound tight, keeping his emotions close to his chest. Even after he’d met April.

Which was weird. Everyone had loved April. She handed out smiles the way sample ladies handed out free food at Costco. She’d been the kid least likely to get in a fight and most likely to shed tears over sappy television commercials. She’d grown up to be a kindergarten teacher, of course. And she’d taught dance and tumbling to little ones for the recreation department. She was the opposite of Nate, who’d been a sniper in the Middle East, and Julie, who was now a sniper on Sacramento’s SWAT team.

Julie eased her aching shoulder back, ignoring the growing feeling of exhaustion. She nodded toward the podium. “Stirring up trouble, I see.”

“Trouble’s always had a way of finding me,” Nate said with a half smile.

Julie’s aim was off. Nothing was ruffling him. Nothing was satisfying her need for revenge. She’d have to hunker down for the long haul. She’d never been good at the long game, at chess or Monopoly. This time, the stakes were higher than bragging rights or a pile of paper money. This time, she had to be patient.

“Want Mama.” Duke collapsed against Julie’s shoulder, his forehead pile-driving into the only tender spot on her body.

Her sharp intake of breath caused Nate to dip his head and stare at her more closely. She smoothed her expression into her game face, determined that he only see what she wanted him to see—a strong woman who despised him.

“You got married.” Nate’s gaze was gentle.

She didn’t want his gentleness. She wanted his anger. She wanted to argue and shout and have him argue and shout back. “You think I’m married because...”

A small crease appeared between Nate’s brows, only for a moment. “Well...this little guy...”

A surge of satisfaction shored up sagging dreams of revenge. “You think a woman has to be married to have a child?”

The crease returned, deeper this time. “You’re a cop. Female cops don’t—”

“You’re a police officer?” asked the woman who’d been putting up a stink at the podium. She’d stopped at Julie’s pew. Doris didn’t smile. She didn’t coo over Duke. She eyed the pair like a cattle rancher at a bull auction.

Julie didn’t put much stock in the woman’s claims. Nate was many things, but he was a good cop. And Julie wasn’t keen on being sized up. But she wasn’t here to cause a ruckus about it either, so she said, “Yes, ma’am,” and ground her teeth at the interruption in her attempted takedown of Nate the Unflappable.

The woman stored that information with a brisk nod, and then moved toward the door.

“Mama.” Duke crooned softly.

Nate glanced around, perhaps catching on to where this was going, perhaps assessing how much privacy they had. Or how much they’d need.

The more public his humiliation, the better.

“I’m not married.” Julie’s smile felt the way it did when guys on the force made a crude remark and deserved reproach. “And Duke isn’t my child.”

CHAPTER TWO

AND DUKE ISN’T my child.

The bottom dropped out of Nate’s world and his stomach plunged to the center of the earth.

“Who...” He washed a hand over his face and planted his feet more firmly on the church planks. “Whose child is he?”

“Look at him.”

Nate had been looking at Julie, at the delicate lines of her face and the stubborn tilt to her chin. She’d dressed as if she was prepared for a SWAT maneuver—a long-sleeved dark blue utility shirt, belted black utility pants and sturdy boots. But she held a toddler.

She should have been wearing faded blue jeans and a soft T-shirt. Her blond hair should have had bounce, not hung limply to her shoulders. The skin on her face should have glowed, not been washed-out. And the bags under her eyes... Had she spent too many nights on duty?

“Look at him,” Julie commanded.

Nate obeyed.

A roaring filled his ears. His heart began to thump faster than it had at the sight of Julie.

The little boy had the Smiths’ gray eyes and wide smiling mouth. Like most kids his age, he had thin, lanky legs. His sprouted from a pair of khaki shorts. The friendly sparkle to his eyes was all Smith. But the dark, unruly hair was hard to mistake as anything other than a Landry gift. And as for those ears...

Nate tugged one of his own.

The kid would grow into them.

The kid. His kid.

Nate felt as if he’d been shoved from behind, a blow that threatened to topple him. The only things holding him upright were the curled toes in his boots.

“You’re saying he’s mine,” he whispered.

“I’m saying he’s April’s.” If Julie had been born a man, she’d have been a fighter. Her chin jutted, daring him to take a swing, to pick a fight, to defend himself for leaving April at the altar when she’d obviously been pregnant with his child.

Take a swing? He could barely draw a breath. “How old are you, Duke?”

The boy—his son!—held up two fingers.

Nate breathed in. Breathed out. Fought a torrent of emotion—guilt, joy, anger—that further weakened his knees.

The guilt... Guilt was familiar. It rode in his back pocket every day, like his wallet. He had a past, one not suited to fatherhood. Then joy... Joy was a rare emotion for him. It tried to dance through his veins with the virility of being a father. But he wasn’t a dancer. And the anger... It was anger that plowed past guilt and joy. Anger that marched behind his eyes with pounding steps, prickled his skin and straightened his backbone. “The chemo sent April into early menopause. The doctor said she’d never have children.” The doctor had said no birth control was necessary.