Rebecca York - Her Baby's Father

It wasn’t the same.

She stole a glance at Jack as he reached to open the car door. She knew his expressions, and the look on his face told her that he was thinking about kissing her.

Which was fine with her. She’d been hoping for something like that all evening.

Then everything changed in an instant as a man stepped out from behind a parked car. A man holding a gun.

Jack had spent the most enjoyable evening in recent memory, and he was thinking that it was only going to get better.

Then, in one of those terrifying moments that could change everything, a man with a gun stepped toward him. A guy about average height, with thinning dark hair.

Caught off guard, Jack grappled with the seismic shift, but Sara was already moving. From beside him, she leaped forward, swinging her purse like a bolo, using the strap that had held it on her shoulder. The heavy leather bag hit the man square in his pockmarked face, wringing a shocked exclamation from his lips.

As the purse dropped, he whirled toward Sara, his eyes fierce, his mouth bloody, and the gun pivoting in her direction. But Jack was already springing forward, plowing into the guy and knocking him backward against the fender of the car.

The man straightened and tried to retaliate with a head butt. But Jack dodged aside, making the guy lose his footing. Taking advantage of that, Jack stomped on the man’s gun hand. He screamed as the automatic went flying across the sidewalk.

A gun had made the guy brave. With the deadly weapon suddenly yards away on the sidewalk, his face became suffused with panic. In a desperate move, he reared at Jack, throwing him backward so that he landed against the exterior wall of the restaurant. With the breath knocked out of him, he struggled to stay on his feet, but his bad leg gave out from under him, and he toppled onto his butt, hitting the sidewalk with a teeth-rattling impact.

As the man dived for the gun again, Sara thrust out a foot and kicked the automatic off the curb and under a car.

“Bitch.” The man’s face was a study in anger, his hands curled into claws. Jack’s fear leaped into his throat, but as he struggled up, the man apparently decided to cut his losses. After one more angry look, he whirled away and ran, disappearing around a corner.

His own anger boiling over, Jack started after him, but Sara darted forward, grabbing his arm and holding him back.

“Don’t.”

He tried to wrench away, but she held fast.

“Let him go.”

Rage had fueled his aggressive instincts, but he knew that he had little chance of catching the guy. Not when his running speed had been cut substantially by his injury. Plus the attacker probably had mapped out an emergency escape route before the attack.

Still, he was torn between imperatives.

The door of the restaurant burst open, and Patrick stepped out, his gaze landing on them. “I heard a scuffle. What happened?”

“A guy tried to rob us,” Jack answered.

“I don’t know,” Sara mused.

Jack turned toward her, seeing the indecision on her face. “You don’t think it was a robbery? I mean, what else could it have been?”

She looked torn. “He didn’t ask for our money, did he?”

Jack laughed. “I guess he didn’t get a chance to. You hit him in the face with your purse.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s right,” she conceded.

“Fast thinking.”

“I took a self-defense course.”

“Don’t they advise you that it’s better to give up your wallet than get shot?”

“Yes. But I just…you know…” She raised one shoulder in a helpless gesture.

“I’m going to call the police,” the restaurant owner said, pulling out his cell phone and dialing 911.

Sara looked shaken.

Jack reached for her, pulling her into his arms, feeling her tremble.

She whispered his name in a way that made it sound like they’d had a whole lot more shared experiences than just what had happened today.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I am now. I was so scared.”

“But you didn’t lose your cool.”

She nodded against his shoulder, clinging to him, wrapping her arms around his back and pressing close.

Holding her in his embrace was wonderful. And he had the odd feeling that it wasn’t for the first time. There was a familiarity about her that sent a wave of contentment—and longing—through him. He wanted her, even when he knew that letting her get close to him could lead to disappointment.

He stopped worrying about that as he hugged her to him. He’d wanted to feel her body against his all evening. He hadn’t thought he’d get an excuse so quickly, although this wasn’t the kind of reason he’d have elected, if he’d had a choice.

He slid his hands up and down her back, wishing he could do more. He wanted to kiss her. More than kiss. He wanted her in a bed. Which astonished him. She’d see the scars on his body. The scars that reminded him of the worst day of his life. The scars that had shocked another woman.

But he couldn’t do the things he craved now. Not out here on the street. Not with the restaurant owner looking at them and the cops on the way.

She must have understood that, too, because she eased away from him, her gaze going to his.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she said.

“Same here.”

“The gun was pointed at you.”

“You put yourself in danger.”

“I was terrified for you. I just acted instinctively.”

Patrick cleared his throat. “Both of you just had a pretty nasty experience. Come inside and sit down.”

“Yes. Thanks,” Sara answered.

She followed the restaurant owner into the building, where chairs were now upside down on the tabletops. Quickly Patrick reached for the closest group and pulled four of them down.

His wife came out of the kitchen, looking concerned when she saw two of their diners had returned, both appearing somewhat the worse for wear.

“What happened?”

“Attempted robbery,” her husband said.

“You poor things,” she sympathized. “I’m Laura Walsh,” she said to Jack.

“Jack Morgan.” He looked from her to her husband. “Has there been a lot of crime down here?”

“Not a lot. But it happens from time to time. I’m so sorry you got into trouble right outside the restaurant.”

“Not your fault,” Jack answered.

“Can I get you some brandy?” Patrick asked.

“Yes. Thanks,” Jack answered.

Patrick stepped behind the bar and poured two glasses of Azteca de Oro and brought them over.

Jack took a sip. “Good stuff.”

“My best.”

Sara also took a small swallow. “Yes, this is good.”

“How are you doing?” Jack asked.

“Better. Thanks.”

The casual conversation stopped when the door opened and a uniformed officer stepped inside. He was young and fit, and had that confidence a uniform gave you until something bad happened. Jack knew all about that from his time in Afghanistan. He’d gone over there thinking the U.S. Army could whip the asses of the Taliban. He’d found out they didn’t give in easily. And they had no problems with fighting dirty.

“You called in an attempted robbery?” asked the officer, whose name tag said Robards.

“Yes,” the restaurant owner answered.

“We were the ones he assaulted,” Jack said, gesturing toward Sara and himself. “We’d just finished dinner and stepped outside.”

Robards looked at Sara. “You’re the woman who stages the houses, right?”

“How do you know?”

“My wife has taken me to a couple of showings. I saw you at one of them.”

Sara nodded. “I was working on a job all day. Jack and I came down here for some dinner—and to unwind.”