Delores Fossen - Saviour in the Saddle

“You can show me what you have from out there. And you’d better have more than a going-steady ring or a picture from our high school prom.”

Even though there was something that made her want to trust, and believe , the man. Willa groaned. Hadn’t the last four months taught her anything?

Brandon mumbled something she didn’t catch, and he reached into his pocket, prompting her to bring up her gun. Lieutenant Duggan’s hand went to the butt of his own weapon that was tucked in a shoulder holster inside his jacket.

Brandon held up his hands in a calm-down gesture. “I’m not going for a gun.”

But he had one. Willa saw it then. It was in a cowboy-style waist holster that rested low on his hips.

She also spotted the badge clipped to his holster, and she backed up a step.

“You’re a cop?” she accused.

Brandon nodded. “Not SAPD though. I’m the sheriff of a small town, Crockett Creek. It’s about a half hour from San Antonio.”

He was still a lawman. The very people her notes warned her not to trust.

“You didn’t remember that Brandon Ruiz is a sheriff?” Lieutenant Duggan asked.

“No,” she snapped. “And I think there’s a reason for that. You’re trying to trick me. You figured if you could convince me that this man, this stranger, is my ex-boyfriend that I would let you in so you could talk me into doing whatever it is that brought you here.”

Duggan and Brandon exchanged glances, and it was Brandon who continued. “It’s true. We do have things to tell you. Things that could affect your safety—and the baby’s.” He paused, his gaze heading back in that direction again.

He swallowed hard. And looked away.

So, he couldn’t even look her in the eye. Or the belly. He was lying.

“Get off my porch,” Willa demanded. “And stay away from me.”

“I can’t,” Brandon said. “I have the proof you want.” He took a piece of paper from his pocket.

Willa already had her hand on the door, ready to slam it shut, but that stopped her. “What is that?”

“It’s a medical report.” Brandon took his time continuing that explanation. “You had an amniocentesis done after the hostage incident.”

She had. There were notes about it on her computer. The doctors had been concerned that her injury might have affected the baby, so she’d had the test done to examine the amniotic fluid to make sure all was well.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Willa asked.

Brandon’s mouth tightened a little. “We, uh, were able to compare the baby’s DNA we got from the amniocentesis results that were on file at the hospital.”

Now it was Willa who held up her hand. “Wait just a darn minute. Why were you comparing DNA? I had artificial insemination, and I used an anonymous donor.”

“No,” Lieutenant Duggan disagreed.

And that one-word denial was all he said for several heart-stopping moments.

“We had the nurse tell you that,” the lieutenant explained, “because you were so upset—you were hysterical. The doctors couldn’t sedate you because you were in the first trimester of your pregnancy, and they thought you might lose the baby if we couldn’t calm you down.”

“So, they lied,” Brandon added.

Willa moved her hand to her heart to try to steady it. “Lied about what exactly?”

Brandon’s gaze came to hers. “There was no artificial insemination, Willa. And that baby you’re carrying is mine.”

Brandon waited for Willa Marks to grasp what he’d just told her.

It didn’t take long. Within seconds, her eyes widened. She went pale, and she inched back farther away from the screen door, no doubt to put some distance between her and them.

She stood there, looking scared, lost and vulnerable in her maternity jeans and dove-gray sweater that seemed to swallow her. She was petite, barely five-three. Hardly big enough to be fighting off bad guys, but she’d had to do too much of that in the past four months.

From the corner of his eye, Brandon saw the lieutenant make another sweeping glance around the yard and street. Brandon did the same. Because it might not be safe for Willa or for them to be standing out here in the open like this.

“You’re my baby’s father?” Willa questioned. Despite her obvious surprise, there was still a Texas-size dose of suspicion in her expression and her tone.

Her memory might not be in full working gear, but her instincts sure were.

She had a reason to be suspicious.

But Brandon didn’t want her suspicions to get her and the baby killed.

“We need to come in,” Brandon insisted, and he tried not to make it sound like a question.

He immediately saw the debate in her wide blue eyes. She volleyed glances between Bo Duggan and him before she mumbled something under her breath. She went to the screen door, unlocked it and then stepped back.

She held on to the gun, and Brandon hoped like the devil that he didn’t have to wrestle it away from her.

Brandon walked in first, and Bo was right behind him. Bo closed the door, and Brandon immediately felt the warmth from the central heating. But not from their guest.

Willa was glaring at them.

He glanced around. Old habits. He’d been a peace officer for eight years. That was eight years too long to let down his guard. Willa had given no indication that someone was inside holding her hostage, but he needed to make sure that wasn’t the case.

The place was small so he didn’t have to look too far to take it all in. They were in a living-dining combination area, and there was a modest kitchen through the double doorway near the dining table. In the center of the table was a potted plant that had been decorated with tiny foil Christmas ornaments. No wrapped gifts, and judging from Willa’s situation, there probably wouldn’t be any.

On the other side of the house, he could see directly into the two bedrooms and the bathroom, with all the doors wide open. Apparently, Willa was trying to minimize the chance that anyone could sneak in through one of the windows without her hearing them.

The place was neat as a pin except for the yellow sticky notes all over the walls and surfaces of the furniture. He spotted one on the hardwood floor and reached down to pick it up.

“Don’t trust the cops,” he read and passed it to Bo.

Bo glanced at it as well and then looked at her. “I thought you weren’t having any more short-term memory loss.”

“I’m not. The notes are leftovers from a time when I was having problems. I just haven’t gotten around to removing them.” Her chin came up, causing her long blondish-brown ponytail to swish. It brushed against her shoulder and settled on the top of her left breast.

Brandon quickly got his attention off that.

Should he go to her, he wondered? Should he try to hug or kiss her? That was something Bo and he hadn’t discussed on the ride over, but Brandon wished they had. He knew what he had to say to Willa, what he had to do about her safety situation, but he hadn’t given much thought to the personal aspect of this.

Willa held out her hand. “Let me see that DNA report,” she insisted.

Brandon walked closer, halving the distance between them and gave it to her.

He watched her read through the report, and with each line her gaze skirted across, her forehead bunched up even more.

“It could be a lie,” she concluded, handing it back to him.

“Why would we lie about that?” Bo questioned.

Willa opened her mouth. Then, closed it. She shook her head. “I don’t know, but you just admitted you lied four months ago when you had a nurse tell me I was artificially inseminated.”

“We did that only because we didn’t want you to lose the baby. It worked,” Bo insisted. “You settled down, quit asking for Brandon, and you started to heal.”