Pamela Tracy - Holding Out For A Hero

This is more than just a case...

Every instinct Oscar Guzman honed in the military and the police academy is telling him that Shelley Brubaker is hiding something. It’s not just a secret; he’s sure of that. It’s something darker, more dangerous. And the only way to protect her is to convince her to open up to him. But Shelley isn’t about to let him get that close. Oscar knows that with her con-man ex still at large and probably threatening her, Shelley is suspicious of everyone. But he also knows that at eight months pregnant with a toddler to raise, she’s in no shape to fight this battle alone. And he’s not about to let her!

There’d been a time when she wasn’t afraid of anything.

Now, everything, everyone, every action needed to be thought over, accepted or rejected, and it fell on her shoulders. Maybe it was the pregnancy playing havoc with her thoughts as well as her hormones. She hoped so. Because then, after her little girl was born, things would go back to normal.

No, they’d never go back to normal, but she’d at least be able to make good decisions again.

“Peeve likes kids.” Oscar’s voice was deep, his smile broad.

So were his shoulders. He was tall, with a square jaw and black hair cut short. There’d been a time when Shelley might have added gorgeous to her assessment. Now she was looking for a flaw.

Not his eyes. They were so deep a brown they bordered on black. And they spoke to her. They hinted at safety, yet...she wasn’t sure she could trust him with her secret.

Dear Reader,

I’m never short on story ideas because my life is a situation comedy without the thirty-minute time constraint and/or the perfect clothes, hair and body. The new point of humor in my life is a puppy named Lucy.

Regimented me, who likes lists and research, decided the family needed a dog. I have a ten-year-old son, and every boy needs a dog, right? My husband wasn’t sure. The cat voted no. I decided on an Australian shepherd, male, between one and three, a rescue that would already be housebroken and like cats. Maybe they exist. I’m not sure. I took the first puppy I saw.

Our little family now has a GIANT German husky who is still a puppy but looks like a full-grown dog. Oh, it’s a girl. She wasn’t housebroken because she was only eight weeks.

The cat’s not talking to me. The husband is talking to me but most of our conversations are about what the dog is eating: toothbrushes, socks, books (never a Harlequin Heartwarming!) and every dog toy (we get two days’ use max).

I walk Lucy every morning and night. One morning, I met a mother and her one-year-old. The one-year-old ran to Lucy (twice her size!), who took it with good grace and slobbering tongue, and the mother and I got to talking. Meanwhile, the one-year-old toddles to the closest house and peeks through the window. Her mother was aghast. Me? I got a whole story idea. You’re about to read it.

Thank you so much for delving into Harlequin Heartwarming books! If you’d like to know more about me, please visit www.pamelatracy.com.

Pamela

Holding Out for a Hero

Pamela Tracy

www.millsandboon.co.uk

PAMELA TRACY is a USA TODAY bestselling author who lives with her husband (the inspiration for most of her heroes) and son (the interference for most of her writing time). Since 1999, she has published more than twenty-five books and sold more than a million copies. She’s a RITA® Award finalist and a winner of the American Christian Fiction Writers’ Book of the Year Award.

To my wonderful editor Adrienne Macintosh, who will soon be out taking walks with a baby of her own. Enjoy every moment.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

“IF YOU HAVE enough money for your son to be in the only private preschool in Sarasota Falls, you have enough money to pay me back. You owe me.” The anger behind the words was palpable. Shelley Brubaker disconnected the call.

Sarasota Falls, New Mexico, was a small town, and while Shelley didn’t know everyone by name or voice, she knew almost all by face.

They all—thanks to social media—knew her face.

So many people hurting, and her ex-husband was to blame.

In a few minutes, she would take her son to preschool—late, because the baby kicked most of the night and Abigail Simms’s dog kept barking, keeping Shelley awake. And echoes of the unpleasant phone call would follow her.

Shelley was never late. It bothered her.

Ryan could attend preschool only because she’d been awarded one of their benevolence tuitions. Mostly because of all the years her father had donated fund-raiser items from the grocery store he managed.

“Phone!” Ryan had the endearing habit of announcing a phone call well after all conversation ended. His words jarred her from her reverie.

“Thanks for letting me know.” She scooped the three-year-old up and did a half twirl. She used to do five of them, quickly, making Ryan scream with delight.

As she gave Ryan a quick sponge bath and dressed him, she figured it was time to change her number again. She couldn’t count how many people had demanded she pay them back these past six months, since Larry Wagner, aka lousy ex-husband, disappeared into thin air the first week in December. Most calls were local, but some were from as far away as Maine. Never mind that her ex-husband had robbed her of every penny she had.

At first, she’d attempted to explain. The callers weren’t interested. After explanations, she’d tried apologies, especially to the people she’d recommended her husband to. When the dust settled and she realized the extent of her ex-husband’s crimes, she’d almost had a breakdown—which she neither had the time nor the money for.

“Mommy, play.” Ryan, the spitting image of Larry with slightly curling golden hair and dimples, collapsed against her knee, all clean and dressed for fun, and looked up at her with a brown-eyed expression of glee.

There’d been a time when Ryan’s requests to play were met with enthusiasm. Shelley really wanted to say, “Yes! You can jump on my bed, and I’ll throw a ball to you.” But now her bed pulled out from the sofa, and at eight months pregnant, it was all she could do to play his second-favorite game of chasing him around the one-room apartment while he wore a mask and pretended to be a monster.

Shelley tried not to analyze why he was a monster being chased by a nonscary but very pregnant woman.

Right now, though, the caller’s raspy voice kept playing over and over in her head—you owe me, you owe me, you owe me—until Shelley couldn’t breathe.

Ryan took matters into his own hands by heading to his toy box, grabbing his Thomas the Train hat and saying, “Let’s walk.”