Can’t Take My Eyes Off You E-Book

Kait Nolan

• Herausgeber: Take The Leap Publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Beschreibung

She’s sworn off love. He’s sworn to protect. But neither of them saw this coming.
Miranda Campbell is too busy rebuilding her life to waste time on romance.

Running her own medical practice in the cozy Southern town of Wishful keeps her hands full—and her heart off-limits. But when someone starts leaving threats a little too close to home, even the fiercely independent Miranda can’t deny she might need backup.

Enter Ethan Greer: former U.S. Marshal, newly appointed police chief, and the last man she wants complicating her already hectic world. Protective, brooding, and ridiculously irresistible, Ethan is supposed to keep things strictly professional. Instead, he's tearing down her walls faster than she can rebuild them.

As danger circles closer, Miranda and Ethan must confront not only the mystery behind the threats, but the undeniable chemistry simmering between them. In a town where everyone knows your business, falling in love might be the riskiest move of all…

A heart-pounding blend of heat, humor, and home, Can’t Take My Eyes Off You is a must-read for fans of small-town romance with a twist of suspense.

Leseprobe

CAN’T TAKE MY EYES OFF YOU

A SMALL TOWN ROMANTIC SUSPENSE

KAIT NOLAN

CONTENTS

Invite

A Letter to Readers

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Epilogue

Sneak Peek Burn For You

Sneak Peek Make You Feel My Love

Sneak Peek You Were Meant For Me

Other Books By Kait Nolan

Acknowledgments

About Kait

Copyright © 2018 by Kait Nolan

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

NO AI TRAINING: Without in any way limiting the author’s exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.

For Allen,

My personal hero, who proves daily that opposites attract can totally work.

I love you.

K

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A LETTER TO READERS

Dear Reader,

This book is set in the Deep South. As such, it contains a great deal of colorful, colloquial, and occasionally grammatically incorrect language. This is a deliberate choice on my part as an author to most accurately represent the region where I have lived my entire life. This book also contains swearing and pre-marital sex between the lead couple, as those things are part of the realistic lives of characters of this generation, and of many of my readers.

If any of these things are not your cup of tea, please consider that you may not be the right audience for this book. There are scores of other books out there that are written with you in mind. In fact, I’ve got a list of some of my favorite authors who write on the sweeter side on my website at https://kaitnolan.com/on-the-sweeter-side/

If you choose to stick with me, I hope you enjoy!

Happy reading!

Kait

CHAPTER1

“Hey, hey married lady.” Miranda Campbell grinned as her best friend slid into the opposite side of the booth.

“Someday that will probably get old, but it is not this day,” Norah declared. “Sorry I’m late. Meeting ran over.”

Miranda noted her faintly mussed hair and rosy cheeks and smirked. “And did your meeting come to a satisfactory conclusion? Judging from your glow, I’m gonna guess it did.”

Norah cast a frantic look around, her just-had-a-quickie-with-my-new-hubby glow being replaced by a ferocious blush. “Keep your voice down!” she hissed.

“Hey, at least one of us is being kept satisfied. I just try not to think too hard about the fact that it’s my cousin putting that look on your face. Did you and Cam at least remember to lock the door this time?”

“That was one time.”

Miranda just arched a brow.

“Okay, maybe two.” Norah dropped her voice. “He has a thing about desks.”

Lifting a hand Miranda shook her head. “Stop right there. I don’t need to know this.” At Norah’s chagrinned expression, she added, “But it’s awesome to still see you blissfully happy. You’re practically radioactive with contentment.”

Norah unwound her scarf and shed the red wool coat, running her hands through her dark brown hair to neaten it. “I’m going to credit the happy for making me susceptible to crazy proposals.”

“Is that a euphemism for something?”

Norah laughed. “No. But somehow I find myself chairing the committee organizing the Valentine’s Dance this year. Because I have so much spare time, right?”

And then it all came suddenly clear. Bracing both hands on the table, Miranda stared her down. “You invited me to lunch to talk me onto that committee, didn’t you?”

“It’ll be fun!”

Unamused, Miranda just continued to stare.

“What’s that face, Dr. Campbell?” Mama Pearl, the much-beloved heart and soul of Dinner Belles Diner, slid their customary sweet teas onto the table.

Miranda gestured at the sneak she’d roomed with in college. “Norah here has been whacked upside the head with the love stick and thinks she’s gonna talk me onto the Valentine’s Dance committee.”

“If I had to judge by the smile she was wearin’ when she walked in here, I’d say there was definitely a love stick involved.”

Norah’s mouth fell open. “Mama Pearl, hush your mouth!”

Miranda snickered and a grin creased the older woman’s dark face.

“Usual?”

“Yes, ma’am,” they chorused.

As soon as she shuffled off, Norah resumed her campaign. “Anyway, it’ll be the social event of the season.”

That wasn’t saying much. With a population just edging toward six thousand people, Wishful wasn’t exactly a hopping, happening place. Social gatherings down here tended more toward church potlucks, football parties, and chilling out at The Mudcat Tavern. Miranda was totally okay with that. Transforming the community center into something out of a John Hughes movie prom set for a town-wide dance was not her idea of a good time. Or maybe that was just a little sour grapes because she wouldn’t have anyone to go with.

“I already made my contribution to the Wishful social calendar for the year with my annual New Year’s Eve bash. Literally last week.”

“And that bash was awesome,” Norah conceded. “But come on. It’ll be like the old days back in college, when we were planning sorority mixers.”

“I do not have the enticement of half a dozen cute Sigma Chis doing setup for this.”

“So, if I can load the setup crew with hot single men for you to ogle, you’ll do it?”

Miranda knew she’d make it happen. She also knew Norah would just keep pushing until she got what she wanted. “It is my busiest season at the clinic. Flu is horrific this year, and I’m trying to control an outbreak of strep. I cannot commit to committee meetings. But I’m available for brainstorming, and I promise to clear the decks as much as I can for actual setup. Final offer.”

“Deal.”

“Hey, y’all.”

Miranda looked up to find her administrative assistant hovering at the edge of the table. She braced herself. “Please tell me Shelby didn’t send you to fetch me for an emergency at the clinic.” She desperately needed this hour to check out with her best gal pal and breathe something that wasn’t disinfectant fumes and illness.

Delaney laughed. “Nope. Here to pick up takeout for me and Keisha. Did I hear y’all talking about the Valentine’s Dance?”

“Oh girl, you have made a grave error,” Miranda told her. “Run, run now, before you get sucked in.”

Norah beamed a bright smile Delaney’s way. “You sure did. Are you interested in joining the committee?

“Um, I don’t know. What would it entail?”

Miranda just shook her head as Norah cheerfully and skillfully herded Delaney right where she wanted her. Which was what Norah Burke Crawford did. Nobody ever saw it coming. At her high-powered marketing firm in Chicago, that talent had earned her the moniker The Closer. It was a skill Miranda both abhorred and admired. Since Norah used it to the benefit of the town these days, Miranda was hardly in a position to complain. At least until Norah turned those skills on her. Thankfully, long familiarity gave her some measure of immunity.

Amused, she watched Norah go in for the kill.

“It’s a great way to give back to the community.”

Delaney grinned. “Sounds great. Sign me up.”

“Wonderful! We’ll see you on Tuesday for our first meeting.”

“Okay then. Bye, Miranda.”

“See you back at the clinic.”

She and Norah both watched as the younger woman headed for the counter to pick up her order.

“Never even saw what hit her.”

“How’s she working out for you?” Norah asked. “You’ve had her—what?—three months now?”

“Really well. We had a few hiccups that first week, but she’s a quick learner and a hard worker. Shelby’s ecstatic to have help running the office. Especially somebody to take over the onerous management of the computer system. You know how Shelby hates that thing.”

“—just can’t believe she has the nerve to walk around with her head held high after what she did.”

Miranda didn’t even have to scan the busy diner for the speaker. Clarice Hopper Morris was a bitch on wheels and had been since elementary school. If there was something cruel to be said about someone, she or her sister had no compunction in saying it. At the counter, Delaney’s shoulders tensed and rounded, as if she could make herself a smaller target. Miranda’s temper bubbled and snapped on the girl’s behalf as Clarice and her companion just kept right on talking.

“I’m surprised they didn’t run her out of town on a rail after it happened.”

“Didn’t she get arrested or somethin’?”

“Well, you know she did. It was all over the paper. Don’t know what she’s doing back in Wishful.”

Miranda’s fists clenched as Delaney paid for her lunch, took the takeout bag, and all but ran out of the diner.

Mama Pearl shook her head as she slid two plates onto the table and looked after Delaney. She shot a fulminating look at the gossipers and announced in a voice they couldn’t fail to hear, “Anybody can change.”

Clarice didn’t pay any attention to Mama Pearl. “I can’t imagine what she’s doing for work. I mean, who on earth would hire her after everything she did?”

Temper bubbling, Miranda shoved out of the booth and marched across the diner. “That would be me, and I’ll thank you to stop spreading malicious gossip about my employee.”

Clarice and her companion, Karen Alberson, looked up in shock.

“Why Miranda Campbell. I didn’t realize your charity work ran to your employees, too. How…magnanimous of you.”

Steam was most certainly coming out of her ears. Miranda itched to plow her bunched fist into Clarice’s face. “I suppose you would think it magnanimous to recognize that sometimes people make mistakes and deserve a second chance. The fact of the matter is, she’s a smart girl and a hard worker, and she deserves better than to be maligned by the likes of you.”

“It’s a free country. There’s no law against talking.”

“Sadly, no, there’s no law against being hateful. If there were, you and your sister would both have rap sheets taller than either of you.” Disgusted, Miranda shook her head. “Are your lives so bad, you feel the need to talk down about everybody around? Tearing down good people and perpetuating rumors and half-truths about the mistakes they may have made to make yourselves feel better?”

“I hardly think our topics of conversation are any of your business.”

“I think you know you’re making it everyone’s business by talking loud enough for the whole diner to hear you, just to get attention. Grow up, Clarice. And maybe you could find a scrap of humanity while you’re at it.” Miranda swung around to go back to the booth for the lunch she no longer wanted and plowed straight into a brick wall.

The wall gripped her elbows and drawled, “Steady there.”

Startled, she looked up…and up, into the clearest gray eyes she’d ever seen.

* * *

Chief of Police Ethan Greer had dealt with a lot of angry people in his lifetime. It wasn’t generally an attractive state, often involving red faces and flying spittle—or fists. But Miranda Campbell, in full temper, facing off with a couple of women he’d already learned were bitchy gossips even in his short three months on the job, was one of the most unaccountably sexy things he’d ever beheld. Ethan had no idea who she was defending, but those changeable hazel eyes still flashed with a righteous indignation as she looked up at him. Stunning.

As they stood there, the indignation faded and something else pulsed between them. It had been so damned long, Ethan barely recognized it for what it was. Mutual attraction. And wasn’t that interesting?

“Excuse me, Chief.”

“Doc.”

Her eyes widened slightly at that. Yeah, he knew who she was, even if they’d barely spoken before. At 5’10”, with a fall of thick, honey blonde hair a man could lose his hands in, she was a hard woman not to notice. And he’d done plenty of noticing in the ambulance bay of the hospital the first time he’d seen her. She’d been in a fine temper then, too.

Ethan released her, edging back so she could get by him. He shifted his attention to the gossips, leveling them with the flat cop stare that tended to make hardened criminals break. The sidekick’s cheeks reddened, and she looked down at the table. The ash blonde with the pinched face, who’d been doing most of the talking, just lifted a brow. Supercilious bitch. He knew the type. For the sake of whoever she’d been maligning, he wished he did have something he could arrest her for. She needed to be knocked down a few pegs.

“Hey Chief. Are you meeting somebody or sitting at the counter today?”

He found a smile for the fresh-faced waitress, who’d arrived in Wishful not long after he had. “Mornin’, Hannah. I’m meetin’ Clay.”

“There’s a booth right over here.” She led him to the opposite side of the diner from Miranda. “I’ll just get your tea.”

As he sat, studying the menu, conversation started up again. That whole confrontation was gonna be all over town by dinner. Probably faster. He’d learned that viral social media had nothing on the gossip network in Wishful. Especially when it started here, at Mama Pearl’s place. If you wanted to know anything, Dinner Belles was the first place you started.

Clay wandered in and worked his way toward the table, pausing in time-honored, small-town tradition to greet everyone he knew. Given Wishful was his hometown, that was most of them. The delay was fine with Ethan. It gave him a chance to surreptitiously watch the good doctor as she conversed with City Planner Norah Crawford.

Clay slid into the other side of the booth. “See somethin’ you like?”

Or maybe not so surreptitiously. “Hello to you, too.”

Hannah came back with his tea. “Hey Clay.”

“Miss Hannah Wheeler. And how are you this fine day?”

Ethan wondered if there was a woman between twelve and eighty in this town that his best friend didn’t know by name.

“Doing fine. Caught your show last weekend. Nice to know the rumors are true. You’re good.”

He grinned. “Glad you enjoyed it. You know, I used to be a part of a duo.”

Her brown eyes brightened with interest. “Yeah? What happened?”

Clay turned a bland stare on Ethan. “My partner went off and joined law enforcement.”

“And you became a high school math teacher,” Ethan shot back.

Hannah stared. “You, Chief? Really?”

Shifting in the booth, Ethan shrugged. “It was a long time ago.”

“Well, that is a thing I’d like to see.” She lifted her order pad. “What can I get you?”

“What can you do about a bacon cheeseburger?” Clay shot her the twenty-four carat smile that girls had been fawning over since he was a cocky nineteen-year-old. It hadn’t lost its potency.

Hannah blushed and batted her eyes in his direction. “I’ll get Omar right on that. You want onion straws on it like your usual?”

“That’d be great. And a Coke.”

She made a note on her order pad. “How ’bout you, Chief?”

Mentally adding an extra mile to tomorrow’s morning run, Ethan stuck the menu back between the napkin dispenser and the ketchup. “I’ll have the same.”

“You got it.”

As soon as she’d wandered away, Clay started in. “So, when am I gonna get you back up on stage?”

Here we go again.

“I’ve been trying to get settled into this new job, establishing myself in the community. I need people to see me as Chief of Police before they see me on stage.”

“It’s been three months, man. You’re in it, you’re settled, and I promise you everybody knows exactly who you are.”

“Yeah, the new guy.” The new guy who was still in a probationary period for another nine months. Despite the fact that his transition had gone pretty smoothly, Ethan was sure the jury was still out for a lot of people. He was an outsider here.

From the corner of his eye, Ethan noted the gossips packing up and heading out. His eyes slid to Miranda. She scowled after the pair, muttering something under her breath and stabbing at her lunch with more savagery than necessary.

“Getting your ass back on stage and showing folks you can be approachable would go a long way toward being something other than the new guy.”

Ethan dragged his attention back to Clay. “Yeah, I remember how people treated me when we performed back in college. That’s not the kind of approachable I want to be.”

Clay laid a hand over his heart. “Those were the days. But unlike you, I’ve been performing all the years in between, and it’s been at least a few months since anybody threw their underwear on the stage.” At Ethan’s cop stare, he sobered. “Seriously though, Wishful isn’t a college town, so people aren’t gonna behave like they did in Austin. The Mudcat is the kind of small, intimate venue you used to love to play.”

Back when it had been entirely about the music. Yeah, Ethan couldn’t deny that had some appeal. He still played for himself and had occasionally stepped out for open mic nights in Dallas, but it had been years since he and Clay had performed together. He’d be lying if he didn’t admit he missed it. Hadn’t he taken this job so he’d have the chance for more of a life outside work? Part of that life ought to include taking back up hobbies that didn’t involve honing his skills with a gun or attending training seminars.

“All right. I’ll think about it. We can at least set up some rehearsals.”

Clay smirked. “Think you remember how?”

“Smartass. I may not have been on stage in ages, but I can still keep up with you.”

“Great! How about you prove it Saturday?”

“Can’t. I’m running a bowhunter’s safety course Saturday. Maybe Sunday afternoon?”

As Hannah slid their burgers onto the table, Clay nodded, satisfied. “I can work with that.”

Across the diner, Miranda and Norah rose, shrugging into coats.

“Getting back into music isn’t the only thing you’ve been avoiding.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Dating, my friend. You haven’t done any of it since the divorce.”

Yeah, he’d been busy trying not to die, then changing his entire life. Women hadn’t exactly factored into the equation. And Ethan had been fine with that. Nobody had sparked his interest anyway.

Miranda’s laugh rang out, rich and unabashed. The sound rolled over him like warm molasses.

Until now.

“She’s single.”

Ethan jerked his attention back to Clay. “Who?”

“Miranda. I assume you weren’t eyeing the new Mrs. Crawford.”

“I’m not eying anybody.” But he couldn’t stop himself from glancing back as the two women got to the door.

Clay continued as if he hadn’t even spoken. “She’s a lot of fun. Helluva dancer.”

Something in the casual tone had Ethan’s hackles rising. Still, he kept his expression bland and reached for the ketchup. “And you’d know that why?”

“We dated a while.”

The bottle jerked in his hand, making his fries look like the victim of a particularly gruesome homicide. Stupid. He’d exchanged all of five sentences with the woman, and two of those were today. He certainly had no claim on Miranda Campbell, and he sure as shit had no right to be aggravated that she’d gone out with his best friend. “I expect you’ve dated damn near every single woman who’s breathing in Wishful at one point or other.”

“My streak isn’t near as wide as you seem to think.”

Ethan just lifted a brow at him.

“Not since I came home, anyway,” Clay amended, grinning. “Anyway, it wasn’t recent. We had some fun together, but we just didn’t click.”

Ethan didn’t want to think about what kind of fun that might’ve been. “Doesn’t matter one way or the other.”

“So, you think being Chief of Police means you don’t get a love life either? Man, why did you move here again?”

“You know why.”

“Yeah, and I remember something in there about having a life while you still had one. You’re falling down on that, brother.”

Ethan scowled at his friend. “I’m easing in at my own pace.”

“Yeah, the Geriatric 500.” Clay leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Look, I know Becca did a number on you. But it’s time to get back out there.”

The flash of honey gold hair had Ethan looking up.

As if summoned by Clay’s words, Miranda stood there, those hazel eyes snapping, her long, surgeon’s fingers balled to fists. “Chief Greer, I’m really sorry to interrupt your lunch, but I need to report a crime.”

* * *

As Wishful’s not-quite-brand-new police chief turned those clear gray eyes to hers, Miranda couldn’t help but hear Clay’s words repeated in her head.

It’s time to get back out there.

For the barest instant, she forgot what she’d come here to talk to him about because her long neglected lady parts were busy standing up and waving. I volunteer as tribute!

“What happened?”

Those three little syllables pulled Miranda out of her nanosecond’s fantasy about what those big, warm hands that had steadied her earlier would feel like somewhere more interesting than her elbows. She didn’t have time for tributes or fantasies.

“My car’s been vandalized.”

He didn’t look annoyed, didn’t even look at his food. He just slid from the booth. “Show me.”

The position put him inside her personal bubble again, and Miranda took an instinctive step back, glancing at Clay. “Sorry to borrow him.”

Clay waved that off. “Nature of the job.”

Ethan followed her out of the diner and halfway down the block to where she’d parked. He didn’t make casual small talk. Miranda had no idea what to say, so she said nothing at all, just pointed him to her driver’s side door where Nosy Bitch had been scratched into the paint. He still didn’t speak, just slowly circled the vehicle snapping pictures with his phone and, presumably, looking for more damage.

Eventually, he brought that laser focus back to her. “Do you have any idea who might do this?”

Why did his attention make her want to shiver?

“I know exactly who did it. You walked in on the tail end of our argument earlier. Clarice Morris.”

“The blonde in the diner?”

“That’d be her.”

“What was the argument about?”

The temper that had dropped to a simmer cranked back up to boil. “She was maligning one of my employees. I called her out on it.”

“Is this your first run-in with Ms. Morris?”

Miranda snorted. “Hardly.”

Ethan’s eyes sharpened at that. “You have history?”

“Going all the way back to first grade.”

A flicker of surprise cracked the serious cop mask. “First grade?”

“Not an exaggeration, actually. It’s a small town. Most of us go back a long way. In this case, Clarice and her sister, Amber, have a history of tearing people down. I abhor bullies, so I have, over the years, intervened to defend people. And before you ask, no, it’s never led to any kind of physical blows or retaliation in this particular fashion.”

“So why do you think it was her this time?”

Miranda frowned at him. “Because I literally just dressed her down in public. She left first, and I come out to find this. Two and two equals four.”

He glanced back at the door. “She only had a couple minutes’ lead on you. A message like this would take a little while to carve in. I’m not sure she had enough time to do it. Is there anybody else who might have a grudge against you?”

“Contrary to the evidence of the moment, I don’t make it a habit to fight with people. I don’t have enemies.”

That focus came back to her, feeling almost like a physical touch. When Ethan Greer looked at her, he really looked ather. No glancing at her shoulder or the bridge of her nose. He made full, unabashed eye contact. It was both disconcerting and strangely intimate.

“Everybody has enemies, even if they don’t know it.”

“That’s a pretty cynical point of view.”

“What you call cynicism, I consider realism. Realistically, unless somebody happened to be driving by, or walking on the green and glanced over at the right moment, nobody actually saw this happen. There are no businesses with security cameras along this stretch. There’s not really any way to prove who did this. You can believe down deep in your gut that this woman was behind it, but without any corroborating evidence, I can’t charge her with anything.”

“You’re not even going to talk to her?”

“Oh, I’ll talk to her. But unless she spontaneously confesses, I don’t really have anything else to go on.”

“So basically, I dragged you away and let your lunch go cold for nothing.” Scooping a hand through her hair, Miranda felt stupid. Of course, there was nothing he could do about this. It was minor vandalism. He probably had more important things to be worrying about.

“Not nothing. I’ll write up a report to document it. If you plan to file a claim on your insurance, you’ll need that.”

She blew out a breath and looked at her Jeep. Having the door repainted wouldn’t eat up her deductible for the year, and reporting it would probably just make her rates go up. With the burden of her mortgage, student loans from med school, and the business loan on her practice, that was the last thing she needed.

It’s an inconvenience. An irritant. Clarice just wanted to get to you, and you’re giving her exactly what she wants.

With effort, Miranda tamped her temper down. She had patients to get back to, and she needed to be calm when she saw them. “Thank you.”

“I’ll need your number.”

She blinked at him. Had he just asked her out?

“To let you know when the report is finished. The forms are all in my patrol car.”

“Right.” Idiot. He’s just doing his job.

He punched the number into his phone. “It should be ready for pick up in a day or two, after I’ve had a chance to talk to Ms. Morris.”

Not, I’ll call you.

“I appreciate it, Chief Greer. And I apologize again for dragging you away from your lunch.”

He angled his head and started to lift his hand before stopping himself, as if he was accustomed to having a hat to tip at a lady. “No problem. You have a good day now, Doc.”

Miranda climbed into the driver’s seat and watched him go.

Maybe she’d completely misread that frisson of attraction when they’d bumped into each other in the diner earlier. She’d been out of the dating game entirely since she came home to Wishful, and her last relationship had left her singed enough to be okay with that state of affairs. But Ethan Greer made her wonder. Worse, he made her want things she hadn’t wanted in a very long time.

Doesn’t matter. He’s not interested, and you don’t have time for a guy anyway.

But as she drove past the diner on her way back to the clinic, she couldn’t stop herself from taking one more glance at the way those broad shoulders filled out his uniform shirt.

CHAPTER2

“It was just an accident. I tripped and ran straight into the door frame.” Rene Forbes gave a nervous laugh. “I’m such a klutz.”

Miranda looked down at the hand-shaped bruise darkening Rene’s wrist. “And when did the door grow fingers?”

Had she not been holding the hand and wrist to examine it, Miranda had no doubt that Rene would’ve tugged her sleeve down to cover the injury. As it was, she dropped her gaze to somewhere around Miranda’s left shoulder.

“Rene.” She kept her voice gentle. “You didn’t fall into a door. You didn’t step in a hole last time or have a box fall off the top shelf onto your head the time before that. Let me help you.”

“I just need to know if my wrist is sprained or broken.”

Miranda resisted the urge to grind her teeth. “All right. I’ll get Keisha to take you back for an x-ray.”

While her nurse ushered Rene down the hall, Miranda slipped into the break room and called the police station. Inez Barlow, the dispatcher and admin who’d been running the place for thirty years, answered the phone.

“Hey Inez, it’s Miranda Campbell. I wondered if you could send an officer down here to take a statement about a domestic abuse case.” She didn’t know if she could convince Rene to cave and report Harley, but there needed to be some kind of documentation of his escalation on file.

“Is there any danger presently at the clinic?”

“No. The victim is alone. Could you ask whoever shows up to be circumspect? I want to protect her privacy as much as possible. Have them come to the back door.”

“Can do, Doc.”

As soon as she ended the call, she sent a text to Shelby Abbott, her office manager. Called Theresa’s Mom. Theresa Hammond had been the first domestic abuse patient Miranda had treated when she moved back to Wishful. She and Shelby had established a shorthand around that to let the rest of the staff know, per their established protocol for this kind of situation, that they’d be sneaking police in the back and to keep all patients out of the halls as much as possible.

That done, Miranda continued seeing patients.

She’d just stepped back into the hall and ordered a strep test for little Rachel Keeney, when Ethan Greer came through the back door of the clinic.

Of course, it would be him. After she’d damned near knocked him over at Dinner Belles earlier in the week. Well, no, he was incredibly solid. She hadn’t been able to avoid noticing that when she’d been pressed up against him for that all too brief encounter.

He hadn’t called about the report on her car. His dispatcher had. She refused to analyze the flare of disappointment she’d felt at that.

Focus.

He strode down the hall with a long-legged swagger that reminded her of a cowboy in an old Western, an impression helped along by the well-worn boots on his feet.

“Chief.” She took him into one of the empty exam rooms and shut the door for privacy. “Thank you for coming. I’m gonna be honest with you—my patient probably isn’t going to be willing to report her husband today. But I have a documented escalation of injuries in her medical records over the past year, and I want to make sure that the police are aware of it.”

“Sensible.”

Did it take a crime of some kind to elicit more than three syllables at a time?

“Can you wait here, while I go over the x-ray with her? I’m going to make my case. If she’ll agree, I’ll bring you in. If not, I’ll make the report myself after she goes.”

“I’ve got time.”

Not sure what else to say for the moment, Miranda gestured to a chair. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Keisha met her in the hall with the radiograph and followed her back into the exam room. Miranda slid the x-rays onto the lightbox to view them. The hairline fracture wasn’t a surprise. Perhaps the bigger shock was that it wasn’t any worse. Given the bruising, he’d cranked his hand around her fragile wrist like a vise.

“Well?” Rene asked softly.

Miranda used a capped pen to point. “It’s fractured. See that line right there? You’ll need a cast for a few weeks.”

“Can you do that here?”

“Yes. The bones aren’t separated or out of alignment. If it was any worse, I’d have to send you to an orthopedist.” She glanced at Keisha. “Non-displaced wrist fracture.”

“On it.”

As her nurse slipped from the room to retrieve supplies, Miranda spoke again. “Rene, I want you to look here, too. See that?” She pointed to several thick, white lines across the ulna. “Those are previous healed fractures. This has happened before.”

Rene hunched her shoulders. “I told you, I’m clumsy.”

“I’m sure that’s what he tells you.” Miranda dragged a stool over to the exam table and sat. “Are you aware you’ve been in here seven times over the past year for injuries? Three times since Thanksgiving. And I know I saw you in the emergency room once last year. Your records at the hospital indicate that wasn’t your first visit. Harley is getting violent more often.”

“Holidays are hard. Since he got laid off from the factory, he hasn’t been able to find steady work.”

The fact that Harley was seldom sober probably had a lot to do with that. “You don’t have to stay with him. You have options. The women’s shelter out at Hope Springs has both room and resources.” Well, not as much room as they needed, but they were nearly done constructing an expansion, and Miranda knew that Lily Mae Pollard, the woman who ran Monarch House, wasn’t about to turn away anyone in need.

“I took vows.”

How many times had Miranda heard that from Rene and others like her? “So did he. And he’s breaking them. He assaulted you. You need to report this.”

“The police can’t do anything. What happens in a man’s home⁠—”

“That’s where you’re wrong. The law doesn’t stop at the doorway to a residence. Assault inside the home is still assault. Now you can ignore this like you’ve been doing. You can go on home and tiptoe around his moods, hoping you can anticipate what will set him off. But one of these days he’s going to snap, and it’s going to be worse than a fractured wrist and some bruising. Based on the escalation I’m seeing here, that’s not far off. He could kill you, Rene.”

Miranda’s hope that the words would shock her patient into action were dashed when she only lifted a stubborn chin. “He wouldn’t. Harley loves me.”

Maybe he had once, though Miranda questioned how much a man like that could really love. She chose her words carefully. “He probably wouldn’t mean to, but he gets aggressive when he’s been drinking. He’s not in control of himself. He needs help.”

Rene brightened somewhat at that. She wouldn’t reach out to take help for herself, but she’d think about it for him? Miranda didn’t like what that said about the woman’s self-esteem, but she pushed for whatever advantage she could get.

“If you report him, a judge could order him to counseling, to treatment for alcohol addiction, if he thinks it’s necessary.”

The woman chewed her lip. “Harley would be really mad about that. He doesn’t trust therapists and head doctors.”

“Maybe not. But if a judge says he has to go, he doesn’t have a choice. And while he’s there, he could deal with his anger issues and get the drinking under control.” Miranda knew perfectly well a hostile, court-mandated patient wasn’t a good candidate for any of those things, but if they could get him out of the house and away from Rene long enough, they could maybe finally convince her to leave his ass and go to Monarch House.

“You really think it could help?”

I really think it could help you. “Yes.”

“Then I’ll do it.”

Repressing the urge to do a victory dance, Miranda rose. “Okay. I know you don’t want to go into the station, so I’ve called someone to come take a statement. Meanwhile, we’ll get started on that cast.”

In the hall, she snagged Keisha. “She’s agreed to report it.”

“Praise Jesus.”

“I’m not taking any chances that she’ll change her mind. If you’ll set out the casting materials, I’ll do it when I bring in our guest.”

“You got it.”

After putting Delaney on duty in the hall to see that none of their patients left their exam rooms, Miranda went to grab Ethan. “She’ll talk to you. She doesn’t have the self-esteem to pursue it for her own sake, but I convinced her it was in Harley’s best interest. I may have implied that a judge could order him to treatment.”

His dark brows winged up faintly and an expression of respect crossed his face. “Not inaccurate, even if not guaranteed. Good move, Doc. I can work with it.”

Wow, three whole sentences.

He followed her back down the hall to room three.

“This pink wrap is gonna look so nice and cheerful,” Keisha said as they opened the door. “Doctor Campbell is gonna put this on you now.” She’d already fitted Rene with a plastic drape to keep her clothes dry during the process.

“Thanks, Keisha.”

With a raise of her eyebrows that clearly said good luck, the nurse stepped out.

Ethan stepped quietly into the room in her wake. Rene’s eyes went wide at the sight of him. He shut the door and nodded at her. “Ma’am.”

Again, Miranda had the ridiculous notion that he ought to be wearing a cowboy hat so he could take it off in the presence of women. His pause had that air of polite respect.

“Rene, this is Chief Greer. He’s here to take your statement. Chief, this is Rene Forbes, Harley Forbes’s wife.”

He kept his focus on Rene as he came over, folding himself into the visitor’s chair as Miranda started the casting process.

Good move. Make yourself look less intimidating.

His eyes fell on the bruises as Miranda tugged up her sleeve. “I understand you’ve had a little trouble.”

Rene instinctively clutched her wrist against her chest, covering the bruising with her other hand. But Ethan had already seen. Gently, Miranda nudged the wrist back down and slipped the stockinette over her hand. “I need you to hold your thumb and forefinger together. Yes, exactly like that.”

“No, no trouble.”

Ethan just offered a reassuring smile. “You know, I’ve met your husband.”

“Oh?” Rene’s eyes flickered back and forth between them, as if she couldn’t decide who was the greater threat.

“Hauled him in a couple times for drunk and disorderly. Once for simple assault in a bar fight. Not a new thing based on his record. I’m guessin’ the bar isn’t the only place he gets aggressive after he’s had a few.”

“A man has a right to a few drinks in peace.” The words fell from her like rote. Clearly a common phrase in the Forbes household.

“Not everybody can drink responsibly. Some people get foolish. Some get mean. It’s not their fault. Just how they’re wired. Those kinda people need help learning how to handle it.”

“He’s not gonna want help. If I wasn’t so stupid all the time⁠—”

“You’re not stupid.” Miranda snapped the words like a bullwhip. She cursed herself as Rene flinched back at the tone.

Chill out. You’re not the one being called stupid. But Miranda couldn’t stop the instant flash of temper that particular term engendered, no matter who it was directed at. Gentling her voice, she repeated it as she wrapped the arm with cotton padding. “You’re not stupid. Don’t let him tell you that you are.”

Rene’s throat bobbed. “How…how would this work?”

Miranda all but held her breath as she began to wrap the Scotchcast around Rene’s wrist.

“Well now, I’ll take a statement about what he did to you. I know that’s likely to be difficult. Dr. Campbell will stay right here with you, if you want.”

“Of course, I will.”

“Given Harley’s history, I’d then have to bring him in to the station to talk to him about what happened. And chances are, I’d have to arrest him.”

“Arrest? No. No no no. You can’t do that.”

“I’m afraid that’s how we’d get him in front of the judge. He’s the only one with the power to order Harley into treatment.”

“I’m not doing that. I’m not. I won’t turn in my husband.” Rene’s breathing went short, her voice rising.

Miranda choked back a curse. But Ethan stayed steady as a rock. “It’s a scary thing going up against somebody who’s got power over you. Someone who’s hurt you. Nobody can make you do it. We won’t push you about it today. But I’m gonna give you my card. It’s got my number at the station and my cell number. If ever you feel ready to press charges, or if you need help, or if you’re just scared and need to talk, you call. All right?”

Rene didn’t answer, so he just tucked the card into the purse by her side.

“I’ll just let y’all finish up with that cast. I hope you feel better soon, Mrs. Forbes.”

With one last look at Miranda that told her he’d be waiting when she was through, he slipped out the door.

Miranda took a hard grip on her temper. She finished up the cast in silence, with her patient staring at the floor. Once she’d applied the final wrap, she stayed calm and professional as she gave Rene her discharge instructions. As the woman slid off the exam table, Miranda stopped her. “Chief Greer is a good man. He wants to help you, just like I do. We’re here whenever you’re ready.”

Rene jerked a nod. “Am I finished?”

“Yeah.”

The woman couldn’t get out fast enough.

Miranda stayed where she was. A minute later, Ethan came back into the room.

Frustrated and heartsick, she scooped a hand through her hair. “I thought I’d convinced her this time.”

“I wish I could say this kind of thing didn’t happen all the time. I expect you know that.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know. It’s always so hard to balance walking the line between HIPPA regulations and duty to report. And worrying over whether they’ll stop seeking treatment if the incidents are reported.”

“Hey, you tried. That’s more than a lot of people would do. Plenty of others look the other way.”

Miranda lifted her gaze to his. “I have never been that person.”

His lips curved, just a little, as if he appreciated that about her. Then he sobered again. “She wasn’t going to press charges. Not when she got up close and personal with the idea. But I’ll still make a report, add it to the file. Every little bit of evidence helps.”

“I’ll write up what I saw. I have no problem testifying about it, should it come to that. He’s escalating.”

“That’s my read, too. Believe me, I’m keeping an eye on Forbes. He does anything else I can put him away for, I’ll do it.”

“Let’s just hope nobody else ends up in the hospital when he does it.”

“Your mouth to God’s ear.” He shifted, reaching into his pocket for something. “Speaking of reports. You haven’t picked yours up.”

Miranda reached automatically for the folded paper he offered. “We’ve been swamped this week. Thanks for bringing it by.”

He shrugged. “Since I was coming over anyway.” His radio crackled. Without breaking eye contact, he answered the call. “Greer.”

The dispatcher came back. “Chief, we’ve got a report of a theft off of Buddy Dibley’s grill.”

“You mean somebody stole his grill?”

“No, sir. Somebody stole the ribs he was cooking right off it.”

Ethan’s face went slack with shock. “Come again?”

“You heard me. Texting you the address.”

Clearly baffled, Ethan looked to Miranda. “I used to track dangerous fugitives for a living. This is my life now,” he muttered.

Miranda hadn’t thought she could smile again so soon. “I’m sure Buddy would appreciate those investigative skills being put to the cause of locating his ribs. He’s spent the last five years trying to beat Abe Costello in the annual summer barbeque cook-off.”

His lips twitched up into an answering grin and wow. It transformed his sober face into something that set her pulse tripping. “So you’re saying it’s prospective espionage in the name of barbeque?”

Miranda shrugged. “It could happen.”

“Never a dull moment.” He nodded at her again with that hat tipping motion. “See you around, Doc.”

* * *

Saturday morning, as he was setting up for the hunter safety course in the community center gym, Ethan was still thinking about Miranda Campbell. Big-hearted, beautiful Miranda Campbell, who wanted desperately to help a woman who was so entrenched in the cycle of abuse, she wasn’t likely to ever listen. A foolhardy effort maybe, but Ethan had to admire her conviction in doing what was right.

He’d been on edge the last couple of days, fully expecting a call for another domestic disturbance or a bar fight in conjunction with Harley. But all had been quiet. The guy was bad news. In his career as a U.S. Marshal, Ethan had chased the worst of the worst. He knew the type. It wasn’t a question of if Harley would go over the edge, but when. The waiting made him twitchy. As a Marshal, it hadn’t been his job to build a case to confirm someone’s guilt. By the time they’d been brought in, someone else had already done that. He’d had a warrant and a fugitive and a mission of bringing them in before they had a chance to hurt anyone else. He didn’t have that liberty here. Without Rene being willing to press charges, his hands were tied. Even if everybody in town knew he was beating his wife, without witnesses willing to testify about it, he couldn’t get the bastard off the streets.

That didn’t sit well with Ethan.

He needed a new angle. With that in mind, he joined Clint Yarbrough, the officer who’d agreed to help him teach today, at the sign in table.

“You ever had any run-ins with Harley Forbes?”

“Don’t think there’s a one of us in the department who hasn’t.”

“You ever get wind of him being involved in any illegal activities? Beyond what’s in his record.”

“Can’t say as I have. What are you thinking?”

“Guy’s been unemployed a long time. Wondering how they’re getting by.”

“Unemployment for him. And his wife cleans houses.”

“She’s gonna have a damned hard time doing that with a broken wrist.”

Clint’s eyes went hard. “It’s a shit situation. You expecting something?”

“Don’t know. I just want everybody keeping their eyes and ears open. He steps one toe out of line, I want to know about it.” The doors at the end of the gym opened and the first of their students arrived. “We’ll talk about it more at next week’s briefing.”

Ethan worked up a good-natured smile for the late-twenty-something guy who got there first. “Mornin’. You here for the bowhunter safety class?”

“Yep.”

“Name?” Clint asked.

“Sean Murphy.”

“I’m Ethan Greer, and this is Clint Yarbrough.” Ethan approved of the man’s firm handshake. “You ever shot a bow before, Sean?”

He accepted the clipboard with the release and course contract. “A bit as a kid. Been a long time. I thought this would be a good refresher.”

“Should be. Hope you won’t be too bored.” Ethan passed him his course materials and moved on to the next person in line.

People trickled in for the next fifteen minutes. With each one, Ethan took the time to introduce himself and learn their names. When the clock ticked on to 10:10, Ethan figured they had all the students they’d get.

“Reckon we’re about ready to get rolling here.”

The door squeaked open and a petite woman with dark red hair slipped in, hurrying toward the table. “Is this the bowhunter safety course?”

Clint eyed her with obvious surprise. “It is.”

“Great. Sorry I’m late.”

She was the only woman who’d shown up. Not that Ethan hadn’t known women who could and did bow hunt, but this girl hardly seemed the type. Still, looks could be deceiving. “Name?”

Pink crawled across her fair cheeks. “Delaney Newell.”

Clint handed her the clipboard with the paperwork, and Ethan racked his brain for why she seemed so familiar. As she handed the clipboard back, it popped. “You work at Dr. Campbell’s clinic.”

Delaney’s eyes widened and her hands began to twist at the strap of her purse. “Yes. I’m the administrative assistant.”

Because she seemed unaccountably nervous, Ethan offered her an easy smile. “Saw you when I was in earlier this week. You ever shot a bow before?”

She shook her head.

Only woman, never shot a bow, so what had prompted her to take the class? “This will be a good starter for you.”

The three of them strode over to join the rest of the class. There were fifteen students in total. Most claimed to have some experience with a bow. Ethan figured they’d see about that. “All right,” he began. “Let’s get started with a little bit of history.”

Jordan Linley raised his hand. “Not to be rude or anything, but a few of us were wondering, you being a city guy and all, what your qualifications were for teaching this class? Can’t be too much cause for bowhunting in Dallas.”

Ethan wondered if he’d still be called the City Guy in fifteen years. “Fair question.”

Instead of laying down the history of his youth in rural West Texas, he opened his bow case and withdrew the compound bow. Picking up one of his own practice arrows, he nocked it and verified no one was in the vicinity before he drew back and anchored, sighting the foam deer target about seventy-five feet away. He released on an exhale and the arrow hit the target in with a thunk, dead center mass. The whole shot took only a few seconds.

Jordan was staring at the target, brows up. “Well, all right then.”

“I didn’t always live in the city.” Ethan replaced his bow in the case. “Now, as I was saying, we’re gonna start with a little history.”