Sawyer. Delores Fossen
Sawyer leaned in. “I’ll finish up here and maybe we can get out to the safe house before nightfall.”
Even though he probably hadn’t meant that to sound intimate, it did. This heat between them wasn’t cooling down much.
He tore his gaze from Cassidy’s and looked down at the baby. “You won’t have to tend to her—”
“I want to,” Cassidy interrupted.
“Just don’t get too attached,” he added. “If she’s not mine, we’ll need to find her parents.”
“Too late. I’m already attached.”
He mumbled, “Yeah,” and brushed a kiss on the baby’s cheek.
Then Cassidy’s.
He leaned in and this time brushed a kiss on her mouth. There it was again. The trickle of heat that went from her lips to her toes.
Sawyer
Delores Fossen
Imagine a family tree that includes Texas cowboys, Choctaw and Cherokee Indians, a Louisiana pirate and a Scottish rebel who battled side by side with William Wallace. With ancestors like that, it’s easy to understand why USA TODAY bestselling author and former air force captain DELORES FOSSEN feels as if she were genetically predisposed to writing romances. Along the way to fulfilling her DNA destiny, Delores married an air force top gun who just happens to be of Viking descent. With all those romantic bases covered, she doesn’t have to look too far for inspiration.
Contents
Chapter One
Agent Sawyer Ryland caught the movement from the corner of his eye, turned and saw the blonde pushing her way through the other guests who’d gathered for the wedding reception.
She wasn’t hard to spot.
She was practically running, and she had a bundle gripped in front of her like a shield.
Oh, mercy.
Sawyer’s pulse kicked up a notch, and he automatically slid his hand inside his jacket and over his Glock. It was sad that his first response was to pull his firearm even at his own brother’s wedding reception. Still, he’d been an FBI agent long enough—and had been shot too many times—that he lived by the code of better safe than sorry.
Or better safe than dead.
The woman didn’t draw only Sawyer’s attention. Nope. His brother, Josh, and their six Ryland cousins were all Silver Creek lawmen, and while Sawyer had his attention pinned on the woman, he was well aware that some of his cousins were reaching for their guns, too.
She stopped in the center of the barn, which had been decorated with hundreds of clear twinkling lights and flowers, and even though she was wearing dark sunglasses, Sawyer was pretty sure that her gaze rifled around. Obviously looking for someone. However, the looking around skidded to a halt when her attention landed on him.
“Sawyer,” she said.
Because of the chattering guests and the fiddler sawing out some bluegrass, Sawyer didn’t actually hear her speak his name. Instead, he saw it shape her trembling mouth. She yanked off the sunglasses, her gaze connecting with his.
And he cursed. Some really bad words.
For Pete’s sake. He didn’t need this today. Nor any other day for that matter.
“Cassidy O’Neal,” he mumbled, and he made it sound like the profanity that he’d just spouted.
Yeah, it was her, all right. Except she didn’t much look like a pampered princess doll today in her jeans and body-swallowing gray T-shirt. No makeup, either. Maybe he’d missed the memo about Hades freezing over, because Cassidy was not the sort to go without makeup, fine clothes or anything else fine, for that matter.
Despite the fact that he wasn’t giving off any welcoming vibes whatsoever, Cassidy hurried to him. Her mouth was still trembling. Her dark green eyes rapidly blinking. There were beads of sweat on her forehead and upper lip despite the half dozen or so massive fans circulating air into the barn.
“I’m sorry,” she said, and she thrust whatever she was carrying at him.
Sawyer didn’t take it and backed up, but not before he caught a glimpse of the tiny hand gripping the white blanket.
A baby.
That put his heart right in his suddenly dry throat.
He’d always been darn good at math. Not now though. Not with the air just sucked right out of his lungs. But he didn’t need to do the math to know that while there was no love lost between Cassidy and him, there had been love.
Or rather, sex.
It wasn’t love by any stretch of the imagination.
Using just his index finger, Sawyer eased back the blanket and saw the curly mop of brown hair on the sleeping baby’s head. A lighter color than his own hair but maybe a mix of Cassidy’s and his. A cherub face that resembled every baby he’d ever seen.
Including his own cousins’ babies.
And