Safe In The Lawman's Arms. Patricia Johns
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“Katy needs to be as far from the Cruises as possible.” Mike clenched his jaw.
“I mean, would you just walk away once she was placed with someone else?” Malory asked.
He sucked in a deep breath, then slowly let it out. “Emotionally, I’d have to, but I’d still keep an eye on her … make sure she stayed hidden.”
She nodded. He’d made his decision before she’d ever arrived, and she wasn’t about to change his mind.
His dark eyes moved back up to meet hers, and for the first time his guard was dropped. This wasn’t the sheriff looking down at her, this was the man— strong, solid, uncertain. She had to stop herself from stepping closer still.
“I should, um—” She blushed. What she wanted right now was to slip into those muscular arms and rest her cheek against his chest. She wanted to tell him that everything would be okay because she could help him, and he wouldn’t be facing this alone.
But that wasn’t true, and this was dangerous territory.
Safe in the
Lawman’s Arms
Patricia Johns
PATRICIA JOHNS writes from northern Alberta, where she lives with her husband and son. The winters are long, cold and perfectly suited to novel writing. She has a BA in English Lit, and you can find her books in Mills & Boon’s Love Inspired and Mills & Boon Cherish lines.
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To my husband, who inspires my romantic side. After ten years of marriage, he still makes my heart race.
Contents
The small girl looked up at Lieutenant Mike Cruise with unblinking blue eyes. One sticky hand clutched his badge—the gold six-pointed star that identified him as a sheriff in Hope, Montana. Her flaxen hair was still tousled from sleep, since she wouldn’t let him comb it that morning, letting out a shriek as loud as a siren every time he came near her with a hairbrush.
He wasn’t used to combing the silken curls of little girls. He was used to pushing himself to the brink on the weights at the gym, patrolling the streets of Hope and breaking up fights outside the local saloon. He was not used to this—a tiny person with more grit than he saw in the toughest ranch hand drinking away his paycheck.
“Katherine.” Mike squatted down next to the little girl. “Can I have that, please?”
She shook her head, small pink lips pursed in disapproval.
“That isn’t a toy, Katherine.” He held out his hand, and the preschooler took a step back. “Please, give it to me.”
Again, she shook her head, then wiped her nose down her sleeve, leaving a snail trail across her cheek.
Yuck. He still had to figure out how to get this child into a bathtub.
“Katherine...” He reached to take the badge from her and she opened her mouth, her shrill wail mingling with the sound of the doorbell. He heaved a sigh and pushed himself to his feet, forfeiting his badge for the moment.
He needed a nanny. Today.
Katherine watched him distrustfully as he turned toward the front door, then stepped over a pot, a sieve, an empty plastic juice jug and a small teddy bear—her favorite toys of the day. He