Protecting What's Mine(69)

By the end of the song, there wasn’t an inch left on the dance floor, and there was a very patient three-deep line at the bar.

Sophie hustled off to man the bar. “Everyone gets a discount if your first drink is a draft,” she yelled.

When Mack made a move to head back to the bar, Linc stopped her with a hand on her arm.

“One more,” he insisted.

“One more what?”

“Dance.”

The song was slow, and Mack was relieved that all she had to do was step into Linc’s arms. There was no complicated choreography here. Just an appreciation of the fine male form that was here to celebrate with her. Two bodies that were getting acquainted. Simple. Sweet.

She caught a whiff of something manly.

“You smell like sawdust and…” She leaned in and took another whiff. “Paint?”

“Imagine that,” he said, spinning her out slowly and then drawing her back. “How’s your ankle holding up?”

“Not gonna lie, I don’t think I’d be any better at that line dancing with two good feet.”

“I like just about everything about you, Dreamy.”

She bit her lip coyly. She couldn’t help herself. “I kinda like you, too, Hotshot.”

“My place tonight?” he asked huskily.

“Yeah.”

He grinned. “Good. My bed’s bigger.”

He pushed her out again. And every time he pulled her back into his arms, she felt the flutter in her belly. It felt a little something like joy.

Russell appeared next to her with a stunning woman on his arm who looked fancy even in jeans and a cashmere sweater.

“Dr. O’Neil, my wife, Denise. Denise, Mackenzie O’Neil.”

“I’ve heard a lot,” Denise said with a warm smile. She offered a hand with a large, tasteful diamond on it.

“I can only imagine,” Mack said, shaking her hand.

“Chief Reed, how’s our daughter doing under your care?” Denise asked. There was nothing veiled about the question. Her message was clear: Take care of my daughter. Or else.

“Skyler is a great addition to the department. Cool under pressure,” Linc said.

Denise nudged her husband. “She gets that from me.”

“Although her rookie toilet scrubbing skills leave something to be desired.”

“And she gets that from me,” Russell said.

“We’ll talk later,” Denise promised. “First, I’m going to dance with this handsome doctor.”

The Robinsons moved off to their own corner of the dance floor, and Mack was once again in Linc’s arms. The song was about not being fooled by love songs and the trappings of romance. She could relate.

She looked up, found Linc watching her. There was a softness in his eyes that belayed the confident smirk that lived on his talented lips.

Her knees gave out. Just a bit. And only because she’d somehow forgotten how to keep her joints stable, she told herself.

“Need a break?” he asked, misreading her embarrassing half-swoon as injury-related.

“Yes.” And another beer.





32





The mood was festive in Remo’s as if everyone were celebrating something that night. Linc’s crew filled him in on their calls. Calls as in multiple.

They’d responded to a missing person report, a toddler locked in a car, and a garden shed fire that had spread to a farmer’s dry pasture. All three calls were successful. And, just like that, his department’s drought was officially over.

He fired off a text to Aldo when Mrs. Moretta stormed the bar with another new boyfriend. He was a tall, black man with shoulders so broad Linc wondered if his sport coat was tailor-made. “He played for the Steelers in the 80s,” Mrs. Moretta bellowed to anyone who would listen.

Linc: Your mama’s here with your new daddy.





Aldo: He’s too good for her. I’m going to ask him to adopt me when he comes to his senses and runs screaming back to Pittsburgh.





Georgia Rae, requisite small-town gossip, was celebrating the birth of her seventh grandchild and quizzed both Linc and Mack for a good twenty minutes on their most recent heroics. He could tell Mack was thanking the baby Jesus for HIPAA laws that protected her from most of the inquisition.

The appetizers were devoured, and actual dinners were ordered. Mack switched from beer to water, and Linc did the same. They debated who was going to be more hungover the following day: Tuesday or Linc’s lieutenant, Zane Jones. The guy brewed his own beer but had been goaded into switching over to shots of Fireball with Tuesday.

“Good thing neither of them work tomorrow,” Mack pointed out.

“We’ll still drive an engine past his apartment and blow the sirens,” Linc told her cheerfully.

“Mean.”

“But funny.”

Sheriff Ty, out of uniform, meandered through the door around eight and laid a baby-making kiss on Sophie when she leaned across the bar to greet him.

“Evening,” Ty said to Linc and Mack once his tongue was back in his own mouth.

“Sheriff,” Mack said.

“We’re filing charges tomorrow,” Ty said, cutting to the chase. “Just givin’ y’all a heads up.”