Protecting What's Mine(81)

“What are you trying to say, sheriff?”

“You’re holding back. Just waiting for her to pack up and leave.”

“She is packing up and leaving,” Linc argued. “What do you want me to do about it?”

“Heart can’t get trampled on if it’s still locked up in your chest,” Ty told him. “Maybe it’s time you put it out there.”

“Christ. What the hell did they put in those Hawaiian punches?”

“Go on and make your jokes, my friend. But the only way you’ll earn some very patient woman’s heart someday is by getting real vulnerable.”

Linc blinked at his friend.

“What?” Ty shrugged. “Soph got Oprah’s new book. It’s pretty good.”

“You’re saying you didn’t land Sophie Garrison by being a big shot in high school and then picking a career with a uniform that emphasizes your ass and your authority?” Linc asked.

Ty looked over his shoulder at his ass. “It really does look good in these pants, doesn’t it?”

“Damn right it does, brother.”

“And to answer your question, hell no. Soph wasn’t falling for any of that big shot routine. We broke up. She wanted to spread her wings. It wasn’t until I got real and told her that she was the only girl for me, and if she couldn’t commit, well, I’d be heartbroken, and I’d always miss her. But I would move on.”

“Oh, come on. You’re saying that shit worked?” Linc demanded.

Ty shoved his wedding band in Linc’s face. “That and one hell of a romantic proposal. Also, periodically knocking her up and putting away the laundry go pretty far, too. And only saying no to every sixth or seventh thing she asks me to do.”

Now it was Ty making jokes. But Linc knew the man, knew just how much he loved and valued his wife. What a unit they made together.

“I hear what you and Oprah are saying,” he told Ty. “But the doc’s made it clear. She’s only here temporarily.”

“And you’re too chickenshit to ask her to stay for real. You probably go around making jokes about weddings and babies. But in that charming, professional flirt way,” Ty said, doing a reasonable impression of Linc flexing biceps and winking at what he could only guess were invisible ladies.

The truth fucking hurt.

“I’m not agreeing with the chickenshit moniker,” Linc insisted.

“But?”

“But you might have a vaguely sort of almost-but-not-quite accurate point. Also, I only wink with my right eye, so your impression needs work.”

He demonstrated, and Ty staggered back. “Damn. It was like I heard a ding when you did that.”

“Keep practicing,” Linc told him.





Linc and his crew headed back to the station and spent the next few hours on easy calls. He was up to his eyeballs in a grant proposal when his phone signaled an incoming video call.

“Jilly,” he said.

“How’s my favorite brother?”

“No.”

“I haven’t even asked. You could at least do me the courtesy of letting me ask the question before you say no.”

“Fine,” he grumbled.

“Can I drop the boys off at the station?”

“No.”

“Before you say no—”

“I already did. Twice.”

“Listen. You know how they’ve been asking for a dog?”

Linc pinched the bridge of his nose. His sisters knew exactly what buttons to push. “Don’t go there, Jillian.” She absolutely would use his love of dogs against him.

“So I reached out to the rescue where you got Sunshine.”

Ah, shit. He was going to end up with his nephews running around the station like lunatics.

“This isn’t fair. This is a fire station, not a daycare.”

“They have the perfect dog,” she plowed on. “He’s six. He loves kids. And the poor guy has never lived in a home before. His previous owner had him tied to a stake—”

“I hate you. Bring the boys by, but I’m putting them to work,” he warned.

“You’re the best,” Jillian chirped.





Brandon, Mikey, and Griffin were part of what looked like a very young United Nations delegation. Jillian was a blonde-haired, blue-eyed volleyball player who’d fallen head over heels for a pharmacy major from the Philippines with a passion for cycling and hot wings. They had Brandon, the oldest, who got his hair from his father and just about everything else from the Reed side of the family. Then Jilly and Vijay were bitten by the adoption bug, and in the years after added Mikey to the family from a Venezuelan orphanage and Griffin from foster care.

“Uncle Chief Linc,” Griffin said, powerwalking over to him where Linc leaned against the engine. The kid was always in a dignified hurry.

“Hey, Griff. How’s it going?”

“Uncle Chief Linc, is Mom abandoning us?” Brandon asked with a worried frown.

Griffin rolled his eyes while Mikey, hands in the pockets of his track pants, strolled around the engine inspecting it.

Brandon had recently slept at a friend’s house who wasn’t as well supervised as Brandon was used to. They’d watched a horror movie about kids whose parents abandoned them after selling them to a traveling circus. He’d been sleeping on the floor outside his parents’ bedroom for the past week.