Cherise Sinclair - This is who I am

“For what, baby?” He brushed his hand over her hair.

“The rescue.” She pulled in a breath. “For letting the choice be mine.”

The fabric of the blanket was soft under his fingers as he squeezed her shoulder. Too thin. She’d lost weight in the last week. Since he’d been such an ass. “The choice is always yours.” He closed his eyes for a second. “I could have got you killed.” He foresaw having nightmares for years about that knife against her throat, the dark trickle of blood on her pale neck.

She flattened her palm on his cheek. “You didn’t. And I wouldn’t have let him take me. I wasn’t going to go farther than the parking lot.”

He’d known, goddammit. How could so much courage come packed in someone so soft and sweet? He kissed the top of her head.

“I wondered…” Her forehead furrowed. “Why didn’t you wrap the whip around his arm and pull the knife away?”

The cops had asked the same question. Seemed they all watched too many Indiana Jones movies.

Sam picked up her arm and bent it, duplicating the position in which Aaron had held the knife. “Need space around the target to wrap a whip. And got to wrap the leather a couple times so it will hold when I pull.” He used a corner of the blanket to make a few turns around her wrist, then opened it to show her the length. “There wasn’t enough room. The tail would have hit your face.”

“Oh.” She swallowed. “You knew what you’d do to his…face when you hit him, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” He tucked the blanket back over her shoulder, hating that she’d gone paler. He’d hoped she wouldn’t see Aaron, but of course, she’d looked. “In a scene, a single-tail is used…lightly…even when you intend to draw some blood. With Aaron, I didn’t hold back.”

Her shiver reminded him that her friend, Holly, had been whipped to death.

“It was a bad gamble, baby. Get surprised by a punch to the face and you’re stunned. Paralyzed for a split second. Only a second. But when the whip hit him, it wouldn’t have worked if you hadn’t jumped away.”

Brave, brave woman.

She squeezed his hand and looked at him in a way that made his heart melt. “Thank you for hearing me. And for saving my life.” When she took her hand away, he missed her warmth. “I’d better get moving. Will you walk me to my car?”

His jaw clenched hard enough to bust his molars. “No.”

“Sam. We can’t sit in Master Z’s living room all night. It’s time to go. I can drive now.”

And when she had a belated reaction on the road? When she drove into a ditch, leaving him alone? No damned way. “I’ll drive. And you’ll come home with me.”

Her big eyes widened. Her chin came up. When he saw the bandage, a small circle of red staining the center, his throat loosened so more words came forth. “I want you in my house. Living with me. In my bed.”

“But…”

“I love you.” The words came easier each time. He curled her closer into him. She was so damned precious. Fragile and strong.

When she didn’t answer, he had an uncomfortable reminder of how his silence must have hurt her. He gave her an impatient jostle. “You’re supposed to say it back, girl. There are rules.”

“Rules?” Her lips tipped up. “My sergeant.” Her eyes warmed in the way he’d needed to see, and she whispered, “I love you, Sam. I really, really do.”

As he buried his face in her hair, he swore to himself that she’d hear the words from him every single damned day.

Two weeks later

As Linda checked the chicken in the slow cooker for after-church dinner, she smiled at the sound of the children’s laughter coming from the dining area.

Nicole was teasing Charles about continuing with his cafeteria job despite the settlement from the newspaper.

“I decided to save the money. It’s not that bad, putting a few hours in,” answered Charles.

Brenna snickered. “And you get all the girls lined up in a row to flirt with, right?”

“Very true.”

Charles. Linda laughed under her breath. Her son definitely had a way about him. Girls had flocked to him even in kindergarten.

As an arm wrapped around her waist, she heard Sam’s gruff morning voice. “Good thing I have farm chores, missy, or your cooking would give me a big gut.”

She grinned, turning in his embrace to receive her kiss. “Good morning. The kids got here early.”

“I heard.” He really did growl like her neighbor’s dog, Bruno, although a corner of his mouth tipped up, showing he was pleased.

Linda tilted her head at noise from outside. “Is that a car?”

“Sounds like.” His brows drew together. “Construction’s done. Kids are here. No deliveries are scheduled.”

Linda and the children followed him out to the front porch.

A car drew to a stop in the circular drive in front of the house. Blue paint, scraped and faded, a headlight shattered, the passenger door bashed in. A stick-figure blonde emerged.

“Nancy,” Sam muttered.

That was Sam’s ex? Linda turned to look at Sam. His expression was icy cold…growing more remote by the second. Fear washed over Linda. No. Not again. She took a step toward him.

“Mother.” Nicole sounded as if she was winded.

Seeing the fear and anger and sheer misery on Nicole’s face, Linda felt fury boiling in her veins. No child should look like that. Ever. Last Sunday, the children had flipped through Nicole’s baby book. A true mess. Apparently Sam had slapped the pictures in with no attempt at artistry. But he’d tried.

Far too many of the pictures showed a girl with haunted eyes—the same look as she had in her eyes now.

No more. This stopped right now.

Sam started toward the steps.

Linda slapped a hand to his chest, halting him. “Stay here. I’ll take care of this.” She glanced at her son. “Charles, keep them here.”

As she ran down the steps, she heard Sam’s rough, “What the hell?”

“Uh-uh,” Brenna said. “Don’t mess with Mom when she gets pissed off. Seriously.”

Linda stalked across the drive.

The blonde scowled, then attempted a smile. “Hey. I’m here to see Sam. Tell him—”

“No.” Linda crossed her arms over her chest. Tweaker skinny, teeth rotten, dyed-blonde hair with roots showing, attired in skanky clothing. Poor Nicole. “I live here now, Nancy. You’ll deal with me—for about thirty seconds.”

“What the fuck?” Shock and anger twisted Nancy’s face. She had sweat on her forehead. Hands trembling.

Yes, she was here to hit Sam up for money. Again. “Listen up,” Linda said sharply. “This is my family now, and you’ve screwed up their lives enough. Sam might not have the heart to call the cops, but I certainly will. Leave now. Don’t come back. Or I’ll dump your ass in jail and press charges.” She gave the woman a merciless stare. “You can go through withdrawal behind bars.”

SAM STARED DOWN at the two women. “What the hell is she saying?”

Facing him as one unit, Charles and Brenna blocked the steps. He wasn’t quite ready to knock Linda’s children on their asses. But letting his woman confront his ex…

To his surprise, Nancy wilted under whatever Linda was saying.

Nicole slid up against his side. “She’s taking on Mother?”

As Sam put an arm around his daughter, Brenna glanced over her shoulder at the confrontation, then grinned. “She’s scary when she goes into Medusa Mama mode.” She grinned at her brother. “Remember how the principal begged her forgiveness for giving a detention?”

“Or how she took on that old fart down the block who perved on the kids.” Charles glanced at Sam. “An ‘I got candy for you, little girl’ jerk. He spoke to Brenna once, Mom had a ‘chat’ with him, and he put his house up for sale the next day.”

“But she’s so sweet,” Nicole whispered. “Mother will hurt—”

Sam stared as Nancy retreated from Linda so fast her back banged into her car. She jumped in and slammed the door.

“Mom’s sweet right up to the point where you mess with her kids. Then, look out. Everyone in Foggy Shores knows that.” Brenna took Nicole’s hand. “From that smackdown, I’d say you just got adopted.”

Nicole’s eyes filled with tears.

As Sam pulled her closer, the ice of frustrated anger that had filled his veins melted, and warmth spread from his heart outward. He could only watch as Nancy drove…away.

Hands on hips, Linda waited until the car peeled through the gate. She gave a short nod—task done—and walked back to the porch.

With big grins, her children parted to let her through.

She patted their arms. “Thank you, darlings.” Then without speaking, she took Nicole from Sam and wrapped her in a Linda hug, probably the warmest, most caring embrace found on the planet.

Sam’s eyes burned, and he looked away.

“Sweetie, you can’t help but feel bad, I know,” Linda murmured to his girl. “I’ve lost friends to drugs. It’s like cancer. Some can fight back and win. Others—for whatever reason—can’t. If she ever turns her life around, then you can see what kind of a person she really is. Until then, I hope you’ll let me stand in for her.”

When Nicole burst into tears, Sam closed his eyes, hearing the release of years of misery. Of wanting a mother and not having one.

He jerked his head at Brenna and Charles and took them to the stables to introduce them to farm chores. They might as well get used to helping, since their mother wasn’t going anywhere.

Ever.

A while later, he released the two kids to play with Conn while he went to the chicken coop. Hard workers, those two. The boy had talked about majoring in criminology—apparently his goal in life had changed over the past year. Well, when he graduated, there were enough Masters in the various law enforcement areas to give him a hand up.

Sam shook his head. When Kouros and Buchanan had driven out to the farm to talk with Linda, they’d obviously felt guilty. Although she’d tried to reassure them, Kouros had still looked haunted when they left. A rough occupation. Maybe Charles should switch his major to agriculture.

Broken fences, unexpected droughts, and foaling were a hell of a lot easier on a man.

Guilt wasn’t confined to cops either. When Sally had visited, she’d apologized over and over for suggesting that Linda should be a trainee.

As Sam finished filling the feeders, he heard Linda and his daughter coming toward the chicken coop.

Sounded as if Nicole had returned to normal. She was explaining how she’d learned the facts of life. “I didn’t know Daddy could turn so red.” She grinned at Sam as she walked into the barn. Her face was puffy from crying, but her eyes were clear. Happy. His girl would be fine.

He sent a look of gratitude to Linda.

“I wouldn’t mind seeing him turn red,” Linda said. “But did he manage to explain?”

“Hell no,” Sam said.

“One of his friends—Anne—took me out for a slushie and told me all about that stuff.” Nicole grinned. “Without blushing once.”

“Anne? The Anne I know?” From the horrified expression on Linda’s face, she’d met Mistress Anne.

He gave her a bland look. “She knows male anatomy. Why not?”

“Ooooh.” Her eyes sparked. “We’re going to talk about this.”

* * *

As silence filled the house, Sam carried dishes to the kitchen with Conn trailing eagerly after him. Linda was spoiling the hound, slipping him tidbits. Hard to call her on it, since Nicole had been doing the same for years.

A few minutes before, they’d sent the children off, back to their college. Their dinner had been late, but he had to admit, he enjoyed having them all at the table.

Brenna loved to argue but had a lively sense of humor to go with it, and her laughter was as full-bodied as her mother’s.

Charles had a protective streak that rivaled Sam’s. When Nicole had mentioned walking home from the library in the dark, the boy had scolded her about safety before Sam could get a word in.

Linda had done well with her children. Their idiotic teenager brains might have led them to give her grief, but they were even faster with their affection, with hugs and love you’s.

Like a dry plant, Nicole had soaked it up.

Sam had as well. Linda wanted to continue her family’s traditional after-church dinners. The idea suited him to a tee.

As he entered the kitchen, Linda was singing the Beatles’ bouncy “When I’m Sixty-Four” as she put some oranges in a colorful basket on the counter. He shook his head. Nothing kept his woman down for long.