Her Baby's Father

Rage had fueled his aggressive instincts, but he knew that he had little chance of catching the guy. Not when his running speed had been cut substantially by his injury. Plus the attacker probably had mapped out an emergency escape route before the attack.

Still, he was torn between imperatives.

The door of the restaurant burst open, and Patrick stepped out, his gaze landing on them. “I heard a scuffle. What happened?”

“A guy tried to rob us,” Jack answered.

“I don’t know,” Sara mused.

Jack turned toward her, seeing the indecision on her face. “You don’t think it was a robbery? I mean, what else could it have been?”

She looked torn. “He didn’t ask for our money, did he?”

Jack laughed. “I guess he didn’t get a chance to. You hit him in the face with your purse.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s right,” she conceded.

“Fast thinking.”

“I took a self-defense course.”

“Don’t they advise you that it’s better to give up your wallet than get shot?”

“Yes. But I just…you know…” She raised one shoulder in a helpless gesture.

“I’m going to call the police,” the restaurant owner said, pulling out his cell phone and dialing 911.

Sara looked shaken.

Jack reached for her, pulling her into his arms, feeling her tremble.

She whispered his name in a way that made it sound like they’d had a whole lot more shared experiences than just what had happened today.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I am now. I was so scared.”

“But you didn’t lose your cool.”

She nodded against his shoulder, clinging to him, wrapping her arms around his back and pressing close.

Holding her in his embrace was wonderful. And he had the odd feeling that it wasn’t for the first time. There was a familiarity about her that sent a wave of contentment—and longing—through him. He wanted her, even when he knew that letting her get close to him could lead to disappointment.

He stopped worrying about that as he hugged her to him. He’d wanted to feel her body against his all evening. He hadn’t thought he’d get an excuse so quickly, although this wasn’t the kind of reason he’d have elected, if he’d had a choice.

He slid his hands up and down her back, wishing he could do more. He wanted to kiss her. More than kiss. He wanted her in a bed. Which astonished him. She’d see the scars on his body. The scars that reminded him of the worst day of his life. The scars that had shocked another woman.

But he couldn’t do the things he craved now. Not out here on the street. Not with the restaurant owner looking at them and the cops on the way.

She must have understood that, too, because she eased away from him, her gaze going to his.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she said.

“Same here.”

“The gun was pointed at you.”

“You put yourself in danger.”

“I was terrified for you. I just acted instinctively.”

Patrick cleared his throat. “Both of you just had a pretty nasty experience. Come inside and sit down.”

“Yes. Thanks,” Sara answered.

She followed the restaurant owner into the building, where chairs were now upside down on the tabletops. Quickly Patrick reached for the closest group and pulled four of them down.

His wife came out of the kitchen, looking concerned when she saw two of their diners had returned, both appearing somewhat the worse for wear.

“What happened?”

“Attempted robbery,” her husband said.

“You poor things,” she sympathized. “I’m Laura Walsh,” she said to Jack.

“Jack Morgan.” He looked from her to her husband. “Has there been a lot of crime down here?”

“Not a lot. But it happens from time to time. I’m so sorry you got into trouble right outside the restaurant.”

“Not your fault,” Jack answered.

“Can I get you some brandy?” Patrick asked.

“Yes. Thanks,” Jack answered.

Patrick stepped behind the bar and poured two glasses of Azteca de Oro and brought them over.

Jack took a sip. “Good stuff.”

“My best.”

Sara also took a small swallow. “Yes, this is good.”

“How are you doing?” Jack asked.

“Better. Thanks.”

The casual conversation stopped when the door opened and a uniformed officer stepped inside. He was young and fit, and had that confidence a uniform gave you until something bad happened. Jack knew all about that from his time in Afghanistan. He’d gone over there thinking the U.S. Army could whip the asses of the Taliban. He’d found out they didn’t give in easily. And they had no problems with fighting dirty.