Page 85 of Sheltering You

So yes. Yes, he would happily adopt and raise her child as his own, and he didn’t care that the birth father was a terrorist, a perverted grandfather who might as well have bought and paid for her as if she were no more valuable than a…trinket he could buy at the bazaar alongside a bottle of olive oil.

If Derrick ever had the chance, he’d put an end to their sham of a marriage with a well-placed bullet. He thought of the gun holstered to his hip right now. He could do it. He was a good shot. Not a sharpshooter like Bryan, but he could hit a target. All those years hunting with his brothers.

So what that he’d never had the stomach to kill a deer.

Deer were beautiful and innocent.

Khalid-the-grandfather-slash-terrorist was anything but, and Derrick wouldn’t hesitate to kill the man.

And if that landed him in prison, so be it.

Really?

He swallowed the question posed by his conscience…or maybe his God.

Would he really set out to kill a man to get what he wanted?

Yes.

No.

Maybe.

He didn’t know. He longed to be given the opportunity, but in some small part of his mind—or perhaps it was his spirit—he hoped he never would. Because how could he live with himself?

Lord, what am I supposed to do with this? Can You convince her, please, that she’s not really married?

God didn’t answer. Or, if He did, Derrick discounted the words that filled his mind—that quiet Isn’t she? Because God couldn’t possibly agree with Jasmine.

And if He did…

Whatever.

Derrick didn’t have any answers tonight, and his mind was playing tricks on him. What he knew, what he’d known from the first moment he laid eyes on Jasmine, was that she was the woman for him.

Which meant that God would work it out. Somehow.

Derrick had to believe that.

He just had no idea how it could possibly happen.

“Would you like me to drive?” Jasmine asked.

“I’m fine.” His words were sharp. He wasn’t angry at her, just at…at everything.

He cleared his throat and tried again. “Sorry. I’m awake. I can drive for a while.” Wasn’t as if he’d be able to sleep now.

“But the traffic is little,” she said, “so it would be good for me. To do driving? And I had a long rest.”

When she was upset, her English suffered.

He infused his voice with gentleness. “Close your eyes, sweetheart. If I get tired, I’ll wake you up.”

They’d brought some extra pillows and blankets from the cabin, and she tucked a pillow between her head and the window and pulled a blanket up.

He eased it over her shoulder, then brushed her hair back from her face, enjoying the warmth of her, the feel of her.

She was all he wanted.