Page 8 of But For You

“Oh, no, Marshal.” He tried to smile at my glowering man, having corrected himself quickly. “I meant, Supervisory Deputy Marshal.”

Sam’s attention returned to me, and I smiled as I lifted my arms for him.

Moving fast, Sam closed the short distance between us and hauled me forward and crushed me against him.

It was not gentle; the entire movement was jarring and hard. I loved it.

“Scared me,” he stated as he clutched me tight.

I knew I had, which was the reason for the grab. I leaned into him, nuzzled my face into the crook of his neck, and slid my arms under the suit jacket and over the crisp dress shirt. He smelled good—a faint trace of cologne, fabric softener, and warm male. I whimpered softly in the back of my throat.

“Those calls take years off my life, you know?”

“What calls?”

“The Jory’s in the hospital calls.”

I nodded, and there was a rumble of a grunt before he leaned back and looked down at my face. His eyes clocked me, checking, making sure I was whole and safe.

“I’m fine,” I said as he lifted his hand and fisted it in my hair, tilting my head back as he examined my right eye and my cheek. “I mean, the punch hurt the most. The bump on the back of my head is just sore.”

“Yeah, you don’t look fine,” he said, and his voice was low and menacing as he gently checked the bump. “Who did this?”

“There was a guy behind me, and he didn’t understand why I’d sprayed the man with the lug wrench, and he⁠—”

“No. Stop,” he cut me off, dropping his hand from my hair as he turned his head to the policeman. “Speak.”

I could tell from his change of tone that he wasn’t waiting on me, but apparently, the officer could not.

“Hello?” Sam snapped icily.

“Oh-oh,” the guy stammered and then recounted to Sam the events of the morning.

“So, the lady in the SUV knocked him out when she opened the door?” He was trying to make sure he understood everything.

“Yes.”

Sam grunted.

“She’s really sorry about it. She told me that your husband there saved her life.”

That didn’t make it any better—at least for Sam, so said the dark expression on his face.

“Where is my van?”

“We’ll take care of the van and get you a rental until it’s fixed. Just don’t worry about it.”

“No, I know,” I replied to him, keeping my voice level, not wanting to fight.

Sometimes—a lot of the time—Sam treated me like a child. It had been happening more and more lately, like I needed to be taken care of, same as the kids, because I couldn’t think for myself or reason things out.

“I just wanted to know where my vehicle was towed to … Officer.”

I turned to the man in uniform, pinned him with my gaze—my question had been directed to him—and he was still looking at Sam to see if he should answer me.

“Officer?”

Sam let out a frustrated puff of air. “I can find out where the⁠—”