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I beam up at him. “I can make you my famous toad in the hole.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Uh, toad in the what now?”
“My great-grandmother, the one I told you I named my car after, was from England. She passed the recipe down. It’s sausages baked in a savory batter, served with gravy and vegetables,” I explain, my mind suddenly full of images of Drayton coming home from work to me, my belly swollen with his baby. We’d be home for each other.
Talking of babies…
“Um, you do realize that we didn’t take precautions earlier?” I ask, feeling my cheeks warm.
“Shit, I know, I’m sorry. I was too far gone,” he says, shaking his head.
“Me, too,” I whisper.
“If anything happens, we’ll deal with it,” he says firmly.
My heart sinks into my stomach. “When you say deal with it—"
He frowns at me and then jerks back as if I’ve struck him. “Fuck, no! I’m not like your father, Daisy. My God, I don’t think anything would make me happier than knowing I put a baby in here,” he says, his warm hand covering my stomach.
“Really?”
“Really,” he states, gripping my chin and holding my gaze so I can see the sincerity blazing in his eyes.
I do some sums in my head. “It’s probably not the right time of the month, anyway, so I think the risk is low,” I murmur.
He grins. “Gives us more time to practice.”
I didn’t think I’d be hungry after the huge breakfast Dray made for me, but I guess sex increases other appetites because I wolf down the chicken Caesar salad and hunk of bread he places in front of me like I’ve never seen food before.
Once we’re done eating, Drayton excuses himself to go call the station. Garland has taken a huge dumping of snow overnight, so we can’t go anywhere, but I know he wants to check in with his colleagues and make sure that the people under his care are okay.
While he makes his phone calls, I take the opportunity to check out the house. It’s not huge, but it’s homely. Besides the three bedrooms upstairs, there’s a large dining, living, kitchen area, and a study.
I settle on the sofa in the living area, flicking through the TV channels and settling on an old sitcom while I wait for Dray to finish his calls. When he rejoins me a half-hour later, I’m curled up on the sofa, half-asleep. It’s late afternoon, but my sheriff has worn me out in the most delightful way.
Drayton drops down on the sofa next to me, pulling me across his lap. I snuggle into him, inhaling his familiar scent.
“Everything okay?” I ask sleepily.
“Yeah. Miracle of miracles, not one incident. Everyone stayed safe indoors. I called Dad, and he’s fine, too,” he replies, sifting his fingers through my still-damp hair.
“That’s good news,” I sigh, tracing my fingers over his shoulder through his t-shirt. He tenses as they touch his scar. “Sorry,” I say, dropping my hand.
He grabs it and brings it back to his shoulder. “Not used to people seeing it or touching it, but it’s different with you.”
His words humble me. “Will you tell me about it?” I ask softly.
There’s a long pause before he speaks. “We were raiding a house that we'd been tipped off was hiding Houthi soldiers, but it was a trap. It was rigged with a dirty bomb. It was pure luck that I survived. Another foot to the left or right, and I wouldn’t be here.”
I shiver at the thought, tightening my hold on him.
“As it was, I took shrapnel in my shoulder and leg. I was taken to a field hospital, where they stabilized me before I was flown back for surgery. Spent six months in rehab on the army’s dime and then got wind of the sheriff position here.”
“Did you get therapy?”
He nods. “Physical and emotional. The physical therapy is a lot easier than the emotional shit.”
I stroke my fingers over his beard. “Thanks for sharing with me. It can’t be easy reliving it.”
He looks down at me. “It’s easier with you. You give me a sense of peace I haven’t felt for a long time, Cherub.”
A huge lump lodges in my throat, and I bite back tears as a truth hits me. I’ve spent a day and a half in this man’s company—and I’m head-over-heels in love with him.
