She made a face. “Not for me.”
The others vacated the pool to swarm the food Nash and Emily had set out.
Sam ducked his head under the water and popped up in front of Jess, who squealed and giggled. Sam blew bubbles in the water. “She likes you.”
“The feeling is mutual.” She tucked a wet lock of Jess’s hair behind her ear. “Her mom is okay with your move and the custody arrangement?”
“She’s thrilled, Grandma not so much.”
“Gamma. Gamma.”
Emily traipsed back to the pool, holding out her arms. “Do you want me to get this little one some food?”
“Thanks.” Sam scooped up Jess and handed her over to Emily.
As Denali trotted behind them to the table, Jess kicked her legs and yelled, “Chip, Chip.”
Jolene laughed. “We’re going to have to teach her that not all dogs are named Chip.”
“We.” Sam pulled up next to her on the step and curled an arm around her waist. “I like the sound of that.”
She hung her arms around his neck. “You’re sure you want to return to Paradiso? Never mind Rob, California could be better for your career.”
“I love Paradiso. I love the shifting moods of the desert. I love the pulsating heat and the violent monsoons. But most of all, I love the woman who took me back, the woman who taught me to love this mysterious land like I hope she’ll teach my daughter.”
She grabbed his face with both of her hands and planted a hard kiss on his mouth. “Lessons start tomorrow.”
Look for more books from award-winning author Carol Ericson later in 2020.
And don’t miss the previous books in
Carol Ericson’s Holding the Line miniseries:
Evasive Action
Chain of Custody
Unraveling Jane Doe
Available now wherever
Harlequin Intrigue books are sold!
Keep reading for an excerpt from Last Stand Sheriff by Tyler Anne Snell.
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Last Stand Sheriff
by Tyler Anne Snell
Chapter One
Declan Nash wasn’t having the greatest of days.
Not only was it raining cats and dogs and elephants, his trusty old pickup had decided not to be so trusty.
“Come on, Fiona.” He rubbed the dash trying to coo the truck into stopping her lurching and ominous rattling sound. Fiona the Ford wasn’t impressed. Declan admitted defeat by taking the upcoming exit. There was a gas station at the corner of the short road. He pulled in, sighing. “After everything we’ve been through, you decide to pitch a fit now and here of all places?”
The city of Kilwin, Tennessee, was an hour out from where he had been on the highway. Which meant his hometown of Overlook was an hour and twenty minutes out of reach.
Not that he was reaching for it.
He might have been the sheriff of Wildman County but, as of that morning, he was just a man on vacation.
Or, at least, he was trying to be.
Declan sighed into the empty cab again. His dark blue Stetson, one he only wore on his off days—which meant he hardly ever wore it—sat on the passenger seat mocking him.
“You’re about to become an umbrella,” he told it.
The rain was having a great old time drenching Declan to the bone after he got out and propped up his hood. He hadn’t parked under the gas station awning, worried about his truck catching fire and making a bad situation way worse. That decision got him wet but was reassuring as steam billowed up, angry, at him from next to the engine. There was also an overpowering oil smell.
Declan jogged back to the cab and grabbed his phone.
Just in time for the interior lights to blink out.
His battery had died.
So, Fiona was finally going to pitch a fit. After fifteen years of not making a peep, she was doing it during the first vacation he’d taken in at least five.
Declan hung his head and swore. The motion dumped water from his hat into his seat.
Declan swore some more, spied the diner next to the gas station and decided that he was at least going to get some coffee out of all of this. He could deal with the truck once the rain let up.
Still, he grabbed his duffel bag knowing there wasn’t an inch in this world to give when it came to the accordion file he had tucked in with his boxers and toothbrush.
“We’ll get you figured out, Fiona,” he told his truck with a pat after locking her up. He dashed across the gas station parking lot and right into the diner. When he pushed through the front door, heralded in by a chime, an older woman with a nice smile met him.
“When it rains it pours, huh?” she greeted, motioning to one of the large-pane windows that ran along the front of the building. He could see his truck through the one next to the last booth. “We have some fresh hand towels in the kitchen. I can get you some to dry off a little if you’d like.”
Declan took his hat off and pressed it against his chest. He gave the woman—Agnes, according to her name tag—a smile that he meant.
“That would be much appreciated, thank you.”
Agnes went off to the kitchen while Declan took the booth in the corner so he could keep an eye on his truck. He set his duffel on the floor next to the seat.
Then he had a moment of internal crisis.
His hands itched to open his bag and pull the folder out, to riffle through the pages he’d already read and reread countless times. To look at every piece of evidence that had been collected for over twenty-five years. To see his own notes and compare them to
