Hidden by the Doctor: A Steamy,

Suspenseful Romance (In Clear Sight

Book 4) Kennedy L. Mitchell
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HIDDEN BY THE DOCTOR

IN CLEAR SIGHT
BOOK 4
KENNEDY L. MITCHELL
 CONTENTS

Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue

Also by Kennedy L. Mitchell

About the Author
Acknowledgments
© 2023 Kennedy L. Mitchell

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express
written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names,
characters, places and events are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblances to actual events or places or
persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Cover Design: Bookin It Designs

Editing: Hot Tree Editing
Proofreading: All Encompassing Books
Photographer: Wander Aguiar Photography
Created with Vellum
PROLOGUE
 MILLER

J anuary

THE THIN LAYER of loose gravel shifted beneath the tires of the club’s black panel van. Loosening
my white-knuckled grip, I flexed both hands along the steering wheel, easing the tension from the stiff
joints. Inch by inch, I guided the van down the dark drive, headlights off to keep the rival MC from
noticing our approach. My stomach clenched, teeth groaning beneath my locked jaw, as our
destination came into view. As I stared at the Coyotes’ clubhouse, our MC’s president’s order for the
night’s raid ran on a loop in my head.
“This is your chance to prove yourself. Live up to the family name and take your spot as my
right-hand man of the Blazing Skulls. Take out the Coyotes, grab whatever product those fuckers
haven’t used themselves, and bring it back to the clubhouse.” I’d never forget the happy, evil glint
in his eyes when he said his next words. “Kill them all. I don’t want even a damn dog left behind.
You hear me? Not a single fucking life left breathing.”
I didn’t understand the demand that we, Beast and I, kill every living thing inside the rival MC’s
clubhouse. Not that it mattered. An order from Prez was an order. Either follow through, die trying, or
come home a failure and die—painfully.
I swallowed down the acid climbing my throat. What lay ahead, the senseless massacre, had me
fucking sick since the words left his evil mouth.
The reasoning behind his specific instructions for the night, taking innocent lives for drugs and
territory, was clear as fucking day. Tonight was yet another attempt to toughen me up, to make me step
up and morph into an emotionless killer to follow in his footsteps.
What a motherfucking superb role model for a father.
I grew up in the MC, wasn’t a good man by any means. And until six months ago, I was a dutiful
Blazing Skulls member, doing what I was told without question. Running guns and drugs and
enforcing our expectations on dealers and buyers with my fists was all fine as long as I held some
semblance of freedom by living off-site and working independently at the garage and chop shop.
But everything changed when I caught wind of a rumor, whispers of what my MC—orchestrated
by my father, the president—started trading without my knowledge.
Women and kids exchanged and sold for profit until they were used up and then sold off for good,
and a budding relationship with the Russians providing the living product. This was the legacy my
father wanted me to be part of. And every day since I’d discovered the truth of the disgusting
direction our club was headed and was forced to stand by and let it happen, I hated myself more. The
more I learned about the human trafficking, the worse it got. Years. This skin trade went on for years
without my knowledge, all because I attempted to distance myself from the MC. There was no
escaping this life, but I’d at least carved out a small piece of normalcy for myself.
The moment I caught wind of the rumor, I confronted my father. No way in hell could I know that
was going on in our club and not say a damn word. After nearly dying from the beating he ordered,
and those I cared about at the garage not being so lucky, they’d trapped me with no escape in sight.
Not with my sister living at the clubhouse being easy leverage against me. So I had to play the sick
game, keep staining my already-ruined soul until I figured out a way to get us out and somehow
disappear.
And tonight, this messed-up outing, was just another way for my father to break me more. To mold
me into the perfect Blazing Skulls member, the future vice president he wanted me to be. He called
me soft for going easy on women and children, for caring about innocent lives.
Fuck him.
He called it soft. I called it not being a damn narcissistic sociopath.
“The fuck you waiting for?” Beast grunted from the passenger seat, annoyance lacing his curt tone.
“I waited for this fun all damn day.”
Cutting my eyes from the windshield to the passenger seat, I caught the glint of steel in both his
hands. One held a .40-cal handgun, the other wrapped around the hilt of a serrated hunting knife. The
bloodthirsty psycho lived for violence and mayhem—another aspect of the club I uncovered after
being disconnected from the dark side of day-to-day operations for so long. How the hell I wasn’t
aware that we now murdered to gain fresh territory and snuff out rivals was disgraceful. For years I
blindly followed, never questioned the damn orders, as long as I had free rein over the garage and
chop shop.
Now the motherfucking rose-colored glasses were shattered, and I dove headfirst into a living
hell I would never escape.
This was the life I was born into. Only death would truly set me free.
A life without violence and death wasn’t in the cards for me.
My sister, Megan, was a mess, sure, and old enough to take care of herself, but she was still my
baby sister. I wouldn’t leave her behind to take the brunt of me defecting because I couldn’t stomach
the direction our MC had taken.
The smooth metal edges of the key dug into my fingers as I twisted to cut the engine. Within
seconds, the windows fogged from our hot breaths against the cold New Mexico air looming outside.
Staring out the windshield, I watched the Coyotes’ clubhouse, which looked to be an old single-
story farmhouse. It was clear the owners didn’t give two shits about the state of their main hangout.
Dark gaps from chunks of missing shingles were highlighted by the full moon’s bright rays, giving the
leaning house a haunted feel. A wraparound wooden porch with chipped paint drooped precariously
on either end, looking like a strong wind would make it crumble to dust.
For several seconds, I studied the windows, searching for any signs of life behind the dirty panes.
Nothing. My lips curled down at the lack of movement and the silence radiating from the creepy
house.
“That seem odd to you?” I remarked offhandedly to Beast.
“What? It’s a house. Let’s fucking get this shit done.”
I huffed in annoyance. Of course, the idiot was ready to start the massacre without doing basic
recon. My stiff fingers protested as I peeled them from around the steering wheel to point at the quiet
house.
“This is their clubhouse, but it’s fucking silent inside. Has ours ever been this quiet? And look at
all those cars parked around the side, yet there isn’t even music blaring.”
He grumbled, angling his head to take in the fully lit house from the passenger window. “Don’t
give a fuck. Let’s go.” With a disgusted glance over his shoulder, Beast shoved open the door,
mumbling under his breath about me being a pussy.
A muscle along my jaw ticked beneath my scruffy beard as I ground my teeth. I really wanted to
kill that bastard.
With a resigned sigh, I shoved open the driver-side door and stepped out into the frozen night air.
Gravel shifted beneath my black motorcycle boots with each step as I moved toward the hood of the
van, unease making it difficult to take a full breath. If I went through with this, there would be no
going back to the morally gray man I was now, but I’d be dead by sunrise if I didn’t, and that was
depressing as fuck.
Palm around the grip, I pulled the 9mm from my waistband and drew the silencer from the front
pocket of my baggy black jeans, slowly screwing the attachment to the end of the barrel as I started
toward the house.
Disgust, anger, and worry mixed, churning in my gut as I followed Beast up the rotten wooden
steps. A crack of wood and a groan froze my feet in place. The entire porch shifted beneath our
combined weight. Beast and I shared a worried expression, neither of us loving the idea of falling
through rotten wood.
At the door, he motioned with the end of his gun for me to go in first while sporting a wide,
sinister smile. I adjusted my fingers around the Glock’s grip, the only outward sign of my rising
annoyance and anger. Seemed I wasn’t tailing Beast like I was told. Instead, he was there to make
sure I followed Prez’s orders.
Breaths coming in quick pants, fogging in front of my face, I wrapped a sweaty palm around the
metal doorknob. It squeaked beneath my firm grip, and I turned it until I could push the door open an
inch with my gun raised and ready.
A too-familiar smell floated through the small gap, making me pause. The copper stench of freshly
spilled blood wafted up my nose, coating my throat and lungs. Shoulder to the center of the feeble
wood door, I urged it wide open and stepped into the main room of the Coyotes’ clubhouse, only to
freeze just over the threshold.
“Fuck,” Beast complained at my back before shoving me aside, clipping his shoulder against
mine. “Someone got here before us.” He was clearly unhappy about the numerous bodies littering the
floor that weren’t his doing.
I swallowed down the rising bile as I eased around the blood splatter and bodies strewn about the
floor, studying each victim. The age range varied. The men wore leather cuts similar to the one I had
on while the women’s outfits barely covered their bodies. I blew out a slow breath, standing in the
middle of the chaos. Obviously, we weren’t the only ones with the brilliant plan to take out the
Coyotes, but knowing how they were murdered would help tell us who beat us here.
Both knees popped as I crouched beside a young woman, her face and bleached blonde hair
splattered with crimson droplets. With the end of my silencer pressed to her slack jaw, I turned her
face the opposite way to get a better look at the deep slash across her slim neck.
Which told me everything I needed to know.
This was the Reapers’ work.
 My thigh muscles burned, a low grunt rumbling up my throat as I stood. A shuffling noise at my
back had me whirling around, gun raised, only to pause.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I snapped.
Beast paused on the other side of the room, where he was dragging a body toward another
doorway. He just smiled and gripped the front of his jeans with the hand not tangled in the woman’s
hair. “I need a minute with this one.” He gazed down at the dead woman. “She’s still warm. No use
wasting a pussy that won’t give a damn how hard I fuck it.”
My lips parted to tell him… fuck, I had no idea. What did you say to someone clearly okay with
fucking a dead body? But a sound toward the back of the house had us both snapping our mouths
closed. I cringed at the thunk that reverberated around the quiet room when Beast dropped his hold on
her hair, sending her limp body falling to the red-stained hardwood floor.
Steps cautious, gun raised, I crept down a darkened hall, keeping my back to the wall. At the first
room, I peered inside, finding more bodies, though these were naked and slumped along mattresses,
as if they were sleeping or fucking when the attack happened.
Moving deeper into the house, I paused at the next open doorway, this room lined with tables.
“Fuck,” Beast said behind me. “They must have taken the product. Prez is gonna be pissed.”
I grunted in agreement. This night was a shit show, though I wouldn’t deny I was relieved that they
were all dead, no matter the punishment we’d be dealt for not stealing the kilos of coke the Coyotes
were rumored to have from a recent shipment.
A choked gurgle had me moving to the last room. At the door, I scanned the blood-splattered
room, slowly lowering the gun to my side.
“That their prez and his old lady?”
I nodded as I stepped over the naked dead man to the woman, who jolted along the floor with
every gurgling breath. Careful to stay out of the pooled blood beneath her, I kneeled beside the dead
president’s old lady. Glassy eyes met mine and widened. The putrid stench of fear wafted off her in
waves, which made sense considering what she’d just gone through.
Thin, pale lips moved like she was desperate to relay something important. I risked a quick
glance down, only blinking once at the multitude of stab wounds that covered her naked chest. I
refused to look lower to know why blood coated her bare thighs.
“Fuckers got to her first. I heard she had a golden pussy too.” My upper lip curled, body vibrating
with tension, but I refused to acknowledge the fucker behind me. “That’s fine. I’ll still fuck her. She’s
warmer than the dead bitch up front.”
The woman slowly dying before me shivered, either from the blood loss or Beast’s words. Maybe
both.
“Give me a fucking second,” I snapped over my shoulder. “I’m trying to find out who the fuck beat
us here.” He didn’t need to know I already had my suspicions, I just needed him to go the fuck away.
“Having a name to the asshole who took the product will be better to bring back to Prez than nothing.”
Not that I gave a fuck, but I couldn’t sit back and let him hurt her. She’d been through enough and
deserved to die without his diseased cock inside her.
Beast grumbled something before leaving the room, the air somehow warming the moment he was
gone. I shuddered, knowing exactly what he was headed to do.
Steadying my attention back on the woman, I leaned closer to hear the barely audible words she
was repeating.
“What are you saying, sweetheart?” I whispered. Showing this much compassion was deadly with
Beast within hearing range. I wasn’t a good man; I knew that deep in my soul. It was tainted, though
not as dark and depraved as my father’s and Beast’s.
But it would be if they got their way.
I shook off that terrifying thought as I studied her moving lips.
“… Her,” she choked out. Blood spewed with the effort, sprinkling my cheek.
I narrowed my eyes to catch the first word. “Her what?”
“S… S….” With a painful-looking inhale, she locked an unseeing gaze on my face. “Save her.”
That was it. Her chest stilled, eyes frozen, fixed on my face.
With a quiet curse, I placed a palm over her eyes and swept both lids closed. After standing, I
grabbed a small blanket off the bed and draped it over her naked body, giving her some decency in
death.
As it fluttered down, the pattern stamped on the pale pink blanket caught my eye.
Unicorns?
“What the fuck?” I muttered, running a hand through my loose dirty-blond hair and tugging at the
ends. My gaze snagged on the small jail shoved in the corner.
Not a jail.
A crib.
“Fuck.” A bolt of urgency sent my feet in motion toward the bed while dread sat heavy in my
stomach, unsure of what I’d find. Peering over the rail, a relieved sigh brushed past my lips at finding
it empty. Cold metal brushed along my spine as I secured the gun in my waistband.
Ass to the edge of the crib, I surveyed the room.
“Save her.”
A baby.
But where the fuck is it?
The closed dark wood closet door along the far wall had me pausing. If it were me and I knew we
were under attack, that was exactly where I’d hide a baby. But how did none of us know his woman
had a baby? An MC princess was a big fucking deal. The announcements made the rounds fast, yet we
had zero clue his old lady was even pregnant.
My blood ran cold.
I might not have known, but my father did.
“Kill them all. I don’t want even a damn dog left behind. You hear me? Not a single fucking life
left breathing.”
He knew.
The motherfucker knew what he sent me to do. Sure, the Reapers got to them first, but he didn’t
know that would happen. My own father sent me here to not only slaughter dozens but take the life of
an innocent baby.
My stomach lurched. Shoving a fist into my gut, I swallowed down my disgust and stepped
toward the closet, again dreading what I would find. There would be no coming back from finding a
baby murdered like her parents. And knowing the Reapers, they wouldn’t have made it a quick kill.
The fuckers were as demented as Beast.
A tremble shook my hand as I reached for the doorknob and twisted.
A sliver of light from the room sliced through the dark closet, enough to see a clean floor and
walls. No blood littered the area that I could see. That was good. Easing it open, I brushed a hand
along the wall, finding a light switch and flicking it on. My heart stopped, lungs refusing to work as I
peered down at the baby sleeping in some chair contraption. Slowly, her lids blinked open, but she
remained silent as we stared each other down.
 Both of us were probably thinking the same thing.
Fuck.
My mind whirled with the implication of finding the tiny human. I couldn’t go back, leaving her
here to die in a closet. Fuck, I couldn’t even place a call to the cops after we left letting them know.
With the dirty cops in his pocket, it would make it back to my father, and he’d kill me himself for
defying a direct order, and then hunt her, killing anyone who stood in his way of wiping out this club’s
heir.
“Oh, look at the treat you found.”
My spine went ramrod straight, anger boiling in my veins at Beast’s excited tone. Glancing over
my shoulder, I sneered at his still-open pants, blood coating the front.
“Boy or girl, I don’t give a fuck,” he roared with laughter. “It won’t survive what—”
In one smooth, practiced motion, I pulled my gun and wrapped my palm around the grip. A tendril
of smoke drifted out of the end of the silencer in a lazy line. The silencer did its job, softening the
gunshot and saving my ears and the baby’s. The loud crash shook the entire room when Beast
collapsed to the floor, blood leaking from the hole I put between his brows.
As my chest heaved, muscles tight with tension, my brain slowly caught up with what I did before
slamming into hyperdrive, considering the repercussions.
A sharp cry had my head whipping toward the closet.
“Fuck,” I cursed. Using the bottom of my black sweatshirt, I wiped off the gun and tossed it on top
of Beast’s dead body. The soft leather of my cut slid beneath my fingertips as I held it out, studying the
piece of clothing that marked me as a Blazing Skull.
The baby’s cries rang in my ears, making me wince. With a hard headshake to dislodge my racing
thoughts, I stepped into the closet and scooped her into my arms. Instantly the crying stopped, those
big, round eyes blinking up at me. Besides my sister, this was the first baby I’d ever held.
Fucking clueless didn’t even describe my competency in taking care of a kid.
But I knew I had to. The moment my father found out she’d survived, he’d hunt her down. At this
point, I didn’t give a fuck about killing Beast or those repercussions, only the tiny, innocent life
squirming in my arms.
I had to protect her.
And there was only one way for that to happen.
“Don’t worry, baby,” I whispered. “We’re getting the fuck out of here.”
ONE
 CARADEE

“Y ou know, the food pyramid is just bullshit made up by the government to manage consumable
goods and keep poor people like me dependent on them.”
My back to Mr. Donaldson, I rolled my eyes to the ceiling as I prayed for patience to any deity
who would grant my request, because I needed it all to deal with his conspiracy theory rants.
“Yes, you’ve told me, in detail, about this conspiracy theory of yours. However, no matter how
you feel about fruits and vegetables, you still need to eat them if you don’t want to keep seeing me.”
Peering up from his chart, I leveled him with a no-nonsense glare. “You need to eat healthier. Quit
smoking.” The frail seventy-year-old man sitting on the exam table huffed like a petulant child,
crossing his arms over his bare chest. “Or you’ll leave the farm to Sue.” Leaning in conspiringly, I
held a hand to my lips to keep my words quiet despite it being just us in the room. “And I heard
through the grapevine that the first thing she said she’d do is sell your tractor.” I paused, letting that
sink in before dropping another bomb. “For less than market price.”
A hiss whispered through the tiny room. “She wouldn’t.”
I nodded and went back to writing the blood pressure and cholesterol script for him. Now if he
actually took the meds he desperately needed, well, that was out of my hands. Which seemed par for
the course in our small West Texas town. Ranchers and farmers kept their distance from my small
family practice, only coming in when a limb was dangling or their wife held food hostage until they
came in for a basic checkup.
Like Mr. Donaldson here.
“Take these to Danny at the pharmacy. He should have both in stock. If not, it won’t take him long
to get the pills.”
With a huff, he stood and pulled the two scripts from my hand with pursed lips. “I liked you a lot
better when you were a knee-high towhead splashing in mud puddles.”
Instead of responding, I waited for him to finish buttoning his light blue Wrangler shirt before
pulling open the door and gesturing for him to go first.
“Sweetheart, if I went out a door before a woman, Sue would kill me before the shit you said was
wrong with me can.”
Lips tugged in a small smile, I shook my head, the tip of my long blonde ponytail swishing along
the back of my neck, and moved down the hall with Mr. Donaldson close on my heels, his work boots
leaving a trail of dirt and bits of hay in their wake.
Just another day in the life. Every day was the same. Which was fine.
I was fine.
“Take those meds as directed.” I pointed to the papers in his hand. “June will take care of
payment. Have a good afternoon, Mr. Donaldson.”
After handing June—my receptionist, greeter, scheduler, and everything else it took to make this
clinic run smoothly—his file, I made my way past the two exam rooms to my office. Though “office”
was a stretch. In reality, it was just a glorified storage closet with a desk and laptop. Collapsing into
the rolling chair, I tossed my head back, twisted side to side, and sighed.
It was coming up on a year of the small family practice being officially open. With the stress of
being the only doctor in town and everything else in my life, I was burning the candle at both ends. It
would be okay if this was where I wanted to be in life at thirty, but it wasn’t.
Not even close.
A familiar suffocating sensation built in my chest as I thought about this being the rest of my life.
Overworked, stressed, no family….
The no-family part was the hardest hit. Becoming a mother was what I wanted more than anything.
I always pictured myself the perfect working mom, balancing being a doctor and a horde of kids to
smother me the moment I got home. And, of course, a husband who loved me unconditionally and
supported my career while he had his own.
It was a dream, a future I’d put all my hope into, and then one day the asshole, who promised me
everything my naive little heart had planned, ripped the rug from underneath me, leaving me like this.
A mediocre career, night after night alone, and running out of time to have the large family I’d always
dreamed about.
Hot tears gathered in my lower lids, though I told myself it was from sheer exhaustion, not still
mourning the life I could’ve—no, should’ve had. Fucking cheating-ass Kurt.
Blowing out a slow breath, I closed my eyes and inhaled deep, hoping the breathing exercise
would ease the building pressure.
The gentle vibration of my cell phone in the pocket of my lab coat was a welcomed distraction.
Pulling it free, I smiled at the screen, seeing my best friend’s face and her name flashing.
“Perfect timing, as always,” I said as I pressed the smooth glass to my ear.
“Always,” Anne responded. “We on for poker tonight? Considering the boys have their new
distractions, it’ll just be us.” I snorted. Distractions were a funny way to say the loves of their lives. I
was happy for them. I was. Fuck, maybe if I said it a few more times, it would push down the
swelling jealousy. “So that means just us either hanging out at your place or mine.”
“Yours. With it being February first, I plan on having a glass of your good wine.”
“Why did you do dry January again?”
“Because it’s healthy,” I retorted. “And being a doctor—”
“Doesn’t mean you have to be perfect, DeeDee.” I bit my lip to keep from responding. “And
healthy, my ass. I’ve read articles that say wine is good for your heart.”
“In small quantities, babe.” Chuckling, I relaxed in the chair, the tension from earlier gone. “Not
the bottle—or bottles, in your case.”
“Nah, my heart is just extra healthy.”
I raised a brow while wiggling my mouse to wake up the laptop screen. “And your liver?”
“We have an agreement. It’s fine.”
My laugh echoed in the closet. “Right. Maybe you should see a therapist if you’re making deals
with organs.”
“Nah, that’s what the alpacas are for. I’ve told you before, they’re the best listeners. You should
give it a try, especially since Valentine’s—”
“Stop,” I commanded. Silence from the other end had me tightening my hand around the phone
until the edges dug into my palm. “I’m fine.”
Anne’s sigh filtered through the earpiece. “DeeDee—”
“I’ll come by tonight, but I have another early morning, so I can’t stay late.”
I hated lying to my friend. But there was only so much I could deal with lately, and I knew tonight
would be another round of her telling me I needed to move on, to stop being so hard on myself, to let
loose.
Didn’t she know I wished I could?
But I couldn’t.
I wasn’t her with millions in the bank and a ranch that raked in more money a month than our
county’s yearly budget. Some of us struggled in an uphill battle our entire lives, each step like our feet
were caked in thick mud, keeping us from ever getting ahead. It wasn’t her fault, and it wasn’t mine.
The life we were born into was by chance, but what we made it was all up to us.
And I was determined to never fall back to my starting point, where rain dripped through the roof
of our single-wide, living off food donations from the church’s pantry, clothes filled with patches and
either too small or way too big.
It wasn’t an awful childhood. I wasn’t physically abused, never knew genuine hunger, just the
bitter desolation that poverty etches beneath your skin. It still lurked there, just under the surface,
though it came front and center when I visited Mom.
No, I would never go back to that. So I’d keep working, stick to a routine, keep everything in line
and perfect. That was how I had to live to continue moving forward. If I kept making the right choices,
working on building the practice, everything would work out.
I was fine.
“Okay. Tonight, my place.”
I swallowed hard. “Can Gray not be there?”
She knew how much I liked him. He was perfect for her, yet seeing them together felt like an ice
pick to the heart. A sharp reminder that I was alone with zero prospects.
“Sure, DeeDee. He’s busy working on transforming the bunkhouse, so he’ll be out there most of
the night. He’s still pulling out bullets from the frame.”
I cringed, remembering that night. Both she and Gray survived the gun battle. Barely.
After a quick goodbye, I tossed the phone to the desk. Fiddling with the tip of my ponytail, I
clicked on my next appointment to pull up the chart. My stomach dropped at the name taunting me on
the screen.
Pamela Night.
The mean girl who tormented me in high school and was pregnant with her fifth baby by my ex-
boyfriend. The woman who never outgrew the enjoyment of putting me in my place and now, instead
of making fun of the way I smelled or dressed, tortured me by bringing up their amazing sex life, how
fantastic Jacob was as a husband and father, and, of course, bragging about the brand-new home
they’d built on the few acres his parents gifted them.
FML.
Just what I needed to make this shit-tastic day even longer.

THE CONSTANT HIGH-PITCHED whine coming from the engine of my little S10 reminded me it
was way past the service date as I drove down the uneven back road. Out here with zero streetlights,
the tiny headlights barely cut through the late-evening darkness. My teeth chattered, arms shaking with
a slight tremble as I adjusted my grip on the steering wheel. Even with the heat kicked on high, my
fingers were nearly frozen from the bitter cold that swept in during the day. Had I known it had
dropped twenty degrees between my early morning run and now, I would’ve tossed on a coat before
leaving the office.
Thin plastic rustled and the to-go containers squeaked against each other with every bump in the
road as I drew closer to the trailer park Mom called home. The T and o were missing off the worn
sign, now reading “_imber H_me Park.” It wasn’t the best place in town but not the worst either. It
was the best I could afford, though she liked to remind me that it wasn’t any better than the run-down
trailer I’d moved her from.
Rolling to a stop in front of the beige trailer, I wiggled the gearshift, my nerves making me antsy. I
never knew how a visit would go, and after a day like today, I needed it to be a good one. Leaning
forward, I pressed my forehead to the hard steering wheel and sealed both eyes shut, soaking in the
warmth that now filled the truck and the quiet a little longer.
A few pamphlets from the fertility clinics in Houston and Dallas I’d researched sat along the
bench seat. It was stupid expensive, which meant I couldn’t afford to keep paying Mom’s rent and
bills and start the family I’d always wanted. I would have to choose.
And her moving in with me? Not a chance. I escaped her once. I wouldn’t voluntarily put myself
back in that situation again. But what did it say about me that I would choose to try for a baby of my
own instead of making sure Mom didn’t end up on the street?
She did the best she could most of the time while I was growing up. She raised me while working
two jobs to help keep us above water, even if sometimes we slipped beneath the surface, needing yet
another helping hand to save us.
But despite my growing practice, my always perfect outfits, and organized life, I was drowning in
the debt of student loans and everyday expenses.
With zero will to ask for help.
I can do it. Just keep working, keep smiling. “Fake it till you make it” and all that.
Though I wasn’t sure if that saying worked for when I was just trying to fucking breathe without
swallowing a lungful of loneliness, guilt, shame, and a whole swell of other emotions that did their
best to suffocate me on the daily.
Sitting up straight, I swiped a hand through the air as if that physical movement would cut off my
depressing-as-hell thoughts. The thin plastic handles dug into my fingers as I grabbed the dinner I’d
brought for Mom from the diner in town and shoved open the door. The hinges protested as I pushed
against the whipping wind that thrashed my long strands all around my face.
The door shut on its own from a hard gust. Back to being frozen, the bit of warmth I’d managed
from the truck gone, I hurried up the wooden ramp and tried the door, expecting to find it locked.
Nope, the knob twisted with zero resistance. I swallowed a scream as I tipped my face up to the early
evening sky.
Why can’t she follow simple instructions? Sorry, Mom, I’d prefer to not come over one day and
find you murdered, so please keep your door locked.
The door groaned as I shoved my shoulder against it, popping the warped edge free of the frame.
A flaming wall of heat smacked me in the face, instantly drying out my sinuses and sucking all the
moisture from my skin as I stepped over the threshold.
Using a hip, I closed the door behind me, securing the lock like it should’ve been when I arrived.
Unfamiliar voices came from the flickering TV in front of where Mom sat, eyes glued to the screen
like it held lifesaving information. Trash littered the floor, and half-eaten casserole dishes and opened
bags of chips, cookies, and crackers covered the short kitchen counter.
Stepping around the trash, I squatted beside Mom’s recliner.
“Hey, I brought food.”
Her glassy eyes never left the screen. “Where the fuck have you been?” I swallowed the hurt her
harsh tone and words triggered, like they had since I was a kid. “I’m starving.” A thin, mangled finger
pointed at the screen. “See that doll? It’s one of a kind, only a few sold. I need it. It could be worth
thousands one day. Give me money so I can buy it and one day get out of this shithole you put me in. A
damn doctor and you can’t even afford something for your mom that doesn’t have a family of raccoons
living under it.”
Note to self: Ask Trap to investigate the raccoon situation.
“I don’t have any money on me, Mom,” I said through clenched teeth, not taking my eyes off her
gaunt features. My heart hurt looking at the once beautiful woman who appeared almost ninety yet was
only fifty-five, the hard life she’d lived showing with every wrinkle and sunspot along her paper-thin
skin. “Everything I have goes into paying rent and bills.”
“Right,” she huffed, shifting her narrowed eyes to me. “Nice clothes. Must be great having money
to afford nice things,” she hissed, waving a hand at me.
It wasn’t all my fault. She was the one who quit her job at the co-op the day I came back into
town. She saw me, and dollar signs lit in her eyes. Mom hadn’t worked a day since, always asking for
money and expecting me to dish out what I didn’t have, all because she somehow kept me alive
through childhood.
I stood, though with my vertically challenged five-foot-three frame, the height difference wasn’t
that much. She wasn’t a bad person, just cruel, and knew exactly what to say to grind me down for
money. All to waste it on one of the damn dolls or figurines that covered her bedroom like prized
treasures. The hoarding started about eight months ago, though the living in filth wasn’t new. The
stench of rotting food and trash didn’t bother me as much as it would anyone who didn’t grow up in it.
Sweat dotted my forehead and slicked down my spine from the oppressive heat. Setting the food
down on the floor beside the recliner, I weaved through the trash covering the floor to the thermostat.
A quiet curse slipped when I saw the lever pushed all the way to the right. No wonder it was hot as
the seventh circle of hell in here. She had it set to one hundred degrees. Also explained the absurd
electric bill I’d received last month for the trailer.
I studied the small rectangular box, questioning if there was something sold on Amazon that could
keep her from raising the thermostat higher than eighty-five. I didn’t want her to be cold, but this heat
wasn’t healthy. No wonder she looked like a withering cornhusk. She literally had zero water left in
her body. Soon she’d have the same appearance as the guy who chose the wrong Grail cup in Indiana
Jones and the Last Crusade.
I shuddered at the flashing image from the movie.
Ick.
Hands on my hips, I turned to the sink, grimacing at the stack of dirty dishes. This would take a
while.
Pulling the phone out of the back pocket of my jeans, I sent Anne a text that I’d be a little later than
I expected, then shoved the device back where I found it.
Might as well get started here, then pick up the trash so the owner of the trailer park doesn’t
call the county again about the smell.
 Wrapping a hand around my wrist, I shoved the sleeve of my baby pink sweater high up my
forearm before doing the same to the other.
Someday I’d be free of all this, from the life I was desperate to leave behind.
Or maybe meet someone to be the shoulder I desperately needed, offering unfaltering support.
Though that was only a fantasy they spun in fairy tales.
No such man existed.
At least not one made for me.
TWO
 MILLER

M yhome.
hand tightened around the infant car seat handle as I followed the US marshal to my temporary
I glanced down at the sleeping baby, what little I could see through the blanket, hat, and
extra blanket I piled on top at the last minute to ensure she didn’t get cold during the short walk from
the SUV to the house. After ten hours of driving from the last stop, we were finally here, somewhere
better than the run-down motels and gas station food I’d been subjected to the last month.
That night, it hit me as I started the club van with the tiny baby cradled in my arms — there was
nowhere to run that my father wouldn’t find me. I had to truly disappear if I wanted to live to see my
thirty-fourth birthday. That left me with only one option. After I dragged Megan from her bed and
drove a state over to the Phoenix FBI office, my fate—our fates—were sealed.
Their offer was solid. It also helped that this agreement was mutually beneficial. Full immunity
from the various crimes I’d committed while with the club, plus a chance at a new life through the
WITSEC program, all for every single detail I could remember about the inner workings of the
Blazing Skulls and their new budding relationship with the Russians.
At first, I struggled to turn on my brothers and father. But then I remembered what the club had
turned into and what my father expected me to do once I took over as vice president for the MC and
sang like a fucking canary, not giving two shits that I would be labeled a rat.
Maybe that meant I didn’t have a heart left. Thought if all my crimes, my violent past, had
blackened my heart past the point of no return, then why did it swell every time Carlie’s big, dark
eyes locked with mine? Why did nothing else matter in the world except knowing if she was warm
enough, fed, happy, or sad? If I was too wrecked for a fresh start, then why did she make my life
suddenly worth living?
The marshal, Max something, unlocked the front door to a single-story white home in the middle
of nowhere and stepped inside, clearly expecting me to follow. A gust of winter wind cut through the
thick cotton of my hooded sweatshirt, making me miss the protection my leather vest always offered
in the cold.
Inside, I closed the door behind me, scanning the long drive through the glass to ensure no one
followed us before turning to take in the place we’d call home for a while. A small, comfortable-
looking couch and chair filled the living room, facing a fireplace where a TV sat on a dark, ornately
carved mantel.
To my right, I glimpsed a table and chairs, which I assumed led to a kitchen just beyond that.
Standing in front of an entryway on my left that led to different parts of the home, Max twirled a set of
keys around his finger.
“So, this is it?” I muttered. Careful not to wake Carlie, I gently set the carrier on the ground, his
gaze tracking the movement.
“Yeah. I wanted to put you two away from town so no one grew curious about the new guy and a
baby. I doubt we have anything to worry about, but best to be careful.” I nodded, appreciating the
extra level of precaution. “There are two bedrooms down this hall.” He hooked a thumb over his
shoulder. “When they told me you’d be coming with an infant in tow, I moved the extra bed against
one wall in the spare bedroom and put a crib against the other.”
I nodded, shoving both hands into the front of my baggy jeans, shifting from side to side. “You had
a crib lying around?”
“Yep, but my girls are grown now, so they don’t need it. Though my wife went a little overboard
on shopping for baby clothes, toys, and other things she felt you’d need. We might need those back at
some point.” I frowned at the goofy-ass, lovesick smile that overtook his face. “Everything she bought
is in the spare bedroom too. I ordered you some clothes, but now that you’re here, I’m not sure any
will fit.”
I looked down at my thick six-foot-two frame before tipping my face to him with an arched brow.
“I have some clothes that will do until I can get more. Which reminds me, how does that work?
Where will I get money for formula, food, diapers, things like that?”
“Me,” he responded as he leaned back against the wall. “With your unique situation, I’m setting
up a prepaid credit card under your new alias, Dave Carter.” A bit of me died every time someone
said that name. I hated it. “I’ll also give you some cash to have on hand, and if you need more, call
me.” Popping off the wall, he dug into the front pocket of his jeans and pulled out a flip phone. I
caught it before it could smack the center of my chest. “My number is programmed in there. Now, on
to the rules. Do not reach out to anyone from your past. No calls, postcards, smoke signals—”
“Funny,” I grumbled. The calluses along my palm scraped against my scraggly beard as I
scrubbed at my face. “What about my sister? She’s in WITSEC too. How does that work?”
“That will need to be an arranged phone call. There will be a time delay, so if either of you
accidentally mention something that could give away your location or new identity, the call will end.”
I curled my hands into fists at my side. “I need to talk to her, make sure she’s safe.”
“As far as I know, she’s still being monitored at the rehab center. It’s a remote facility, and she’s
under a different name. Even with that, we have her guarded.”
That’ll have to do for now, I guess.
“Fine.” The drive and nonstop action over the last month hit me like a semitruck. I swayed on my
feet, lids growing heavy. But of course, right at that moment, a small cry came from the car seat.
“Damnit,” I muttered.
Max’s brows dipped before looking away from me to check his watch. “I have nothing else going
on this afternoon. How about you unload your bags from the car, then get some rest. I’ll watch over
Carlie.”
Hearing her name was a mix of emotions. It would take some time before I heard Mom’s name
without looking over my shoulder, hoping to see her after all these years.
Even with the exhaustion and knowing I needed to get some rest, I didn’t immediately jump on his
offer. He seemed trustworthy, but years of distrust of the feds and police made me question his
motives.
“Why?”
“Because you’re no good to her passed out. I know you don’t know me, but you’re already trusting
your life and hers in my hands by entering witness protection. I’m prepared to do everything in my
power to keep you two safe. You can trust me. Plus, I have two girls at home. I wasn’t their primary
caregiver when they were young, but I remember enough to keep her happy for a few hours. You
deserve a break.”
Did I, though?
The people I’d met at the FBI office and other marshals had a mixed bag of reactions when I
demanded Carlie stay with me instead of being put in the system. The female agents had fawned all
over me, as if I was some selfless saint for doing what I did. The men saw right through me. Knew
what I’d done in my past and that this slight gesture, saving the baby, didn’t obliterate all that shit.
And I agreed with them.
“Did you get what I asked for?” I needed to know if he’d followed through with everything I
requested.
His lips pressed into a thin line, making his annoyance clear. “I did. Plus a safe. It’s on the
bedside table in the main bedroom. I pulled a lot of strings to get you that gun. Don’t make me regret
it.”
Unused to thanking anyone, I dipped my chin and turned for the front door. With my hand on the
knob, I glanced over my shoulder to the now-awake baby watching me. “She needs to eat in an hour.
I’ll unload her stuff first, in case she’s hungry now.”
Not waiting for a response, I yanked open the door and stepped onto the porch, eager to finally get
a break from the shit show I now called my life.

HOURS, maybe years later, I groggily roused from the type of deep sleep only sheer exhaustion
could pull me into. Palms to the soft mattress, I pushed to flop onto my back. My whole body felt
heavy, mind muddled, making my thoughts slow. When I turned to look out the window, the haze
immediately lifted at finding it pitch-dark outside. I bolted upright, the thin white sheet pooling around
my lap.
I scrubbed a hand over my face to clear the sleep from my eyes as voices outside my door drew
my attention. It sounded like a male and a female, though their tones were normal, not raised as if
shouting. The cold from the worn hardwood floor seeped into my bare feet when I swung both legs off
the edge of the bed and stood, stretching my arms high overhead.
The intense throb of my rock-hard cock had me reaching down and giving it a squeeze. Now was
not the time for that. Hell, it hadn’t been the time to give any attention to my dick since the random
hookup I had weeks before the night at the Coyotes’ clubhouse.
Hand still wrapped around my cock, I padded over to the overstuffed duffel, took out a pair of
gray sweats, and pulled them on, sighing at the massive tent in the front. Lids squeezed shut, I tried to
focus on anything that would help deflate my raging boner. The second I thought of Beast and what he
did with the dead body, nausea and disgust siphoned every ounce of blood from my dick, making it lie
limp against my thigh.
Yep. Necrophilia. Boner-killer material every time.
With that issue solved, I opened the bedroom door and paused, listening to the two voices.
“She is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” the female voice cooed. “Let’s keep her.”
Rage and fear flooded my veins, sending me storming down the hall. Scanning the small living
room, I found Carlie in some random woman’s arms, with Max sitting beside her, smiling.
“Give her to me,” I demanded, voice rough from sleep. “You’re not taking her.” I reached toward
the small of my back but only brushed against bare skin instead of a gun. Fuck, I left it in the
bedroom.
Max bolted off the couch and stood in front of the woman and my baby. My hands balled into fists,
muscles tensed, preparing to fight him for her.
“That’s my wife,” Max hissed, his hand inching toward the gun on his hip.
“She can’t have her,” I said, adjusting my stance to see around him and make sure Carlie was
okay.
“Oh,” the woman gasped. “I was just making a comment. I didn’t mean it.” Slowly, she stood and
stepped around Max, who growled while shooting her a stern look. “She’s beautiful. And yours.”
Something about her tone and apologetic look made me believe her. The fight slowly drained out
of me, leaving me even more tired than before.
“Sorry,” I grumbled. “People have been trying to take her from me since I stepped into the
Phoenix FBI office.”
She nodded, chewing her lower lip. With a look over her shoulder at her husband, she angled her
head my way. “Can I tell him?”
Max leveled me with a glare that promised death. “If you repeat anything she’s about to say,
which could put her and my family in danger, I will murder you and take the baby.”
Damn, this fucker doesn’t mess around.
I like him.
“I was in WITSEC too,” she said after I nodded in agreement to keep my mouth shut. My jaw
went slack at her revelation. “I won’t go into details, but I know what you’re going through. You’re
surrounded by strangers, people who you have to trust even though you really don’t. It was
inconsiderate of me to even joke about taking Carlie. I’m sorry.”
Taking the bundled baby from her outstretched hands, I held Carlie against my shoulder, the
tightness easing from my chest with her in my arms.
“How long did I sleep?” I asked, moving on from her apology. It made me uncomfortable as fuck.
In the MC, apologizing was a sign of weakness, which would end up with you beaten or fucked.
No, thank you to either.
“Six hours,” Max responded, tone sharp.
“Damn. You feed her?”
“Twice,” his wife said. “And changed her diaper. I’m Rachel, by the way. And those are a lot of
tattoos.” She bit her lip and looked back at her husband, who rolled his eyes.
“Care to put a shirt on before my wife spontaneously combusts?” Max grumbled, face tipped to
the ceiling.
For the first time in too long, a barked laugh erupted from me, the sound bouncing around the
living room. Shaking my head, the tip of my hair brushing the tops of my shoulders, I nodded and
handed Carlie back to Rachel, knowing my baby was safe with her while I was in the bedroom.
Once I’d pulled on a T-shirt and black hoodie, I headed back to the living room.
“It was nice to meet you, Dave.” My lip curled, and Rachel cocked her head to the side. “Not a
fan of the new name?” I shook my head as I secured a tie around my hair in what I’d heard was called
a man bun. “When it’s just us, and the others, we can call you by your real name if you want.”
“It’s Miller,” I said. “Others?”
Max stepped forward and draped a possessive arm around her shoulders. “There are a few in
Grandger who know the real reason people move in and out of our town. Trap and Shade, plus
Georgia—”
 “Who was also brought here by the marshals.”
“Baby,” Max chastised with a groan.
“Collecting a bunch of criminals, huh?” I started watching them. If there were others in this town
as dangerous as me, I sure as hell wasn’t leaving this house. I couldn’t risk Carlie like that.
“No. Well, I guess Grayson.” Both brows rose along my forehead at Rachel’s statement. “But he
was a DEA agent when he did his bad stuff.”
“You’re still going, huh?” Max grunted.
“He won’t say anything. I have a good feeling about him,” she said with a smile directed my way.
“You shouldn’t,” I said somberly.
“Just wait. This town is special. So we’ve mentioned Trap and Shade, who are the town police
officers. Then there are Anne and Grayson. Don’t be fooled—she’s the one who would kick your ass
and not think twice. And Caradee, of course.”
“Dr. Caradee Blacksmith. She’s our town doctor,” Max filled in. “You’ll find her small clinic off
Main Street. It’s a two-story brick building with her name on the glass door. If you need medical
attention, that’s where you’ll want to go. You can trust her with the truth, but try to not go into too
much detail about your background. The less anyone knows, the better.”
Hopefully I wouldn’t need anyone while I was here. Carlie and I could hole up in this house,
keeping to ourselves until the shit I stirred up with the Blazing Skulls settled down. Who knew how
long that would take, considering the feds wanted to get the Russians and my dad at the same time. It
took a lot of planning, which meant time. No one knew when they’d make their move, but I sure as
hell hoped soon.
Until then, I’d just lie low.
Which meant my hand would have to do to take care of the earlier issue until I knew who I could
trust.
Sex-deprived and a single father.
This year was turning out to be the worst yet.
I figured it could only get better from here. Though, based on my luck, I wouldn’t hold my breath.
THREE
 CARADEE

M ywine
one night to be selfish, to not care if I was needed, was starting out with a bang. The empty
bottle shattered as it hit the recycling bin from its two-story drop. I shoved away from the
windowsill and shut it to hold back the wind that sounded like a freight train whipping through the
bare trees. At least this time it was a warm front blowing through, bringing in a much-needed reprieve
from the cold winter temperatures.
For a second, I leaned against the glass pane, staring out into the dark night. So far, my ritual of
drinking until the memories from this day two years ago couldn’t torment me was off to a solid start.
One bottle of cheap, embarrassingly low alcohol percentage wine down, another of the strawberry-
flavored liquid already open and ready to pour. Shuffling on bare feet to the kitchen table, I grabbed
the fresh bottle and poured a generous amount of the pinkish liquid into a pint glass.
The room swayed as I lifted the glass to my lips. Knowing there was no one in a fifty-mile radius
who could help me if I fell and injured myself, I dropped into the table’s matching wooden chair
while slurping generous sips of the fruity wine as I inspected the spread of foil-wrapped chocolates
scattered along the tabletop.
Happy Valentine’s Day to me.
Alone.
On my way to being tipsy with cheap-ass wine.
And now, much to my dismay, all the chocolate I’d eaten to make me happy was doing the
opposite and making me nauseous.
Grabbing the Bluetooth speaker remote, I clicked Play and jammed my thumb to the Volume Up
button. Celine Dion’s version of “All by Myself” poured through the small apartment, rattling my
bones with the volume and shattering my soul with the words.
Against my better judgment, I swiped open the phone and tapped the social media app that I knew
Kurt used the most, clicking on his account. My lip curled in a snarl while my heart cried at his
perfect profile picture.
As I scrolled, each small square was of him and a beautiful, smiling family. Some taken in front of
their McMansion in Dallas, others at pristine beaches or snowcapped mountains with the family in the
latest ski gear.
“Fuck you,” I whispered to my phone, wishing it would travel all the way to Dallas to his ears as
my mental health continued its downward spiral.
I clicked on the most recent picture, my heart stuttering at Kurt’s perfectly styled blond hair, white
teeth gleaming as he smiled at the camera. Wrinkle-free polo, starched khakis, and polished loafers
gave him the appearance of the accomplished cardiologist he was no doubt on his way to be. Beside
him stood a woman just as beautiful as my ex-fiancé and their two babies.
Babies who I, at one time, thought would be ours, not theirs. I’d imagined this entire picture in my
mind so many times, except with me as the wife, not Beth.
Fucking Beth.
It wasn’t really her fault. Kurt shattered my already-feeble heart by cheating on me after seven
years of being together and choosing Beth over me when I made him decide who he wanted. Seven
years of my life wasted on that bastard, plus nights like this, where I lamented over the happily ever
after that was ripped away from me.
With the sleeve of my light gray sweater, I wiped at my dripping nose and wet cheeks. When the
next song started, I hit the Back button twice, making Celine belt out the soul-cracking song all over
again.
Though this time, thanks to the cheap wine, I loudly sang along.
The chair legs scraped along the floor as I shoved back from the table, the phone with the
traitorous pictures forgotten. I grabbed my half-empty glass and screamed word for word, totally off-
key and at the top of my lungs, allowing the pain in my heart an outlet.
I half sang, half yelled the lyrics I knew by heart while hugging myself, wine sloshing against the
tall glass.
Damn. Celine sang the fucking truth, the words hurting and healing like they’d done many times
before.
The fridge door rattled against my spine when I slammed against the appliance. Cool metal
soaked through my light sweater as I slid down until my ass hit the floor. I stared at my tiny one-
bedroom apartment, wishing it was more, even though it was plenty for a single woman.
Thirty years old, and this was all I had because I wasted too many years on that bastard. Yet I still
loved him, despite him cheating on me for months before I was filled in on their secret affair. That
was the worst, finding out through a mutual friend. The dick didn’t have the balls to break off our
engagement before “falling for the love of his life.” No, I had to confront him or who knew how long
their affair would’ve gone on behind my back.
It was Valentine’s Day, two years ago today, that I marched into the hospital’s cafeteria, heart
heavy, knowing my dreams were slipping through my fingers. When I asked him about the rumors of
him sleeping with another resident, I wasn’t prepared for him to shrug it off with a casual “Yes.” The
asshole had the audacity to be mad when I grabbed his large Mountain Dew and tossed it in his face,
drenching his scrubs and bruising his overinflated ego.
Then it was over. The wedding plans canceled. Dreams of our future turned into nightmares that
taunted me while I slept.
“Fucking moron,” I croaked, not sure if I was referring to him or me. Thumping my head back
against the metal, I savored the dull pain. With a frown, I reached back, rubbing the sore spot. “Great,
I’ve devolved into self-harm. Fuck you, Kurt, and your fancy family and fake teeth.”
His last words to me were what hurt the most. Thankfully, I’d only had a handful of rounds left on
my family medicine residency or I would’ve moved hospitals just so I didn’t have to be reminded of
the perfect life I almost had.
Crawling over to the table, I pulled the phone down to the floor with me and hit Anne’s number.
The second she picked up, I didn’t give her a chance to say a word.
“He chose her over me,” I sobbed. Grabbing the bottle from the table, I pressed the smooth glass
to my lips and tipped it back. “What’s wrong with me? Why didn’t he see we were perfect for each
other? What did I do wrong?”
 “Nothing,” she bit out. A male murmur in the background only had me crying harder. “No, you
can’t kill him. Not before me, at least,” she said to Gray, who was clearly listening to our
conversation. “DeeDee, you’re perfect. Too good for him. I didn’t know the bastard, but I can
guarantee you he’s an idiot for letting you go. And I heard dumb fucksticks like him lose their hair
early and have permanent penis shrinkage.”
A giggle bubbled in my chest. “That’s not a real medical thing.”
“It is if I cut off an inch or two.”
For the first time on this horrid day, I smiled. “He doesn’t have that much to spare.”
“See, you’re better off without him. No one deserves to be stuck with a stumpy dick for the rest of
their lives.”
Dragging a nail through the grout lines, I sighed. “I want someone. I want a family, and I thought
I’d have all that by now, you know? Now I’m alone and working all the damn time.”
A pause.
“Want me to come over?” she offered. “We can talk about how terrible men are and then troll his
wife from made-up accounts.”
“I love you,” I whispered, closing my eyes. “You know that, right?”
I really did. She was one of the few people I could say that about. We were friends through high
school with a brief break while we both found our own way at different colleges and careers, but
now we were back together again and stronger than ever. She’d always been there for me, even went
as far as breaking Pamela Night’s nose in the locker room once for saying something mean about me.
“I know, DeeDee. I love you too. So, what will it be?”
I shook my head and lay back on the tile to stare up at the ceiling, which thankfully wasn’t
spinning. “I’m good. I’ll just keep eating my weight in chocolate and crawl into bed. Hopefully no
one has an emergency between now and when I don’t feel like death from the hangover I know I’ll
have.”
She snorted. “It’s why you shouldn’t drink the cheap stuff. I’ve told you that. It doesn’t even have
enough alcohol in a whole bottle to give an adult a decent buzz. Just a shit headache.”
“Yeah, yeah.” It was true. But it had just enough alcohol to help me relax a little. “Talk to you
tomorrow.”
After ending the call, I let my too-heavy arm fall to the floor. With Celine done breaking my heart,
Bonnie Tyler now poured through the speakers, reviving my misery. My lids grew heavier with every
slow blink until I gave up, sighing as I fully relaxed on the hard floor.
Pitiful. I was pitiful.
Everyone around me was finding their person. The one made for them, who would love and
protect them no matter what. Hell, most of them already had, considering how they met.
Then there was me.
My eyes snapped open at a rattle that didn’t belong in the song. Cold seeped into my palms as I
pushed to sit up, turning to frown at the door that led to the stairs. Holding a breath, I strained my
ears, listening for whatever I thought I’d heard, but didn’t hear it again. Shrugging it off as a
hallucination from the Boone’s Farm, I started to lie back down when the boom came, followed by a
muffled shout.
I jumped to my feet.
Just my luck. The one night I set aside for myself, someone needs medical attention.
Tugging the edges of my open-front sweater tightly together to hide the fact that I wasn’t wearing a
bra under my matching pink pajama set, I carefully made my way down the back stairs. At the bottom,
I flicked the switch. Light flooded the hall.
The door leading to the waiting room sat open since it was after hours—way after hours—which
allowed a clear view of the glass front door as I crept down the hall. Considering it was pitch-black
outside, the inside office lights illuminated a large shape as it shifted along the sidewalk. Another
banging pound shook the glass door until it rattled on its hinges, as if the person outside was ready to
break it down to get to me.
My stomach dropped. I licked my lips nervously, looking over my shoulder at the stairs that led to
the apartment, where my gun waited uselessly in the safe by my bed. A lump formed in my throat, my
nerves making me hesitant to step into the waiting area.
Again, the massive person abusing my door slammed a fist against the glass. Thank fuck I’d
listened to Shade when he suggested I install reinforced glass when I renovated this place.
“Stop,” I shouted, the building trepidation replaced with frustration. “You’ll break the damn
thing.” At the door, I turned on the outside lights, wanting a good look at the stranger before letting
them inside. A sharp breath whistled through my teeth when the bulb flickered to life, illuminating the
most ruggedly attractive man I’d ever seen. I stumbled to the side, hand smacking the wallpapered
wall to keep myself upright as I took in every detail with the safety of the glass door between us.
Holy shit.
Dirty-blond hair that looked in need of a haircut almost brushed the broad shoulders stretching the
black cotton of his sweatshirt. My eyes widened at the tattoos decorating his hands and almost every
one of his long, thick fingers. Shaking off the idea of them digging into my skin, caressing along my
inner thighs, I snapped my wide-eyed gaze to his face. Faint lines slashed across his forehead and
between his brows, though they made him look formidable instead of weathered. A strong straight
nose and gray eyes that currently bored into mine, annoyance and interest blazing within them.
Finally, my lungs worked when the burning from my held breath became too much. Lips parted,
gasping for air, I didn’t release his intense stare. I knew everyone in this tiny town, and this man was
not one of them. Hell, he looked like he rode here on a Harley with a full biker gang following close.
His tattooed hands shifted, drawing my attention from his handsome face to the… baby carrier
strapped to the front of his chest.
How the hell did I miss that? Oh, right, I was too busy imagining him doing all the naughty
things his heated stare promised.
I stayed frozen in place while he worked the straps with ease, as if he’d done it many times
before, and pulled a baby free, shifting the small bundle to cradle in his muscular arms.
Lucky baby.
“Open up.” His deep voice was like a jolt to my dulled senses, making me come alive with the
command. All I could do was breathe, my brain no longer functioning. “She needs a doctor.”
She.
The baby was a girl.
Muscles tight, I slowly turned to look over my shoulder, searching for someone before my
muddled brain realized I was the doctor he was referring to.
In a confused daze, I flicked the lock. Fingertips pressed against the cold glass, I urged the door
open in silent permission for the stranger to come inside. The violent wind swept in, flapping the
sides of my soft cotton pants. Tugging the sweater tighter, I stepped back as he maneuvered through
the door.
“Um, hi,” I said like an idiot. Again, I blamed the wine. I never drank more than a beer or two,
unless it was the anniversary of when my heart shattered and my future was ripped out from under me.
Of course, this guy chose tonight to have an emergency. Not one of the other nights when I was more
put together and wine-free.
I wasn’t tipsy by any means, but a dull headache was creeping in.
Damn cheap stuff. Should’ve listened to Anne.
Dark lashes fanned with each blink as he stared me down. Tipping my chin up in fake bravado, I
cleared my throat.
“You said you needed a doctor?” I said to break the tense silence between us. His lips parted,
ready to respond, when a barking cough snapped my gaze to the baby in his arms, the fuzziness
clogging my brain instantly gone. “That doesn’t sound good,” I muttered, reaching toward the flushed
infant.
But his arms tightened as he retreated a step, shifting to angle his body between me and her. His
angry stare shot a bolt of irritation through my veins.
“You said she was sick. If you want me to help, I need to examine her, which means I need to hold
her.” His gaze darted to the door as if he debated storming out of here without me examining his
daughter. Afraid he might just do that, I stepped in front of the door to block the exit, hands fisted on
my hips to make me look larger.
A corner of his lips twitched, his blond facial hair shifting with the movement.
“That cough sounds bad.” I hitched my chin toward the squirming baby.
“Which is why I’m here,” he muttered. With the hand not holding the baby, he raked several
fingers through his long, disheveled hair. His eyes narrowed on me. “You’re the doctor?” I nodded.
Turning to glance over his shoulder, he stared down the hall. “Is there someone else here?”
“Just me,” I grumbled with an indignant huff. “What, you think I’m not good enough because I’m a
female? Well, I’ll let you know I graduated at the top of my class and—”
“I heard what sounded like a party and someone screaming when I first pulled up.”
Embarrassment sent a wave of heat to flood my cheeks. Clearing my throat, I looked anywhere
other than at him and smoothed down the edges of my sweater, making sure it still covered my
breasts.
“You heard that?” I squeaked.
“Which is why I asked who else is here. From the screaming coming from behind those windows,
I’m not inclined to just hand Carlie over to you.”
I hung my head, and blonde hair swept over my shoulders, forming a curtain to block out his
reaction.
“No one was…. I was singing, not screaming in anger or pain,” I admitted.
“That was not singing,” he chuffed.
Shaking my head, I steeled my spine and curled both hands into tight fists at my sides. “Do you
want my help or not? Because even from here I can tell she’s flushed, her breathing looks labored,
and that cough is a sign that this is worse than the average cold.”
Without waiting for a response, I darted around and headed for the door that led back to the exam
rooms. At the first room, I reached in and flicked the light on, immediately going to the sink to wash
my hands.
Even with my back turned, I knew the moment he stepped into the room. Goose bumps erupted
along the back of my neck and heat bloomed low in my gut as his thick masculine scent wrapped
around me.
The paper towels rasped against the metal holder as I tugged a few free to dry my hands. When I
turned, he was leaned over the exam table—thank fuck I always cleaned everything after the last
patient to be ready for the next appointment-filled day—slowly unwrapping the blanket from the
baby’s tiny body.
“You said her name is Carlie?” My smile spread as I stepped closer. She was absolutely
precious. I’d guess around three months old, thin but not abnormally so. “You her father?”
His fingers paused before resuming popping the snaps open on her unicorn onesie. “Yeah,
something like that.”
The vague response had my stomach dropping. What kind of answer was that?
“Who are you?” I asked, inching to put myself between Carlie and the man I still didn’t know the
name of.
His jaw shifted back and forth, the muscle twitching as he stared me down. Seconds felt like years
as I waited for him to respond, to tell me I wasn’t harboring a stolen baby.
“I’m the man who saved her life.” At that, he leveled a stony stare down at me and somehow grew
in size. “And will keep doing exactly that, no matter what I have to do.”
Hot damn.
Was that a threat or a proclamation of a selfless hero?
Whatever it was, it had my heart racing and heat spiking through my veins as I held his intense
stare. This man was dangerous, but somehow, deep in my gut, I knew he wouldn’t hurt me. I was safe
with him, and so was she.
For the first time in maybe ever, the weight I carried daily lessened. My chest rose and fell with a
full, deep breath. In this moment, with him, I didn’t need to be on guard or play the perfect woman I
definitely wasn’t but ran myself ragged trying to be.
I wasn’t sure what it was about him that made me nervous yet calm and safe all with just his
presence, but I sure as hell wanted to find out.
FOUR
 MILLER

T racking her every move, I tugged the baby carrier off my chest and tossed it into a small chair in
the corner. It would’ve been a huge fucking help if Max and his wife told me the town doctor was
a damn smoke show. Holy hell, I almost choked on my own spit when she appeared in the illuminated
hallway like some tiny angel. Shapely thighs, thin waist I’d bet my hands could fully engulf, and that
ass.
I almost smacked it when I followed her back to the exam room. Only Carlie’s ragged cough
snapped me out of the fantasy of me covering that plump backside with my handprints.
Gritting my teeth, I shifted to make my hard dick pressing against the zipper of my jeans less
obvious. My baby was sick, yet here I was imagining bending the sexy doctor over the exam table and
making her scream my name while I gave her pussy a full exam with my tongue and dick.
The woman seemed tense as fuck, and I was more than willing to step up to the task of helping her
relax.
Again.
And again.
And again.
“Well, aren’t you the cutest little thing I’ve ever seen?” the doctor cooed to squirming Carlie,
jerking me back to reality. My shoulders relaxed at her calm smile and gentle fingers as she danced
them along Carlie’s bare stomach. It was humbling as hell knowing she was sick, and I was helpless.
“Let’s find out what’s going on with that cough, okay, sweetie?”
Keeping her eyes on Carlie, she stretched to open a side drawer, pulling out a digital forehead
thermometer.
“Have you given her any medication?” she asked over her shoulder.
“No. I don’t have any.” I watched the number tick up on the thermometer’s screen. “That’s bad,
isn’t it?” I asked. The paper covering the cushioned exam table crinkled beneath my knuckles as I
leaned closer.
One hundred.
“It’s not great but not too concerning.” She peeked up through light lashes. “Um, do you mind?” A
small, hesitant smile pulled at the corner of her lips. I blinked, stunned by the innocence she radiated.
“You’re kind of crowding me.”
Shoving off the table, I retreated until my back hit the wall, giving her the space I hated but she
needed. Folding both arms over my chest, I studied her as she talked and cooed at Carlie while using
a small hand tool to inspect Carlie’s tiny ears and nose. The wheels of a rolling stool rattled along the
floor as she tugged it close and plopped down. Dread and fear dropped in my stomach like a lead
weight when the doctor’s smile dipped into a slight frown.
I popped off the wall, stepping close to resume my overcrowding. “What’s wrong? Is it bad? Do I
need to take her to a real doctor?”
Even in my anxious state about Carlie’s health, I knew that was the wrong damn thing to say by the
shift in the pretty doctor’s features.
“I am a real doctor,” she hissed.
Groaning, I ran both hands through my hair and held the long strands at the base of my skull. “I
meant a hospital. Somewhere they have more small baby equipment or some shit. I don’t know what
the fuck I’m saying. I’m worried because I can’t do shit to help her.”
The doctor’s chest ballooned out with a deep inhale, which only drew my attention to her perky
tits. The sweater she kept tugging on didn’t hide the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra beneath the thin
pink cotton top that matched her pants. Which I would’ve been one hundred percent on board with any
other time, but not when our focus needed to be on Carlie.
“Right. And no, nothing is wrong. I just need my stethoscope, but I left it in my office after my last
appointment this afternoon.”
I turned toward the open door before she was done.
“It’s locked.” Fingers gripping the doorframe, I waited, eager to get whatever the hell she needed
to be useful. “The keys are upstairs on my kitchen counter.” The shouted demands for me to wait fell
on deaf ears. Opening the next door down, I peered into another exam room. Two steps farther down
the hall was another door, this one locked. Instead of breaking it open, I stormed to the back of the
clinic, finding a solid metal door that probably led outside, and a set of stairs to the right. Taking the
steps two by two, I bounded up the single flight and pushed the door open at the top.
Not looking anywhere other than the kitchen, I swiped the keys off the counter and hurried back
down. The doctor stood in the hallway with Carlie in her arms, jaw slack when my boots slammed
onto the last step.
I shrugged at the mix of annoyance and shock on her face.
With only three keys on the ring, the second one I tried released the lock of the only door I found
locked in my earlier search, and thrust a shoulder to the center. It took a second for my eyes to adjust
to the dark room, the only light coming from the hallway. When the cramped space became clear, I
hesitated, thinking I’d barged into the wrong room. This was more of a storage closet with racks of
stuffed shelves than a proper office. But as I turned to leave, a small folding desk with a laptop on top
had me pausing.
Huh.
Ignoring the odd setup, I searched the desk and rolling chair, then plucked the stethoscope and
white coat off the back of the chair and turned to leave. My surprised curse filled the space at finding
her standing a step behind me.
“I could’ve gotten everything,” she said, eyeing me with suspicion.
“Yeah, but I did it faster,” I responded with a smirk. “Problem?”
“Well, yeah. You just barged into my apartment.”
“I didn’t rifle through your panty drawer,” I joked as I closed the distance between us. “Just
grabbed the keys.”
Wide blue eyes stayed locked on mine, lips parted. A tremble shook my fingers as I fought the
urge to wrap them around the back of her neck, to hold her in place and devour those plump pink lips.
“Oh.” Her shaky breath had a groan sticking in my throat. “Okay, sure. I…. Today is….” Blowing
out a breath, she closed her eyes. “Let’s go back to the exam room.” Spinning on her bare feet, she
hurried down the hall with my eyes locked on her bunching ass. I swept the tip of my tongue along my
lower lip, following closely.
Back in the original exam room, the thin paper crackled as she laid Carlie down on the table. With
one hand, she maneuvered the two earpieces into place before pressing the end of the stethoscope to
Carlie’s chest. I waited, watching every small shift in the doctor’s facial expressions as she slid the
metal circle along Carlie’s skin, raising her up to do the same to her back. Knowing Carlie was in
expert hands, the worry slipped away, allowing me to really study the doctor’s petite features.
A small, heart-shaped face stressed by full cheeks, plump pink lips, a tiny button nose, and soft,
fair, unblemished skin. With her short stature and innocent features, she looked more like a high
school student than a grown woman.
Flashes of her in a white button-up shirt opened to expose the swell of her sweet tits, a plaid skirt
with nothing beneath, and knee-high socks sent all my blood straight to my cock. Sitting on that stool,
she was at the perfect height to swallow my rock-hard dick.
Reaching down, I subtly adjusted myself. Desperate for anything to drag my mind out of the gutter
before I made a fool of myself by propositioning a woman way out of my damn league, I cleared my
throat and forced my heated stare from her to the ceiling.
“Max said I could trust you.”
“Max sent you to me?” she said, shock in her tone.
Swinging my eyes back to her, I nodded. Her blue eyes scanned my face before flicking to my
hands. I loved my tattoos, wouldn’t have gotten them if I didn’t, but right now I hated that they were
proof of how different our two worlds were. She was a beautiful, smart doctor who had her shit
together. I grew up in an MC, didn’t graduate from high school, and was on the run from my father.
I’d bet she grew up in a perfect loving home surrounded by the white picket fence all women
wanted. That had never been a dream of mine, mostly because it was dumb to want something you
knew could never happen. My life was full of violence, and I sure as hell didn’t want to bring a wife
and family into the world that followed me like hellhounds, ready to drag me back to an existence I
hated more with every passing day.
“What’s your name?” she asked softly.
“My real name or the dumbass one some bureaucratic asshole came up with?”
Her lips pulled apart in a wide smile, showing slightly crooked teeth, which she automatically
reached up to cover. I fought the urge to smack her hand away. I didn’t give a fuck about her teeth.
That smile was like a punch to the heart, jarring it into an erratic rhythm I knew only she could soothe.
“Real name,” she said. “Just no last name, please. The less I know, the better.”
That made sense, even if it rubbed me the wrong way. Why the fuck did I want to tell her my full
name, or explain the tattoos decorating my skin? There was no reason for all that sitting on the tip of
my tongue.
“Miller. My name is Miller.” I reached out, and she tracked the movement. When I paused, my
hand hovering between us, she slipped her much smaller one into mine. My brows flicked up when
she gave a hard squeeze, showing the strength she hid inside that tiny body.
“Dr. Caradee Blacksmith. And this beautiful baby is Carlie, your not-daughter but the child you
saved.”
My lips twitched. Beautiful and funny. “That sums it all up.”
“I wouldn’t say that, more the gist of this whole strange situation. Though I wouldn’t be surprised
if I woke up on my kitchen floor in the morning and this night was all a wine-induced dream.”
Dream. Not a nightmare. I’d take that win.
 Wait, did she say wine?
“Are you drunk?”
Her nose scrunched up, reminding me of a bunny. “No?”
“Is that a question?” I demanded.
“Don’t you dare judge me,” she snapped. “You’re the one who showed up at my door, interrupting
my one night of sorrow-drowning debauchery.”
I blinked. “There is a lot to unpack in that,” I huffed.
“Yeah, well, Boone’s Farm is the only available distraction in this damn town.”
“Boone’s Farm?” I laughed. “What, are you in elementary school?”
“What kind of elementary school did you go to?” she asked with a look of horror mixed with
humor.
“A fun one, apparently.”
Thick locks of blonde hair slid over delicate shoulders with the shake of her head. “So, Carlie.”
Twisting back to the exam table where the diaper-clad baby wiggled, Caradee smiled. “Her fever is
low-grade, and her lungs are clear. However, this could be the start of something like RSV or croup
based on the cough.”
All the lightness that had filled the room with our back-and-forth was sucked out, leaving that
familiar paralyzing, heavy weight on my shoulders at her words. That sounded bad.
“She hasn’t been around anyone,” I said, rubbing my hand along my jaw. “Just Max and his
woman a couple days ago.”
“Hmm,” Caradee mused as she scooped Carlie up and pressed the baby to her shoulder, slowly
rubbing circles along her back. “Was that the day you arrived here?” I nodded. “I’m guessing you’d
been traveling a while?” Again, I dipped my chin. “She could’ve come in contact with it at any point.
But that doesn't matter. What does is making sure whatever she has doesn’t turn south. I’d like to get
some infant Tylenol in her to level out her fever. Though she doesn't seem uncomfortable now.”
“She hardly ever cries. It’s why I didn’t realize something was wrong until she started coughing.”
“I have some infant Tylenol in the storage room.”
The stool rolled back when she stood, stopping just before it hit the opposite wall.
Following when she left the room, I checked the front of the office for threats as second nature.
Inside the closet, she flicked the light on and stepped to the tall shelving, eyes scanning the top
section. “Can you—” she started, but it turned into a gasp when she turned, finding me standing
directly behind her.
Heated blood thrummed through my veins as I gazed down at Caradee. Something primal roared
in my mind seeing her holding Carlie against her chest, gazing up at me with lust and need burning
behind her blue eyes. The column of her throat worked as she swallowed, making me groan, my gaze
tracking the slight moment.
“You’re killing me,” I groaned.
“What?” she breathed.
“So small and innocent.” I licked my lower lip before pulling it between my teeth. “Just waiting
to be ruined.”
“Tylenol,” she squeaked. “Top shelf.”
Sucking in a breath to keep my next words held back, I stepped aside, searching the boxes lining
the shelves until I found the right one. Plucking it off the thin metal, I turned, handing it to her, our
fingers brushing. With a muttered curse, I spun on my boot heels, then stormed out into the hall and
back into the exam room.
 “Dumb fuck,” I muttered to myself while pacing, hands interlaced behind my head. “Stop thinking
with your dick.”
“You okay?”
Without releasing my hands, I spun to face Caradee, who hovered in the doorway wearing a
hesitant expression.
“Yeah, fine. Just been a long few weeks. So, Tylenol.” I hitched my chin toward the box. “Then
what, you want me to bring her back in tomorrow? During normal business hours this time?” I offered
a hesitant smile, hoping to ease the sudden tension between us that my dumb ass caused.
Just because I wanted to lick every inch of her creamy skin didn’t mean she wanted me to. Hell,
someone like her probably had a boyfriend. No man would be dumb enough to meet her and not do
everything in his power to make her his.
Normal men.
Me, I wasn’t normal. I was twisted inside, dark and wounded in places I never wanted to be
reminded of. It was sick of me to want to taint her with my darkness, to drag her into the shadows
with me. This woman wasn’t one of the sweetbutts who hung around the clubhouse, okay with being
used and discarded like the untraceable guns we dealt.
Caradee deserved better than me picturing her panting beneath me, submitting to the control I
desperately wanted to have over her. I was too dark and dirty for her. Even now, as if my mind
wanted to prove that point, I was unconsciously memorizing every curve of her small body to
envision later when I fucked my hand to ease the insistent throb she created.
Casting an odd glance my way, as if she could sense the direction of my thoughts, she shook her
head, but I caught the flicker of interest in her blue eyes before she turned her focus to the medicine
box. Ripping the top off, she tipped the box upside down until a white bottle and plastic syringe
toppled out into her awaiting palm. “Can you open this for me? I get why they put the plastic seal, but
it’s annoying as hell to get open.” She tossed me the bottle. “There are some scissors—”
I had the hunting knife pulled from my boot before she could even finish.
Using the razor-sharp tip, I sliced through the thin protective plastic from the top in one cut,
ripping it all off before setting it on the table beside her.
“Well, that was unexpected. Where did you say you came from?” she said, voice trembling.
Though with the blush staining her cheeks, I didn’t think her labored breathing was from fear.
Interesting. Maybe she’d be open to me helping her relax, and forgetting my shit life for a few
hours while I showed her all the ways I could make her scream.
Fuck. I gritted my teeth, trying to focus on responding to her question instead of my dirty-ass
thoughts.
“I didn’t,” I said while watching her weigh Carlie for the correct medicine dosage. “No details,
remember?”
Maybe if I said it a few more times, it would make it easier to accept that I was basically a ghost
now.
“You’d get along with Gray,” she huffed while opening the bottle and withdrawing the correct
dose. “He loves his knives too. Goes nowhere without one.”
I gritted my teeth. I fucking knew she’d have a boyfriend. This Gray was probably some fancy,
rich prick who fit in her perfect life.
Without meeting her eyes, I grabbed Carlie’s clothes and laid them out beside her, needing
something to distract me from the anger and jealousy boiling my blood. “How often do I give the
medicine to her tonight, and what time should we come back tomorrow?” Hopefully by then I’d have
this raging boner under control and my attraction to the doctor in check now that I knew she had a man
in her life.
When the silence stretched without her response, I fisted the onesie in a tight grip and cut my gaze
her way. Lips pressed in a tight line, stare locked on her wiggling toes, she looked lost in thought.
With a nod, she peered up through her lashes, lips popping open with a small gasp, catching me
observing her.
Fuck, the things I wanted to do to that mouth.
“I think…,” she whispered. “I think I want to observe her overnight.”
I scanned her face, looking for any sign of deception. “Not without me. I appreciate your medical
opinion and know Max trusts you, but I’m not letting anyone take her from me. That includes you.”
“Wow.” The word was barely more than a forceful exhale. Her nostrils flared with a deep breath.
“That’s…. that’s something.”
“What’s something?”
“Your protectiveness of her. It’s—” She looked away. “—something.” It might have been my dick
listening in, but that “something” sounded like a good thing. “Do you have her diaper bag? I didn’t see
you bring one in. I don’t have diapers handy, but I have some formula here that I give out as samples.
Though if you have some that she’s used to drinking, that would be best.”
Unicorn-covered onesie still held tight, I crossed both arms over my chest and widened my
stance.
“If she stays, then I stay.”
“Okay.”
My argument of needing to stay with her died on my lips. My lids opened and closed in a slow
blink. Did she really just say yes? Fuck, did I want her to say yes? If I had to sleep on her couch,
knowing she was so close, would make for the worst night's sleep ever. But I’d do it for Carlie.
Hell, I’d do anything for the little lady.
“Yeah, I have her diaper bag in the car. It should have plenty to get her through the night with both
diapers and formula.”
“Great. It’s settled, then. You’ll both stay overnight so I can watch you.” My brows shot up. “Shit,
I mean watch over Carlie. The baby, not you. That would be… you don’t need watching.”
“You’re right. I much prefer active participation. More hands-on, if you will.”
A bright red flush crept up her pale neck and bloomed across her cheeks. “Go grab what you have
of hers and meet me upstairs.”
“Won’t Gray mind that another man is sleeping in your apartment?”
“What?” she said, brows pulled in tight, like she was attempting to figure out a complex math
problem.
“Your boyfriend,” I drawled.
“I don’t have a…. Oh, when I mentioned Gray, you thought I meant… No, he’s my best friend’s
boyfriend.” She paused. “I don’t have a boyfriend. Hence the sorrow-drowning debauchery.”
“With Boone’s Farm,” I deadpanned. “If that shit is your version of debauchery, then you’re more
innocent than I thought.”
“Though you and Carlie here made me forget why I wanted to drown my sorrows in the first
place.” Nose to Carlie’s thin, dark hair, she took an exaggerated sniff. “I love how babies smell.” A
far-off look had her eyes glazing, a flash of sadness darkening her features. “Right. Okay. I just need
to clean up the mess I made earlier.” Taking the blanket I’d brought Carlie wrapped up in, Caradee
draped it over them both. At the door, she turned, her blue eyes searching my face. “And I’d be open
to more distraction, if you’re willing.”
I shot her a smirk. “I don’t drink Boone’s Farm.”
“I was thinking something involving a little more ‘active participation,’ as you put it.”
With a wink, she turned and disappeared down the hall.
Stunned, turned the hell on, and confused, I waited a beat after she was gone, grinning like a fool
at the empty doorway.
If Caradee was down—and it sounded like she was, based on that parting remark—I’d give her
more than a distraction.
I’d give her a fucking memory she’d never forget.
FIVE
 CARADEE

M yinheart thundered against my chest as I climbed the stairs to my apartment with Carlie held tight
my arms. In a trance, I stepped into my apartment, pausing just over the threshold when the
door snicked shut behind me.
What the hell was I thinking inviting him to stay here? And that offer for a different distraction?
I never did anything like this.
Never invited a stranger to share my bed for the night. No, I was the relationship one of our group
of friends, never one for hookups or drunken one-night stands.
I was the responsible one who drove their friends home to ensure they made it safely while
secretly jealous they had the opportunity to let go without repercussions. One night of freedom wasn’t
worth the consequences of everything I’d built coming crashing down around me. I worked too hard
to get into medical school, studied twice as much to stay at the top of my class. I couldn’t afford to
stumble, even for a night.
So why the hell did I just say that downstairs?
My brain and heart told me to retract the offer the moment Miller appeared after grabbing Carlie’s
diaper bag, but my body had other ideas. The moment I saw him, then felt the heat pouring off his
much larger body, I painfully craved his touch. I was desperate for him to follow through on the
desire in his gray eyes.
Two years. It had been two years since I’d allowed a man to touch me.
And now, with this sexy-as-hell stranger, my body vibrated with the anticipation of his hands on
me.
It wasn’t smart, but I wanted him to help me forget. To chase away the sadness that sat heavy in
my chest. Though that weight wasn’t there when he was close, his presence making me forget how
tired and alone I was.
Maybe that was why I made that offer.
To feel something other than disappointment and exhaustion for a while.
“I don’t normally do this,” I said, looking down into the now-sleeping baby’s face. “Don’t judge
me, okay?” I snorted. “I’ll do enough for the both of us tomorrow, I’m sure.”
Shaking my head to dislodge the panic of what tomorrow would bring, I stepped toward the table,
gathered the loose candy wrappers and picked-over remains still inside the heart-shaped box, and
tossed it all in the trash to hide the evidence of my earlier epic meltdown. A sticky-sweet strawberry
scent wafted from the open glass bottle, making my stomach lurch.
Yep. Definitely done with that.
I had something better coming. Hopefully he wouldn’t leave me hungover like the wine. Though I
had a feeling I would be, just differently.
The throb between my thighs intensified, thinking of waking up sore and sated tomorrow.
That would be a first.
As I wiped down the table one handed, I tried to remember the last time I actually enjoyed sex. I
wasn’t a prude, but it just never tempted me like it did other women. Maybe they were more secure
with their sexuality, able to let loose and enjoy the moment. Even with Kurt, I’d be thinking about all
the things I needed to accomplish once he was done.
Ever since the day I vowed to make something of myself, that I’d never be that poor, dirty, joke of
a girl again, I had a one-track mind. Nothing deterred me from that goal. Even my relationship with
Kurt wasn’t a distraction, more of a booster since he came from a wealthy family and had the same
goals and drive as me.
The pounding of boots against the stairs had my heart nearly beating out of my chest. Holding a
breath, I hurried to finish cleaning. After folding the cloth into a perfect square one-handed, I set it in
its spot beside the sink and turned, leaning against the counter just as Miller shoved open the
apartment door.
He paused, hand still gripping the doorknob, eyes scanning my stiff posture.
“You good?” he asked, brows pulled in tight.
My stomach flipped at his concern. The man looked like he’d take anything he wanted without
thinking twice, yet here he was only a step into my apartment, waiting for my permission to come
inside. It was that consideration and respect that had the last bit of trepidation of having a stranger in
my apartment dissolving.
“Yeah,” I said with a nod. Breaking his heated stare, I took in my apartment, making sure
everything was in its right place. Careful to not wake her, I shifted Carlie in my arms and pushed off
the counter. “You can come in,” I said over my shoulder as I shuffled to the living room.
The couch cushions molded beneath me as I sat gently and leaned back with a sigh, Carlie curling
against my chest.
“So, this is your place, where you live,” he stated, scanning the small apartment.
“Yep. I don’t need much, and being close to the practice saves time.”
“Benefited me tonight,” he mused. Bag held tight, he frowned at the chair, kicking the small peg
legs. “So, what should we do for Carlie?”
“I’ll set an alarm to check her temperature and administer more medicine in four hours.”
“And for a bed? I don’t have anything in the truck that would work to keep her safe.”
I bobbed my head as I thought about our options. Scooting to the edge of the couch, I pushed to my
feet and stepped close to where he stood. “Here, you take her, and I’ll grab a quilt. We can lay it on
the floor for her, and then we can surround it with pillows. It’s not ideal, but it’ll work for tonight.”
“She’s asleep. I can grab the blanket. Just tell me—”
“No,” I shouted, then winced when Carlie’s eyes popped open. Damnit. “No,” I whispered. “I’ll
get it.”
He shot an odd look at me while taking her from my arms. “Okay. Since she’s awake, I’ll go
ahead and get a bottle ready.”
“Use whatever you need in the kitchen. There are bottles of water in the fridge.”
In my bedroom, out of his intense orbit, I leaned a shoulder against the wall and blew out a slow
breath. This man was tying me up in knots, making me act like a blubbering teenage girl intimidated
by her first crush.
I needed to get my shit together, fast.
 In the bathroom, I closed the door behind me and stepped to the single sink, staring at my
reflection. Cheeks pink, eyes glassy, I looked as turned-on as I felt. Grabbing the inseam of my lounge
pants, I checked the crotch area for any wet spots, sighing in relief when I found them dry.
Unlike my panties.
I’d felt my core drip, soaking my underwear, when he crowded me earlier against the metal
shelves. Only the baby in my arms had kept me from leaping on him like a spider monkey and
attacking his tempting lips.
Everything about him drew me in. From his obvious love for Carlie, the protective vibe that told
me I was safe when he was close, and, of course, his sheer size. And the bulge in his jeans I could
barely stop looking at. He was large everywhere.
My belly flipped, and the throb between my thighs turned painful. I squeezed my thighs together,
thinking about how something that large would feel. Another trickle of desire dripped to my drenched
bikini-cut panties. A wave of heat, this time embarrassment and shame mixed with the thrumming
need.
Kurt hated how wet I got, saying it was gross and messy. But I couldn’t help it. It was how my
body reacted when turned-on. A few times he refused to go down on me until I cleaned up—not that
him returning the favor happened often in our seven years together. Our sex life was more of a “Hey,
we have the same shift off” type of deal. He needed to release some built-up tension from all the
pressure of residency, and we’d squeeze in a quickie before passing out from sheer exhaustion.
After using a few squares of toilet paper to clean myself up, I turned my focus back to the task at
hand: finding the blankets for Carlie before Miller questioned what took me so long. Back out in the
bedroom, I tilted my ear toward the open door. From the kitchen, a faint beep of the microwave had
me hurrying to my closet door, knowing he was occupied with making the bottle. Flicking nervous
glances to the bedroom door and back to my closet, I dragged the door open, ashamed of what was
inside.
Utter chaos.
Shit was stuffed everywhere along the floor, in boxes and plastic containers. Clothes hung
haphazardly on mismatched hangers, a few empty from where the top had slipped off and fallen to the
junk pile beneath.
I swallowed hard as I stared at the mess I hid from everyone, even my best friend. Everywhere
else in my life, things had their place and were kept clutter-free. After growing up in trash and a
hoarders’ haven, I went the opposite end of the spectrum, almost becoming OCD.
Except here.
I was ashamed that I had one area of my life that wasn’t perfect, but I couldn’t stop. It was as if a
part of me fought against the perfect life I was forcing myself to live, resulting in this shithole of a
closet.
Careful to keep quiet, I pushed up to my tiptoes, stretching my fingers high over my head to reach
the stack of blankets shoved in the far corner of the shelf. My fingertips brushed against the soft
woven threads, slowly inching the thick quilt closer and closer to the edge with each slight tug I could
manage. With a squeak, I ducked, covering my head when the stack of blankets and pillows
unexpectedly tumbled over the edge.
“Caradee?”
Heart pounding, I gripped the edge of the closet door and pulled it closed so Miller couldn’t see
inside if he stepped into my room.
“I’m good,” I called out, voice shaking with nerves. “Be right out.”
 I watched the bedroom doorway, breathing fast from almost being caught with my dirty little
secret.
I wasn’t perfect.
I wasn’t good enough.
I wasn’t fine.
This closet represented the inner shit show in my heart and mind on a minute-by-minute basis. It
was who I was at my core: a mess that needed to be hidden to keep it from spreading to the rest of the
apartment. If I allowed one piece of clothing or clutter to spill over, it would never stop, and soon I’d
be just like my mom—living in filth, alone, with no future, spending her days wasting away in front of
the TV.
Fingers curled around the quilt, I lifted it off the floor, shoving the other things that tumbled out
back into the closet and slamming the door closed with my hip. Clutching the handmade quilt against
my chest, I leaned against the closet door and willed my nerves to settle.
“Everything okay?”
I jumped, hand jerking up to wrap around my throat at the closeness of Miller’s deep voice.
Standing in the open doorway that led to the living room, he had Carlie cradled in one arm while he
fed her a bottle.
“Yeah,” I said, the sight before me making my stomach twist. Shoving off the door, I double-
checked it was closed, keeping my secret hidden. “Can I feed her?”
At his nod, a rush of emotion I couldn’t identify filled my chest, making my heart flutter. Careful to
not disturb her too much, I traded the blanket for Carlie, cradling her in my arms and slipping the
nipple back between her searching lips.
“This is not the way I expected this night to turn out,” I murmured as I sat in the living room chair,
leaving the couch for Miller.
He plopped down on the love seat-size couch, taking up the entire thing as he manspread his knees
wide and stretched both arms along the cushions.
“Want to talk about it?”
“Talk about what?” I smirked. He just arched a brow, knowing full well I knew what he was
referring to. “Not really. How about we talk about how you became a single father?”
His lips curled in a slow smile as he scanned my face. “You first.” He nodded at the bottle in my
hand. “This feeding seems to take the longest. It’s like she’s savoring it, the way men do good bottles
of whiskey or a good fuck.”
“Ew,” I said, wrinkling my nose. “Do you have to be so crass?”
His shoulders rose in a shrug. “Do you have to be so uptight?”
“I am not uptight.”
Miller chuffed a humorless laugh. “Look around you, baby girl. This apartment is all the example
I need.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means there isn’t a single thing out of place. You have a three-thousand-piece puzzle you’re
working to put together, and even the pieces you haven’t placed are color coordinated.”
“That’s just good puzzling.” Yep, that was a word, and I was sticking to it.
“Right. And the kitchen?”
“What about my kitchen?” I huffed.
“Your fridge is organized by food group—”
“Makes things easier to find that way.” Why am I defending my crazy to this guy?
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
ou d’épée, et cela l’égayait de se les imaginer, ainsi vêtus à
l’antique, dans l’autre monde, en train d’attendre l’arrivée de leurs
petits-neveux, et solennellement assis à droite ou à gauche du Père
Éternel…
« Et dire qu’ils croient encore à ça ! à une autre vie ! Cette
bêtise !… Des empaillés, quoi ! » Et elle riait tout haut. C’était un
bonheur pour elle, que personne n’entendît ce rire-là.
— Êtes-vous couchée, ma sœur Marie ? puis-je entrer ?
— Oui, ma mignonne.
— Pas couchée encore ! Que faisiez-vous donc ?
— Ma prière, petite Annette.
— Peste ! Mademoiselle, je ne suis pas si sage, et vous me faites
honte. J’ai tout de suite fini, moi, — et encore, les trois quarts du
temps, je la dis dans mon lit, ma prière. C’est très mal, n’est-ce pas ?
Un pater, un ave et ioup ! je ne peux pas m’empêcher de penser à
mille choses… Quant à ma prière du matin, par exemple, c’est
abominable : je l’oublie toujours. Je m’en confesse. Monsieur le curé
dit : « Comment pouvez-vous ne jamais oublier de l’oublier, et cela
tous les matins sans faute ? » — Oh ! Monsieur le curé, lui ai-je dit
une fois, je suis si pressée de revoir le soleil ! d’aller dehors, courir
dans le parc ! — Alors, vous ne devineriez jamais, ma sœur Marie,
ce qu’il m’a répondu ; il a dit : « De revoir le soleil… Ah ?… » Et puis,
après une minute de réflexion : « Ma foi, chère petite, le Bon Dieu
est si bon qu’il prend peut-être ça, de votre part, pour une manière
de prier… »
 X

Si le comte Paul était descendu délibérément au fond de lui-

même, sans doute eût-il recherché pourquoi sa passion était
accompagnée d’un sentiment bizarre de vide et de malaise. Mais il
voulait lutter contre sa propre tendance à s’examiner de trop près ; il
voulait agir et vivre ; il se laissait tout bonnement glisser « sur la
pente d’aimer ».
Il se désarmait, en un mot, complètement, juste à l’heure où il
aurait dû faire appel à toute sa pénétration de sceptique.
La volonté d’être simple est bonne avec les simples. N’être pas
naïf avec eux, c’est être coupable envers eux. Mais ici, simplicité
devenait sottise. Ce jeune homme arrivait un peu tard, vraiment,
dans un monde bien vieux. Cet homme, doué des perspicacités les
plus aiguës, des puissances de doute et de soupçon les plus
clairvoyantes, se ramenait, par probité pure, à des naïvetés
d’enfant !
Il arrivait à Marie de trahir — oh ! pas longtemps, pas gravement,
— la tournure de son esprit, de révéler par un rien, vite corrigé,
l’habitude générale de son âme.
Un jour, par exemple, elle laissa échapper deux mots en grand
contraste avec la réserve voulue de son langage. Ce fut une faute,
car pour d’honnêtes provinciaux, pour la comtesse d’Aiguebelle et
son fils, les expressions veules, gouailleuses, qu’employait Rita
lorsqu’elle se parlait à elle-même, correspondent à un relâchement
de la fermeté morale et de la dignité.
Or drôle, rasant, j’te crois, ce bonhomme ! ces termes-là faisaient
le fond de sa vraie langue comme Goddam, pour Figaro, le fond de
la langue anglaise.
 Au comte Paul, qui lui demandait si elle irait ce jour-là à la pêche
avec sa sœur, elle répondit par un : « J’te crois ! » du plus saisissant
effet, — juste avec le ton qu’elle eût pris pour parler à Théramène.
Elle connaissait assez maintenant les opinions du comte et sa
manière subtile de sentir, pour regretter sur-le-champ cette
distraction. Ce n’était rien, ce mot, et Paul ne songeait qu’à en rire,
comme d’une espièglerie. Mais il la regarda et leurs yeux se
rencontrèrent. Elle eut une inquiétude qui flotta dans son regard et
qu’il aperçut distinctement. Il y eut un silence d’une seconde, après
lequel elle ajouta avec hésitation : « C’est ce pauvre Pinchard, —
vous savez, Pinchard, — qui m’a appris ce mot-là… C’est drôle,
n’est-ce pas ? » Pourquoi s’excusait-elle ? De quoi l’accusait-on ?
Que venait faire là ce Pinchard ? La gaucherie de la phrase affecta
le jeune homme, le gêna. Il avait l’impression indéfinissable et
pénible qu’on éprouve en présence d’un mensonge mal fait, qui
laisse voir ce qu’il veut cacher, et, du même coup, la nudité d’une
âme prise en faute.
Mais tout cela était véritablement peu de chose. Le comte Paul
était bien trop raisonnable pour s’y arrêter longtemps.
Sans doute, c’était là de ces souffrances folles, attachées au
charme d’aimer. Il voulut le penser ainsi. « Non ! est-ce bête,
l’amour ! »
Une autre fois, un voisin, en visite à Aiguebelle, conta
brusquement, en termes voilés d’ailleurs, une scandaleuse histoire,
qu’il eût été décent de ne pas comprendre, au moins en présence du
conteur. Marie laissa échapper un : « Ah ! bon ! » intelligent, du plus
déplorable effet.
Une fine angoisse traversa le cœur du jeune homme. A vrai dire,
il était inadmissible que Mademoiselle Déperrier eût compris ; et
c’était même la seule excuse du bavard. Il y a, croyait le comte Paul,
— naïf jeune homme d’une autre époque, — des vilenies dont une
jeune fille et même une femme ne doivent jamais concevoir
seulement l’idée. Naturellement, il n’osa interroger Marie, mais il fit
une allusion, peu de temps après, à l’inconvenance du narrateur.
Tout en parlant, il regarda la jeune fille d’un œil attentif. Elle sentit ce
regard et l’intention, et ne broncha pas.
— Inconvenant ? dit-elle, en levant sur le comte Paul son doux
regard plein de questions. Inconvenant ? Pourquoi ?
— Je suis un sot qui se croit malin, pensa le comte ; et,
mentalement, il lui demanda pardon.
Douter, s’interroger, hésiter, mais ce serait un crime ! Parfois le
souvenir des méfiances de sa mère lui revenait, traversait comme un
éclair noir sa lumière intérieure ; — et toute sa journée en demeurait
vaguement assombrie… Alors, il s’en voulait ; il se reprochait d’être
atteint par le mal du siècle, et incapable de jouir simplement et
noblement des meilleures choses de la vie.
« Ne suis-je pas heureux ? se demandait-il souvent. — Si, bien
heureux !… Et pourtant… Quoi ? que me manque-t-il ? » Ce qui lui
manquait, il n’en savait rien. Il songeait parfois que c’était sans doute
la réalisation du rêve. Mais, puisqu’elle était certaine ! Il se répondait
aussi : « L’homme n’est jamais content. Il en faut prendre son parti !
Je devrais être heureux. N’a-t-on pas dit que l’attente du bonheur est
plus douce que le bonheur même ? — Je ne suis pas assez positif »,
songeait-il encore. Et il se récitait les vers du poète :

Je traîne l’incurable envie

De quelque paradis lointain.

« Oui, c’est cela. J’ai beau avoir une conviction philosophique

très nette, je regrette doublement les paradis rêvés aux jours de mon
enfance. Tout petit, je les pleurais avec l’espoir de les retrouver. J’en
regrette aujourd’hui jusqu’à l’espérance ! Le positiviste et l’athée ne
seront heureux que lorsque des siècles d’atavisme leur auront
transmis graduellement l’oubli des idées métaphysiques qui sont
dans nos moëlles à nous autres. Toute notre nature morale, toutes
nos intuitions, originairement entachées de foi, — sont en lutte avec
les conclusions de notre raison. Voilà bien où est la cause profonde
de toutes nos mélancolies noires, de nos troubles, de notre misère
d’âme… Allons vivre ! Et secouons ces habitudes de pressentiment,
ces angoisses de mysticisme… Je suis un champ de bataille
d’antinomies. Comment m’affranchir de tout ça ? »
Il aspirait une large goulée d’air, sur la terrasse d’où s’apercevait
la mer bleue et, juste en face du château, les îles d’Hyères. Il prenait
un fusil, sifflait son griffon, allait, le long des marais salins, à la
recherche d’une bécassine…
Ce qui l’apaisait le mieux, c’était ses visites à de pauvres
malades qui, pour n’avoir pas à payer, le faisaient appeler comme
médecin. Le médecin de la Londe, village voisin, le fit prévenir un
jour, comme cela lui était arrivé déjà plus d’une fois, que forcé de
s’absenter pour une affaire grave, il priait son honoré confrère,
Monsieur le comte Paul d’Aiguebelle, de le remplacer auprès de ses
clients. Ce fut une semaine de grand repos moral. Le comte revenait
de ses visites avec des rayonnements de joie dans les yeux.
Le sentiment du service rendu au pauvre officier de santé et à
tout le pays, était en lui comme une sensation de force retrouvée. Il
éprouvait alors une allégresse physique, et une confiance étrange
dans le monde entier.
La foi est le bénéfice assuré du bien que l’on fait.
Se prouver qu’on est un brave homme, c’est se prouver du coup
qu’il existe de braves gens, et, d’une manière générale, que le Bon
existe. C’est créer en soi la sécurité, sans laquelle l’homme ne peut
jouir d’aucun bien-être.
Au retour de ces visites à de pauvres gens auxquels il apportait,
dans sa voiture, des remèdes, et souvent des provisions, de la
viande et du bon vin, le jeune homme considérait volontiers comme
une récompense mieux méritée les joies qui l’attendaient au
château. Alors, avec un abandon tout nouveau, il contemplait sa
fiancée, et il n’avait en la regardant que des pensées sereines.
Pourquoi faut-il que la bonté, la pureté et l’élévation des
sentiments, deviennent des causes d’erreur ? En ces moments-là,
sûr de lui, il était sûr d’elle, il avait confiance ; confiance absolument,
en tous deux, en toute chose au monde, en tout le monde. Les
moindres sensations, les désirs les plus physiques, l’émoi qu’il
éprouvait en se sentant frôlé par sa robe, en regardant, sous l’ombre
légère de son oreille, la naissance de ses cheveux cendrés, qu’irisait
tout à coup un trait de soleil, sous les grands arbres, tout cela en lui
devenait une aspiration à la vie haute, générale, un appel à l’avenir,
à la création consciente d’un fils qui serait un homme sain et pur, un
de ceux qui renouvelleront la terre !… Et il se mettait à aimer, à
adorer plus passionnément que jamais celle en qui dormaient ces
puissances de renouvellement, ces espérances infinies.
 XI

Toutes les pensées, toutes les joies, toutes les tristesses, tous
les désirs, tous les rêves, — tout cela proprement plié, sous
l’enveloppe mince des lettres, sous une effigie de roi ou de reine, et
bien et dûment timbré, tout cela glisse dans des trous béants aux
devantures des boutiques, puis court dans des wagons, s’en va, —
isolé des cœurs d’où cela est sorti, — sur les routes, par les
chemins, dans la boîte des facteurs toujours fatigués et toujours en
route… Tous ces petits carrés de papier, sans fin vont et viennent,
entre-croisant, sans les embrouiller, les milliers de fils de leur va-et-
vient, — la réponse appelant la réponse à travers l’espace… Tous
ces menus papiers, ce sont des cris qui s’échangent en silence…
Oh ! l’éloquente, la magique enseigne, qui, — dans les bourgades
perdues sous la neige des montagnes, au fond des vallées ignorées,
au bord des déserts d’Afrique, — donne au voyageur découragé une
soudaine émotion de fidélité et de retour, et comme un sentiment
joyeux d’ubiquité : Postes et Télégraphes.

Sur la tablette de son petit secrétaire, dont elle porte toujours la

mignonne clef sur elle, Marie écrivait à Berthe :

« Chérie,

« Mon mariage est fixé aux premiers jours de septembre. Il

aura lieu ici, dans la chapelle du château d’Aiguebelle. Peut-être
viendras-tu : Nice et Monaco sont si près !… Que de choses à
te conter, j’en étouffe… Ah ! que ce sera bon de bavarder !
« Mille gros baisers.
 Marie.

« P.-S. — Dois-je inviter Léon ? Je ne sais que faire. »

Berthe répondit :

« Si j’y serai, ma mignonne ! Je te crois que j’y serai ! Tu vois

bien que tout s’est passé selon la formule : couvent, rappel…, et
le reste, le reste c’est-à-dire ce que j’imagine, car tu ne m’as
pas gâtée : quatre pauvres petits billets en un an ! Moi qui te
croyais écrivassière ! Si tu meurs d’envie de tout dire, je meurs
d’envie de tout entendre. Bonjour, chérie, je tourne court. Mon
aimable époux s’impatiente. Nous dînons en ville et c’est attelé.
Ce qu’il est toujours plus embêtant, mon homme, tu n’en as pas
d’idée ! Et pourtant je le laisse libre : qu’est-ce qu’il faut donc
faire pour être heureuse ? Je t’engage à mettre le tien au pas
dès les premiers jours. Les premiers jours décident de toute la
vie. — Beaucoup de baisers.

Berthe.

« P.-S. — C’est égal, je regrette pour toi et pour tout Paris, la

Madeleine et tout le grand tra-la-la des mariages célèbres. Mais
tu me rappelles Bonaparte : il commença par Toulon. All right !
Et laisse Léon où il est, à Valence. »

Pendant que Marie lisait, dans sa chambre, cette lettre de

Berthe, Paul recevait celle-ci, datée de Saïgon :

« Mon vieux frère,

« Je vais rentrer en France plus tôt que je ne pensais. Il

serait trop long de t’expliquer pourquoi il m’est impossible de
faire autrement. Je serai d’ailleurs bien heureux de vous revoir
tous, et d’embrasser encore une fois ma vieille maman infirme.
J’avais des projets d’études spéciales que j’abandonne avec
chagrin. »
 Suivait une longue dissertation sur l’avenir de la Cochinchine ; et
la lettre s’achevait ainsi :

« Puisque je reviens en France, j’espère y arriver de façon à

pouvoir assister à ton mariage. C’est Pauline qui m’en a dit la
date probable. Sans elle, je ne saurais rien de toi. C’est pourtant
facile d’écrire au courant de la plume tout ce qui passe par la
tête. Ingrat, va !… N’importe, cher silencieux, je sais où dort en
silence le trésor de ton amitié. Gardons-la, notre amitié,
gardons-la bien, éternellement, même sans nous la dire. Tous
les amours peuvent tromper, mais non pas celui-ci : la vieille
affection de deux hommes au cœur droit. Je t’aime, vieux frère,
et je suis à toi.

Albert. »

La petite Annette lisait une lettre de Pauline :

« Ma chère petite Annette,

« Ce grand évènement, le mariage de ton bien-aimé frère, va

donc se réaliser. Je n’aurais pas cru que cela se fît si tôt. Enfin,
j’espère encore un retard qui permettra à mon frère d’arriver à
temps. Il sera avec nous dans les premiers jours de septembre.
En ce cas, moi aussi j’irai là-bas. Tu me trouveras un peu triste ;
ne t’étonne pas ; maman m’inquiète toujours davantage. Elle
m’effraie, tant elle est maigrie, mais son âme, sa parole
vraiment suaves me consolent de tout, même de ce grand mal
qu’elle me fait en étant toujours plus malade. Comme c’est
beau, la force morale, l’amour du devoir, le dévouement aux
autres, la bonté qui permet qu’on souffre en souriant, afin de
consoler ceux qui vous aiment. Toute son âme est maintenant
dans ses yeux et c’est beau comme la lumière. Cela ne se peut
expliquer, il faut le voir et alors cela s’impose, se transmet
même. Puissé-je lui ressembler pendant toute la grande
épreuve de la vie, par la force et par la douceur… Mes respects
à ton adorée mère. Elle ressemble à la mienne. Dieu te la
conserve ! Travaille bien et amuse-toi bien.
« Un gros baiser sur tes deux joues, de ta triste vieille amie.

Pauline. »

Annette répondit :

« Chère, chère Pauline !

« Quel bonheur ! quel bonheur ! Il nous revient, ton grand

frère ! Figure-toi que je n’osais pas l’espérer. Paul va être si
heureux ! Et maman aussi, de te revoir ! Et ta maman à toi et toi-
même ! Nous serons tous, tous si contents. J’ai éprouvé un tel
bonheur de cette nouvelle que j’en ai sauté, en jouant avec ma
sœur Marie, comme une enfant, des petites… Mais je
m’aperçois que l’idée de notre bonheur m’empêche de
m’attrister avec toi sur la santé de ta mère. Va, le bon Dieu nous
les conservera longtemps encore. Et puis leur force d’âme les
soutient, car la mienne aussi est bien malade, sans en avoir
l’air. Du moins, elle marche, elle. Mais le cœur lui fait mal
souvent. Toujours ces palpitations. Le médecin recommande
mille précautions. Ne pas monter d’escaliers ; pas d’émotions
brusques… Aussi, je lui ai annoncé très doucement le retour
d’Albert. Elle me charge de dire à ta maman toutes les
tendresses les plus douces. Oui, ta mère est admirable, sur ce
lit de douleur, d’avoir si longtemps de si belles patiences. Elle
est héroïque, disait hier maman, mais aussi quelle consolation
pour elle d’avoir sa fille Pauline, — bonne comme elle, — et
quelle fierté d’avoir un fils comme Monsieur Albert, — qui sera
amiral tout jeune, j’en suis sûre. Je l’ai entendu dire à l’amiral
Drevet. Je te dirai encore que ma sœur Marie est toujours très
belle et d’une amabilité qui ne se dément jamais. Pauvre Marie !
Elle n’a plus de mère à aimer, elle. Pourtant, elle mérite tous les
bonheurs. Mon frère le dit souvent, et je le crois. Je me rappelle
qu’elle plaisait aussi beaucoup à Albert. Si tu lui écris encore, à
ton cher frère, dis-lui comme nous l’attendons tous avec
impatience, moi comprise. Il me trouvera grandie, en dix-huit
mois ! Songe donc ! j’avais quinze ans et demi ! A présent je
suis une femme. Il me semble que je n’oserai plus jouer avec
lui, comme autrefois, au chat perché ! Te souviens-tu comme il
m’attrapait à tout coup ? Mais je bavarde comme une petite pie.
Je te rends, sur les deux joues, tes deux gros baisers, ma
bonne Pauline. Ta petite amie pour toujours.

Annette.

« P.-S. — Tu ne sais pas ? je pense souvent que nous

pourrons être pendant toute la vie, toi et moi, deux amies
comme sont, en hommes, Albert et Paul. On dit que c’est rare
entre femmes. Et, en effet, j’y songe : il y a Damon et Pythias,
Oreste et Pylade ; il n’y a pas de légende sur l’amitié des
femmes. Eh bien, nous serons une rareté. C’est dit ! Bonjour,
ma Pauline. »

De la comtesse d’Aiguebelle à l’abbé Tardieu :

« Vous aviez raison, mon cher abbé. Elle est charmante,

irréprochable, un peu sèche par moments, d’une réserve un peu
voulue. Mais cela vient sans doute d’une excessive et très noble
fierté. Le mariage aura lieu le 15 septembre. Que Dieu protège
mon cher enfant ! Merci de votre bonne lettre. Pardonnez-moi si
je n’y réponds pas plus longuement : je suis si souffrante
aujourd’hui. »

Le comte Paul répondit à Albert :

« J’ai fixé le 15 septembre, afin que tu puisses être là. Je

veux t’avoir. Mon bonheur, autrement, serait incomplet. Je te
serre dans mes bras.

Paul. »
 Albert, en lisant ces lignes, se sentit pâlir. Il éprouva un
mouvement d’angoisse au fond de son cœur, mais son parti était si
bien pris, sa volonté si accoutumée à être la maîtresse ! Il envoya un
mot par câble sous-marin. Et ce mot, qui sortait des profondeurs les
plus douloureuses d’une âme d’homme, et dont il fut le seul à
connaître tout le sens, courut au fond des grandes eaux :
— « J’y serai. Merci. »
 XII

Paul avait exprimé à sa mère le désir de célébrer son mariage

sans éclat. Il répugnait aux publicités qu’on donne à cette
cérémonie. La comtesse, au contraire, pensa que, dans le cas
présent, la jeune fille, presque sans famille, se mariant loin de chez
elle contre l’habitude, il fallait l’imposer, ne pas avoir l’air de se
cacher ; et, précisément parce qu’on était dans l’isolement de la
campagne, elle désira convier le plus de monde possible. « Il n’y en
aura jamais assez. »
Les choses furent ainsi faites.
Trois jours avant le mariage, Monsieur et Madame de Ruynet,
que Mademoiselle Déperrier avait invités pour bien montrer qu’elle
avait des amis titrés, étaient accourus de Paris. La marquise de
Jousseran rendit à Marie un dernier service en venant à Hyères,
exprès pour elle cette fois. Lérin de la Berne accourut aussi, pour se
payer, disait-il, la tête des deux conjoints.
Quant à Léon Terral, qui apprit la nouvelle par les journaux, il
demanda quatre jours de permission, et débarqua à Hyères avant de
s’être interrogé sur ce qu’il venait faire, étonné de voir si près de se
réaliser un projet pourtant bien connu de lui. Marie ne lui avait rien
dissimulé. Alors, de quoi avait-il à se plaindre ? Avait-il protesté ?
Non. Mais à présent que l’évènement était là, devant lui, inévitable, il
n’en prenait plus son parti.
La veille du grand jour, Berthe, très surexcitée, vint voir Marie, à
Aiguebelle.
— Tu ne sais pas ?
— Quoi ?
— Léon est ici !
 — En vérité ?
— Tu prends cela avec ce calme ?
— Qu’y faire ? Je m’y attendais.
— Il va faire un esclandre.
— Non… Et puis, pourquoi pas ?… Mais non.
— Comment, pourquoi pas ?
— Je suis un peu fataliste. D’un côté, ça m’amuserait ! Ça
mettrait fin à bien des tourments que j’éprouve. Et ça m’en
épargnerait d’autres, que je prévois. Crois-tu que ça m’amuse,
d’être, de par ma propre volonté, dans la situation des jeunes
personnes que leurs familles marient contre leur gré ?
— Tu es une singulière fille !
— Oh oui, alors ! C’est comme ça.
— Enfin, que veux-tu ?
— Je suis lasse. Je veux ce que la destinée voudra.
Elle était songeuse. Elle ajouta :
— Léon, c’est la destinée…
— … Et la misère, acheva Berthe.
— Oui, je sais… Sans ça…
— Eh bien, qu’est-ce qu’il faut lui dire ?
— Comment a-t-il su la date ?
— Par les journaux.
— Je vais le faire inviter… Un ami d’enfance… Il a connu, il a
aimé ma mère. C’est tout simple. Qu’il vienne demain… Ah ! ma foi,
je le reverrai avec plaisir.
— Tant que ça ?
— Je crois bien ! Je ne suis pas forcée de poser de profil tout le
temps, avec lui. Il ne m’aime pas en camée. Il m’aime en femme
vivante, avec mes défauts ; il m’aime enfin, comme je suis… Il
m’aime donc bien, n’est-ce pas ?
 — C’est toi qui me l’expliques, et tu m’interroges ?
— C’est que je voudrais me l’entendre dire.
— Il est fou, ma chère… — « Je savais bien, m’a-t-il dit, qu’elle
allait se marier ; mais l’annonce du fait définitif, lue par hasard dans
un journal, ces mots écrits, imprimés, publiés, m’ont donné un coup.
Il est clair qu’avant je n’y croyais pas. — Eh bien ! si elle veut, je
l’enlève… je l’arrache à elle-même… car elle se trompe. Elle fait un
calcul et elle s’en repentira. Il est temps encore… dites-le-lui. » Voilà,
ma chère, les absurdités qu’il débite, et bien d’autres encore.
— Et tu as répondu ?
— J’ai répondu, pardi ! que tout ça n’est pas raisonnable. Que tu
dois te marier d’abord, qu’on verra après.
— Ah ! tu lui as dit ça ?
— Cette bêtise ! Quand ça ne serait que pour le calmer jusqu’aux
calendes grecques. Il manque de principes, le gaillard. Je lui ai fait
comprendre qu’un honnête homme laisse une femme assurer
d’abord son avenir.
— Parbleu ! tout ça est juste, mais si tu savais ce que ça me
dégoûte, — ce que j’aimerais mieux autre chose, par moments.
— Allons donc ! Que veux-tu ? C’est la vie, ça. C’est comme ça
pour tout le monde.
— Pauvre Léon !
— Tu le plains ?
— Oui. Parce qu’il n’a pas fini de souffrir, avec moi. Si encore je
savais moi-même exactement ce que je compte faire de lui ! Mais je
n’en sais rien !… Que sait-on ? Tiens, à de certains moments, il me
semble que, par ce mariage j’entre dans une forteresse et que lui,
Léon, sera ma seule chance d’évasion.
— Mais tu ne veux pas t’évader…
— … Avant d’avoir vu comment la prison est faite ; oui. Si j’allais
m’y plaire ?
 — Au fond, ma petite Marie, je voudrais être à ta place. Tu es en
plein roman. Ça doit être bon. Tu me fais l’effet de ces originaux qui
se marient en ballon. Ils échangent le premier baiser à 1,500 mètres
par-dessus les moulins, — et la peur de tomber… Enfin, je
m’entends… Ils mettent les frissons doubles… C’est si bon, d’avoir
peur !… Qu’est-ce qu’il faut dire à Léon ?… De venir demain ?
Entendu !
C’était bien cela. Les complications enchantaient Marie.
L’inquiétude que lui donnait l’arrivée de Léon, le mépris pour elle-
même que lui inspirait la conquête — trop facile, jugeait-elle
maintenant — de cette provinciale famille, la joie et le dégoût d’y
avoir si vite réussi, une chance de voir, au dernier moment, échouer
son projet, tout cela, à des degrés très divers, était brûlant en elle, et
lui faisait sentir la vie avec l’intensité désirée. Elle avait bu, en son
enfance, de si amers, de si forts breuvages ! Pour goûter la vie, il
fallait qu’elle y trouvât quelque chose d’âpre et de mordant. Son
imagination avait toutes les expériences. Aisément les réalités lui
semblaient misérablement simples.
Par moments, malgré ses curiosités d’intrigue, elle sentait un
découragement final, une accablante lassitude, l’envie de n’être
plus.
Elle avait tant rêvé, tant désiré… Oh ! se reposer du désir !
« Tout ça, c’est toujours la même chose… A quoi bon tout ça ? »
Et la songeuse perdait quelquefois de vue, brusquement, le triomphe
au milieu de tous les luxes, sous les plafonds d’or d’un palais, pour
rêver le bonheur farouche de mourir à deux, dans une mansarde,
étouffée par la fumée d’un réchaud. Puis un besoin furieux de vivre
emportait son imagination, mais elle serait morte très bien, ne fût-ce
que par bravade. Qu’avait-elle à regretter ? Elle ne connaissait pas
la joie, ne connaissant pas la tendresse.
L’audace devant la mort, c’est la grande puissance des
aventuriers. Elle en était. Elle était de la race qui ne redoute rien ;
elle était de ceux qui aiment mieux le risque que le gain. C’est le cas
de tous les joueurs : tous aiment mieux perdre que de ne pas jouer !
 Le vieux docteur, qui était venu de son côté rendre visite aux
d’Aiguebelle, repartit pour Hyères en même temps que Mme de
Ruynet. Son tilbury s’avança jusque sur la terrasse où Berthe et
Marie avaient rejoint le comte et sa mère.
— Vous n’allez pas repartir tout seul dans votre joujou de voiture,
docteur ? Vous allez monter dans mon landau de louage. Il est très
propre. Nous bavarderons. J’adore bavarder, moi. Et vous, j’en suis
sûre, vous avez beau prétendre avoir renoncé à Paris, vous mourez
d’envie de causer avec une Parisienne. — Eh bien, me v’là !
La comtesse, qui n’éprouvait pas une folle sympathie pour
Berthe, se mit pourtant à rire de bon cœur.
— Ceci veut dire que nous sommes ennuyeux comme la
province personnifiée ? dit-elle, toujours riant.
Berthe ne se démontait jamais.
— Ma foi, comtesse, j’ai dit ça sans malice, moi. Vous répétiez
tout à l’heure que Paris vous effraie et vous fatigue. C’est donc que
vous avez renoncé à ce joli titre gai de Parisienne. Une Parisienne,
ça aime Paris… Une Parisienne… voyons, docteur, qu’entendez-
vous par une Parisienne, vous ? Comment la définissez vous, la
Parisienne ?
Le vieux docteur se retrouvait sur son terrain de jadis. Il
prononça, avec une élégance de vieux jeune premier qui donne sa
représentation à bénéfice :
— Comment je la définis, madame ?… Légèreté et grâce d’esprit,
avec un désir inquiet et inquiétant de rôder sans cesse autour de
tout ce qui brille et de tout ce qui brûle… Est-ce cela ?
Berthe se leva, fixa ses regards abaissés sur le bout de son
ombrelle qui tourmenta le gravier, et, jolie à ravir, ainsi posée, le
regard invisible, mais les paupières battantes sous les cils qui les
ombraient :
— Ah ! soupira-t-elle, c’est vrai, nous sommes frivoles !
Il y avait bien des choses dans ce mot, ainsi soupiré. Il y avait de
la coquetterie, une apparence de blâme et de regret
condescendants, une secrète satisfaction de soi-même, et tant
d’espièglerie, de naïveté feinte et de rouerie délicate — que la
comtesse elle-même, voyant clairement tout cela à la fois, fut
charmée comme par la vue d’une orchidée bien venue, d’un caprice
féerique de la nature faiseuse de fleurs.
Berthe effleura quelques sujets encore, en cinq minutes, et l’on
se quitta au milieu d’un badinage léger comme l’invisible pollen
d’une touffe de lilas secouée.
Quand elle posait pour des gens graves, elle était exquise, cette
Berthe.
Le docteur monta dans le landau de Berthe. Son tilbury suivait.
— Savez-vous, docteur, ce que nous disions, avec la jolie
fiancée, tout à l’heure ?
— Non ; mais ça ne pouvait être que très spirituel.
— Spirituel, pas du tout. Nous disions simplement que ça doit
être très agréable de se marier en ballon.
— Voyez-vous !
— Oui, à cause de la peur ! — Ça ne vous fait pas rire ?
— Pas du tout.
— Pourquoi donc ?
— Parce que c’est une idée de malade, ça. Ce goût du péril, dont
vous parlez, c’est une monomanie, plus répandue qu’on ne croit.
— Vraiment ?
— Vraiment. Et c’est triste. Toutes ces idées bizarres, il ne faut
pas trop en rire, je vous assure, parce qu’elles accusent la
dégénérescence d’une race.
— C’est si grave que ça ?
— J’ai connu une jeune fille qui avait une passion : elle aimait un
certain cheval, parce qu’il était dangereux ; j’ai connu un fort aimable
jeune homme qui s’était fait mécanicien pour le plaisir de se dire,
l’œil fixé sur les oscillations du manomètre, à bord de son yacht, où il
invitait ses amis, qu’il pourrait à son gré sauter avec tout son monde,
en forçant la pression, et il la forçait ; j’en connais un autre qui ne
saurait dormir qu’avec de la dynamite dans les caves de son palais ;
et je sais enfin une jeune femme, aussi jolie que vous…
— Qu’est-ce qu’elle fait de décadent, celle-là ? interrogea Berthe
d’un air narquois.
— Je ne sais pas comment dire ça.
— Allez-y carrément !
— Eh bien, elle n’oublie volontiers ses devoirs que si elle a lieu
de croire que son mari peut la surprendre, — autant dire la tuer.
— Bref, dit Berthe, le siècle, selon vous, chahute sur un volcan ?
— Ah ! soupira le docteur, nous sommes loin du temps où Berthe
filait !
Sur ce mot, qui n’avait rien de bien comique, il regarda sa voisine
d’un air si… suggestif, qu’elle se mit à rire, à rire !… Et ce fut, jusqu’à
Hyères, un feu roulant d’anecdotes, de drôleries échangées. Le mot
propre, qui est souvent le mot cru, répondait au mot propre, la
facétie au calembour, l’éclat de rire à l’éclat de rire. Et, à l’entrée de
la ville, les employés de l’octroi s’étonnèrent de voir, dans ce landau
toujours suivi du tilbury, le vieux docteur, si grave à l’ordinaire, se
tordre littéralement, — vocabulaire de Berthe, — aux côtés de la jolie
damerette qui n’avait en elle et sur elle rien que de chiffonné : le
chapeau, le chignon, le corsage, les rubans, les jupes, le nez, — et
la morale.
Chiffonnée ? non, — fripée, la morale !
 XIII

Les plus longues échéances arrivent, et, l’heure arrivée, on

s’étonne qu’un délai d’un an ou une durée de vingt ans, une fois
dans le passé, ne pèsent pas plus l’un que l’autre.
Albert de Barjols, au bout de dix-huit mois de commandement, se
retrouva le même homme, avec le même rêve au cœur. Peut-être
l’absence, — qui rend si désirables les réalités les plus banales,
même celles qu’on a détestées à l’heure où on les possédait, —
avait-elle accru en lui son amour sans espérance. Cet amour, son
renoncement même le lui avait rendu précieux. Il n’était pas sans se
complaire dans l’approbation de lui-même. Le bien n’est parfait, n’est
accompli que dans le cœur de quelques saints, et encore ceux-là
ont-ils à repousser, comme des suggestions étrangères, diaboliques,
les mauvaises pensées de l’orgueil. Dans un homme dont la volonté
morale est sa propre fin, la satisfaction de soi, récompense légitime,
devient un péril. L’égoïsme toujours aux aguets entre par là, se
satisfait, exige, fût-ce en silence, certains dons en retour, de ceux à
qui on prétend s’être sacrifié, et qui l’ignorent ! Cela devait peut-être
arriver pour Albert. En attendant, la satisfaction qu’il éprouvait de sa
générosité lui faisait de Marie un être d’autant plus cher. N’est-ce
pas à lui qu’elle devait, sans le savoir, son fiancé ? Elle lui devait au
moins le repos, car il n’aurait tenu qu’à lui, Albert, en avouant son
amour à Paul, d’établir entre eux une rivalité qui, au bout du compte,
aurait peut-être tourné à son avantage.
Pourquoi non, si, à ce moment-là, ce qui était bien possible, le
cœur de la jeune fille n’avait pas encore parlé.
Esprit noble et pur, mais très positif, Albert n’était pas de ces
idéalistes qui demandent à la vie des beautés supra-humaines, aux
êtres des vertus sans défaillances. Ici, il admettait fort bien qu’une