Sawyer leaned in. “I’ll finish up here and maybe we can get out to the safe house before nightfall.”
Even though he probably hadn’t meant that to sound intimate, it did. This heat between them wasn’t cooling down much.
He tore his gaze from Cassidy’s and looked down at the baby. “You won’t have to tend to her—”
“I want to,” Cassidy interrupted.
“Just don’t get too attached,” he added. “If she’s not mine, we’ll need to find her parents.”
“Too late. I’m already attached.”
He mumbled, “Yeah,” and brushed a kiss on the baby’s cheek.
Then Cassidy’s.
He leaned in and this time brushed a kiss on her mouth. There it was again. The trickle of heat that went from her lips to her toes.
Sawyer
Delores Fossen
Imagine a family tree that includes Texas cowboys, Choctaw and Cherokee Indians, a Louisiana pirate and a Scottish rebel who battled side by side with William Wallace. With ancestors like that, it’s easy to understand why USA TODAY bestselling author and former air force captain DELORES FOSSEN feels as if she were genetically predisposed to writing romances. Along the way to fulfilling her DNA destiny, Delores married an air force top gun who just happens to be of Viking descent. With all those romantic bases covered, she doesn’t have to look too far for inspiration.
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Contents
Chapter One
Agent Sawyer Ryland caught the movement from the corner of his eye, turned and saw the blonde pushing her way through the other guests who’d gathered for the wedding reception.
She wasn’t hard to spot.
She was practically running, and she had a bundle gripped in front of her like a shield.
Oh, mercy.
Sawyer’s pulse kicked up a notch, and he automatically slid his hand inside his jacket and over his Glock. It was sad that his first response was to pull his firearm even at his own brother’s wedding reception. Still, he’d been an FBI agent long enough—and had been shot too many times—that he lived by the code of better safe than sorry.
Or better safe than dead.
The woman didn’t draw only Sawyer’s attention. Nope. His brother, Josh, and their six Ryland cousins were all Silver Creek lawmen, and while Sawyer had his attention pinned on the woman, he was well aware that some of his cousins were reaching for their guns, too.
She stopped in the center of the barn, which had been decorated with hundreds of clear twinkling lights and flowers, and even though she was wearing dark sunglasses, Sawyer was pretty sure that her gaze rifled around. Obviously looking for someone. However, the looking around skidded to a halt when her attention landed on him.
“Sawyer,” she said.
Because of the chattering guests
