Babies and Badges. Laura Altom Marie

blue. And maybe Kelsey had tearfully broken things off with him for a very good reason—at least in her mind. And okay, yeah, her new husband, Owen, had requested Noah’s permission before even asking her on a first date. But geez, did he have to go and get hitched to her?

      Okay, so maybe Noah did have certain issues with even saying the word relationship, let alone m-marriage.

      See? He could barely even think it!

      But she could’ve stuck by him.

      She could’ve been content for them to spend the rest of their lives dating. Just like he was. But she’d stubbornly insisted on the two of them tying the knot, going so far as to give him an ultimatum. Either he marry her or it was over. He’d been every bit as bullheaded, insisting they maintain the status quo. They didn’t need rings to show the world they were a couple.

      Shoot, they’d had matching Razorback T-shirts, and he’d spent Christmas and Thanksgiving with her family instead of his. What more could a woman want?

      Judging by today’s ceremony—a lot!

      By God, Noah Wheeler always—always—honored his commitments. If he said he’d stick by her, he would. He just didn’t see the need to go making it all official.

      He’d already gone that route, and everyone in the county knew darned well what’d happened.

      The drive from Eureka Springs’s famous Thorn-crown Chapel grew more tedious by the mile—or maybe it was Noah’s own company getting on his nerves. Whatever the case, he reached into the glove box where he kept an emergency stash of candy bars and pulled out a Twix.

      He’d just put the gold foil wrapper to his teeth when he spotted one of those fancy new Thunderbird convertibles with its flashers on a couple hundred yards up the road. The pale-yellow dream on wheels was way too new to be having mechanical problems, so he figured the owner must’ve run out of gas.

      Thrilled to have a distraction, Noah eased his SUV onto the wide shoulder behind it, grateful the car’s driver had had the good fortune to not run dry on one of the many sections of the road with a steep drop-off.

      Noah had already pulled off the tie he’d worn to the wedding, and after easing out of his truck, nursing his aching left knee—always a barrel of monkeys in this muggy weather—he ditched his jacket as well, tossing it on top of the rice bag he planned on letting the guys down at the station use for target practice.

      Without his radio or gun, he felt naked approaching the car. He could’ve called in his stop on the fixed radio in the truck, but didn’t much see the need. Judging by the long, wavy hair, he could tell a woman sat in the front seat, head slumped against the headrest. Probably taking a nap.

      “Hello!” he called out, walking slowly toward the driver’s side.

      When he got no answer, his heart beat faster.

      Was she hurt?

      “Hello? Sheriff Noah Wheeler here. Just checkin’ to see if you need any help.”

      A VW Bug whizzed by—the old kind.

      Red.

      The exhaust stung his nose.

      Senses on full alert, wondering if maybe he should call in, he crept closer still. “I’d sure appreciate a wave or something. You know, just to let me know you’re all right.”

      Greg Morris down in Washington County had gotten shot approaching a vehicle. The woman driver had played dead, while in the passenger seat her boyfriend hunkered down with a .357 Magnum. They’d been running drugs to the U of A campus from Dallas. Greg was now in a grave, and Noah hoped his killers spent the rest of their lives in the equivalent, only with concrete walls instead of dirt.

      His pulse hammered, and a bead of sweat slid down his right temple.

      Damn this heat and this stupid dress shirt.

      He could see through the rear driver’s-side porthole window that the passenger seat was empty. But since he couldn’t see if the woman was truly asleep, or hurt, or just playing possum, he took it slow.

      “Ma’am? You need help?”

      “Mmm…”

      He raised his eyebrows. Had that been a moan?

      Throwing caution to the wind, heart racing as he prayed this wouldn’t turn out like that nightmarish Monday on Blue Springs Road, he finished his approach, and wished he’d done it a lot sooner, as the woman behind the wheel was about twelve months pregnant and obviously in trouble.

      Her window was down, so he lightly shook her shoulder. “Ma’am? Can you look at me?”

      Resting on a pillow of her lush red hair, she inched her head to the left, then opened exotic jade-green eyes a millimeter at a time. “I—” She licked her lips. Full, kissable lips attached to a flawless complexion—which must’ve cost an awful lot of money to keep up. The kind of money that had no business being on the side of the road in desolate Pritchett County. A fine mist of sweat coated her forehead and upper lip, and her breathing was erratic. She licked those lips of hers again, then said, “I—could you please help?”

      Her gaze fell to her bulging tummy.

      His gaze followed. “You in labor?”

      Sucking in a swift gulp of air, she nodded.

      “Okay, um—first off, I’m gonna call for help. Then we’re gonna get you out of here and into the back of my truck where I think you’ll be more comfortable.”

      Again, all she could do was nod.

      If Noah had thought his pulse was racing earlier, now he felt on the verge of passing out. He’d seen a lot of things in his years as county sheriff, but thankfully, he’d never happened upon a scene like this.

      He reached his SUV in record time and radioed for an ambulance. The dispatcher patched him through to paramedics and after relaying what sketchy information he had, he dashed around to the back of his truck.

      The rear door opened with a metallic screech, and Noah tossed aside the jack and jumper cables and spare jugs of wiper wash fluid, oil and water. He found the first-aid kit under the Bulldog bleacher pad he’d bought from one of his deputy’s kids.

      Next, he lowered the back seat into the flat position, then made a nest out of the stash of blankets he hadn’t yet removed from that winter.

      With the back seat down, he had a clear view of Kelsey’s foil-wrapped wedding present on the front floorboard. Looked like something good had come from skipping out on the reception, since the contents of the box was a half-dozen ecru towels.

      Ecru.

      Now, who but Kelsey would ask for ecru towels?

      Forcing Kelsey and the way she’d looked in her white satin gown from his mind, he dashed back to the Thunderbird.

      “How’re you doing?” he asked the woman inside, bum knee aching and slightly out of breath from adrenaline.

      His heart sank when, once again, all he got from her was a weak nod.

      “Okay, well, at least you’re not worse. I’m going to open your door,” he said, doing just that. “And then I’m going to lift you out of there.” With the door open, he saw that she couldn’t have been much over five feet. Good thing, since her car probably wouldn’t hold anyone over five-three—and certainly not his own six-foot frame.

      She wasn’t wearing her seat belt, so he slipped his left hand beneath her knees and his right behind her back, easing her out of the car and deeper into his arms. She wore a black sundress, not all frilly and floral like the ones women wore in these parts, but severe in its shape.

      All straight lines and business.

      Even with the baby, she weighed nothing, and he cradled her close, mumbling something he hoped was comforting during the short walk to his truck.

      In