Fighting for Keeps. Jennifer Snow

       CHAPTER FOURTEEN

       CHAPTER FIFTEEN

       CHAPTER SIXTEEN

       Copyright

PROLOGUE

      10 years earlier...not that Lindsay Harper remembers

      WHEN LINDSAY TOOK the microphone from Ben Walker, her brother’s best man, there was a collective groan throughout the Brookhollow community center, which was elegantly decorated for the event. The wedding guests had already sat through the slightly slurred speech the maid of honor had delivered moments before, filled with embarrassing stories about her kid brother. “Excuse me...” she said into the microphone, tapping it. “Is this thing on?” She laughed as she held the microphone too close to her lips.

      “Lindsay, everyone loved your speech...now it’s my turn,” the best man said.

      But she moved the microphone out of his reach and took several steps toward the head table, tripping over the dangling cord as she went in her four-inch heels.

      Nathan’s smile had faded and his new wife’s was forced.

      “When my brother told me he was going to propose to Ra...Rachel—” she winked at her “—I was jealous.”

      Leave it to Lindsay to make her brother’s special day about her in some way. It wasn’t enough that she’d shortened the maid-of-honor dress to way above the knee—and whether or not she was wearing underwear was still a debate among the table of single men in the corner of the room—or that she’d been ten minutes late to the ceremony and was now questionably sober at that early hour.

      Unfortunately it didn’t seem as if there was any stopping the train wreck about to happen.

      “I mean, he is two years younger than me,” she continued. “Aren’t I supposed to get married first? After all, I am older.”

      Yes, she’d mentioned that.

      “Lindsay, I think we need to move this along,” said Jim Bishop, the master of ceremony, reaching for the microphone.

      “Stop it,” she said, smacking his hand away. She moved closer to the head table. “But then it all made sense—why this we...wedding was ha...happening so quickly.”

      Rachel’s eyes widened and Nathan shot his new bride a questioning look.

      Lindsay turned and pointed at Rachel. “I mean, Rachel wanted to look skinny in her wedding photos...and a baby bump sure wouldn’t have worked in that dress, would it, Rach?” She smiled at her new sister-in-law.

      Nathan’s mouth gaped. Both the groom and the bride’s mothers turned to glare at each other. Clearly neither had known. Rachel slumped in her chair, her cheeks glowing.

      “You’re pregnant?” Nathan asked her.

      Rachel couldn’t look up at her husband.

      You could’ve heard a pin drop in the community center as everyone strained to hear what she would say.

      “I was going to tell you later tonight...and everyone else at a later time, but...yes, I am,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. She twisted her napkin in her fingers.

      “Are you serious?” he asked, cupping his wife’s face.

      The two sat there, frozen, staring into each other’s eyes. All the wedding guests leaned in, trying to decipher the moment.

      And then Nathan kissed her, whispered something in her ear, and the pair burst into laughter.

      The room erupted into applause as congratulations rang out and more champagne was opened in celebration.

      The couple shared another kiss and the mothers-in-law hugged, despite it being no secret they weren’t fond of each other, and then went to hug the bride.

      Lindsay leaned across the table to join the group hug, but her mother blocked her, so she stood, looking bored and annoyed.

      Damage done and no longer in the spotlight, she brought the microphone to her lips again, though no one was really paying attention anymore.

      “You’re welcome,” she said, raising her wineglass to the couple before passing out in a heap on the floor—and settling the bet in the corner.

CHAPTER ONE

      “I DON’T THINK this is necessary,” Noah Parks said, his eyes wide as he stared at the needle in her hand.

      Tough guy was afraid of a needle. What a surprise, Lindsay thought, reaching for his arm. “Well, we do. The last time I slid you in the MRI without the sedative you almost broke the scanner, trying to get out.”

      “The noise freaked me out,” he mumbled, shoving up the sleeve of the green hospital gown to allow her access to his arm.

      And what an arm it was. At six feet and two hundred pounds of solid muscle, Noah was the definition of chiseled strength and athleticism.

      Even though she was a professional—the head nurse of the clinic—Lindsay wasn’t oblivious to the effect his smooth, tanned biceps could have on a woman.

      It was too bad he used that strength to beat the crap out of other men... That kind of ruined it for her.

      She cleared her throat as she wiped the injection site with an alcohol swab. “That’s why we give you headphones.” The scan was painless but without the noise-canceling headphones, patients were often discomfited by the constant thumping and tapping.

      She wrapped a rubber tourniquet around his arm and tapped his skin. A quick look at his expression revealed he was already nauseous. “I haven’t even poked you yet.”

      He flinched and gripped the edge of the exam table a second later as the needle pierced the skin.

      She shook her head. “You get punched in the face for a living and a tiny prick of a needle makes you woozy.” She steadied him. “I’ll leave the room for a moment to let you get settled. When you are ready, lie on the table, head pointed toward the machine—” She stopped. “You probably know the routine better than I do by now. I’ll knock before I come in.”

      Picking up his medical file, she left the room and stood outside the door. Scanning his history, she sighed. Three MRIs this year so far. Luckily the magnetic resonance machines didn’t involve X-radiation, otherwise the frequency of these brain and tissue scans could be more detrimental than they were worth.

      She didn’t understand why mixed-martial-arts fighters insisted on a career path that made it necessary to have their brains checked for signs of trauma before each fight. The clinic often saw fighters training at Extreme Athletics for their prefight medical clearance, but none as often as Noah. Three fights since January—what was the guy thinking?

      She didn’t follow MMA, but even she knew three fights in six months were too frequent to be safe.

      A glance toward the reception area revealed it was full. And she had to waste a half an hour of her time and everyone else’s on this scan. She shook her head as she placed Noah’s file on her desk.

      Every day she cared for patients with injuries and diseases beyond their control. Patients who would love to be healthy and free of their medical issues.

      And then there were guys like Noah—perfectly healthy guys who put their bodies in danger every time they went to work. She’d never understand the sport or the mentality of the men who competed in it.

      Tapping once on the door, she let herself back into the room. In most city clinics, a technician performed the scans, but here in Brookhollow, the five nurses on staff had been trained to perform