One Night Standoff. Delores Fossen

Clayton assured himself that it had nothing to do with the night he’d spent with her. Or this cool heat still simmering between them. He would have helped anyone who needed it.

      They took a booth by the window so he could keep watch for the truck, and he asked the waitress to bring them two cups of coffee.

      “Do the cops have a suspect in the break-ins?” he asked.

      Lenora shook her head. “They don’t have any prints, any type of trace evidence, and none of my neighbors saw anyone suspicious.”

      That meshed with the reports he’d read, but witnesses often came forward later. Maybe that would happen in this case.

      “Tell me who you think was in that truck,” Clayton said.

      Another head shake. “I don’t know.”

      “A boyfriend, maybe?”

      “No. I’m not seeing anyone. And I don’t think I’ve been followed before.” Lenora blew out another breath, and she had a death grip on the coffee cup. “There’s more.” She said it so softly that Clayton didn’t actually hear her. He saw the words form on her lips.

      “What?” he pushed when she didn’t explain.

      This was beyond a bad feeling, and he instantly went back to the night they’d spent together. He wasn’t sure he was ready to deal with what she was about to say, but he also knew he had to hear it.

      “You’re pregnant?” he came out and asked.

      No blink this time. She nodded.

      And that nod sent his heartbeat racing out of control.

      Oh, man.

      It felt as if someone had punched him in the gut. All the air left his lungs. All. But he fought to get enough breath so he could speak.

      However, Lenora beat him to it. “I wrestled with whether to tell you at all. I mean, we hardly know each other. But I decided if our situations were reversed, I’d want to know. By the way, I don’t expect anything from you,” she added.

      That gave him a jolt of breath he needed. “Well, you damn well should expect something.”

      Lenora eased back, her attention fixed to him. “Obviously, you’re not pleased about this—”

      “Only because I didn’t see it coming.”

      “Yes.” And she repeated that. “It caught me off guard, too. We used protection, but something must have gone wrong.”

      Obviously.

      He pulled in a couple of quick breaths and hoped it’d clear his head. He needed to think. To say the right thing.

      Whatever that was.

      A baby!

      He’d never planned on being a father. Never. And this was a shock that made him speechless.

      She looked up. Their gazes connected. But then Lenora looked away again. Not at the coffee this time, but rather out the window.

      “Is that the black truck you saw?” Her attention was on something over his shoulder.

      Clayton turned in that direction and saw the truck. Yeah. It was the same one. It was creeping along Main Street, going past the diner.

      Unlike before, the window on the passenger’s side was halfway down. There didn’t appear to be anyone seated there, only the person behind the steering wheel. Clayton couldn’t see the guy’s face.

      But he saw the gun.

      “Get down!” Clayton shouted to Lenora and everyone else in the diner.

      He reached beneath his jacket to draw his Glock, but it was already too late. The bullet blasted through the window.

      Clayton felt the sharp pain in the side of his head, and even over the blast, he heard Lenora yell. He tried to move. Tried to return fire and protect her, but he felt himself falling.

      And everything around him turned cold and gray.

      Chapter Two

      Lenora’s heart slammed against her chest, and she snatched up the Glock that dropped from Clayton’s hand and onto the table. She saw the blood, no way to miss that.

      No way to avoid that punch of adrenaline, either.

      That fear.

      Oh, God.

      Clayton had been shot.

      That was her first thought, quickly followed by the realization that this could all be her fault. But she shoved those things aside because every second counted now.

      “Call an ambulance!” Lenora yelled out to no one in particular.

      She couldn’t let this guy get off another shot. She had to stop him, or he could kill Clayton, her and anyone who was unlucky enough to be near them.

      Lenora took aim at the truck.

      And she fired.

      The shot blistered through the air, but it was practically drowned out by the screams and shouts from the other diners. Lenora couldn’t be sure, but she thought she managed to shoot the guy in the arm. She took aim again, but the driver hit the accelerator, and with the tires squealing against the wet asphalt, he fishtailed away.

      She scrambled across the table, catching Clayton as he slumped to the side. There was even more blood now. And it wasn’t in a good place, either.

      He’d been shot in the head.

      No. This couldn’t be happening.

      With her heartbeat pounding in her ears and her hands shaking, Lenora kept watch to make sure the shooter didn’t return for a second round. She couldn’t risk that.

      She jerked the scarf from around her neck and lightly pressed it to Clayton’s wound. She couldn’t add too much pressure, because it might embed the bullet even deeper. It might even kill him.

      If he wasn’t dead already.

      “Clayton?” She choked back a sob and tilted back his head a little. No response, so she pressed her fingers to his neck.

      He was alive.

      Thank God.

      But he needed a doctor immediately.

      “Get that ambulance here,” she shouted, though she figured it was already on the way. Still, it couldn’t arrive soon enough, because every second counted now.

      A dozen thoughts went through her mind. None of them good. It had only been two months since her friend Jill had been gunned down just like this. Right in front of her. In front of Clayton, too. This had to have a different ending than that shooting.

      Somehow, someway, Clayton had to survive this.

      “Clayton?” she repeated. “Can you hear me?”

      He turned his head toward her, and his lips moved, too. He mumbled something that Lenora couldn’t understand, so she put her ear closer to his mouth.

      “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

      That seemed to get his attention, and he tried to open his eyes. “The baby.” The two words didn’t have any sound, but she was pretty sure that’s what he was trying to say.

      The baby.

      The reason for this visit. Lenora had dreaded coming here. Telling him. And had braced herself for his reaction. But now she had a different reason to dread why she’d decided to tell him.

      If she hadn’t come here, this might not have happened.

      From the corner of her eye, she saw the movement of the man approaching and nearly lifted the gun again before she realized it was Marshal Harlan McKinney. With his own gun drawn and