Page 121 of Surly Sheriff
Proof of love
They fell into a routine of sorts over the following weeks. Beau would prepare breakfast and eat with Jack while she showered, and once she was down, he’d head out to work. Most evenings he made it back in time for supper by six, and they ate together. If something delayed him, he called ahead to inform her. After the meal, he helped with Jack’s nighttime routine. Once his son was asleep, he and Kismet walked down the hallway into the attic and closed the door. He no longer locked it, just in case he needed to make a quick dash into the main house.
But he only missed Jack’s bedtime once. Tonight.
A quick glance at the dashboard showed the time just past midnight.
He parked and hefted his weary body from the Tahoe.
He was mentally and physically drained.
The side door opened, and there she was, standing under the porch light.
His Rae-Bae.
And a little of the weariness holding his body and soul hostage fell away, allowing him to put one foot in front of the other and climb the two steps.
“I heard it was bad,” she said, placing a hand on his arm.
“Worst ever.”
A murder-suicide. The husband returned home mid-afternoon when he couldn’t get hold of his wife on the phone, only to find the bodies of his wife and two young daughters. The woman had drowned her children in a half-filled bathtub before slicing her wrists.
“The girls … mere babies, Rae,” he whispered, dropping his head. “Six weeks and twenty-one months.”
“Beau,” she murmured, and tugged him through the doorway. “What can I do for you?”
He lifted his eyes to hers. “I need to see Jack.”
“Of course.”
Rae, still holding his arm, climbed the stairs with him and led him to their son. Light streamed in from the hallway, casting a glow across the room. He sat down on the edge of the bed and ran his fingers over Jack’s forehead, dispelling the images of the dead and distraught, replacing them with his son’s perfection and innocence. In his short life, Jack had known nothing but safety, happiness, and love.
He looked up at the woman beside him, and he placed his hands on her hips. “Thank you for taking such good care of our son,” he said. “For loving him. Protecting him.”
He might not like the decisions she had made, but every single one had been out of love. There was no malice in Raegan, just a warrior’s desire to protect the people she loved.
She smoothed her hands over his face. “It’s an honor to be Jack’s momma, Beau.”
He rested his forehead against her belly, drawing deep breaths into his lungs. She smelled so fucking good. And her fingers,sliding into his hair, massaging his scalp, took care of the last dregs of despair left from the tragic scene. He could fall asleep in this position, just breathing in everything that was good and clean.
“How about I go and fix you a toasted sandwich while you climb under a hot shower and wash away some of your awful day?”
On cue, his stomach growled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. “That sounds great.”
But he held on, sliding his palms to her back, pulling her nearer, holding her tighter. He never wanted to let her go. Never wanted to not have her in his life. Breathing deeper, he dug his own fingers into her flesh.
She calmed his senses, grounded his soul.
She was his life. The woman he loved like none other.
He was an utter fool for keeping her at arm’s length.
“Raegan,” he groaned into her midriff.
“Beau.” Her hands moved to his shoulders, and she applied pressure, putting space between them.
He dropped his arms, bereft at the sudden loss of her.
