Emergency Delivery (Love Emergency) (17 page)

Chapter Nineteen

“Excellent choice, sir.” The Tyra Banks lookalike behind the jewelry counter smiled at Hunter and repositioned the diamond ring on the black velvet mat for maximum sparkle. “No girl in her right mind could say no to that face”—she pointed at him—“and this ring.”

“He’s got some compensating to do,” Beau opined from beside him. “Do you have anything bigger?”

“You’re going to have my big footprint on your ass in about a second.” He elbowed his partner away. “Go look at cufflinks or something. Better yet, get me a Jamba Juice at the food court. Turns out I don’t need your help with this.”

Beau elbowed him back. “You so need my help. I haven’t heard the sales pitch yet.”

“Sir.” The saleslady straightened. “We don’t pitch here. The beauty of our designs speaks for itself.”

“No, no. Not your sales pitch, miss.” Beau dropped his elbows on the counter, looked up at the clerk, and flashed a quick smile. “I’m referring to
his
sales pitch.”

“Ah. I see. Before you launch into your sales pitch, let me take care of a little detail,” the clerk said, and turned her attention back to him. “This is a beautiful ring, and I want to make sure when you slip it on her finger, it fits like it was made for her. Do you know her ring size?”

“Five point five.”

Beau elbowed him again. “You asked her for her ring size? Kind of tipped your hand, don’t you think?”

“Give me some credit. I measured while she was asleep.”

“Perfect,” the saleslady said. “Let me go check this. I’ll be back shortly.” She sidled into the back room.

“So…” Beau leaned on the counter. “What’s your plan?”

“Get yourself a tissue first.”

“Why?”

“Because my plan is so amazing, when you hear it, you’re going to cry like you did the time the game delay forced us to watch that movie where Brad Pitt ages backwards.”

Beau grimaced. “I didn’t cry.”

“Bullshit. I saw a tear.”

“For Christ’s sake. I got emotional about the game delay.”

He smoothed out an imaginary wrinkle in his shirt. “Whatever you say.”

“I say you’re no Brad Pitt. You’re going to need to do more than grin and bat your pretty blue eyes.”

Hunter brushed the comment away with a flick of his hand. “I’m going to do way more, and the slick part is you and Savannah actually do all the work.”

“I don’t remember agreeing to do a damn thing.”

“You two are going to set the mood.” He rested an elbow on the counter and grinned at his own genius. Look, women love weddings. That’s pretty much a scientific fact. They
ooh
and
ahh
over the dress and flowers. They get misty-eyed during the vows. On the estrogen scale of magic moments, weddings score an eleven. Madison’s going to soak in all the romance—the I-do’s, the first dance, my amusing-yet-endearing best man toast. Hell, maybe she’ll even catch the bouquet. By the time we walk out of the reception, she’ll be drunk on love, marriage, and happily-ever-after. I’ll be like, ‘That was a great wedding,’ and she’ll be all, ‘Best wedding ever.’ And then I’ll bring out the ring and say ‘Hold up, baby. I think we could do even better.’”

His grin expanded to a smile as he imagined the parade of emotions crossing her beautiful face—first confusion, then wide-eyed surprise, and finally, dazzling happiness. “That shit is tight, right?”

Beau frowned. “I guess.”

“What kind of a half-assed response is, ‘I guess’?”

“It’s slick, I’ll give you that, but the ring doesn’t actually speak your heart. Where’s the I-love-you?”

Now Hunter frowned. “It’s in there. Somewhere.”

“Don’t bury your lead, but also don’t figure you can hang everything on three words and a rock. Women care about the reasons. Madison needs to know you’re proposing for the right ones.”

Hunter straightened and leaned a hip against the counter. “And just what are the
right
reasons?”

“You have to come up with those on your own.”

The sales lady walked through the doors separating the back room from the showroom. She carried a small velvet box in her hand. “I’ve got the right size.”

Reasons. Hell, he was fixing to offer her close to four thousand reasons. He tossed his credit card on the counter. “Let’s do this.”

…

“Thank you so much for the baby clothes,” Madison said and drew a fingertip through the condensation clinging to the plastic cup holding her break-time tea.

Rachel sat across the small table from Madison, sipped her mocha, and waved a hand. “No problem. I hope Joy gets a lot of wear out of them. Also, it was a good time to clear out some closet space, as it happens, because I may need to pack up and move back in with my mom.”

“Why? I thought you had an apartment near here.”

Rachel sighed. “I do. But my roommate went to visit her actor-wannabe boyfriend in L.A. earlier this month, and she called yesterday to tell me she’s staying. She’s going to support him while he pursues his dream. Meanwhile, I’m screwed if I can’t find someone to move in and cover her part of the rent by the end of March.”

“I’m looking for an affordable place.” She blurted the statement out in one quick breath, tried not to lose her nerve when her heart turned heavy in her chest, and clutched hard at the prospect of not drifting off to sleep next to Hunter’s warm, solid body every night. Not waking with his strong arms wrapped around her and his heart beating slow and steady under her cheek. Not watching him snuggle Joy against his chest.

He needs his space. You need yours. This was always the plan
.

“Oh, my God.” Rachel leaned across the table and squeezed her hand. “Would you really be interested? It’s nothing fancy…a three bedroom apartment about ten minutes away from here. Very safe. Bliss and I have lived there since she was a baby. I sub-lease the third bedroom for one-third of the rent. It’s a good-sized space, and I’ve got the basic furnishing in there—full-sized bed, dresser, and night table. There’s room for a crib, plus you get a full bath all to yourselves.”

She sucked down a big gulp of tea to dislodge the lump in her throat, and nodded. “I would be interested. But are you sure you want to rent to someone with a baby? Joy doesn’t sleep through the night yet.”

Stop trying to talk her out of it
.

“Madison, I don’t want to burst your bubble, but Bliss is three and she doesn’t sleep through the night. I’m used to it. Basically, at this point, unless it’s my kid screaming in my ear, I can sleep through anything. Bliss, on the other hand, will out-mommy us both.” She laughed. “You should see her at nursery school. She always wants to help with the babies. If you move in, you can enroll Joy in the same school. Bliss has gone there since she was about Joy’s age, and she loves it. They have a great caregiver-to-kid ratio, and the company offsets some of the cost as one of their family benefits, so it’s affordable.”

This could work. She hadn’t quite saved up first and last month’s rent, plus a security deposit for her own place, but maybe if she moved in with Rachel, she’d be able to swing the cost. “How much?”

The figure Rachel gave fit her budget, and then she added, “You could move in before March first. My roommate paid through the end of the month because she didn’t want to completely hose me, but she’s not coming back, so”—she shrugged—“I’m sure she’d be grateful for even a partial month refund.”

This was a good possibility, probably an ideal solution. So what if she wanted to curl up into a ball and cry? That was nothing to go by.

You knew this was going to hurt, but that doesn’t make it any less right. It’s time
. The words echoed through her mind in her grandmother’s voice.

She squared her shoulders and willed a smile to her lips. “When could I come by and take a look?”

“Let’s see.” Rachel tapped her index finger to her chin. “I’ve got to pack some things for my roommate—former roommate—and ship them to her, and then clean. Want to swing by Saturday, after our shift?”

She sipped her tea and considered the logistics. Take a quick look at the apartment, pick up Joy, change, and be on her way to Magnolia Grove. Maybe she’d surprise Hunter with news at the wedding? The longest rescue in history was finally coming to an end. He could have his life back.

He could have her heart, too, if he wanted it, but fairness—and, okay, also pride—demanded she offer it while standing on her own two feet.

That sounded like a huge step in the right direction. She nodded. “Saturday sounds fine.”

“What do you think?” Rachel leaned against the doorframe and bit her lip.

“I think”—Madison turned a slow circle in the center of the generously sized bedroom—“it’s perfect.”

The blonde jumped up and down and clapped her hands. “Oh, good! I’m really happy you like the place.”

“I do.” She reached into her purse and pulled out her brand new checkbook. “Can I write you a check today?”

“Sure. And I’ll give you keys. That way you can move in anytime. Follow me.”

She followed Rachel down the hall, through the open, airy living room, and took a seat at the kitchen counter.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

“No, thanks.” She wrote out the check, her pulse pounding with excitement and nerves. “I have to get going. Joy and I are headed to a wedding this evening.”

“Fun.”

“I hope so.” Hunter had brought his tux home yesterday, and she’d experienced an immediate, overwhelming desire to see him in the dark suit. She’d gotten him out of his jeans and T-shirt easily enough, but then she’d gotten distracted. Very distracted. She detached the check from the checkbook and handed it to Rachel.

Her new landlord took the check and dropped a key into her hand. “Thank you, roomie.”

“Thank
you
.” She closed her fingers around the small silver key. A little burst of pride filtered through the dull ache around her heart. This was the right thing to do. She’d surprise Hunter with the good news tonight, after the wedding. A spark of hope trailed after the pride. Maybe this was the first step toward a new beginning for them—a normal relationship instead of some haphazard collision of emotions driven by her precarious situation and his hero complex?

“When do you think you’ll move in?” Rachel asked as they walked to the door.

No point dragging her feet. “Would tomorrow afternoon be too soon?”

“Tomorrow afternoon works for me.” Rachel gave her a hug. “Have fun at the wedding. Catch the bouquet.”

Chapter Twenty

Hunter stared at his phone. The last text from Madison filled his screen.

Leaving now. Running a little late—sorry. I have a surprise for you.

Yeah, well, he had a surprise for her, too, assuming she ever arrived. She’d sent the message almost three hours ago. Even factoring in a stop or two for Joy, she ought to be coming through the door any moment. The reception had officially kicked off. John Legend’s “All of Me” spilled from the speakers while Beau and Savannah whispered and laughed their way through their first dance as husband and wife. As he watched, both sets of parents joined the happy couple under twinkling lights.

They’d picked a romantic venue. The big, old, stone and board building had once been part of a plantation. Now round, linen-draped tables and white folding chairs took up half the room, while the DJ, dance floor, and bar took up the other half. The flowers and finery looked nice against the rough-hewn backdrop. Low lighting and lots of little candles added sparkle.

Beside him, he heard the hiss of a quickly indrawn breath, followed by, “Son of a bitch…”

The outburst came from Savannah’s younger sister Sinclair, the maid of honor. He looked at her, somewhat relieved to see her narrowed gaze fixed on the other side of the room.

“Problem?”

The DJ invited everyone to the dance. Sinclair grabbed his hand. “No problem. Dance with me.” She was on her feet—and hauling him to his—before he had a chance to reply.

She had long legs and could cover a lot of ground when she chose. Apparently she chose to now, because she practically dragged him to the crowded center of the dance floor, hung her arms on his shoulders and pressed her slender body against his. Tight.

The whole thing caught him off guard. Sinclair was undeniably beautiful, and smart, and as maid of honor to his best man, they’d been paired up most of the day. But he’d sensed zero sparks of interest from her, and he wasn’t sending off any, either, so he didn’t know where her sudden desire to spend time in his arms came from.

Despite the way she’d plastered herself against him, her eyes never met his. They burned a hole through someone over his shoulder. Awareness dawned.

He put his hands on her waist and turned them.

Now her laser blue eyes zoomed to his. “Hey, Footloose, what are you doing?”

“Trying to size up the guy you’re aiming to make jealous.”

Her dark brows arched. “I’m not aiming to make anyone jealous. I wouldn’t waste my time on such a stupid game.”

“You don’t play games?”

“Oh, I
can
play games.” She turned her head and scanned the crowd. “I can play with the best of them. I’m simply not playing one now. I’m not interested in speaking with someone—someone who’s not supposed to be here in the first place—much less dancing with him. I figure the best way to avoid doing both is to speak and dance with people I am interested in.” She turned back to him and smiled. “Like you.”

“I’m honored to have made the cut, and under other circumstances I’d be happy to risk an ass-kicking to dance with a beautiful woman, but I’m expecting another beautiful woman to come through the door any second, and…well…I don’t play games with her.”

Sinclair’s eyes softened, and her smile turned genuine. “Savannah mentioned something about you falling hard recently.”

“Beau’s got a big mouth.”

“I doubt that, but Savannah’s got a sixth sense about—”

She stiffened in his arms a moment before a hand landed on his shoulder. A low voice followed. “Can I cut in?”

He turned to face a dark-haired guy wearing a civilized smile and a thousand-dollar suit, neither of which quite polished the hungry edge off him. Right now that hunger appeared to be reserved solely and exclusively for Sinclair.

“That’s up to the lady,” Hunter said.

The man’s sharp green eyes never wavered from her, and Hunter saw cool determination in the stare. He held out a hand toward Sinclair, cocked one brow, and waited. Even though he didn’t touch her, the gesture conveyed a level of possessiveness.

“No, thanks,” she replied in a voice that could freeze hell.

Hunter shifted so his shoulder blocked the space between Sinclair and her admirer, and he was about to suggest Hugo Boss try his luck at the bar, but the man simply laughed. “What’s the matter, Sinclair? Don’t trust yourself in my arms?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

The smile turned challenging and delivered his message loud and clear.
Prove it
. Sinclair held out for a full three seconds. “Fine. One dance. Then you leave.”

The man took her hand and closed his arm around her waist in a purely territorial move. “Sinclair, I can make a dance last all night.”

And that would be Hunter’s cue to leave. He walked to the edge of the dance floor and spent a minute watching Sinclair and her new dance partner to make sure she didn’t have any second thoughts. By the looks of things, she didn’t. Not surprising. She’d walked into this particular game—a classic he liked to call sexual chicken—with her eyes wide open. The guy played by some rules, though. He kept his hands a millimeter away from the wrong side of decent. He kept his mouth close to her ear, whispering something that put flags of color high on her cheeks. Those two threw off enough sparks to set fire to the dance floor.

He missed Madison. He’d just decided to step outside and give her a call when his phone vibrated. He pulled it out and glanced at the screen.

We’re here! Joy wants to freshen up & we’ll be in
.

Hell, he’d be out. Fresh or not, he wanted to see them. Now. He headed to the front entrance and pushed through the wooden doors. The weight of his footfalls coaxed squeaks and groans from the weather-worn boards of the porch before he paused at the steps and looked around.

A pond bordered one side of the open, grassy area used for parking, and reflected purple and blue shades painting the evening sky. A strip of hard-packed dirt and gravel formed a path straight to the building. Light-strewn oaks along the perimeter, and a few well-placed floods on the building itself, threw out enough glow to keep people from ending up in the pond. The wash of headlights from another latecomer cut through the twilight, momentarily blinding him, but then the dark sedan turned hard and jerked to a stop at the far end of the parking area, right beside the maroon Outback he’d been scanning for.

Madison stepped around the back of her car, and even from this distance, she stole his breath. She always looked beautiful, whether she had on an old T-shirt and piled her hair into a sloppy knot, or wore a smooth ponytail and her work clothes, or just her dark, tumbling waves and nothing else, but it suddenly occurred to him he’d never seen her all dressed up. Never told her to put on a pretty outfit and taken her out for a nice dinner, or dancing in Buckhead, or…something. Circumstances being what they were, they’d kind of skipped the dinner and dancing phase and moved directly to the laundry, dishes, and sneaking-sex-in-between-late-night-feedings stage. He needed to correct that, because she deserved to be romanced. She deserved everything. The ring box burned a hole in his pocket.

She arranged Joy in the sling and then glanced toward the building. He knew the second she spotted him. Her step faltered. She held her phone in one hand, and the other came up to check her hair, which she’d pulled into a smooth twist he itched to wreck. Later. A smile stretched his lips at her small, self-conscious gesture. Yep, still Madison under the upswept hair and fancy dress. An answering smile stole across her mouth, and she waved.

He took a step forward, intending to go to her, when a shadow moved between the cars, and then a man grabbed her from behind. Hunter saw her wrap protective arms around Joy, leaving her with no way to break her fall as she stumbled backward. She landed on her back, hard enough to bounce her head against the ground, and then was dragged as the guy tried to tug Joy out of the sling. She held on.

The scene played out in front of him like something from a nightmare. Lights, sounds…all of it faded. His focus narrowed to the struggle happening just a few yards away. He knew he was moving, running balls out with enough power to make his heart pound and his blood pump, but every second stretched into an eternity. He couldn’t get to her fast enough.

An instant later time snapped like a rubber band, and suddenly he was there, almost on top of them. Sound crashed into his ears—Joy’s furious screams, the guy’s ragged curses—
Bitch…fucking bitch…let her go. They’re going to kill me
—and Madison’s breath coming in fast, harsh pants that told him she put every ounce of her energy fighting him off.

His brain processed a kaleidoscope of details as he launched himself at the other man—Cody Fucking Winslow. Five-ten. One hundred and seventy pounds. Beat to shit. For a split second he attributed the damage to Madison, but by the time he slammed into the guy and sent them both to the ground with a bone-jarring thud, he realized it had taken someone bigger, heavier, and packing a hell of a lot more power than Madison to break this asshole’s nose, bruise his face, and knock out an incisor and a canine.

He inhaled dirt along with the sour stench of whiskey and cat piss—
meth sweat
, a voice in his head diagnosed. The mixture left a gritty, coppery taste in the back of his throat. He choked it down and sprang to his feet. Despite the beating someone else had already inflicted, the other man scrambled up as well. Hunter couldn’t see a weapon, but that didn’t mean the guy didn’t have one. What he could see, from the corner of his eye, was Madison rushing toward him, and the thought of this shithead pulling a gun and taking aim at her made his blood run cold. He waved her away, but Winslow saw her, too, and charged.

“Go,” he shouted and stepped in front of her, then repeated the order louder when she didn’t move. He leaned into the body blow, absorbing the force and holding his ground. Winslow hit the dirt again but immediately scrabbled up. Jesus, he was like some fucking animal—all cranked up with relentless energy and no concept of pain.

“Madison, go!” Hunter puffed the words out before starting toward Winslow, and he had the satisfaction of hearing her footsteps retreat behind him. He caught the guy off balance this time, knocked him down, and went for the battered nose. The slam of a car door blended with the crunch of cartilage.

Blood streamed over his knuckles, but Winslow barely grunted. The slippery bastard twisted and kicked, trying to get his feet under him. Hunter wrapped his hand around the guy’s throat and hauled him up. His limbs felt like lead. Every breath exploded from his lungs and echoed in his head. Over this, he heard an engine gun and then scrape of tires spinning on gravel. A measure of relief filtered through him, knowing Madison and Joy were out of range. Voices came from behind him now, along with the sound of footfalls beating a rapid path his way. In his mind he saw a well-dressed cavalry closing in. He wasn’t going to need them.

He staggered forward, dragging Winslow by his skinny neck. The guy clawed at his wrist, but Hunter kept walking. Apparently Winslow wasn’t so far beyond reality he didn’t realize Madison had left with the baby, because his wild eyes locked on Hunter. “They’re going to kill me,” he whimpered.

“
I’m
going to kill you,” Hunter replied, and threw him in the pond.

…

Madison pulled into Hunter’s driveway and stomped on the brake hard enough to make her tires squeak. Her hands still trembled, even after the two-hour sprint back to Atlanta. Cody’s voice echoed in her ear.
I have a gun. Don’t make me use it
.

Did he really have one? Apparently he hadn’t used it, thank God. With her and the baby gone, there would have been no point.

Joy had slept in her car seat for most of the trip. Madison had managed that much. She’d hit the pause button on the overpowering instinct to flee, as fast and as far as possible, and had stopped at a gas station near the freeway onramp in Magnolia Grove to make sure the baby was okay, and then call the police. They’d told her they already had units on the scene, and no injuries reported, but that was all the information they could provide. She’d tried to reach Hunter’s phone, but it had gone straight to voicemail. Out of options, and unsure if Cody was in custody or still at large, she’d raced back to Atlanta.

Miraculously, the tug-of-war with Cody hadn’t left a mark on Joy. But with that fear put to rest, plenty of other concerns circled her mind like hungry birds, swooping down to stab at her ragged nerves every few seconds. Was Hunter okay? Was everybody else okay? Where was Cody? Should she call the police again?

The answers to all these questions were a phone call away, but she’d lost her cell somewhere in the battle to hold on to Joy. She’d probably dropped it in the parking lot, but wherever it was, it couldn’t do her any good now.

You’re as misplaced and useless as that phone.

God, she was. She closed her eyes, covered her face with her hands, and tried to figure out what to do next.
Think, Madison
.

A knock on her driver’s side window brought her bolting upright again, a scream in her throat, but the terror rushed away just as quickly when she saw Nelle standing there. She opened the door and started to get out, only to sag back in the seat. Her weak knees refused to support her. “Hunter?” she managed.

“I talked to him about an hour ago. He’s fine. He asked me to assure you everything’s under control, including your ex. Honey, let’s get you and that sweet little girl inside, and I’ll tell you what I know.”

Strangely, the wave of profound and utter relief Nelle’s words generated broke the dam on her anxiety. Tears burned her eyes. A stinging, blinding outpouring, accompanied by a sob so deep it made her chest hurt. She clung to the steering wheel, helpless and mortified, while Nelle—poor woman—rubbed her shoulder and whispered, “It’s okay. You’ve been through the wringer tonight, but now it’s done. Everything’s going to be okay.”

“I took Joy and ran. He said he had a gun. I didn’t know… I didn’t know if Hunter was—”