Dace spoke up. “And what about the black pickup truck?” She felt Tate’s arm slide around her shoulders and pull her to his side, but she kept talking, too tired to be afraid. “They could have killed someone. Does your word take care of them?”
Whip looked at her, his black eyes cold and flat in his scarred face. “Like I said, they were looking for trouble, and maybe they found some. And maybe some trouble found them instead.” He moved back, and gave Tate another chin jerk. “Appreciate it.”
Tate nodded, but didn’t speak.
Whip and his boys walked back toward the receptionist, presumably to ask about his prospect.
After a moment, Dace looked at Tate. “Are you okay? This won’t be a problem for you or anything, will it?”
After a moment, Tate shook his head. “No. The favor was done for Whip without him asking, and it was a big one; you saved his prospect. He feels he owes a marker because of what you did, so Shooters has his protection. Might be a good thing, keep some of the rowdier MCs away.”
Dace chuckled. “I should have warned Randall. Somehow I don’t think he’s ready to finish up the surgery and face a bunch of scary bikers claiming to be his patient’s nuclear family.”
“If he’s as tough as you, he can handle it.” He looked at Dace. “I’ve got a couple things to ask you, though.”
“So ask.”
“Dace is an unusual name. It sounds masculine; did your father want a boy?”
She grimaced. “No. I started using it after high school. My full name is Candace.”
“Doctor Candy?” Tate couldn’t help it; he started to laugh.
She waved dismissively. “Don’t bother with the jokes, I’ve heard them all. Do you think a patient or their families will take me seriously once they hear my name is Dr. Candy? I decided I wanted a serious name for my serious job, and now I have one. Next question?”
Waiting for him to speak, she reached forward and grabbed a package of Valentine conversation candy hearts out of the dish on the coffee table, and ripped it open. “Man, I love these things. These messages are too funny; like truth-or-dare for budding relationships.” Dace looked up at Tate. “One of the few things I actually like about Valentine’s Day; humorous and low in calories.”
She held up a pink heart. “
Hug Me Tight
.”
In response, Tate hugged her.
“See? It works.” She held up a green heart. “
Cutie Pie
.”
“Yes, you are.”
“You’re not so bad yourself, Tate.” A yellow heart came next. “Oooooh,
Kiss Me
!”
Tate happily complied.
“So what was your second question?”
Tate grinned. “Now that our not-so-friendly biker Godfather has stated we are under his protection and declared you to be my woman—will you honor his request and be mine?” There was humor in his voice, but his expression was serious.
Dace dropped her gaze to the white conversation heart nestled in her hand, and then raised her eyes to meet his gaze. Wordlessly, she held out her palm.
I Love You
was stamped on the heart in pink letters.
Tate tilted his head to read the heart, and then smiled. He dipped his head and nibbled the candy out of her hand, and then kissed her palm.
“I take it that means yes?”
Dace gave him a Cheshire cat grin before replying to his question. “Oh, I see some definite possibilities…”
A word about the author…
Brandy lives with her family—her husband and two spoiled furbabies—in the cold Midwest. When she isn’t reading, writing, editing, or connecting with fans on social media, she loves experimenting with nail art, making jewelry, and jumping on her hubby’s Harley for a ride.
http://www.authorbrandywilson.com
Thank you for purchasing
this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.