“This is technically his going away dinner,” Miranda explained. She figured she could refrain from doing a happy dance that her brother would be out of the way as her relationship with Ethan progressed. At least until she was out of his sight.
“Speaking of dinner, now that everybody’s here, let’s eat!” Grammy herded them all into the big kitchen, where everybody grabbed a plate, bowl, or platter and carried it into the dining room.
Liz passed the roasted carrots. “Have you ever been to Europe, Ethan?”
“No, ma’am. I had a few fugitive cases that took me into South America, but they weren’t exactly vacations. Not the kind of places you want to sightsee.”
“Must’ve been exciting stuff, chasing bad guys.” Her father forked up a stuffed pork chop. “Big change to come here.”
Translation: Do you see yourself staying?
It was a question Miranda wanted the answer to herself but she hadn’t felt like they’d quite reached the point to ask it. She wasn’t sure he knew the answer yet and didn’t want to put him on the spot. They were good as they were, right now. Fun and simple. It was what they both wanted.
Ethan didn’t hesitate as he added green beans to his plate. “Yes, sir. I was looking for a change.”
“Why small town policing?” Uncle Jimmy asked.
Ethan’s lips twitched, the first break in his serious cop expression. “Well, I had hoped it would keep me from being shot again.”
“Of all the ERs in all the towns in all the world, you walked into mine,” Miranda intoned. “At least it was just a flesh wound.” The smile in his eyes unraveled some of the knots in her belly.
“Not complaining. You’ve got a way neater hand with stitches than my last doctor.”
Cecily’s eyes had gone wide. “You’ve really been shot?”
Oh really, don’t bring this up over dinner.
But Ethan just nodded. “Couple times. Once in the Army, once as a Deputy Marshal. If tradition dictates I’m gonna get a new scar for every new job, then I guess it’s good I got this one out of the way early.”
“Where are the other ones?” Grammy asked.
“We are not discussing battle scars at dinner,” Miranda interrupted. She was certain the other two didn’t have nearly as amusing a story to go along with them, and she didn’t want to bring up bad memories for him.
Norah—God love her—jumped in to change the topic. “The details for the fundraiser are all squared away, so now we’re down to just sorting the details for decorating and set up.”
Ethan raised his brows in polite interest. “Fundraiser?”
“We’re using part of the proceeds from the Valentine’s Dance as a fundraiser to help furnish the expansion at Monarch House,” she explained. “It was Miranda’s idea.”
Uncomfortable with the pride in her friend’s tone, Miranda shrugged and forked up a bite of pork chop. “You’re doing all the work.”
“You’ll have your turn when it’s time to set up. Speaking of setup, what are you doing on February 12th, Ethan?”
“I don’t know off-hand. I’d have to check the duty schedule.”
“If you aren’t on duty, do you think you could help us with setup at the community center? We can use more strong backs and tall people.”
“I’ll have to see.” Courteous, noncommittal.
Cecily laughed. “Oh, that’s cute. He thinks he can dodge you.”
Cam smirked and looked fondly at his wife. “You may as well give up now. She always gets her way.”
“Nicest steamroller you’ll ever meet,” Miranda added.
“Resistance is futile,” Aunt Sandy agreed. “Why do you think we made her the city planner?”
Norah just batted her eyes, the picture of innocence.
Ethan laughed, and Miranda knew he was going to capitulate. “You are a dangerous woman, Mrs. Crawford. Fine. If I am not on duty or otherwise tied up with police business, I can come haul tables or hang stuff or whatever.”
“Excellent.”
“But I’d like your help with something, too.”
Trey pointed at Ethan in approval. “Oh, quid pro quo. The man has brains.”
“I’ve got a kid who is, shall we say, at-risk. He got into some trouble for fighting, and I convinced Judge Carpenter to put him on community service and informal probation. By my choice, I set it up for him to work off those hours out at Chester Harkin’s farm.”
“Doesn’t he have some kind of feud going on with Maudie Belle Ramsey of the Casserole Patrol?” Norah asked.
“Well, we call it a feud. Apparently he calls it flirting. Chester and I have already talked about that in a separate conversation. Anyway, I wanted to pitch the idea of a more formal program that links teens with seniors. It wouldn’t have to just be juvenile offenders. If the high school has any kind of mandatory community service component, it would be a good way for students to meet that requirement. It’d help keep the kids out of trouble and provide some assistance to older folks who need it.”
Norah clapped her hands together. “I love it. Done. I’d do that even if you weren’t helping with the dance. But no takesiesbacksies.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Will you be coming to the dance?”
“That depends.” Ethan shifted his gaze to Miranda, and she wondered if anybody else noticed that wicked gleam. “You wanna give me a reason to wear my dress boots?”
Her lips twitched. “You have dress boots?”
Feigning a wounded expression, he laid a hand over his heart. “Darlin’, I’m from West Texas.” He broadened the Texas twang, until he sounded like something out of one of the spaghetti westerns she loved.
She couldn’t help it. She went full on dimples. “Well, you have already proved you can dance, so I’d say you’ve got a date, Cowboy.”
He grinned, even as the radio at his shoulder began to squawk. “Sorry, y’all.” Dialing up the volume so he could hear better, he replied, “This is Greer, come back.”
“Chief, Raines was sent to respond to a call at the Forbes place about twenty minutes ago. A neighbor just called in a report of shots fired, and I can’t raise Raines on the radio.”
The bottom fell out of Miranda’s stomach. Rene? Johnny?
Ethan shoved back from the table. “Get medical on stand-by, radio all available units for assistance. I’m en route.”
“Corbett Raines, that new, young officer?” Aunt Anita asked.
Ethan’s only reply was a curt, “Yes, ma’am,” as he strode from the room.
Miranda scrambled up after him. “I’m coming with you.”
He rounded on her, the humor in his eyes replaced by implacable steel. This was the soldier. The Marshal. The man ready and willing to put his life on the line. “The hell you are.”
In another context she’d find the commanding snap of his voice incredibly sexy, but right now she met steel with steel. “It’s either my patient or your officer who could be shot. You want medical on standby. I’m medical, and I guarandamntee you that I’ve got more experience with gunshot wounds than any of the paramedics or EMTs in the county. Do I need to tell you how fast someone can bleed out? How rapidly someone can sink into sepsis if it’s a gut shot? Whatever it is, I can stabilize them long enough to get to the actual hospital. Let me help.”