The Return of Connor Mansfield. Beth Cornelison

bring in more men. Or I’ll hire private security.”

      Jones raised a hand. “No. No outside hires.” He glanced briefly to Raleigh for some silent confirmation or perhaps giving him a chance to object. “We’ll see about getting a little backup, but the department is stretched kinda thin these days.”

      Connor’s father, Stan, had been taking in the conversation from the opposite end of the table, his arms folded over his chest and his intense scrutiny shifting from one speaker to another. Now he pushed his chair back and stood. “Bring in extra men if you want, but don’t underestimate the ability of the Mansfield men to protect our own.”

      Grant had been leaning against the kitchen counter. Now he stepped forward, nodding. “That’s right. Every one of the men in this family is trained in firearms and licensed to carry concealed. Dad spent fifteen years in the army, and Hunter spent five years in the reserves. I’ve been hunting since I was twelve.”

      “What’s the saying?” Connor’s mother asked. “Forewarned is forearmed.”

      The marshals exchanged another unreadable look.

      “Well, being alert to problems will certainly help, but these men are professional killers, not common street thugs.” Raleigh rose from the table. “Let me make a few calls, see about getting an extra team down here.”

      “Then we should head back to the hotel soon,” Jones said, sending Connor a direct look.

      “A hotel?” Julia said, her tone full of dismay, as if Jones had suggested they were sleeping in the gutter. “But this is Connor’s home. He should stay with his family.”

      “We have to be with him in order to guard him.” Jones raised one eyebrow as if driving home his point.

      “And we have to be with my family in order to keep them safe.” Connor sent the marshal a challenging stare. “I’m staying here. With Darby and my daughter.”

      Darby’s head jerked up, and her gaze clashed with his. “You’re what?”

      “I want to know you’re safe. If somehow word of my return has leaked beyond this family and the doctor’s office, which is a real possibility, I don’t want you here alone. What better protection than two U.S. Marshals and the man who’d die defending you?”

      Darby’s cheeks paled, and her eyes widened.

      Connor reached for her, and stroking her chin, he whispered, “Don’t look so surprised, Dar. I already died once to protect you. I’d do it again, for real, if needed.”

      “Oh, Connor,” his mother said, her voice choked. “Don’t say that! It’s bad luck!” Her hand fluttered to her chest where she rubbed the cross charm on her necklace.

      Darby huffed an exasperated breath and flattened her hands on the table. “Looks like the decision’s made for me.” She pushed to her feet. “Marshals, you can stay in the guest room. The decor is a bit juvenile, since I had in mind having my nieces and nephews staying with me when I decorated it. But the twin beds are new and should be comfortable. You—” she faced Connor, a spark of ire lighting her jade gaze “—can sleep on the couch.”

      Jones chuckled under his breath. Raleigh opened his mouth as if to protest, then snapped it closed. Scowling, he jammed his hands in his pockets and jangled his keys. “I feel a FUBAR in the making.”

      Darby pushed her chair back under the table and headed for the door. “I’m going to check on Savannah.”

      Savannah. Thoughts of his sweet daughter lifted Connor’s spirits, which had taken a dive while discussing the serious security threats to his family. As concerned as he was by the unplanned turn of events, he couldn’t regret having time, brief as it may be, with his daughter. And no matter how angry Darby was with him for his past choices, this unexpected time with her gave him a chance, however remote, of healing the wounds he’d caused her.

      Chapter 7

      James Gale positioned his hands over his son’s, adjusting the boy’s grip on the golf club. “Like this. Keep your wrists straight.”

      Billy did as instructed, then tipped his head back to look up at his father. “Like this?”

      James grinned proudly and stepped back. “Perfect. Now swing away! In the hole!”

      “Excuse me, Mr. Gale?”

      James spun to face the man who approached, his jaw tight. “Not now!” He turned back to watch Billy’s swing.

      The chubby man he recognized as one of his brother’s thugs persisted. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but—”

      Billy glanced up from his stance with a startled look, interrupting his address of the ball.

      James lifted a hand. “I’m sorry, Billy. Hold on.” He pivoted to the interloper, his body taut. “Do you not know how rude it is to disturb a golfer as he takes his swing?”

      “I—”

      “Did you not hear me say, Not now?”

      “It’s important.”

      “So is my time with my son.”

      “But—”

      James pointed a finger at the man and shot him a glare that made lesser men shiver in their shoes. “Silence. My son is taking his swing.” He turned back to Billy. “Go ahead. Firm wrists.”

      With an uneasy glance to the chubby man behind his father, Billy addressed the ball again, swung and hit a beautiful drive that dropped onto the putting green and rolled within five feet of the hole.