The Patriot Girl Read online

  Table of Contents

  The Patriot Girl

  Copyright

  Praise for Toni Lynn Cloutier

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  A word about the author...

  Thank you for purchasing this Wild Rose Press publication.

  The Patriot Girl

  The No Bulls Series, Book One

  by

  Toni Lynn Cloutier

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  The Patriot Girl: The No Bulls Series, Book One

  COPYRIGHT © 2012 by Toni Lynn Cloutier

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Kim Mendoza

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Last Rose of Summer Edition, 2012

  Digital ISBN 978-1-61217-265-1

  Print ISBN 978-1-61217-266-8

  Published in the United States of America

  Praise for Toni Lynn Cloutier

  “Emotional and sexy! What more could you want?”

  ~Linda Conrad, award winning author

  ~*~

  “Toni Lynn Cloutier delivers surprising plot twists and endearing characters you’ll pull for. THE PATRIOT GIRL is a page-turner!”

  ~Vicki Lewis Thompson,

  New York Times bestselling author

  Dedication

  To my husband, Bill,

  for twenty-one amazing years

  of love, laughter, and support.

  Also, to our teenage son,

  Adam,

  who completes our family.

  I owe this milestone to both of them.

  Weeeeesssss!

  ~

  A special Thank You to Jane Viera.

  Her encouragement and hours of endless reading

  have been appreciated

  more than words could ever express.

  ~

  To my mother, sisters, family, and friends

  for always believing in me.

  ~

  To my beta readers, critique partners,

  and the workers at Riverside and Weaver Libraries

  for their support and help over the years.

  The library will finally be able to add

  one of my books to the shelf!

  ~

  To attorney Randy Sands

  and author Theresa Meyers

  for allowing me to pick their brains for research.

  Any errors are mine.

  ~

  To my wonderful editor, Maggie Johnson,

  for making this an enjoyable experience.

  ~

  I thank God for all my blessings and for all of you.

  Chapter One

  What a beautiful summer day for making life changes. At thirty-eight, MaKayla Adams finally figured out what she wanted to be when she grew up.

  Dating after the death of her husband three years ago had never been an option. Taking on the role of both mother and father to their son, along with her assistant bank manager’s position, had occupied all her time.

  Now with Alex leaving for college next weekend, what would she do in a house with no one to care for? She’d never been alone in her life.

  As she drove home from a much-needed vacation, her excitement grew. Since her marriage had been cut short, and motherhood lasted only until children grew up, she could now go after what family had put on hold. College had prepared her to become a public relations specialist. Why not pick up where she left off?

  She couldn’t head home without first stopping at the bank where she worked with her best friend. She put her car in park and strolled across the concrete lot. Jodi would want to give her opinion on MaKayla’s new business idea.

  She opened the first set of doors into Columbus Bank. Before she could open the second door, a masked man holding a semi-automatic rifle dropped a hand onto her shoulder and squeezed. She froze. Her stomach churned and a blood surge caused by fear made her feel faint.

  “Come on, bitch, move it.” The gunman’s husky voice bounced off the glass windows.

  She opened the second set of doors. His grip on her shoulder released as he tossed her into a man’s arms. Her head hit the rim of his white cowboy hat and her face banged against his solid shoulder, covered in a black t-shirt.

  MaKayla glanced up and met his dark gaze. “Sorry.”

  He nodded, easing her behind him.

  She had been trained for this moment. But all the training in the world couldn’t prepare one for the reality of the situation. Her heart had never beaten this fast in any training session. Her best friend, the manager, had never been out of sight. And there had never been an elderly woman fearing for her life shaking on the floor beside her in those practice runs.

  Deep breaths, MaKayla. Stay calm and the customers will follow.

  Sidestepping to comfort the trembling woman proved impossible as the cowboy stopped her—saving her from being plowed down by two more masked gunmen racing past them.

  “Doors!” the husky voice ordered one accomplice. He told the second cohort, “Watch these folks.” He then ran across the carpet and tossed a green duffel bag onto the counter.

  MaKayla’s best friend appeared in front of him. Jodi could handle herself better than any other employee in this situation.

  The Dalton Tennessee Times would finally have some interesting news to report. MaKayla had to make sure the story wouldn’t include casualties or injuries.

  “Get down!”

  MaKayla jumped when the skinny gunman yelled. She nodded to two women standing in line between the metal poles. She forced a smile, hoping to ease their discomfort, as well as her own. They cooperated.

  She concealed a pregnant co-worker behind her. If Sara dropped to the floor, she might never get back up. With MaKayla’s legs locked in position, her knees wouldn’t bend if she commanded them.

  “He’s coming this way,” MaKayla informed the cowboy as if he didn’t notice the gun waving in their direction. He, too, had ignored the gunman’s orders and continued to stand.

  “It’ll be fine.” The cowboy’s voice drifted over his shoulder.

  Seconds later, the gunman stood beside her. Pinpointing him in a lineup would be easy with his ripped jeans, a half-tucked black shirt, and red sneakers. He also smelled worse than a garbage truck.

  The cold barrel of the revolver touched MaKayla’s left temple. Her breath hitched and held. Her fingers gripped the belt loops on the cowboy’s jeans. She couldn’t get any closer without ending up in the man’s back pocket.

  She closed her eyes a
nd silently prayed Alex wouldn’t have to bury another parent. Her son still wasn’t over losing Paul.

  “Remove the gun from the lady.”

  At the sound of the cowboy’s voice, MaKayla opened her eyes. She bit her bottom lip as the silver barrel lifted off her temple only to land on the cowboy’s cheek.

  “Much better.”

  Did he look as calm as he spoke? There was no need to play hero with a gun present. She had learned the hard way that the end result of a robbery could be fatal. She didn’t need this man being shot trying to protect her.

  The gunman used his free hand to flick the white Stetson off the cowboy’s head. “Do you have a death wish, man?”

  “It’s called manners, boy.”

  Boy. MaKayla stared into the gunman’s blue eyes peering through the two small holes of the mask.

  “You trying to get a good look for the cops, lady?”

  MaKayla shook her head. Her focus turned to the women beside her. The robber’s stale breath made the greasy hash browns and orange juice she had for breakfast bubble in her stomach.

  “Leave her alone.”

  The gunman turned and glared at the cowboy. “You ain’t shit—givin’ me orders.” Using the handle of the gun, he hit the cowboy on the forehead, over his left eye.

  The cowboy’s head jerked to the side. He lifted one hand toward his injury and curled the other into a fist.

  MaKayla reached up and squeezed his right bicep. She kept her tone as composed as she wanted him to keep his anger. “Don’t.”

  “Let’s go!” The leader of the pack hollered as he slid the duffle bag off the counter. He knocked a man down as he ran toward the door.

  No one moved as the three gunmen hustled out of the building. When the coast cleared, MaKayla took a full breath for the first time since entering the bank. If her body calmed too much, she would crumble like a house made of cards. As an employee, she had to be professional.

  She turned around. Seeing Sara’s large belly reminded her of the daughters she had lost during that other robbery. Tears burned in the back of her eyes. She forced a smile—glad Sara wouldn’t have to experience the same nightmare.

  She cupped the young girl’s cheeks. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes.” Tears streamed down Sara Conley’s face as her arms hugged her stomach, protecting her unborn. “You?” She looked at MaKayla, and then up at the cowboy who stood beside them. “Mister, you’re bleeding.”

  The cowboy raised his hand to his head and then lowered a bloody palm.

  MaKayla removed a bandanna from her purse and pressed the cotton against the nasty cut. “That creep.”

  “I’ll be fine.” The cowboy touched her arm.

  Sara returned to her workstation, leaving MaKayla alone with the customer.

  “Ma’am, are you okay?”

  The handsome stranger’s concern continued even after issuing commands to a gunman and putting his own life in danger.

  “Um. Yes.” Despite her shaking hand, she managed to keep the fabric against his forehead. She forced a smile. Keeping customers calm had to be priority. If she lost her composure, so would they. “You might need a few stitches. An ambulance should be here soon.”

  Jodi stepped out from behind the counter and headed toward them. MaKayla reached out her free arm. “Are you okay, Jodi?”

  “Oh, darling, I’m fine. What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be on vacation.” Jodi Richards looked up at the cowboy. “What happened here? Are you okay, sir?”

  MaKayla waited for her friend to rise on her tiptoes before she uncovered the wound. “One of those idiots hit him over the head with his gun.”

  Her hand fumbled because of the man’s large, chocolate gaze locking on to hers as she tried to replace the bandanna. No man had ever turned her emotions topsy-turvy like this. It had to be the aftermath of having her life threatened.

  The sound of police sirens came closer.

  “MaKayla, have him sit down until help arrives.” Jodi turned to leave. “I’ll attend to the others.”

  The square-jawed cowboy pointed to his wound and she understood he was indicating that he no longer needed her to mother him. A habit she would soon miss. “Sorry.”

  His hand replaced hers on the fabric. “I’ll buy you another one of these things.”

  “There’s no need to buy anything.” Her son wouldn’t mind giving up one of his bandannas to a man who had protected his mother from a gunman. “It’s the least I can do. Thank you.”

  He nodded. “No big deal. These kids don’t realize how dangerous guns can be until someone gets shot or killed.”

  If he only knew how much of a big deal having that gun removed from her temple had actually been. Thanking him had been an understatement.

  MaKayla escorted him to a blue bench parked between two office entrances. The paramedics made their way through the front doors. “Help is here. You’ll be in good hands. Thanks again…for everything.”

  He stood. “Ma’am, if you’re ever in the area, stop by No Bulls, down the road. I’d like to buy you a drink for your help.” He pointed to his wound. “The name’s Dustin.”

  She took the hand he offered. “MaKayla.” Stepping foot inside the recently-opened country nightclub in question had never crossed her mind. Country music and line-dancing was never her thing. But this Dustin fellow didn’t need to know that. “Maybe I’ll see you there.”

  ****

  Dustin James pinched the bridge of his nose, shut his eye, and leaned his head back in the passenger seat of his twin sister’s car.

  What a wasted day, sitting in a hospital room reliving what he’d been trying to forget for the past three years—the hospital smells, the tests, the questions, the guilt.

  If a bonk on the head hadn’t triggered any memories, nothing would.

  “How ya feeling, Harold?” Dana laughed.

  As a junior, his family had always called him by his middle name. Hearing his first name sounded foreign to his own ears—but not funny.

  Putting up with Dana’s silliness was better than hitching a ride from his mother. He would have had to put up with being lectured on how he had to be careful with head injuries, especially since waking from his coma.

  “Are you done laughing?”

  Her lips gave away the restraint. She smiled. “At least this time they didn’t have to remove a bullet from you.”

  True. Seeing that young boy with a gun at the robbery this morning did remind him of the Slaughter incident. His sister’s ex-boyfriend thought he was a bad-ass, threatening Dana to come back to him…or else. Everyone had been surprised when his gun went off, and devastated when the bullet hit Dustin in the shoulder.

  “Slaughter didn’t know the gun was loaded.” Dana still stuck up for him. “He loved me. He thought a gun would scare me back into his arms and we’d live happily ever after.”

  Since the jackass had apologized, and finally realized he and Dana were better friends than lovers, Dustin hadn’t pressed charges. For the past six years, Slaughter had been at Dustin’s beck and call—but had never been called upon for a thing.

  “That’s why I stay single. Relationships are too screwed up.” After meeting MaKayla this morning, he’d be wise to keep that in mind.

  “You should see the job Slaughter and I did at the club this morning.”

  Dustin drummed his fingers on the armrest. What if MaKayla had taken him up on his earlier drink offer, and he wasn’t there?

  Her hazel eyes had reminded him of the color he painted his first pickup truck as a teenager. A sudden whiff of her apple scent on his clothes made him forget about the stench of medical supplies from the hospital.

  The softness of her skin still lingered on his palm. When he’d had a gun aimed at his head, all he’d been able to concentrate on was the swell of her breasts pressed against his back. And while she’d played nursemaid to his injury afterward, how could a man not become aroused by her gentle touch and pleasant smile? Since the loss of
his wife three years ago, no other woman had made him feel this way.

  Good thing he’d had his head examined just now. Otherwise he’d be convinced something was wrong.

  Focusing on the way a woman’s tank top exposed tan skin from one shoulder across her collarbone to the other shoulder had been something he’d done in his teens. He always admired long, tanned legs, so that wasn’t a concern. But admiring her full pink lips and wanting to run his fingers through those dark curls streaming from her head onto her breasts… He was sure the gunman had done some damage.

  Dana’s singing brought him back to reality. “Get off the next exit. I want to check out what you two did to the club.” And it would get his mind away from a woman whom he would probably never meet again. Maybe not getting her number was for the best. A woman like her could get him in a lot of trouble.

  He’d been content with putting his law practice behind him to raise Melissa alone, keeping his final promise to Liz that a nanny would not raise their child. The life insurance money had been enough for him to keep his promise.

  Owning three condominium complexes and now a nightclub had kept him busy when his daughter spent time with her grandparents.

  With the women who came and went through these business transactions, not one of them had the ability to brand him the way MaKayla’s hypnotizing smile and green eyes had. Would he ever be able to get her out of his head?

  Dana raised a brow and glanced his way. “Are you kidding?”

  Had she read his mind? He’d heard some twins were capable of such things. Better to make sure before he said something to make her start asking questions. “What do you mean?”

  “If you don’t have a headache yet, the loud music will give you one.”

  That was close, he thought, glad his sister hadn’t possessed the talent to read his mind. Not yet anyway. “Either way I’ll get a headache—at the club, or hearing Mom worry about me getting hit over the head.”

  The accident that had taken Paul Adams’ life three years ago—putting Dustin into a coma—was a memory lane he’d rather not walk down with his mother. She had tried everything to trigger that day’s memory loss for him. Although the accident had been ruled Adams’ fault, Dustin had been living with the guilt of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.