Free Her Minnesota Man (A Christian Romance Novel) by Brenda Coulter Page A

jaws flexing in a way that couldn't be good for his molars.
    "Bob Sayers." Wading into the tense silence, the cop thrust his right hand toward Jeb. "I'm a huge fan."
    "Thanks." Jeb's tone was dismissive, but instead of nodding curtly, his usual response to an introduction he hadn't sought, he shook the proffered hand.
    Officer Sayers beamed like a kid at Christmas. "So, it's 'Jeb,' then?"
    "No," Jeb said shortly. "It's Jackson."
    He never allowed anyone but Laney and her family to use the name she'd given him. He loathed his real name because it had been his father's, yet anyone who dared to call him Jeb or even Jack received a flinty stare for that presumption. It was just one of the ways he kept the world at arm's length.
    Officer Sayers didn't appear to be fazed by Jeb's chilly demeanor. "Last summer a friend and I drove to Des Moines and Chicago to catch your shows," he enthused. "When are you going to play the Twin Cities?"
    "No idea." Jeb folded his arms across his chest and glared down at the much shorter man. "Shouldn't you be out looking for the thugs who hurt Laney?"
    "Jeb." Laney flung him a look of disgusted reproach, then smiled an apology at Officer Sayers. "We'll let you know if we have any more trouble," she promised, moving closer to the door and hoping he could take a hint.
    Under normal circumstances, nobody left her home without being offered a cup of coffee at the very least. But she could practically hear Jeb's nerves buzzing like high-tension wires, and she had to get him calmed down.
    "Thanks for stopping by," she added.
    "You bet." The cop's gaze swung back to Jeb. "You folks take care, now."
    Laney opened the storm door. "You, too. 'Bye." She watched him descend the porch steps, and then she closed both doors and looked at Jeb, who was still frowning fiercely.
    "I was going to tell you after supper," she said.
    "You went after them with a baseball bat," he repeated incredulously.
    "Don't make it sound so gruesome, Jeb. I just yelled and swung the bat to scare them off."
    His head fell back in obvious exasperation. "Great plan," he said to the ceiling. "Because who wouldn't be terrified by a sweet little blonde with a baseball bat?"
    "They did run away," Laney retorted.
    His hard gaze snapped back to her. "What if they had attacked you, instead? What were you thinking, Laney?"
    "I wasn't thinking, all right?" She hated the sudden shrillness of her tone, but made no attempt to moderate it. "I woke up in the middle of the night and saw them breaking into your house and it made me mad!"
    Why couldn't he just accept that she'd made a dumb mistake and drop the subject? Shaking her head in disgust, she turned back toward the kitchen.
    He captured her arm as she tried to walk past him. "Laney, you know I don't care about anything in that house," he rumbled. "You had no business risking your life to save a few stupid guitars."
    She stared up at him in wordless frustration. How could she explain that she was fiercely protective of his house and its contents because sometimes it seemed they were all she had left of him?
    She tugged her arm from his grasp and stumbled to an overstuffed armchair. Sinking onto its marshmallow-soft cushion, she burst into tears.
    "Ah, don't ." Dropping to his knees beside her, Jeb curved an arm around her shoulders. "Please don't, princess. I'm sorry for yelling."
    "It isn't that." Ashamed of her childish display, she wiped her eyes with her fingertips and rubbed her cheeks dry.
    "I'm still sorry." Jeb's big warm hand smoothed the curls back from her forehead. Laney was tempted to close her eyes and lean into the caress, but she pushed his hand away.
    "Jeb, don't sell your house," she blurted. "It's not like you need the money."
    His dark eyebrows slanted even more sharply inward. "Have I said anything about selling my house?"
    "The Graces think you're going to."
    "The Graces." Jeb again lifted his gaze to the ceiling, this time like a man praying for patience. Which of course he