Page 4 of Her Dirty Defender

I force a polite nod. “Afternoon, Deputy.”

Dad sets his pen aside with the finality of a judge dropping the gavel. “Marcus has offered to escort you to the Veterans Day Fundraiser.”

My stomach dips. “I’m sorry—what?”

Marcus chuckles like we’re sharing some private joke I never agreed to. “Your father and I both agreed you should have a proper escort. And I’d be honored.” He grins wider. “I’m looking forward to seeing you all dressed up, Georgina.”

This is the kind of man Dad thinks is best for me—a clean-cut, dependable lawman like Marcus. Someone with his shirt tucked in, his morals polished to a high shine, and his ambition set to “steady incline.”

I should be grateful. I should nod and go along with it. Marcus has never been anything but polite. Respectful. Perfectly friendly.

But I don’t want a date. I don’t want yet another of Dad’s expectations forced on me. “I can go alone?—”

“Nonsense,” Dad cuts in. “You and Marcus make a great couple, and it’ll be good for optics. Nothing like the sheriff’s daughter and his deputy showing a united front to get the money rolling in.”

Every muscle in my body coils tight, and familiar rage burns in my chest. Optics. Of course. Heaven forbid I show up as myself, all oil-stained knuckles and opinions. Dad's been pushing me toward Marcus for months as if it’s a foregone conclusion and my choices don’t matter.

Marcus nods solemnly. “It’ll be fun, Georgina. I promise. The fundraiser is more than a dance or an auction. Every dollar raised goes straight to food, housing, therapy, and skills training for the veterans’ program. It’s about providing a safe place for former military men struggling with PTSD, survivor’s guilt, and the harsh reality of returning to a world that no longer feels like home. Somewhere they can find purpose again. It’s not a party. It’s a lifeline. Your dad has built an event that shows people what’s at stake around here. What needs protecting.”

O. M. Fucking. G.

Did he rehearse that this morning while flexing in the mirror and posing with his Glock? Not that I disagree with the importance of the fundraiser, but that speech had the same energy as a bald eagle flying across a sunset while Lee Greenwood plays in the background.

Dad nods approvingly as if Marcus just recited the Pledge of Allegiance in Latin. “There’s no one I’d prefer to escort you, George. Marcus is practically family.”

Of course, Marcus is “practically family.” Dad took him under his wing the minute he arrived in Clover Canyon. Promoted him fast. Defended him harder. Calls him “son” sometimes when he’s not paying attention.

Meanwhile, I get told I’m late because I was helping a guy who needed his tractor working so he could haul feed to his livestock.

“Right,” I mutter. “Can’t have the family golden boy showing up stag.”

Dad’s expression hardens. “Don’t be petty.”

“I’m not being petty,” I snap, then inhale slowly. “I just don’t want to be forced into a date I didn’t agree to.”

“It’s one night,” Dad says, waving me off like I’m an overdramatic teenager and not a grown woman running my own business. “One night to look respectable and support a good cause.”

Marcus lifts his hands. “I didn’t mean to overstep, Georgina. Your dad asked me, and I said I’d be honored. That’s all.”

His tone is measured. Reasonable.

And now I’m the unreasonable one.

The ungrateful one.

Cornered.

The office phone rings—shrill and urgent. Saved by the bell.

Dad picks up instantly. “Sheriff Lucas. Wait, slow down. Where?”

His expression darkens. Without breaking concentration, he reaches for his notepad and jots something down. His pen scratches with efficient finality.

I glance at Marcus, silently praying this is urgent enough to pull him away.

Dad hangs up and says, “Marcus, you’re up. Suspicious activity near the south access road. Looks like someone’s tampering with cattle gates again at Caleb Cutter’s place.”

“Probably kids,” Marcus mutters, already halfway out the door. “But I’ll check it out.”

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