Destined (The Rangers of Ridge County #1)

Chapter Fifty

CHAPTER FIFTY

MILLIE

T he only good thing to come from all of this was my empty to-do list.

I completed every single task I had or hoped to accomplish—the biggest being the finalized and approved marketing content for Spruce Heights.

Emmett called at lunch to tell me he picked up an evening patrol in effort to help out since he was benched from assisting in my investigation. Since then, I’d found little motivation to move from my comfy spot.

Jet lounged on the cat pillow Emmett had brought home earlier this week. Bria sat beside me on the sectional, flipping through a magazine. The latest scandal plastered across the cover read, Holdings Heiress Ditched at the Altar . Rolling my eyes at the outlandish title, I rose and was heading for the load of towels in the dryer that needed folding when Bria’s radio crackled.

I couldn’t understand half of what was said, but I did hear the dispatcher mention Rowdy’s and a violent patron. Seconds later, Emmett responded in kind.

Jet lifted his head, momentarily intrigued by the sound of Emmett’s voice.

I glanced at Bria, but she seemed unfazed—still reading her magazine. Obviously it was going to take me a while to get used to the fact that Emmett put himself in harm’s way for a living. I doubted I’d ever reach the level of comfort Bria clearly had, but maybe with time I wouldn’t be so up in arms at the thought of the man I loved in constant danger.

Oh shit.

I was in love with Emmett Ranger.

The revelation had me slowly lowering myself to sit at the bottom of the staircase. My thoughts bouncing from alarm to elation. Evidently I was quiet for too long, though. Because Bria turned, looking at me curiously.

“You good?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Was I?

“Um…” I stammered. “Yeah. Yes. I’m fine.” My resolve grew with each word along with the smile on my face. I was, in fact, good. Actually, I was great. Nothing had ever come so naturally or felt this right before.

It was as if I was floating on air as I headed toward the laundry. I heard Bria’s radio sound again. And again. But my head was up in the clouds.

Though, when I came back into the main space, Jet’s hackles were raised, and Bria was standing—a concerned expression on her face.

“Shots fired. Sheriff down.”

The words had me crashing back to Earth.

I was in love with Emmett Ranger, but what if I never got the chance to tell him?

The drive into Ranger Ridge took too long.

I asked Bria more than once to drive faster, but she refused. Claiming Emmett would fire her if she endangered my life.

I didn’t fucking care—something I told her multiple times. Which wasn’t exactly true but was besides the point. I needed to know Emmett was alive and well—a fact I had to see with my own eyes to believe.

Though, we were headed to the department, not the hospital, and I didn’t know what to make of that. We arrived, and I tugged at her cruiser’s door handle ready to sprint inside, but she had child locked it, likely for this exact reason.

I threw a death glare her way, and she rolled her eyes.

“Let me out,” I demanded, a small part of me hoping Emmett did fire her.

“You and Emmett are perfect for each other,” she huffed before getting out, rounding the vehicle, and opening my door. She mirrored my pace as I raced for the entrance, throwing the door open wide—its handle clanking against the brick of the building from the force of my pull.

Dorothy buzzed us through, and I was running. Pushing people out of my way as I hurried toward Emmett’s office. Theo tried to get my attention, but I would not be deterred.

Turning the knob, I stepped into the small room. Only to find it unoccupied. I spun, expecting Emmett to appear, but he didn’t. My sob bounced off the walls, and I sank into one of the chairs meant for visitors. My head dropped into my hands, and I tried to keep my fear at bay. Tears splashed the floor beneath my feet as more sobs tore through my body.

A rumbled, “Honey,” had me spinning.

My gaze landed on Emmett, and I was up—barreling toward him. My arms wrapped around his neck as I pressed tear soaked kisses to his lips.

He wrapped his arms around me, but a pained grunt had me pulling back—assessing every inch of him.

I noticed gauze wrapped around his bicep and lifted his shirt sleeve to inspect the bandage.

“What happened?” I asked, concern lacing my question.

“Grazed. Just a flesh wound,” he assured me with a smirk, raising his uninjured arm to pull me back into him. I used his shirt to dry my tears and wrapped my arms around his middle. Mindful for any other injuries.

“Don’t ever do that to me again,” I demanded, my hold on him firm—as if having my arms there would protect him. As if they would keep him whole and unharmed.