Protective Instincts
Sawyer Kincaid hated the rain.
He hated the sound of it beating against the green canvas tent top. He resented the clingy mist of it masking the tears on his mother's pale cheeks, as though it could somehow wash away her grief. He loathed the springtime chill of it running down the back of his neck beneath his collar.
But mostly he hated the way it beaded atop the black stripe that bisected the nickel-and-brass badge he wore on his chest—the way the moisture attached itself to every KCPD badge here.
Of course, he could move closer to the somber ceremony instead of standing back at the fringe of family and friends and colleagues. He could get under the tent, get out of the rain. But he was just too big a man to be standing at the front of the crowd if anyone else behind him wanted to see. Besides, getting closer wouldn't make the rain stop.
Getting closer wouldn't make the pain go away, either. "…but come ye back when summer's in the meadow, or when the valley's hushed and white with snow…"
For a moment Sawyer tore his attention away from the rain's gloomy rhythm to listen to his youngest brother Holden's rich, melodic voice. Their father wo ... read full excerpt from: Protective Instincts ebook
