All I Need (Hearts of the South) Read online

  Table of Contents

  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

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Look for these titles by Linda Winfree

  He’s nothing she wants…but everything she needs.

  Hearts of the South, Book 11

  Two years after she buried the love of her life, ER physician Savannah Mills remains buried in her work and keeps her heart under lock and key. But if anyone could tempt her banked desires to come out and play, it’s her neighbor. A couple of casual interactions with the former police officer has her considering a friends-with-benefits arrangement.

  Emmett Beck is forging a new career after an on-duty shooting nearly cost him everything. His love life has been in cold storage during his recuperation, but when Savannah proposes a no-strings relationship, his body warms to the idea. After all, it’s just sex. What could possibly go wrong?

  Plenty—once Emmett realizes that hot kisses and steamy nights aren’t enough. And that he’s fallen in love with a woman who intends to never love anyone again.

  Warning: Contains a younger man determined to be everything his woman needs, in bed and out, and an older woman unafraid to explore her wild side. Also features cops who talk like cops.

  All I Need

  Linda Winfree

  Dedication

  Life is more than food, and the body is more than clothing.

  Chapter One

  Damn, he hurt tonight. The ache twisted and snarled in his thigh, as though an unseen hand tied the muscles themselves into knots. The incision line itself itched with sharp twinges of intermittent pain. The discomfort made him restless, and he retreated to the back patio to throw punches at the heavy bag until the injured leg refused to hold him any longer. Then he dragged himself to the shower and stood under cool water, rinsing away the sweat and wishing the pain and the memories could be washed away so easily.

  Afterward, he knocked back a couple more ibuprofen—stomach damage be damned—and took a cold longneck out to the front stoop, to sit in the Adirondack chair by his front door and wait in vain for the pain to simply go away. At least weariness tugged at him, and maybe he’d be able to catch a decent night’s sleep.

  Head tilted back, he spun the bottle in slow circles on the chair arm and eyed the moths bumping and jostling around the dim ceiling light. Muted laughter, maybe canned sitcom revelry, drifted from the apartment upstairs. In the distance, a siren wailed, and he tensed before he remembered that when the leg cramped like tonight, tightening the muscles only made things worse.

  Headlights flashed across the complex, and a sporty Mercedes purred into the lot. Security lighting gleamed off black paint as the luxury car came to a stop in the parking spot next to his. The bottle made another slow revolution. Must be the new neighbor he’d heard coming and going the past couple of days.

  This is what his life had become—a new neighbor with whom he’d never pass more than a couple of words was the major excitement of his days.

  On a smile, he sipped at the beer. Maybe his buddies were right—he needed to get out more.

  The interior light flashed when the car door opened, illuminating glossy brown hair in a messy knot. The brunette stepped from the car and slung a leather tote over her shoulder. Dark blue medical scrubs skimmed over her tall frame, broad-shouldered and curvy. The car door closed and alarm set, she turned toward the apartment block.

  While unlocking her door, she flashed Emmett a smile. She was a looker—a full mouth set in a slightly square jaw, pert nose, big eyes. “Hi.”

  Sultry voice, a little on the husky side. He lifted the bottle in response. “Hey.”

  Her front door partially open, she crossed the yards between them to extend a hand. “Savannah Mills. It’s good to meet you.”

  “Emmett Beck.” Her hand, nails short and clean of any polish, was cool against his.

  She clutched her bag’s strap and waved her other hand toward downtown behind them. “I’m new here and don’t know a lot of people yet. I find it’s valuable to get to know my neighbors. We should grab a beer some time.”

  He froze with the bottle halfway to his lips. Wow, she came out of the gate quick. Wasn’t like he wasn’t used to that, but it had been a while and he was a different guy now. He’d learned that lesson really well. He dredged up a facsimile of a smile and concentrated on keeping all the bitterness and anger out of his voice, on producing the most even tone he could muster. The fact his love life—or lack thereof—seemed to be a constant subject of local gossip wasn’t her fault.

  “Sorry, honey, but I don’t get out much these days.”

  “I understand.” Her friendly smile widened. “Let me know if that changes. Good night.”

  She spun on her heel and disappeared inside her apartment. The door closed with a muted snick. He shook his head on a quiet snort and downed the rest of the lukewarm brew. Yeah, he’d blown that for sure. He should have said yes, asked her to join him maybe.

  Obviously, his hermit status had caused him to lose his mind.

  * * * * *

  Out of habit, he rose early. He answered a couple of texts from his mama and worked through his daily exercises while coffee brewed, then took a mug and his Kouzes and Posner book out to the Adirondack. This morning, he needed the cane despite—or maybe because of—the exercises. The cane had been in his closet for weeks. His pride smarted a little over dragging it out, but he wasn’t stupid enough to jeopardize his progress. One day, he’d be back in uniform, probably behind a desk, but still—he’d be in uniform again. Maybe one day, he’d actually be back in a patrol car.

  Pen at hand, he settled in and opened to the chapter on envisioning the future. Soft splashes drifted from the pool area, where Savannah cut through the water with easy strokes—lazy lap after lap after lap. He returned to reading, letting the quiet sounds—Savannah swimming, birds coming to life in the trees along the street, the occasional car puttering by—soothe him.

  On a long sip of strong coffee, he underlined a couple of sentences about defining vision and purpose. The background noise shifted around him, the quiet splashing replaced by the hushed slap of flip-flops on pavement. Keys jingled a merry tune, and chlorine tickled his nose.

  He glanced up as the footfalls grew nearer. She was a looker like this, too. Her simple black one-piece hugged generous curves, and her brown eyes sparkled in a face bare of makeup. Although her dark hair was caught up in a loose bun, a few wet strands fell free to frame features flushed from exercise and lit up with a smile. A white towel draped around her neck caught a few stray droplets of water from her skin and hair. The women he was used to dressed for an audience at the pool or the beach and never let their too-cute bikinis get wet, pairing those swimsuits with perfect hair and makeup. Nothing wrong with that, but he liked Savannah’s authenticity and the distinct impression she dressed for herself alone.

  He rested the book spine-up on his belly and saluted her with his mug. “Hey.”

  “Good morning.” She pushed wet bangs out of her eyes. “A little light reading there?”

  “Required for a class I’m taking.” He glanced at the cover and let a grin lift one corner of his mout
h. “Actually, it’s not that bad.”

  “Grad school?” Her gaze skittered from the book to the cane to his eyes.

  “Yeah.” He kept his voice bland and even.

  “Well, I’m going to go and let you read.” She gestured toward her door with both hands. “You’ll let me know if anything changes about that beer, right?”

  “Sure.” He picked the book up once more. “Have a great day.”

  “You too.” With a cheeky grin—and man, that was one cheeky sashay she had as well—she disappeared into her apartment.

  Aware he was smiling, he finished the chapter and his coffee. He leaned heavily on the cane and made his way inside. By the time he showered, dressed, and walked out to his truck, the Mercedes was gone. He made a trip to the library to drop off his borrowed books and check out two more biographies, then pulled into the parking lot at his physical therapist’s office and took the spot farthest from the door. Someone needed to be closer more than he did.

  In the waiting room, he read a chapter or so about FDR’s early life before Holli called him back. She patted his shoulder as they walked down the hall. “How’s your mama and daddy?”

  Somehow he kept a grimace off his face at the mention of his father. “They’re good. Yours?”

  “Mama’s doing okay. Daddy’s blood pressure is acting up again.” Holli glanced sideways at him. “I see we’ve got the cane out.”

  “First time in weeks.” He rubbed at the muscle above the surgical incision. “The muscles were cramping last night, and the leg felt a little shaky after my morning routine. Didn’t want to chance falling.”

  “Smart guy.” Holli graced him with a thousand-watt smile. “I love it when patients follow directions. Come on and let me torture you a while.”

  The session proved to be just short of torture—exhausting and painful. Even so, the leg was getting better. He was getting better. Only not the same. That idea took some getting used to, but he was getting there too. He was on his way to letting go the idea of being the same as he’d been.

  As he’d expected, Clark Dempsey waited for him in the parking lot. True to his words to Savannah, he didn’t get out much these days, but Troy Lee and Clark forced him to go to lunch with them on his PT days. They’d fallen into an easy routine—Clark had his EMS partner drop him off, he drove them to lunch, then Emmett drove himself home. Today, immense gratitude filled him. He hurt like hell, and letting Clark drive would give him time for the ibuprofen to kick in, time to get over the pain and exertion. Besides, he could be totally real with Clark, who already knew all his weaknesses.

  He tossed his keys to Clark. “So what’s on the menu today?”

  Clark’s eyes crinkled with his wide smile. “BBQ.”

  In the passenger seat, Emmett clicked on his seat belt, closed his eyes, and melted into the seat. Clark let him decompress in silence broken only by Mat Kearney on the radio and the hum of tires on pavement. Minutes later, Clark jockeyed the truck into a shady spot outside the Hickory House. Emmett stretched out his leg, testing the muscles gingerly.

  “You good?” Clark asked, hand on the ignition.

  A relieved grin pulled at Emmett’s mouth. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

  He chose safety and his recovery over pride and took the cane with him. He spotted Troy Lee’s grayish-blue patrol unit in the sea of cars. The line to order stretched to the door, normal for the midday lunch rush. He and Clark chatted with a few acquaintances while they waited. After they ordered, Gail, the restaurant’s proprietor and contender for the county’s biggest gossip, pointed toward the rear of the long, low building.

  “Troy Lee got y’all a table in the back room.” She laid a hand on Emmett’s on the counter, a too-sweet smile on her face. “How’s Lacey doing, sweetheart?”

  Hell. Like she didn’t know Lacey had bailed on him before he’d even gotten the first set of surgical staples out of his leg. Or that Lacey had started dating one of the service guys over at the Ford place within a couple of weeks of telling Emmett they were done. Not that he could really blame her. They’d only been dating a couple of months when he’d been shot, and back then, all the prognoses had been grimmer than grim. He liked to think he’d have hung in for her in the same circumstances, but he couldn’t be sure. He’d been a heck of a lot shallower then.

  He made damn sure his face remained stoic. Anything he said or did was going to make the gossip rounds before two o’clock. He didn’t need anybody calling his mama and getting her upset. “You probably know more than I do, Mrs. Gail. We haven’t seen each other in a while.”

  “I’m sorry, hon.” Gail patted his hand, and his skin crawled. He extricated himself as graciously as he could.

  “Good to see you, Mrs. Gail.” He didn’t release his deep breath until he and Clark had cleared the front room.

  “Good job.” Clark clapped a hand on his shoulder.

  “You know what pisses me off?” He thumped the floor with the cane a little harder than necessary on his next step. “I don’t even care what Lacey’s doing. I don’t really think about her anymore, but they all think I should be heartbroken and pining for her. What is the big deal?”

  “Small town. They have to entertain themselves somehow.”

  “Maybe they should try reading a damn book.” He scowled. “You know, there is a library downtown.”

  Clark choked on a laugh, and Emmett stopped to glower at him.

  “What?” He leaned on the cane.

  “You. You’re like a crotchety old guy, with your cane and your library rant.” Clark gestured up and down, from Emmett’s feet to his cane to his head. “We should get you a cat or something. I bet there’s a couple hanging around the dumpster out back.”

  An unwilling smile crept over his mouth. He’d had a cat, before, and somehow Barkley had ended up being Clark’s cat while Emmett was hospitalized. “Fuck you, man.”

  “Hey, there’s Troy Lee and Bennett.” Unperturbed, Clark gestured at the back corner table. Troy Lee, bless him, had commandeered the only table turned sideways in the room so none of them had to sit with their backs to the door. Emmett still couldn’t do it, and he wouldn’t ask anyone else to do it, either.

  They exchanged quick greetings while Emmett and Clark settled into the table’s empty seats. Bennett didn’t often join them on these Wednesday lunches, thus Emmett didn’t really know him as the other man had hired onto the sheriff’s department mere weeks before the shooting. He and Troy Lee seemed to get on like a house on fire, though—requesting to stay partnered even after Bennett’s initial training period with the department.

  The waitress brought their drinks and tossed four straws in the middle of the table. Emmett squeezed lemon into his water and took a long sip.

  Troy Lee jabbed a straw into his unsweetened tea. “You’re graduating this semester, right?”

  “Yeah.” Emmett relaxed as much as he could in the straight chair. He stretched his leg out to the side so he didn’t crowd Bennett across from him. “In December.”

  “Calvert posted the jail administrator job this morning.” Troy Lee spun his glass in a slow circle. “You should send your resume.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Dude, you’re cross-certified in corrections, you have your road experience, and you’re about to have your master’s in administration. You’re qualified.” Troy Lee pinned him with the steady look that brooked no argument. “You’ve got to take a step.”

  “Easy for you to say.” He wouldn’t get pissed with Troy Lee. None of his problems were his friend’s fault, and he wasn’t going to fall prey to displaced anger. “After the wreck, you were out, what? A couple of months, then back on the road.”

  “You’re right. It is easy for me to say. Even easier for Clark.” Troy Lee paused while the waitress arranged their plates on the table. Once she’d walked away, he clapped Bennett’s shoulder. “That’s why I brought him. He’s the one who had to start all over again.”

  Emmett shifted his attention to Bennet
t and narrowed his eyes. “So what’s that first step like?”

  “Oh, it’s a bitch.” Bennett grinned, tanned skin crinkling around his green gaze. “Worth it, but a bitch.”

  “It’s a step, Em.” Clark’s quiet voice set him on edge. Man, he hated when they ganged up on him like this, even when it was for his own good. “Administration experience, which you need and don’t have.”

  “I don’t have any jail experience either.” He resisted the urge to slam his fork down next to his basically untouched plate. He wasn’t a ten-year-old boy, and he was damn well going to act like a man.

  “No, but you can learn. Everybody knows what kind of cop you were—are—and you’re hella smart.” Troy Lee continued to eye him steadily. “Singleton will give you a good reference and you know it. Go in and convince Calvert you can do the job. What do you have to lose?”

  “My pride.” Which was still smarting at the word “were”. Past tense, like everything he’d worked so hard for was gone for good. He wanted back in a car, was working toward it every day—but he needed a realistic backup plan in case that never happened. Before, he’d have hashed out that plan with his sister and Clark, but Landra hadn’t talked to him in months. That left him with Clark and Troy Lee…and maybe Bennett.

  “Pride is overrated.” Bennett trickled a stream of hot sauce over his pulled pork. “Trust me on that.”

  “There’s also a 911 dispatch job open.” Clark bit into his smoked-turkey sandwich.

  Emmett pinched the bridge of his nose, aware Bennett was watching him. Bennett rested an elbow on the table and leaned forward, voice low. “Starting over as something else, especially when you didn’t choose to start over, is hard. You can’t stay in one place, though. You get stagnant, and there’s no life in that.”

  Mouth tight, Emmett glanced from Troy Lee to Clark. “I’ll polish up my resume.”

  “Great.” Troy Lee reached for his tea glass. “And join us to play Saturday night.”

  “No.” He hadn’t played since a week before the shooting. “I can’t stand up that long in one place. It still hurts if I try.”