Protector Daddy (MC Daddies 3)

1

Reverend Pat always said she was going to meet a bad end.

Although never to her face, of course.

She figured he was still smarting from the time she’d accidentally freed his piglets and they’d spread mud through the church, scaring the ladies having their afternoon knitting session in one of the meeting rooms.

If he didn’t want her to play with the piglets, he shouldn’t have kept them in a pen out back of the church. Of course, technically that was actually his backyard since his house was right next door to the church. But, semantics.

Besides, she’d only been trying to reunite them with mama pig. How was she to know that mama pig had been destined for the spit roast that weekend for the local church chow down? And that after she’d been let free, she’d take off and cause havoc through the town along with her eight piglets?

If Mrs. Barlow had wanted to keep the pigs out of her veggie garden, then she really should have built a fence around it. And if Mr. Jones hadn’t wanted a huge pig eating her way through his pantry, well, he should have shut his back door.

Right?

Reverend Pat still held a grudge twenty-three years later, even though he was now retired.

She really thought it was time for him to forgive her. She’d only been four.

Although now it seemed he might be right.

He’d been surprisingly supportive of her mission. Instead, he’d waved her off with a big grin. And it was more than a bit suspicious that he’d offered to organize a goodbye/good luck party for her. He’d smiled the entire night, ending up rather tipsy.

Anyone would have thought he was glad to see her go.

Oh, well, when she returned home, she’d be able to tell him that he was right. No matter where she went, Millicent Margaret St. Clair could find trouble.

And right now, trouble came in the form of a dirty, glassy-eyed man who was holding a gun on her. His hand trembled as his gaze flitted around the dark alleyway they stood in. The stench of urine and body odor assaulted her nose, making it twitch.

Millie put her hands on her hips, glaring at him. “I don’t have time for this.”

He sneered at her. “Gimme your handbag, lady.”

“I think not! This is a one-of-a-kind Kate Spain.” She patted the enormous, patchwork bag.

He looked at her in puzzlement. “Huh? Don’t you mean Kate Spade?”

“No. I mean Kate Spain. She made this bag especially for me and I’m not giving it to you.”

“Fine. Whatever, just gimme the money in it. And hurry up, I don’t like hanging around this alleyway. This is right on the edge of Steele territory.”

Steele territory?

“Who are they? A gang?”

He gave a bark of laughter. “Yeah, lady. Sure, they’re a gang. Fuck, where’d you come from that you haven’t heard of Damon Steele?”

“Nowhere.”

“Nowhere is right. Now stop fucking talking and give me your money.”

“Where would I find this Mr. Steele? I have some questions for him.” Perhaps a gang leader would be able to help her.

“You have questions for him? Shit, lady, you’re insane. Can’t you see the gun I’m aiming at you?”

“I see it. I’m just choosing to ignore it. See, I don’t think you’ll actually shoot me.” Well, she hoped not since she had a mission to complete. Like she’d said, she really didn’t have time for this.

“Oh yeah? And why is that? You don’t think I’m tough enough to shoot you, huh?” He hitched up his jeans with one hand as he spoke.

“No, I don’t think you can shoot me without getting shot yourself.” She smoothly slid her gun from the pocket at the back of her one-of-a-kind handbag. Mrs. Spain, after hearing about her plan, had made this handbag for her. Complete with storage for her new gun.

And look at that, on her second night here she was using it.

She held the gun steady, pointing it at the man

in front of her. This gun was also a gift. From Mr. Spain. He’d special ordered it for her. It was a Smith and Wesson, M&P, 9mm in pink. Yep. It was pink. And awesome.

Of course, maybe she should have actually loaded the magazine with bullets before leaving the motel. Seemed like she might be needing them.

The man gulped. “What are you doing, lady?”

“I’m pointing a gun at you.” Wasn’t it obvious?