Page 1 of More Than a Hero (Baytown Heroes #12)

Angie Brown barely waited for the sliding glass doors to open before she burst through the front of Stuart's Pharmacy. Her breath came in short pants as she made a beeline for the prescription counter near the back.

“Oh my God, you're a lifesaver!” she gushed, her purple-framed glasses slipping slightly down her nose as she grinned at the pharmacist behind the elevated counter.

Thomas chuckled as he glanced down at her from his perch, his smile wide. “No worries, Angie. You know I’ve got you. We've got a couple of folks ahead of you, but give me a few minutes, and I’ll have it ready.”

Relief flooded through Angie as she exhaled a grateful breath. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she said dramatically, pressing a hand to her heart before stepping aside to make room for an older couple waiting nearby.

She inhaled deeply, catching the comforting scent of vanilla and antiseptic—an odd but familiar combination in the small hometown pharmacy.

Stuart’s was more than just a pharmacy—it was a staple of the community.

The short aisles brimmed with everyday essentials, saving residents a trip out of town to one of the stores scattered along the main highway that cut through the Eastern Shore.

When vacationers hit the town during tourist season, they perused the sections filled with Baytown souvenirs, flip-flops, and brightly colored T-shirts.

But what Angie loved most was the attached old-time diner that served simple yet mouthwatering meals, from thick milkshakes to their iconic sweet potato pancakes.

Just thinking about those pancakes made her stomach rumble, and she made a mental note to come in next weekend for a big breakfast.

She wandered down the aisles, checking her list. “Band-Aids? No. Vitamins? Yes. Deodorant? No. Toothpaste? Yes,” she murmured to herself, her arms filling quickly with her selections.

Rounding the final aisle, she stopped short, eyes landing on the feminine hygiene products.

“Shit... yes.” She grabbed a box of tampons and a package of pantyliners, but then remembered she needed ibuprofen.

Juggling her haul, she turned the corner and collided with something solid and unyielding.

Her breath whooshed out as her grip faltered, sending boxes and bottles tumbling to the floor. A pair of strong hands shot out, gripping her upper arms, steadying her before she could crash to the ground.

“Oh my God! I'm so sorry!” she gasped, clutching onto the person she'd just barreled into.

“No apology necessary,” replied the deep, steady voice.

Her head snapped up, eyes locking onto familiar stormy-gray ones.

His soft brown hair was long enough on top that it was brushed back, giving him a slightly tousled appearance.

His neatly trimmed beard framed a perfect mouth.

When he smiled, his lips curved higher on one side than the other.

To many, it would appear as a smirk, but in the few times she’d talked to him, she knew he was quiet.

Introspective. And the smile? Not a smirk, but more of a shy grin that captured her attention from the first time he’d shared it in her presence.

Detective Pete Bolton. Of course. The man who’d put her off when she’d asked him to dinner and never called back. “Detective Bolton?” she managed to squeak out, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

“Ms. Brown,” he acknowledged with a nod. His hands, still lightly grasping her arms, flexed for a moment before he let go. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” she assured, offering him a bright smile.

Truthfully, she liked the feel of his hands on her more than she cared to admit. Since meeting him weeks ago, he had crossed her mind far too often. Something about his serious, reserved nature intrigued her.

“Here, let me help,” he said, crouching to retrieve her scattered purchases.

She dropped to her knees beside him, reaching for the toothpaste. A sharp twinge shot up her knee, but she barely registered it when she realized what Pete had in his hand.

Tampons. Oh hell.

She lunged, grabbing for them, but he had also picked up the package of pantyliners.

Her face burned with unnecessary blush. She wasn’t embarrassed but assumed he would be when he realized what he held.

Great. Of all the ways to run into him, it had to be in the pharmacy, mid-PMS, with him holding the evidence. Only me.

He stood smoothly, holding the items in one large hand while offering the other to help her up. Without hesitation, she slipped her smaller hand into his, letting him pull her to her feet, wincing slightly at the pain in her knee.

“I’m so sorry, again,” she said with a breathy chuckle, brushing nonexistent dust off her skirt. “I’ll take those from you.”

He handed them over without the slightest hint of discomfort.

“I’m glad you weren’t embarrassed to pick those up.” She leaned closer. “Some men get really weirded out.”

“No reason to,” he said with a shrug. “All normal stuff.”

She tilted her head, studying him. “You have a sister.”

His brows rose slightly. “Uh… yeah, I do.”

She grinned. “I can tell. Men with sisters tend to be more comfortable with these things. That, or men with strong mothers.”

His expression shifted, something flickering in his eyes before he looked away. “No, I surely didn’t have one of those.”

The air changed, a subtle but noticeable tension settling between them. She had unintentionally wandered into unwelcome territory. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, sincerity in her voice.

His gaze swung back to her, sharper this time. He shook his head. “You don’t have to be sorry. I… just?—”

“Peter Bolton?”

They both turned at the sound of the pharmacy cashier calling his name. He exhaled, giving her an almost sheepish nod. “Sorry, Ms. Brown.”

“Angie, please.”

A small, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips.

“I hope to see you again soon, Pete,” she said, meaning it.

“Same,” he replied, his voice low, before turning away.

She watched as he paid for his purchase, her gaze trailing him when he walked past her toward the door. He gave her a simple chin lift in goodbye before stepping outside.

Her shoulders sagged with a sigh. The one man who sparked something inside her was also the one who seemed utterly immune to her charms. She thought back to the first time she’d met him. She had first met Pete a few weeks ago when her friend Karen, the lead home health nurse, had called her.

“Angie? Hey, it's Karen. I have two detectives here with questions about some of the people who drive older patients around. Can they come talk to you now, or are you out in the field?”

Angie laughed and teasingly asked, “Are they single?”

She heard Karen relay the question, then return with, “They said yes. Anything else?”

“Are they hot?” Angie had chuckled.

Karen had laughed. “Yes, I can definitely say they’re nice-looking.”

“Well, if they're handsome, I’ll make time to see them this afternoon. And if they’re single, you can send them right over.”

When the detectives arrived, both men had been tall, well-built, and clad in full tactical gear with the ES DTF insignia. But it wasn’t the outgoing Jeremy who had captured her interest—it was the quiet, enigmatic Pete.

During the meeting, Jeremy had done most of the talking while Pete remained mostly silent, only speaking as he handed her a list of names. His voice had been steady, his words polite.

“Take your time, Ms. Brown. We know you’re busy and appreciate you seeing us on short notice.”

When she had teased him about being mysterious, batting her lashes dramatically, he hadn’t cracked a smile—but he had blushed from the collar of his shirt to his ears.

A few days later, he had called for more information, and on a whim, she had invited him to dinner. His answer had been noncommittal. “I’ll have to check my schedule.”

Normally, Angie would have let it go, but Jeremy later messaged her with a simple, "Don’t give up on my partner.”

She sighed once again as she blinked, realizing she was staring at the door through which Pete had left and was now long gone.

“Angie?”

She blinked, turning to see Thomas waving her over to the counter. Squaring her shoulders, she pushed Pete Bolton from her mind. For now.

By the time Angie pulled into the narrow driveway in front of her townhouse, a deep, familiar ache had settled into her knees, radiating with each subtle movement.

She gripped the steering wheel tightly for a moment, inhaling deeply before letting out a slow breath.

Long shifts were always hard, but today had been particularly brutal.

Her limbs felt heavy, exhaustion woven into every fiber of her body.

With a slight wince, she leaned over, gathering her belongings—a well-worn leather satchel that housed her laptop, a crinkling pharmacy bag with the latest medication refill, and her purse, its strap slipping slightly as she shifted.

Pushing open the door, she eased herself out of the car, careful not to jar her stiff joints too much.

The evening breeze cooled her skin as she made her way toward her front porch, the scent of freshly cut grass and the soft, lingering aroma of someone’s grilled dinner drifting on the breeze.

The glow of a porch light flickered to life next door, and before she reached her steps, the familiar creak of a screen door opening caught her attention.

A warm smile spread across her face. “Hi, Grandma,” she called out.

Her grandparents Dorothy and Stan stepped out of their townhouse, their presence as comforting as a well-loved quilt. Dorothy, with her short silver bob and ever-present floral cardigan, extended her arms, and Angie didn’t hesitate to close the short distance and accept the warm hug.

“Angie, dear! We haven’t seen you in several days!”

“I know, Grandma,” Angie sighed, squeezing the older woman lightly before stepping back.

“Work’s been crazy, but we’re almost to the weekend.

I promise I won’t stay late tomorrow.” She turned her gaze to her grandfather, whose eyes twinkled behind his thick glasses.

“And I see someone’s been busy. My flower bed looks better than it did yesterday. ”

Stan chuckled, wiping his hands on his khaki pants. “I was already pulling weeds from my walk, so I figured, why not? It’s no trouble, really. I like keeping busy and knowing how much you love your flowers.”

Angie smiled, warmth blooming in her chest. It wasn’t the first time her grandfather had done little things like this for her, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

“Can we offer you some dinner?” Dorothy asked, her tone hopeful.

“Not tonight, thank you.” Angie shook her head gently. “I had a big lunch, so I’m just going to have some soup and put my feet up.”

Her grandmother gave her a knowing look but didn’t push. “Well, you know where to find us.”

With a final wave, Angie stepped a few feet to her front door and let herself inside, relishing the quiet comfort of home.

She loved having her grandparents living next door.

Dorothy and Stan were her dad’s parents.

Her mom’s dad had passed a few years ago, and her maternal grandmother was in a local nursing home.

Her parents lived in a house just down the street.

The scent of lavender and vanilla lingered in the air, a fragrance from the candles she often burned in the evenings.

The townhouse, while older, had a charm she adored—warm wood floors, a soft sage-colored couch piled with mismatched but inviting throw pillows, and bookshelves filled with well-loved novels and little trinkets she’d collected over the years.

The living room to her right was cozy but open, leading seamlessly into a small dining area separated from the kitchen by a breakfast bar.

The kitchen itself, though compact, was her sanctuary—its deep blue cabinets and cream-colored countertops gave it a homey, welcoming feel.

A sliding glass door at the back of the house revealed a small patio adorned with twinkling string lights and a pair of cushioned chairs, where she often curled up with a book on warm weekend mornings.

Upstairs were three bedrooms, though one was barely large enough to be considered a room at all.

She’d converted it into a multipurpose space with her yoga mat and small set of weights tucked neatly against the wall, and a corner bookshelf holding everything from workout guides to old college textbooks.

Sighing, she dropped her bags onto the entryway bench and made her way into the kitchen, pulling open the fridge with sluggish movements.

The truth was, she hadn’t eaten a big lunch like she’d told her grandparents.

In reality, her pain had been so persistent today that she’d spent her lunch break leaning back in her chair, eyes closed, willing her body to find even a fraction of relief.

Opting for simplicity, she poured a can of soup into a pot, stirring as it warmed on the stove. She grabbed a slice of bread, quickly assembling a simple sandwich, and within minutes, she settled onto the couch with her modest meal, the heat from the soup soothing her from the inside out.

As soon as she finished, she took her medication, washing it down with the last sip of water from her glass.

The weariness in her bones urged her toward the stairs, and she didn’t fight it.

After making sure the doors were locked and lights dimmed, she let the promise of a hot bath lure her upstairs.

The steaming water worked its magic, easing the tension from her muscles and joints as she sank beneath the fragrant bubbles, her eyes drifting shut.

By the time she crawled into bed, her body felt marginally lighter, the weight of the day slowly fading.

But as she lay there, wrapped in soft sheets and darkness, her mind refused to rest.

Pete.

The enigmatic detective had been creeping into her thoughts more and more even though she barely knew him. She’d seen the surprise on his face when she invited him to dinner. There had been something else, too… a flicker of hesitation that left her second-guessing herself.

She was good at reading people. But when he said he had to check his schedule and never called back… ugh. I thought he’d been interested… I guess I was wrong.

Rolling onto her side, she exhaled deeply, willing herself not to overthink. Solving the mystery of Pete could wait for another day.