Best Laid Plans: Sanctuary, Book Two

by Abbie Zanders

  Clearly, having Sam around, seeing the way she and Smoke connected, was fucking with his mind. He was happy for his buddy. Happy and maybe a little envious too. Finding a woman to look at him the way Sam looked at Smoke was what they all wanted, whether they admitted it or not.

  It wasn’t in the cards for him though. He’d accepted that a long time ago.

  He could tell the exact moment when Sandy spotted them. She hesitated, squared her shoulders, summoned a smile, and headed their way.

  “Sandy! You’re back!” Mad Dog exclaimed like it was fucking Christmas morning.

  “Hi, guys.”

  As she got closer, Heff saw a weariness in her features that hadn’t been there before.

  “It hasn’t been the same without you,” Mad Dog told her earnestly.

  The others grinned at his heartfelt admission. Heff fought not to roll his eyes.

  Her smile was genuine, but the sparkle that had been in her eyes was noticeably dimmer. Something had happened, but what? Did it have anything to do with him?

  “What can I get for you?”

  The guys gave their orders, and Sandy dutifully took them down and collected the menus. Their fingers skimmed as she took his, but she refused to meet his eyes.

  What the hell?

  He should be relieved that she hadn’t caused a scene, had barely acknowledged him at all. So, why did he feel slighted?

  It shouldn’t matter, but it did. And suddenly, he had to know. Was she feeling guilty? Or worse, ashamed?

  Sandy returned shortly with pitchers and mugs, followed by two enormous plates of wings, which she placed directly in front of Mad Dog.

  “Christ, I missed her,” Mad Dog said around a mouthful of food.

  An irrational pang of something sharp and ugly rose up inside Heff. It was unnerving.

  Thankfully, Smoke came in and provided a welcome distraction. He signaled to Sandy and sat down at the end of the table.

  “Where’s Sam?” Heff asked, looking toward the door as if expecting her to follow.

  Smoke’s brow furrowed. “She’s not coming.”

  “Why not?” asked Doc. “You didn’t scare her off already, did you?”

  Smoke’s frown deepened. “She had a rough day.”

  “We weren’t that hard on her. Unless Church was.” Heff summoned a grin, channeling some of his inner angst toward someone else. It was so much easier dealing with someone else’s shit than his own. More fun too. “What kind of tour did you give her, Church? Did you show her how you had gotten your nickname?”

  Church’s eyes glittered with amusement, and the others chuckled, but Smoke didn’t take the bait. He seemed preoccupied, the only indication that he’d heard Heff at all shown in the clenching of his stubbled jaw.

  “Earth to Smoke,” Cage said, snapping his fingers. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with what you asked me to look into, would it?”

  Something about the way Cage had said it garnered their instant attention.

  “Smoke,” Church said, his amusement fading. “What’s going on?”

  Their food arrived, and Sandy brought a frosted mug for Smoke along with some refill pitchers. Smoke filled them in on Sam and the weird shit she’d been dealing with. Then, Cage and Church chimed in, and the situation grew even more fucked up. If they were right—and Heff felt certain they were—Sam was being framed for arson and stalked by the same guy who might have burned down Church’s family resort, the same one they were now trying to turn into Sanctuary.

  “I gotta go,” Smoke said, suddenly pushing away from the table.

  “Want us to come with?” Mad Dog asked, already pushing back his chair.

  “No, but I’d appreciate it if you hung tight. I’ll call if I need you.”

  “You got it.”

  Church caught Sandy’s eye and signaled for the check. They were all thinking the same thing. Smoke’s woman was in trouble, and they would have his back.

  Sandy brought the check right over. Church handed her a card, which she swiped on a handheld thing she’d brought with her.

  She looked at the amount of food left on the table and frowned. “Was everything okay?”

  “Everything was great,” Church assured her. “Something came up, and we’ve got to go.”

  “Give me one minute, and I’ll box everything up and bring it out to your truck.”

  Before Church could protest, she was high-tailing that luscious ass back to the kitchen.

  “I think I love that woman,” Mad Dog murmured.

  Once again, something dark and ugly slashed across Heff’s chest. It was a new sensation, and he didn’t like it, not at all.

  “I have to hit the head,” Heff said, rising and tossing a couple of bills of his own down on the table as an extra tip. “Meet you out in the lot.”

  Heff started toward the men’s room and then changed course as the guys filed out the door. He was waiting for Sandy when she came out of the kitchen, two large take-out bags in hand. She pulled up short, practically skidding to a stop when she saw him. The way her eyes went huge made him think of the cartoons he used to watch as a kid.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey.”

  “I can take those,” he said, reaching out for the bags.

  “Oh. Thanks.” She handed him the bags.

  “So ... is everything okay?”

  She summoned a smile, but this one wasn’t entirely genuine. And she still wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Of course.”

  “Sandy, look at me.”

  Her eyes slowly lifted up. He looked into them, searching for answers he wasn’t sure he wanted. He caught the spark, the one that had burned so brightly the last time he’d seen her, but it only lasted a moment before it dimmed again.

  “Do you regret what happened?” Jesus, was that his voice asking her that?

  Her eyes darted left and right, ensuring no one else was in the immediate vicinity, and then fixed on his again. It did something to his insides when she looked at him like that. “No,” she said softly. “But it can’t happen again.”

  Heff disagreed. It shouldn’t happen again, but shouldn’t wasn’t the same thing as can’t. It was neither the time nor the place to pursue that avenue, however, so he changed course. “What about that paperwork?”

  She looked confused. “What paperwork?”

  “The request for the town hall meeting and license applications. You said you’d push them through.”

  Realization dawned, and with it, her brow furrowed. “Right.”

  He could practically see the wheels turning in her head, putting together pieces and forming the wrong picture. He knew he was right when she inhaled sharply.

  “Of course. That’s what it was all about, wasn’t it?” she murmured the words as if she were speaking to herself, not him. As if his sticking his fingers, tongue, and cock into her had been some kind of incentive for pushing papers.

  He bit his tongue, silencing the denial that wanted to spill out. It was probably better she thought that. That he was an asshole who’d been using her. It kept things from getting complicated.

  They’re already complicated, he thought.

  Her expression turned to genuine bemusement. “You haven’t heard anything about that yet?”

  Heff shook his head. “No, and no one at the township office seems to know about it.”

  Her brows drew together further. “Tell Matt I’ll call the office tomorrow and see what I can find out.”

  Matt was Church’s given name, the one Sandy would know him by.

  “You’re not working there anymore?”

  “No,” she confirmed but didn’t offer anything more. “Take care.”

  With that, she turned around and went right back into the kitchen, leaving him with two bags of takeout and more questions than before.

  Chapter Ten

  Sandy

  Sandy was still thinking about her encounter with Heff later that night as she made her way over to Winona Mitchell’s house. When sh
e’d left the motel that day weeks earlier, she hadn’t planned on seeing him again.

  She’d imagined that, after the things they’d done, it would be awkward.

  She’d been right.

  He was even more devastatingly handsome than before, that silky, dark hair and twinkling diamond stud inciting a riot in some very private parts of her body. Not only was he gorgeous, but he also had this bad-boy aura around him, irresistible to women who lived on the “good” side of things. Before, she’d only fantasized about the kinds of things he could do. Now, she knew, and it was so, so much worse.

  The uncertainty in his eyes though, that had been new. For a few moments there, she’d thought he was going to ask her out again. Not that they’d actually “gone out” the first time, but she wasn’t complaining. Those hours in the motel had been better than any actual “date” she’d ever had.

  But he hadn’t been looking for a repeat; he’d been looking for information.

  Of course he had. She was no fool. For as good as it had been for her, the experience had probably rated fair to middling on his scale. Pleasant but otherwise unremarkable. He hadn’t slept with her because she was irresistible, but because she was convenient, willing, and a means to an end.

  Yes, she’d been the one to come on to him, but he hadn’t said no, had he? He’d probably seen it as not only a good time, but also a way to grease the wheels of the township-approval machine. That was just the way things worked, a simple fact of life. People used each other.

  She wasn’t too upset because she’d been using him, too, in her own way. Being with someone like him was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and she’d jumped on him ... er, jumped at the chance.

  She hadn’t expected to keep thinking about him though. To keep dreaming about him. To feel the ghostly echoes of his hands and mouth and ... other parts doing wicked, wonderful things. But that wasn’t his fault, and any hope-slash-delusion that he might be remembering her in the same way was totally on her and her alone.

  She exhaled, navigating the quiet streets on autopilot, taking it all in. Mr. Handelmann had the sprinkler on in his front yard, and a bunch of neighborhood kids were playing some kind of slip-and-slide game of Red Rover. Karen Kowalski was eyeing them warningly as she weeded her flower bed, coiled and ready to lash out should they cross over into her immaculately tended property. The elderly Feinstermachers were on their porch swing, holding hands and watching it all with mild interest.

  It was all so familiar. So predictable. Boring.

  If she stayed in Sumneyville, this was what she’d have to look forward to, but without the kids or a husband of sixty years to sit on the porch and hold hands with. No, if she remained, she’d be right there beside Karen, viciously yanking thistles from between the begonias and daylilies, yelling at kids to get off her lawn while her six cats looked on from the windows.

  She had to get out. She just had to. She needed to be somewhere where not every day was a carbon copy of the day before.

  That was why Heff was so desirable—beyond the obvious, of course. He wasn’t safe or predictable. He was wild and dangerous and free to do what he pleased—everything she wanted for herself. It wasn’t so much him she craved as much as the freedom he represented.

  And her recent daydreams and nighttime fantasies? They could be chalked up to stress, pure and simple. It was only natural that when everything she’d worked so hard for was going to shit around her, she’d want to wallow in the memory of those few hours where she hadn’t thought about much of anything, had just given her body over to an obvious master, and had let him take her to new, uncharted heights, consequences be damned.

  For that reason alone, she wouldn’t regret her actions that day. Keeping it real, however, was imperative. And currently, her reality was watching her dream trickle away like sand through her fingers while she tried desperately to hold on.

  She pulled into her driveway and crossed the street to Mrs. Mitchell’s house, finding Kevin waiting on the porch for her, just as he’d been waiting for their father. The difference was, she’d actually returned.

  She hoped the last few hours had gone well. Getting him over there hadn’t been easy. He’d resisted, presumably for fear that if their father did show up by some miracle, he’d miss him. Sandy had had to prove he wouldn’t miss seeing anything by going across the street, standing on Mrs. Mitchell’s porch, and waving back at him.

  “Hi, Kevin,” she greeted.

  He said nothing but looked visibly relieved to see her, even gifting her with near eye contact.

  Mrs. Mitchell was sitting on the porch, too, perched on the porch swing with a cup of tea. She didn’t appear anxious or frustrated. That was a good sign. Then again, the older woman had told her that one of her grandsons had a form of autism, so she was probably better equipped to deal with Kevin than most.

  “Hi, Mrs. Mitchell. How’d it go?”

  “Fine, Sandy, just fine.”

  “No problems?”

  “None whatsoever. Kevin is a joy and quite the talented artist too.”

  Sandy turned to Kevin, who had stood and moved closer to her. “Artist?”

  “Oh, yes.” Mrs. Mitchell beamed.

  She pointed to a coloring book on the small table. The picture was a basic outline of a horse’s head peeking out from a simplified barn, but Kevin hadn’t just colored in the existing lines. He’d added his own, creating multiple layers of shading and depth until it looked three-dimensional. The detail in the face and eyes was incredible.

  “You did this?” Sandy asked, incredulous.

  Eyes on his feet, Kevin nodded.

  After thanking Mrs. Mitchell, Sandy walked Kevin back across the street. She grabbed the bag of takeout from the front seat of her car. Rather than head right upstairs, as she’d expected, he stayed close and followed her into the kitchen.

  “Are you hungry? I brought back some chicken tenders and tiramisu.”

  He nodded and went over to the cabinets where he pulled out plates and silverware, and then he proceeded to set the table for two. Sandy poured them both some water, and they sat down to eat together. It wasn’t as awkward as it had been.

  Kevin meticulously peeled the breading from the chicken, eating it piece by piece. Then, he dipped the remaining piece in the honey mustard sauce and ate it bite by bite. Sandy watched, fascinated by the way he turned ordinary tasks into precise, repeatable processes.

  “I really like the picture you did for Mrs. Mitchell. Do you think you could make one for me too?”

  He stilled and then suddenly pushed back his seat, got up, and left the room, leaving Sandy to think she’d inadvertently hit some kind of trigger or something. But then he returned and held out a sketchbook to her. He anxiously shifted his weight from side to side, waiting for her to take it.

  Sandy accepted the book and opened it. It was big and thick, filled with stunning sketches of horses. All sizes, all colors, all very detailed and beautiful.

  “Wow,” she murmured, flipping through page after page of professional-quality work. “You really have a gift. I can’t even draw stick figures.” That wasn’t exactly true. As a graphic design artist, she was moderately skilled at conveying the ideas in her head to paper, but she was much better at digital imagery and bringing concepts and feelings to life than she was actually drawing.

  Kevin made a small sound, a combination of a chuff and a gurgle. When Sandy looked at him, she realized he was laughing. She couldn’t help smiling too.

  His laughter died away as quickly as it had come. The unexpected moment over, Kevin took back his sketchbook and returned it to his backpack. Without a word, he helped her clean up the kitchen and then went upstairs for the night, leaving Sandy to wonder if it would ever happen again.

  Through the open window, she caught the faint whiff of vanilla. Hanging the towels on the oven bar to dry, she went out onto their shared back porch to find Lenny sitting in the dark with a beer and a vape pen.

  “Well, at least it
smells better than cigarettes,” she told him, settling down on the deck chair next to his. “It’s still bad for you though. You know that, right?”

  “Yes, Mom.” Lenny reached into the small cooler beside him and handed her a beer. “How was Franco’s?”

  “Like I never left.”

  “And how’d Kevin do with Mrs. Mitchell?”

  “Pretty good, I think.” She told him what Mrs. Mitchell had said and then about the amazing drawings Kevin had done.

  “Maybe he’s a savant.”

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  They sat in a comfortable silence that came with years of friendship, listening to the crickets and frogs and the occasional bark. Like everything else, it was easy, familiar. She let her eyes drift closed.

  “You need to be careful with him, Sandy,” Lenny said finally.

  Sandy opened her eyes and looked at him. “Careful, why? Kevin wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

  “No, I know, but it sounds like he’s warming up to you.”

  She frowned. “And that’s a bad thing?”

  “It could be. You’re still planning on leaving, aren’t you?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then, it might not be a good idea to let him get too attached. He’s already lost his mother and his father. If he starts depending on you and then you leave, too ...”

  “It could hurt him,” she finished on an exhale. That was something she understood all too well. When you were close to someone and they left, it hurt.

  Hurting Kevin was the last thing she wanted to do. He didn’t say much, but that wasn’t a bad thing. She’d gotten used to having him around, but ultimately, it changed nothing.

  “I’m not ready to give up on my dreams, Len.”

  He took a pull from his vape and exhaled, filling the air around with the sweet, mellow scent of vanilla. “Dreams can change.”

  “Not mine. There’s nothing here for me.”

  Lenny snorted softly. “Maybe there is, and you just can’t see it.”

  “Yeah, yeah. The grass is always greener. I know.” They’d had this same conversation countless times. “But let’s face it; there’s not a lot of opportunity to put my design skills to use in Sumneyville.”