Hometown Sheriff

by Cheryl St. John

  “You were beat. I kept you up late the night before and then with movies last night.”

  “I love spending the evenings with you.”

  He loved spending time with her, period. For however long it lasted.

  * * *

  “Coffee’s on!” Mel called from the kitchen.

  Guiltily, as though she was a teenager caught in the act, she slipped out the front door and darted across the side yard.

  Forty-five minutes later, she was sitting at the kitchen table in her lightweight robe, her hair drying, when Nick stepped off his back deck and unlocked the door of the cruiser parked alongside the garage.

  Ryanne carried her cup of coffee to the front porch and returned his wave as he pulled into the street and drove past. That simple little encounter made her heart flutter as though she were a foolish schoolgirl with her first crush. Each day and every meeting with Nick was more dangerous than the last. She was in serious peril of losing her iron control and doing something stupid. Like getting emotionally involved.

  She didn’t need any more complications, and he was definitely turning into a complication. Maybe it was time to pull back, cut her losses before anyone found out. This morning had been a close call. If Mel or Jamie knew she’d fallen asleep on their sofa, she would feel obligated to make some sort of commitment, for propriety’s sake, and she couldn’t do that. Neither did she want Jamie to get any mistaken hopes about her being a permanent part of his life.

  Struggling with the conflicting feelings of what she should do and what she wanted to do, Ryanne tidied her bedroom and the kitchen, dressed for lunch, and was just preparing to leave when the doorbell rang.

  “Morning, Mrs. Davidson,” Pat, the mailman, greeted her. “Registered letter today.”

  Ryanne glanced at the envelope, recognizing the return address. She met the man’s eyes. “Thanks.”

  He handed over the green-and-white slip for her to sign. Would he think it odd that she had to sign for her mail from the IRS? A lot of people got quarterly statements, but they didn’t have to sign for them. He handed her the envelope, as well as the rest of her mail, and all she could think of was that her secret was slipping out. Maybe she was making too much of it; he probably saw registered mail all the time and as a professional, he wouldn’t discuss her mail with others.

  Pat gave her a little wave and headed for the Sinclair house.

  Ryanne read the notification of her delinquent balance, her heart sinking. Another letter, from her attorney, informed her that her retainer had run out and if she wanted any further legal advice or assistance, she would have to make payments.

  Ryanne placed the letters neatly on the dining room table, took a deep breath and resolved to make a dreaded stop on the way to meet Birdy. She had no choices left. She would have to sell the one thing that would hurt the most—her car.

  * * *

  WHEN SHE PULLED up in front of the steak house, Birdy was waiting near the entrance. “Hey, Ryanne!”

  “Hey, Birdy.”

  “I heard talk around town that you had a fancy black sports car. What’s up with this one?”

  Ryanne glanced at the plain little used sedan, a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. The luxurious Lamborghini represented all of her dreams, her accomplishments, but they were just so much dust now. She drew a deep breath and willed herself to get over it. “My car’s on Forrest Perry’s lot. This one’s a loaner until mine sells.”

  “Not sure what you want?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Well, let’s go get a seat in the front, where we can see everyone who comes in.”

  Ryanne followed her, and Elizabeth Monroe ushered them to a booth. The place was clean and brightly lit by the sunshine pouring through the open shutters on the enormous windows. Ryanne remembered the place as dark and outdated, but apparently the Monroes had remodeled sometime during their ownership.

  “This is Valerie,” Birdy said, indicating the fresh-faced teenager who had come to take their drink orders. “She and her brother Lance help their folks run this place.”

  “Hi,” Valerie said. “You’re Sheriff Sinclair’s neighbor, right?”

  “For the time being.”

  “Ryanne and I went to school together,” Birdy said.

  “I can’t wait to get out of this town,” Valerie told her. “I can’t believe you’d want to take a vacation somewhere so boring.”

  “Well, when you need a rest, boring is good,” Ryanne replied.

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  Valerie took their orders and then went to fetch their drinks.

  “So how have you been?” Birdy asked. “Besides ditching the old ball and chain, I mean.”

  “Fine, fine.” Ryanne glanced over at two middle-aged women at a booth across from them. Their interest wasn’t disguised. She smiled uncomfortably, and they smiled back, as though tickled at her recognition.

  “I’ll bet you meet a lot of glamorous people at your job,” Birdy said. “What’s it like, being a big shot at an advertising agency?”

  Ryanne thought about the question for a moment. “Stressful. Everyone’s in a hurry. Everyone’s eager to launch a new campaign, get a jump on the season, be ahead of their competitors. There’s a lot of game playing and good old boy practices, and there’s always pressure to be the best to stay on top.”

  Birdy obviously hadn’t been expecting that answer. She sat back in her seat. “Oh.”

  Ryanne hadn’t really expected to give her that answer, either. Where had it come from? How long had she felt that way? At some point along the way, her career had stopped being the be-all and end-all of everything she’d ever wanted and believed in, and she hadn’t taken time to consider her thoughts and feelings.

  “But you like it?” Birdy asked.

  Ryanne studied Birdy’s upswept curly hair and her dangling gold hoop earrings. “I like what it should be. What it could be. What I thought it was going to be when I got into it. I love the challenge of coming up with just the right marketing strategy, putting together the artists and the clients that will make it happen. I liked being my own boss.”

  “What about your friends? Or prospective relationships?”

  Valerie served their iced tea and Ryanne squeezed her lemon slice into the glass. “I usually worked six or seven days a week. I didn’t have a lot of time for much else.”

  “You talk like it’s in the past,” Birdy said.

  Ryanne ran a finger down the condensation on her glass and glanced up as the door opened and a couple in their twenties entered the restaurant and nodded at Ryanne and Birdy.

  Her one tiny solitary consolation was that no one knew about what Mason had done. Her shame and embarrassment was still her secret—as long as the mailman didn’t pass along any rumors. “I’m making a lot of changes,” she said finally. “So a lot of that is in the past.”

  “Well, that’s good. You need to have time to enjoy life. Take a detour out of the rat race and have some fun.”

  “Yes.” Ryanne gave Birdy a smile. Her old friend seemed genuinely interested in her life, not just in the latest gossip, and Ryanne found the knowledge comforting. “What about you? What’s happening in your life? Any new prospects?”

  “You’ve been in Elmwood for a while,” Birdy replied with a derisive twist of her lips. “Have you seen anyone who looks like a prospect?”

  Ryanne shrugged. “No single men?”

  “Well, sure, a few. Dr. Kline. Garreth is his name. He’s about our age, early thirties. Then there’s Jon, who owns the construction company. Works all the time. George Kingsley runs the auto repair shop.” She wrinkled her nose. “Dirty nails. A few guys from the plant. Nick, of course.”

  Ryanne’s heart leaped at the mention of Nick’s name. “Have you dated any of them?”

  “Jon and I used to date. I’ve gone to the movies and the casinos with a couple of the fellows from the plant.”

  “What about this doctor fellow?”

 
; “I don’t think I’m his type.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “Probably the fact that he has a medical degree and I flunked out of beauty college.”

  Ryanne laughed. “Come on, give yourself more credit. You’re smart and fun and you’re still the prettiest girl in just about any room.”

  Birdy blushed and gave Ryanne an odd look. “Thank you, Rye. But if I was the prettiest in the room, you would have to be elsewhere.”

  Ryanne laughed. “Okay, thanks,” she said. “Any other men?”

  “Oh, sure. Nick and I have hung out some. But it’s not like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “No romantic involvement. He’s wrapped up with the kid and his dad. I think after he was burned—by Holly, you know—he wasn’t willing to let anyone else get too close. Besides, he keeps himself so busy taking care of everybody else. I’ve never known him to do things just for himself.”

  Ryanne had noticed that about Nick, too. Compared to him, she was the most selfish person she knew. But then, their lives had been different. She’d never had brothers or sisters to look after. Her mom was healthy and had never needed her like Nick’s mom had needed him.

  They were in the middle of delicious chicken salad sandwiches when a loud siren interrupted. The restaurant grew silent and several people got up to go to the door.

  “What’s that?” Ryanne asked.

  “The fire signal!” Birdy stood. “Let’s go.”

  They crowded out onto the front walk as a clanging fire truck streaked past, the volunteer firemen, dressed in their gear, clinging to the running boards.

  Curious townspeople poured out of buildings and houses, and Birdy and Ryanne melded into the crowd running toward where a black chimney of smoke belched into the summer sky.

  “Where is it?” Ryanne asked.

  “Pine Street,” voices called from ahead.

  They turned a corner, and through the crowd, the burning building, a low structure with a steel fence, came into view.

  “The day care!” someone shouted.

  A couple of women screamed and ran faster.

  Ryanne’s heart lurched in her chest at the sound of panic, and the words jelled in her mind. The day care? Jamie!

  CHAPTER TEN

  “GET BACK BEFORE I turn this hose on ya!” a fireman with a gray handlebar mustache, dressed in a bright yellow coat, hollered at the approaching onlookers.

  On the opposite side of the street stood a gathering of women and children—babies crying, the older charges watching the proceedings in alarmed fascination. Ryanne immediately spotted Jamie, pushed through the crowd and ran forward.

  He saw her coming and burst into tears.

  “It’s all right,” she said, kneeling and hugging him close. His slender body trembled from the scare.

  Ryanne glanced up at the dark-haired woman who held two babies, one howling and one sound asleep. Beside her was a crib on wheels, which held three more crying babies. “Can I help?” Ryanne asked.

  “If you could take this one,” she said. “My arm’s going to sleep, and these other poor little guys got the ride of their lives coming across the street.”

  Ryanne disentangled herself from Jamie, stood and reached for the sleeping baby, then took her two charges back a few steps into the shade of a leafy maple tree in someone’s yard and sat down. Birdy came to sit beside her with another baby, and they watched the firemen chop a hole in the roof of the day-care building.

  The dark-haired woman, whom Jamie told Ryanne was Miss Lottie, relayed over and over again to spectators the terrifying experience of discovering the fire and getting all the children to safety.

  Eventually all the little ones were quieted and, one by one, horrified parents who had heard the news came running for their kids.

  Another siren sounded and a patrol car parted the sea of observers. The car door opened and Nick sprang from the vehicle, his face a stony mask as he surveyed the bystanders.

  Someone pointed him toward the yard where they waited, and he sprinted across the grass, relief crossing his features.

  “Daddy!” Jamie shot up and met his dad on the lawn. Nick enveloped his son and hugged him soundly, then carried him back to where Ryanne and Birdy sat.

  Lottie and Kris Benson, the day-care providers, spoke to Nick for a moment. After some comforting words, he settled Jamie back beside Ryanne. “I have to move the people back so the firemen can do their job,” he told his son. “You stay here with Rye, okay?”

  Jamie nodded. “Okay, Dad.”

  Nick’s eyes met hers and he gave her a brief nod, a sort of personal assurance, before turning away and doing his job. She could only imagine the fear that had struck his heart when he’d received a radio message about the emergency. He probably wanted nothing more at this moment than to sit and hug his boy, but as always, Nick was doing his duty. Taking care of others.

  “We didn’t pay for our lunch,” Birdy said from beside her.

  Ryanne glanced over at her and laughed.

  * * *

  “YOU KNOW I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t have to,” Nick said that night, as the three adults sat around the table in his kitchen. Mel had made them iced tea after a late supper. “But there won’t be a facility for a few days, at least until Lottie can figure something out. The school has offered her a few rooms until the day care is rebuilt, but to open will take replacing cribs and toys and supplies that were lost today, as well as state inspections.”

  “The church would be more economical to cool,” Mel said.

  “Well, they’ll have to work that out. But for a few days, I need help with Jamie. I don’t expect you to do it all, Dad.”

  “Nick.” Ryanne placed her fingers over Nick’s on the table. “I’m glad to help.”

  “I know this is your vacation,” he said to her, regret tingeing his tone. He turned his hand over and held hers. Ryanne considered the strength in his hands, compared it to the glimpse of vulnerability she’d seen on his face that afternoon when he’d scanned the crowd for his son. She looked into his eyes for a moment, a silent communication of trust, then became aware of their contact and drew away.

  If Mel noticed anything, he gave no indication. Either he considered their touch a sign of friendship, or he suspected it was more and was leaving them their privacy. When he stood and said, “I think I’ll catch the news in my room,” Ryanne thought it was the latter.

  “’Night,” they chorused.

  He set his glass in the sink and disappeared down the hall.

  “The humidity’s dropped,” Nick said. “Would you like to sit on the back deck for a while?”

  “Sure.”

  He led her out to the cushioned glider and pulled her down beside him. He’d had the scare of a lifetime that afternoon when the dispatcher had radioed him about the fire. He’d been several miles outside of town when the call had come, and even though a second call had come through to assure him all the children were safe, he’d had to see Jamie for himself before the knot of terror in his chest had loosened.

  He’d witnessed his father getting a call about his son, but Nick had never understood until now just how his dad must have felt the night Justin died. As careful as Nick was, as many ways as he tried to protect his family, some things just happened that were out of his control, and that frightened him.

  “Jamie and I will do fine for a few days,” Ryanne assured him.

  “It would be easier on Dad if you stayed here,” he said.

  She glanced at him.

  “You can put your things in the extra bedroom.”

  “Whatever works best for you,” she replied.

  “I think it’ll be easier for you in the long run, too,” he said. “His clothes and toys and DVDs are here. There’s plenty of his favorite foods.”

  “Okay, I’m sold. Besides, I like your air-conditioning.”

  “I feel like I’m pushing you. I wouldn’t have asked if this hadn’t happened.”

  It wa
s a convenient way to spend their evenings together, but he didn’t want her to feel pressured into anything—not into watching Jamie, and definitely not into staying with Nick himself.

  “Don’t say another word and don’t apologize,” Ryanne said. “I’ll stay with Jamie because I want to. Because it’s something I can do for you.” She leaned into him and placed her hand on his chest. “I want to. Will you just relax and let somebody do something for you for a change?”

  “Okay.”

  They listened to the ordinary, reassuring night sounds, rocked, and Ryanne snuggled close. He loved having her here.

  “I’m not used to having someone,” he said, thinking aloud. “To pick up the slack with Jamie, I mean. Dad is great, but he needs his own time and he needs his rest.”

  “I can’t imagine what it’s like raising a child on your own,” she said. “I know there are a lot of single parents, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy figuring out child care and handling emergencies and the like.”

  Nick smoothed his fingers over the warm, silky skin of her arm. “That’s not when I miss having someone the most,” he said.

  “No? When?”

  He thought a minute. “Good times, I’d have to say. Like every year when we have his picture taken. He’s so good-looking with a fresh haircut and new clothes. I look at him and it just hurts sometimes. He smiles for the photographer, and I choose his poses from a package. And I think all the while, I should have someone to share this with—he should have a mom who looks at him and thinks he’s the most handsome thing in the world, like I do.”

  Beside him, Ryanne was silent.

  He rubbed her arm. “And I look back at all the pictures over all the years...pictures of him as a chubby little baby...pictures of him with his teeth missing, like this year...and I think there’s somebody missing in all this.”

  “He showed me pictures of him and Holly.”

  “I don’t care about Holly leaving me, about her not being happy with me,” he said. “It’s Jamie she should have cared about. If I live to be a hundred, I’ll never understand how she could walk away and never look back.”