by Lily Everett
The waitress cut him off by rolling her eyes and filling his mug to the brim from the pot she carried. “Next you’ll be telling me people aren’t designed to eat meat or gluten or what have you.”
“As a matter of fact,” Wyatt began, but Florene only rolled her eyes again.
“I don’t know how you got muscles like that, eating no meat.”
“Whey protein shakes,” Wyatt shot back.
“That’s revolting,” she said in a bored tone. “You’re cute. But I’m seventy-three and I’ve eaten steak and fried chicken and biscuits my entire life. Still here, still kicking.”
“I bet you’d be kicking higher if you lived healthier,” Wyatt retorted.
“Boy, you don’t want to see me kick. I’m liable to aim it at your backside.”
“Lonz!” Wyatt yelled. “Your new waitress is threatening me.”
“Aw, write an exposé about it then,” Alonzo shouted from the depths of the kitchen.
“Maybe I will,” Wyatt grumbled as Florene carried her empty coffee pot back to the pass in triumph. “I’m sure the residents of Sanctuary Island would like to know the poison this place regularly serves.”
“I like her,” Andie commented as she slid into the booth across from the newspaperman.
“Hi, Sheriff.” Wyatt gulped at his coffee, dark eyes studying her over the rim of his mug. Wyatt Hawkins might be a vegetarian health nut, but he backed up his nutritional choices with a sharp mind and a body honed at the gym. As Ivy liked to say, Wyatt treated his body like a temple … and she was ready for worship.
Andie could see how Wyatt’s lean musculature and stern, serious eyes would appeal to some women. Her tastes ran more to slow, gentle smiles and big shoulders broad enough to carry the weight of the world.
“Mr. Hawkins,” Andie said, making an effort to rein in her focus. “How’s the newspaper business? I hope you’re still managing to get along with Barry Fillmore.”
“He’s still a whiny jerkwad, if that’s what you mean.”
“It wasn’t, but I can read between the lines. As long as nothing major has changed, I’ll leave you two to enjoy your feud. Let me know if you need another mediation, and I’ll bring my riot gear and handcuffs.”
Wyatt’s mouth quirked like he wanted to smile, but instead he put his Serious Reporter face on. “Will do, Sheriff. Of course, that’s assuming you remain sheriff after the upcoming election.”
Suppressing a sigh, Andie sat up straight. “I can’t say I’m looking forward to this interview, but I’ve been expecting it.”
Interest sharpened Wyatt’s gaze. “Have you?”
“Sure.” Andie shrugged. “It’s the first sheriff election with two reallive candidates this town has seen in more than a decade. It stands to reason the Gazette would run a story. And I’d certainly be curious to read any interview you run with my opponent.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be talking to Nash, too,” Wyatt assured her, “but this piece isn’t just about the election. It’s more about … you.”
Andie blinked and took a too-hot sip of coffee to hide her surprise. “Me. What, like an interview? I’ve been sheriff for three years, the people of Sanctuary Island already know what I stand for and how dedicated I am. They know me.”
“I think there’s more to know.” Wyatt clicked the end of his pen a few times, studying her. “For instance, no one seems to know much about your personal life.”
Her personal life. As in Caitlin, and the circumstances of her birth, and how Owen hadn’t even known about her for the first ten years of her life? No. “My personal life is off limits,” Andie said sharply.
Wyatt’s gaze bored into her face as if he were trying to drill a hole through her forehead to get a peek at her secrets. “The people deserve to know.”
“The people deserve a competent, intelligent, experienced sheriff who takes the safety of this island seriously,” Andie snapped. “That’s it in a nutshell.”
“Okay, but they’ve got a choice in the matter this time. Don’t you want to give them a chance to make an informed decision on election day?”
“I’ve more than proven myself over the last three years of my term in the sheriff’s office. What happens when I’m off duty is my own affair.”
“Affair. Interesting word choice.” Wyatt scribbled something down as Andie absorbed that comment. She frowned. Wait. Was this about Sam?
“I don’t have anything more to say here.”
But before she could rise from the cracked vinyl seat, Wyatt pinned her in place with a calculating stare. “I’m going to print this afternoon with an article about you, Sheriff Shepard. I’d like to be able to quote you and let you tell your side of the story, but if you walk out of this interview, I’m comfortable running with what I have. I’ve corroborated my information with multiple sources.”
Andie froze, already picturing a storm of gossip about to slam into her niece. Caitlin was only just settling in, still fragile, and she certainly didn’t need to deal with rumors and ugliness about things she couldn’t help. “What information?”
Clipping the words briskly, Wyatt said, “Are you involved with a man named Sam Brennan?”
So it wasn’t about Caitlin. Relief that her niece was probably safe made Andie lightheaded for a minute, but deep inside her chest something heavy coiled and waited. Sam. What about Sam?
Wyatt clicked the pen again. “Should I just mark your response down as ‘No comment’”?
“It’s complicated,” Andie retorted. “I guess you could say we’re involved. It’s a fairly recent development. What about it?”
“So you don’t know Mr. Brennan very well?”
“If this turns out to be some morality thing about how it’s indecent that I’m not married, I’m going to cancel my subscription to the Gazette.”
“Please.” Wyatt sat back in the booth, outrage deepening his voice. “I’m hardly going to haul my paper back into the dark ages by running some ridiculous opinion piece about how unmarried ladies ought to stay home. But as a public figure, you come in for more scrutiny than the average person. Your choices affect the rest of us. Which means that even if I happen to like you personally and think you’re a better candidate for sheriff—the truth has to come out.”
“What truth? What’s this all about, Wyatt?”
For the first time, a fleeting emotion softened the hard angles of Wyatt’s face. Regret.
“You really don’t know, do you? I’m sorry, Sheriff. I really am, but … better you find out from me than when you pick up the paper tomorrow morning.”
Something about Sam—Sam and all his secrets. There was more to him than met the eye, depths she hadn’t begun to plumb, but what could be bad enough to make Wyatt Hawkins look at her like that? Half of her wanted to shake the truth out of him immediately, while the other half wanted to bolt out of the booth and flee the café so she never had to hear it.
Andie clenched her fingers around the coffee mug until a chip in the ceramic dug into the side of hand hard enough to break the skin. “Tell me.”
Pity gentled Wyatt’s voice. “Sam Brennan served four years in the California penitentiary system for animal cruelty. Sheriff, you’re dating an ex-con.”
*
Taylor was going on day seven of keeping a secret from Matt, and she was about to lose it.
What was that all about, anyway? Used to be, Taylor McNamara was the town champion at hiding things and putting on a who-gives-a-crap face, but with Matt … she’d never been able to pull it off. He’d seen through her right from the beginning, even before she’d noticed him or spoken to him.
Matthew Little had watched her spin out of control, talk back to teachers, skip class, get suspended for vandalism of both the regular and cyber varieties … and he’d seen someone he wanted to be friends with.
Taylor shook her head in despair. How was she supposed to combat that?
With days of ducking his calls and sending only terse, monosyllabic texts back and for
th, that’s how.
She just didn’t want to go to Matt with half the story. When she’d told Jo Ellen what she and Caitlin had overheard from Sam’s phone call in the loft, Jo had advised patience. With that distant look that came over her sometimes when she thought about her struggles with alcoholism and her stint in rehab, Jo had said, “Let’s give Sam a chance to come clean. Lord knows, I owe him that. I owe him my life—because I’d never have the life I lead now if he hadn’t helped me.”
And okay, that was convincing. Taylor was grateful to Sam too. She even liked the guy, for the gruff, affectionate way he treated Matt and for his gentle care with the horses.
But that didn’t mean Taylor was willing to let things lie.
So when Matt called her for the third time since school got out, Taylor bit her lip, let it ring through to voicemail, and turned back to her laptop … the secret one she’d built herself, so her dad couldn’t take it away when he grounded her.
Yeah, okay. She was kind of a closet nerd. She’d learned to deal with it … mostly by literally sitting in her closet on top of a pile of shoes while she gleefully hacked her way around the world.
Not that this is cyber terrorism or anything, she comforted her writhing conscience. This won’t even involve hacking … probably. Just research. I’m like a private investigator digging for facts!
That felt better, she decided, attacking Sam’s online records with renewed vigor. She wasn’t even sure what she was looking for—some clue to the stolen horse’s rightful owner, maybe, or how much he was worth. But just as she linked into a news article that looked promising, her phone buzzed with a text from Matt.
[Where r u? Pick up ur phone! Big news—D coming to grad]
“D” … for Dad. Matt’s dad, who he hadn’t seen in literally years, was coming to graduation. This was officially too big for texting.
Matt answered on the first ring. “Finally! Where have you been? I never even saw you at school today!”
“I’ve been around,” Taylor said vaguely. “Matt! Come on, tell me more about your dad. Did you talk to him? How did he sound?”
“We didn’t talk, but he PMed me on Facebook. I don’t know why we never chatted that way before, it was great! He said he’s definitely coming for graduation and he can’t wait to see me. I told him all about school and Dakota and you … it was awesome.”
Dakota first, of course, Taylor thought with a trace of bitterness. She shoved it down to find a delicate way to ask, “And … what did you tell him about your mom?”
There was an awkward pause on the line and Taylor could just picture Matt’s lanky form squirming slightly. “He asked about her, but … it was too weird to tell him about her marrying Dylan. I don’t know, I kind of gave him the impression we were still living in Harrington House as the caretakers, not like it’s our, you know, actual home.”
Something pinged at Taylor nerves. She frowned. “So he knows where you live now?”
“Well, yeah.” Matt sounded confused. “I mean, the invitation says graduation from Sanctuary Island High—pretty sure there’s only one of those.”
“And only one Harrington House on the island,” Taylor finished, her fingers moving swiftly over the keyboard almost on autopilot.
She listened with half an ear as Matt went through the conversation beat by beat, peppered with his worries about what his mom would think. Although he seemed less concerned about that than maybe he should be, Taylor considered as she quickly hacked into Trent Little’s records.
Matt’s dad was … not a nice guy, if his rap sheet was anything to go by. Bile surged into the back of Taylor’s throat, sour and shocking, as she read the list of charges that ranged from public drunkenness to assault to … and there it was: domestic disturbance. The others were more recent, but the date on the domestic was years back. Taylor swallowed. It was around the time Matt and Penny Little first showed up on Sanctuary Island.
That’s what Penny had been running from when she packed up her son and left her life for the uncertainties and hard work of a new future in a new place. Something happened in that house to make her run, and it was bad. Sickened, Taylor covered her trembling lips with the fingers of one hand and gripped her phone with the other.
What now?
What was she supposed to do with this information? And seriously, what the hell was up with every man in Matt’s life turning out to be a criminal!
“And that was it,” Matt finished. “He said he’d be there. And I know it’s a month away still, and man, I wish it was tomorrow. But it’s good, I guess. Maybe those weeks will give me a chance to figure out how to tell my mom he’s coming.”
“You have to tell her,” Taylor agreed, maybe more vehemently than she’d meant to. “Like now, Matt. Seriously, your mom deserves to know that you contacted your dad, that you invited him here…”
That you told him where she lives now and implied that she’s alone and defenseless. Oh, man.
“I know.” Matt’s frustration echoed down the line. “I know it’s kind of crappy and I don’t want to upset my mom—but don’t I deserve something here, too? I think I deserve to know my own father, and I thought you agreed with me.”
Even if he’s a wife-beating scumbag? Why, oh why did I tell Matt to go for it and call his dad? We should have left it alone. What if he comes here and hurts someone? It’ll be all my fault!
Taylor had no idea what to do next. She clutched her head, too full of secrets and nerves and fears to think straight. She had to tell Matt something or she was going to explode.
“Sam’s a horse thief,” she blurted out, then immediately winced. Smooth, McNamara, very smooth.
“Wha—what? Are you crazy, Sam is not a thief.”
“Not according to him.”
“What do you mean?” Matt tried to laugh it off, but it sounded tense. “Sam came to you and told you he’s a horse thief? Come on.”
“Of course not. I overheard him talking to his partner back at the horse rescue place. At least, I think that’s who it must have been. Jo says—”
“You told Jo about this?! I can’t believe you, Taylor!”
“Jo’s like a mom to me,” she defended herself, trying not to get upset.
“I know, but even if it’s true, I’d hate to see Sam get in trouble. Whatever he’s done, I’m sure he had a good reason for it. He’s a good guy.”
“I like him, too,” Taylor said, something inside tearing like tissue paper at the knowledge that Sam Brennan might be a good guy who’d done something wrong for all the best reasons, but Trent Little was not. “And for what it’s worth, Jo agrees with you. She thinks he’ll come clean when he can, and until then, she wants to wait and give him space. So I haven’t told anyone else. I almost didn’t even tell you.”
The way Matt sighed gave Taylor a mental image of the jittery way he ran both hands through his messy hair when he was upset. “Is it lame to say I kind of wish you hadn’t? With everything else that’s going on—it feels like too much, you know?”
“Yeah. Sorry. I just didn’t want to keep this major thing from you. It felt wrong.” Taylor’s stomach lurched. She was keeping way worse stuff than this to herself, but maybe that’s what was best for Matt. Maybe it would be selfish to unload the truth on him … as long as she could figure out another way to avert disaster.
“Yeah. About that.” The long, sheepish pause made Taylor sit up straight in her chair. Matt cleared his throat. “I got a letter from Stanford today. I got in.”
Taylor’s heart clenched but the grin that spread over her face was real, too. “I can’t believe you’re only telling me this now! That’s amazing, I’m so happy for you. And for Stanford, too—if you pick them, they’re the luckiest college on earth.”
“I don’t know,” Matt said slowly, as if the words were reluctant to leave his mouth. “Stanford was my number-one choice, even after I got into UVA. But Dakota wants me to seriously consider UVA because, you know, she’s going to Sweet Briar. So we’d o
nly be an hour apart.”
Taylor’s smile stiffened until it felt like a mask. “Well. Isn’t that just a little slice of heaven, right there?”
“Don’t be like that,” Matt sighed. “I haven’t decided anything. I’m still weighing my options.”
“What options?” Taylor demanded. “Stanford wins, hands down. You’ve wanted to go there since you were a kid! It’s one of the top-ranked schools in the country!”
“UVA is pretty highly ranked, too. And a way better deal, financially, since we’re in state.”
Taylor threw up her hands, so agitated that she nearly pitched her cell phone across the room. “Dude. Matthew. Your stepfather is a freaking billionaire. I think he can swing footing the bill for Stanford. And UVA’s undergrad isn’t nearly as big a deal as their grad schools, so don’t even.”
With a weird, unreadable note in his voice, Matt asked, “Since when do you care about college rankings?”
Since you started applying, Taylor thought, but didn’t say. Instead, she sniffed disdainfully. “Please. You think I haven’t gotten the talk from Jo Ellen and Dad? They’d be thrilled if I applied to UVA, believe me.”
“Why don’t you?” Matt asked excitedly. “If you got in, and Dakota would be down the road … it would be awesome! Nothing would change.”
That’s exactly why I can’t, Taylor thought with a pang. But even more importantly, “Matt. Listen to yourself. You can’t choose a college based on sticking close to your high school friends, or even your girlfriend. This is the first big step into the rest of your life, and I know you’re weighing your options, but I think you should go ahead and tip considerations about me and about Dakota right off the scale.”
And if Dakota’s not telling you the exact same thing, she’s a selfish idiot who doesn’t deserve you, Taylor finished silently.
“Easier said than done,” Matt grumbled. “I know I said I was looking forward to meeting new people in college, and I am, but the truth is, I don’t make friends that easily. And the ones I have now … I could never replace you. I wouldn’t even want to try.”
