Reunited with the Sheriff

by Lynne Marshall

  The pod had singled out a seal and were wearing it down, giving the calf ample opportunity to do the final deed. Nature was cruel, and the sight disturbed the three brothers. They pulled their boat closer and revved the engine, disrupting the pod’s attention. Probably the dumbest thing they could ever do, considering a small fishing boat wouldn’t be able to withstand the wrath of a ten-thousand-pound killer whale. But they’d done it, and amazingly, it had worked. They’d distracted the pod long enough for the seal to make a break. As they’d made a wide circle around the pod in the boat, they’d even cheered on the seal.

  The next night, when they’d told the family the story over Sunday night dinner Grandda got weird. He’d sworn they’d saved a selkie and according to Irish folklore she—how his grandfather knew the sex was beyond Conor, but nevertheless—she owed them all a favor. Grandda swore each of the Delaney brothers would find their mate, as though he had a direct line to the little people in magic land.

  Because Padraig was old, and they all loved him, the family put up with his occasional fantastical stories, but this one had gone beyond the pale. Until Daniel met a woman and fell in love three months later, a woman who was now pregnant and ready to give birth. Mark had done the same a couple months after that, met someone right across the street, coincidental as it was. Eerily so?

  Nothing like flaming a fairy fire!

  Speaking of fire, he remembered the reason he was sulking at the bar—seeing Shelby in the hotel kitchen. She’d been as upset at seeing him as he was with her, and her hand had slipped and she’d started the fire.

  As she should be, out of guilt for standing him up!

  From the corner of his eye, he saw the pub door open and a woman in a chef smock step into the bar. His palms felt on fire and anxious waves licked upward toward his neck. Seeing Shelby once today had been enough. “Well, I’ve got an early day, Grandda. I’ll be going now.” He worked to sound normal, feeling anything but. “Oh, add this to my tab, okay?” He stood and, moving as quickly as possible through a crowded pub without drawing attention to himself, he headed for the back exit.

  *

  Shelby swallowed the anxiety that twisted her stomach and threatened to make her turn and run back to the hotel lobby, but resisted and stood in the pub entrance waiting for her vision to adjust. Her heart battered against her chest. Conor hated her. She’d seen it in his eyes. Could she blame him? She’d given him a damn good reason. But he needed to know the whole story.

  Still dressed in her chef smock, but without the hat, she stood for a few seconds, back against the pub doors, fighting for balance. It was loud with conversations and laughter, and over the speaker system, classic Irish music played, but by current, popular US groups.

  She scanned the pub, checking out the long bar first. Movement at the far end caught her attention. The tall man stood and headed the other way. It was Conor. Had he seen her? Did he hate her so much he’d skip out of the bar to avoid her?

  Too bad; she had to talk to him.

  Shelby followed, sidestepping couples and groups of people to navigate the crowd and find that back exit. Spying the door, she rushed through it and after Conor, who, thanks to his long legs, was halfway across the hotel parking lot already. She didn’t stand a chance of catching him, being a full foot shorter, but she wouldn’t give up. “Conor! Conor! Wait up!”

  She sidestepped a small group smoking by a car.

  Conor stopped, but didn’t turn. If she thought her pulse had gone haywire before, that was nothing as it rattled her rib cage now, threatening to break out. Nearly breathless, her lungs irritated by the cigarette smoke, she bolted closer.

  “You need to know something,” she said, fighting back a cough.

  Now he stopped and turned, the parking lot light distorting his scowl into something scary. If she hadn’t known him most of her life, she might have run the other way, but she kept closing the gap between them. “I had a damn good reason not to meet you that day.” She prayed her knees wouldn’t give out as she barreled closer.

  “And you couldn’t tell me then?”

  Closer now, it seemed like a wall of frozen brick separated them.

  “Not on the phone. No.”

  “It was more important to make me feel like a complete fool?” He leveled his voice, aware of the group of smokers.

  Still, his cold blast sent chills across her shoulders as she took another step closer so they wouldn’t have to talk so loud. “I was the fool, Conor. I’d gotten pregnant.” She couldn’t help the swell of emotion and the water filling her eyes. “How could I face you?” She hated how her face contorted with the words.

  His scowl changed. Had there been a hint of empathy in the expression? Or was it disbelief, and justified betrayal that torqued his brows? On a mission, she blinked away the blurry vision, dug into her smock pocket and pulled out her cell phone. “I swear I’d just found out the day before my scheduled flight home. I was in shock, couldn’t think straight. I was falling apart, my life had suddenly changed completely. There was no way I could come home.” She brought up a picture, took a deep breath and, with her hand shaking, turned the phone his way so he could see the screen. “This is my son, Benjamin. He’s two years old.”

  Conor studied the picture of her pudgy blond-headed toddler, then slowly stared at her.

  Speechless.

  Chapter Two

  Two years, seven months and three weeks ago, on the beach at sunset by the second lifeguard station, Conor had waited for Shelby. And waited. He’d honored the special date he and Shelby had promised to meet on, and felt like a fool as the last rays of light dimmed and the threads of hope unraveled.

  She’d forgotten.

  Twenty minutes later, Shelby called him, her voice quivery. She’d explained she’d had every intention of coming, swore she had, even had the plane ticket to prove it.

  “So why aren’t you here?” he asked, mystified by her absence, and furious. So, so furious.

  She broke into tears, soon crying hysterically.

  His anger quickly turned to concern. “Are you all right? Shelby, what’s wrong?”

  She worked to recover, sniffing, gasping air, and finally, on a ragged breath, pushed out the words. “I can’t talk about it. It’s too hard.”

  “Just tell me that you’re okay. Are you in danger?”

  “I’m not in danger, but I’m not okay.” She started crying again. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t come. I hope you can forgive me.” Then she hung up.

  Worried sick, he’d sat staring at the ocean, then the phone, then the engagement ring in his hand he’d been ready to give her. She’d bought a plane ticket. Hurt to the marrow, as deep as the love he had for her, he would hold off on passing judgment until he’d gotten the facts.

  Conor had planned to ask Shelby to be his wife. He tried to brush off the pain, but her not showing up stung like a demon wasp. His stomach tightened to the point of backfiring. He doubled over, heaved and threw up onto the sand, grateful that it was dark and no one could see him. After what seemed like forever, brokenhearted and thoroughly confused, he’d stood and walked home. Vowing to never let anyone make him feel that way again.

  But concern wouldn’t let up and, ready to interrogate Shelby, he’d called her the next day. She was at work and said she couldn’t talk to him. He’d heard the racket in the background, the voices shouting out food orders. She wasn’t lying—nevertheless, her avoiding him cut deeper still.

  The next day, when he dialed before he figured she’d be at work, the call went straight to voice mail. I can’t take your call right now.

  He finally got the point. She’d dumped him and didn’t want anything more to do with him. But why? And why buy a plane ticket if she hadn’t planned to come?

  What had changed?

  After all the years they’d known each other, he’d thought he’d meant something to her. He’d given her the Claddagh ring, a promise ring, in high school. She’d worn it when she’d left for New York the
first time. They may have slipped out of touch in the interim but the promise had always been in the back of his mind. Then six years ago, they’d had the most amazing July together in Sandpiper Beach, falling in love. For real.

  Sure they hadn’t kept in touch as much as they should have since that summer, but life was busy and complicated for both of them. And he’d never made it back east for a visit. But they’d made a promise to meet again. Didn’t a guy deserve to know why he’d been forgotten?

  Since that day, he’d thrown himself into his job, dated lots of women to help him forget her, and moved on. Or so he kept telling himself.

  Now here he was in a dark parking lot, looking at a digital picture of a toddler, while Shelby expectantly waited for him to say something. As if this situation was normal. In any way, shape or form.

  “Cute kid.”

  That was the best he could offer under the circumstances. An avalanche of pain, confusion and forgotten love crashed over him. And burned. Anguish and aching had been so deep he’d lost himself for a time back then. It’d taken months to feel semi-normal again.

  Back in that hotel kitchen, she’d successfully reopened his wounds simply by showing up. Over two years late.

  Finally, as painful as it was, he looked at her. The girl he’d known since fourth grade, with the same brown eyes—the eyes he used to get lost in—and light brown hair—though it was shorter and big city stylish now—the same girl, yet so different. She was a career woman now. A mother.

  Tonight, face-to-face in a parking lot, thousands of miles still stretched between them. He was a deputy sheriff, he knew how to add things up. She’d said she’d bought her plane ticket, then didn’t meet him, and by the picture of her son, the timing seemed about right.

  “Thanks.” Her reply was nearly inaudible.

  His wasn’t the response she’d expected from the reaction on her face, a mix between fading hope, agony and facing cold hard facts—there was no fixing what’d gone down between them. Surely she understood that.

  Looking resigned, she took back the phone, her fingers cold and trembling. No doubt it’d been hard for her to run after him and show him the reason she’d stood him up. She’d been with someone else and had forgotten to clue him in.

  Yet she’d bought a plane ticket. And she wasn’t a liar. He had no reason to doubt that at some point she’d intended to meet him.

  “I’m sorry, I really am.” The mouth he used to dream of kissing again quivered as she spoke.

  He could only imagine what’d been going on in her world for the last two years. What had happened couldn’t be changed, a little pudgy boy proved it. She’d moved on, hadn’t honored their promise like he had. That was the risk of encouraging someone you loved to follow their dreams. Those aspirations had led her away for good. Maybe his father was wiser than he’d thought when it’d come to interfering with his mother’s dreams.

  He couldn’t make his throat work. Didn’t try to speak. So he nodded a silent truce, and she nodded back, then he headed for his room, leaving the new chef like a statue in the parking lot watching him go.

  Great new menu or not, he’d be eating elsewhere from here on out.

  *

  A week later, Shelby was still getting familiar with her routine as the new chef at The Drumcliffe Hotel. Though she’d never get used to that haunted and angry flare in Conor’s eyes when he’d appeared in the kitchen her first night. And later in the parking lot, when he’d given her that icy cold stare. She hadn’t seen a hint of him since then. He’d been her friend since fourth grade, she’d never get used to the fact that he hated her.

  At least she had a job.

  Hitting the farmers’ market early, in the park just off Main Street, pushing the umbrella stroller with Benjamin happily jabbering to himself, Shelby walked the booths, purchasing fresh herbs and vegetables, putting the items in tote bags hanging over the stroller handles. She wanted The Drumcliffe to serve free-range, local and sustainable meat and fowl products, too, and had to rush back to the kitchen for the latest delivery.

  A sheriff’s car drove by, prompting a memory of a certain sweet and sexy deputy sheriff—Conor.

  “This was the best summer of my life,” Conor said, cupping Shelby’s face.

  “I wish it didn’t have to end.”

  She wanted to cry at the thought of walking away from him again. The last time she’d only been seventeen and she’d had a dream of going to culinary school in New York. He’d given her a Claddagh ring, and foolish as she was, wearing that promise ring, she knew they’d be together one day. Now she was twenty-three, with a new job lined up back east, still on her quest to work her way up to running her own kitchen in a big city. Catching a break in the Big Apple was far harder than she’d imagined, and she was just starting out. She couldn’t stay in Sandpiper Beach. No matter how tempting Conor Delaney was.

  “Don’t let anything keep you from your dreams.” His penetrating blue eyes seemed so sincere at the airport. He was sending her away again. Why didn’t he want her to stay?

  “I’ll call every week,” she said.

  And she had for the first few months.

  “Sure, and once I find a job and get a vacation, I’ll fly back to see you.”

  I’ll stay if you ask me. Just say the word.

  She stared at her feet, hopeful he might say something. Instead of asking her to stay, he lifted her chin, gazed deeply at her, with something sparking in his baby blues. “Remember our promise. Even if we fall out of touch. Let’s meet at sunset in four years.” The second lifeguard station on Sandpiper Beach. He’d even verified the day and date on his cell phone again.

  They’d spent much of the summer—in between making love every chance they had—pretending to be well-adjusted adults with plans and responsibilities. Look how we’ve grown up, they’d silently bragged through their actions and carefree days. Though love simmered just below the surface, the way Conor vehemently insisted she go back to New York, Shelby had been confused. He’d said he loved her, but didn’t ask her to stay. At least he’d asked her to meet him in four years.

  If she believed in dreams, and she did with all her heart, then their love affair would survive, and they’d have a fairy tale meeting in four years.

  She’d promised to meet him, then they’d shared the most romantic kiss of her life.

  Too bad he hated her now. She could never hate him, they’d been friends since elementary school. But she’d have one heck of a job if she wanted to win back his trust. Was it even possible?

  Benjamin squealed. He’d seen a parrot in a cage. “Birdie.” She pushed the stroller closer so he could see the bird, then checked her watch to see how long before they needed to get back to the kitchen, wishing she had more time to play with him.

  At the end of her super busy days caring for Benjamin and since taking on her role as head chef of the small kitchen at The Drumcliffe, she barely had energy left over for anything beyond brushing her teeth and crawling into bed.

  Finished with her shopping, she put Benjamin in his car seat and drove through her hometown, struck with how quiet it seemed. There was no traffic noise, no honking or verbal abuse on the streets. So different from New York City. Here, she could hear her own thoughts, and memories of good times in the friendly beach community and the cozy, quiet little town she’d always taken for granted kept returning. Now she longed to fit back in and have a routine, something she’d never achieved back east. I used to run along the beach every morning. Maybe if she got up early enough, before her mother left for school, Mom could watch Benjamin and she could take a run? Like the old days. She was too young to think in terms of old days and new days, but being a single mom had straightened her out about her prior carefree life. It didn’t exist anymore.

  Neither did dreams. She’d lost one too many jobs in New York, and was back home in small-town Sandpiper Beach to regroup. Not exactly the path to culinary greatness.

  Reality was a real snotwad. She sighed and turned h
er thoughts determinedly to the next chore on her agenda, meeting the chicken delivery man for tonight’s menu.

  When she parked in the hotel lot, she saw Conor’s car. The guy who’d taken her to the airport and kissed her goodbye, reminding her about their promise before he’d sent her away. The promise she’d broken. The hair stood on her arms. What if it was his day off and she saw him today? Would it be as horrible as last Saturday night? Nothing could top that out-of-control reaction. She’d nearly set the kitchen on fire!

  Whatever pain or sadness she’d caused him, not to mention herself, was history. She was all grown up now with her boy on her hip to prove it. Using her keys, she opened the hotel kitchen—her kitchen—and forced a smile. She was head chef somewhere. Then Benjamin kicked his sturdy legs to get down, but no way would she let him run around her kitchen grabbing anything at his eye level. Soon he quit squirming and pointed through the glass door.

  “Truck, I know,” she said.

  He had a funny way of pronouncing f’s instead of t’s and she didn’t want to encourage him to say fruck in public.

  The delivery man had arrived with chicken breasts, thighs and legs for today’s special, fresh from a local farm.

  As she signed off on the delivery from the back steps of the kitchen, Conor left his hotel room, looking dressed for the gym. The pen nearly slid across the page. He looked nothing short of a superhero in shorts and a tight T-shirt. Gorgeous. And to think he used to only have eyes for her.

  A memory of their summer together—their bodies tangled tight, with him inside her—made her cheeks heat up. That had been one hot summer. Dream on. He hates you, remember?

  The man would never want to get involved with her again, especially now that she had a son. So why was he in her thoughts at random moments like this?

  Because she’d never realized how much she’d loved him until she’d lost him.

  *

  Conor worked out like a madman at the gym, doing double the usual sets on free weights. He’d just seen Shelby again, with her son in her arms, on the back porch of the hotel kitchen, and he needed to get her out of his mind. Sweat ran down his forehead and made his eyes burn. He started in again with a one-armed preacher curl.