Reunited with the Sheriff

by Lynne Marshall

  He’d been twenty-seven the day she’d forgotten to show up, and he thought he’d never get over her. He’d seriously thought his life had ended for a while there. What a chump. But he’d finally moved on, had even thought about getting engaged early last year.

  He transferred the dumbbell to the other arm and started the same routine.

  The experience with Shelby had turned his formerly outgoing self inward, and the couple of relationships he’d ventured into since she’d dumped him had failed. No woman wanted a guy who never communicated. Elena had been the unlucky person who’d paid for Shelby’s carelessness.

  He dropped the weight and stood, pacing the mat while his arms burned and fingers tingled.

  He couldn’t let Shelby hold him back another day, especially since she’d clearly moved on, being a mother and all.

  He glanced around the gym. Maybe he’d ask out the first girl out who showed any interest. With great effort, he remembered his smile and plastered one on while catching the eye of a tall, fit redhead. She smiled back.

  Ten minutes later, failing at casual conversation with a willing woman, and having zero interest in asking her on a date, he headed home to shower. It really ticked him off that now that Shelby was back, he couldn’t get his mind off her. Dude, you have a serious problem.

  Once back at the hotel, when he got out of the shower, he found Mark in the hotel suite. His brother spent most nights with Laurel these days, and it had been ages since Conor had seen him alone. Now that he worked the front desk, Mark dressed in navy pants and a pale blue shirt. The combination made his already deep blue eyes borderline electric. Right now, those eyes watched him. Conor and Mark were overdue for this talk.

  “Why’d you hire her?”

  “Shelby?”

  “Who else.” Conor threw the used bath towel on the corner of his bed and stepped into his boxer-length briefs.

  “I needed a chef, she applied, she had the best credentials.” Defensive as hell. “Aren’t you over her? You almost got engaged to what’s her name last year.”

  “Elena. Her name was Elena.” Conor pulled on a T-shirt, his back still wet.

  “Maybe if you’d brought her around more, I’d remember.”

  He let that slight roll off, though it was true. “It would have been nice to have a heads-up. That’s all I’m saying.”

  Blue eyes nailed him with a challenging stare. “So I’m supposed to consult you on all things ‘hotel’ even though you personally told me you didn’t want anything to do with running the place.”

  “It’s Shelby, man.” On went the jeans. Zip.

  “So you are still hung up on her.”

  Conor got in his brother’s face. “I can’t exactly avoid her since I live where she works. She probably thinks I’m a total loser.” He lived there to save for the Beacham House up the coast that’d been sitting empty for years. Like his heart.

  He used to want The Beacham for Shelby, now he wanted it for himself. Only himself. A place where he could brood without his family watching his every move. But even a run-down, never-finished house had to be saved for.

  Mark took a step back. “Okay, so you’re definitely not over her.”

  When Conor saw her that morning, it verified his hunch from the other night—she was thin. Too thin. Like maybe she’d been sick or something.

  Why should he care? “Beside the point. She doesn’t give a rip about me.” Hell, she’d obviously been involved with someone else, while knowing about their promise and the plan to meet. On the other hand, being fair, which he really didn’t feel like being, he hadn’t asked her to be a monk, just to show up in four years. And she’d bought a plane ticket. “Did you know she has a kid?” It must be hard being a single mother with a kid to support. Maybe that was the reason for the physical change. Stress.

  “Yeah, that’s why she came home. Whoever knocked her up didn’t stick around.”

  “Hey, show some respect.” Like Conor should care how Mark referred to his chef.

  “I’m just stating the facts. She and the baby are living with her mother.”

  Again, why should he care? Maybe because long before they were lovers, they’d been friends. She’d also been the first girl he’d ever trusted. And loved.

  Now, he’d never be able to trust her again.

  Mark snapped his fingers near Conor’s face, getting his attention again. “So you do still care. Right?”

  Conor gave a frustrated headshake over the density of his brother’s brain.

  *

  Sunday morning, Conor borrowed Daniel’s Labrador retriever, Daisy, for an early-morning run on the beach. Saturday night, he’d broken routine and had gone to The Bee Bop Diner to grab a hamburger on his way home from work. No way did he want to see her again at the hotel.

  He needed to clear his head before work, had lost far too much sleep all week and was still completely thrown by Shelby Lyn Brookes turning up back home. On Friday when Mark had come by his hotel room, he’d said she was living with her mother.

  Obviously, she needed a place to live. And Mark had given her a job. What happened in New York?

  Again, why should he care? Hadn’t she slid into the “girl he used to know” category?

  The ocean sent angry waves crashing on the rocks, and the sun already promised to heat up the day, even though it was late March. He inhaled the scent of seaweed and briny sea spray to help rejuvenate his confused mind.

  By the end of high school, Shelby had been as much a part of his life as his family. During their senior year, they’d spent as many hours as they could steal in a week together. She’d even joined the Delaneys for dinner every Sunday night. He’d cared about her aspirations as much as she’d cared about his. They’d been each other’s own private cheerleading team. Now they were just a couple of people who lived in the same town.

  Daisy shot up the beach, where further ahead some scrawny kid jogged. Keeping up with Daisy’s breakneck pace, he cut the distance between him and the jogger, then realized who it was: Shelby. There went that jolt through his chest again, like sticking his finger in a socket. He thought about turning around and heading the other way, but couldn’t take his eyes off her. She might call that gaunt look big-city chic, but to him, Shelby had changed.

  What had happened to her? Well, he knew about the pregnant part now, and the kid, but what else?

  She’d broken his heart and thrown so much away the day she hadn’t shown up. Yet after all the anger settled down at seeing her last Saturday night, he’d come to face the fact they’d also shared a lifetime of friendship, and, keeping it real, he’d missed that. Heaven help him, he still did.

  He kept running, growing closer by the stride. Soon he’d overtake her, and how weird would that be for him to buzz by and blow her off?

  The day she’d called instead of showing up, she’d fallen apart on their short phone conversation because she’d just found out.

  He slowed his pace. Hell, she worked for his family. He couldn’t go on avoiding her forever.

  As he jogged and drew closer, another memory from their good old times slipped around him and, without thinking, he cupped hands around his mouth. “Hey! Wait up, Slim!”

  Her head pivoted, her body turned. Even from ten feet away he saw the flash of insecurity in her eyes at the sound of his voice and their inevitable meet-up. Did she still care?

  She let him catch up. “Hey” was all she said. He nodded.

  They ran slowly, side by side toward the dunes. Their breathing aligned and her legs worked extra hard to match his long strides. This was probably the dumbest thing he’d ever done…besides making a promise to meet someone years later and actually expecting things to work out.

  “I’ve gotten into a rut,” she began out of the blue, capturing his full attention, because until then, the silence had been killing him.

  “And this has to do with?”

  “Slim. You called me Slim.” She slowed to nearly a walk. “And I’m saying I got in
a rut somewhere along the way of feeding everyone else before me.” Catching her breath, she glanced at him tentatively. “Goes with the territory of being a chef.”

  He gestured to keep running, then nodded for her to keep talking, too, but she didn’t, so he picked up the conversation “So stop that.”

  She tossed him a confused glance. “Feeding people? It’s what I do.”

  “Leaving yourself for last.”

  Now she was the one to pick up speed. “Sometimes in the restaurant business, that isn’t an option.”

  “The Drumcliffe isn’t exactly a high-end restaurant. Maybe you’ll catch a break now that you’re home.” Oops, from her reaction, he’d ruffled her feathers.

  “Running a kitchen is a big job, no matter where.” Defensive as hell. “It’s just a tough pace to keep up.”

  “I get that.” And speaking of pace, he slowed and motioned for her to turn around with him, heading back toward the hotel. “I’m merely suggesting you feed yourself first, then everybody else. If you pass out no one can get fed, right?”

  “I haven’t so far.”

  “My mom wouldn’t appreciate you testing out that theory in her kitchen, either.”

  “I know, I already tried to set it on fire.”

  Finally, she gave up the defensive act, even cracked a self-deprecating joke. They laughed briefly and ironically as they jogged along. Daisy decided to check out Shelby, sniffing in all the usual spots, presumably checking to see if she was female, even while they ran. Shelby shooed her away after patting the dog’s head.

  He’d started off on a random topic and somehow managed to rattle her cage. A knack.

  But things didn’t feel nearly as awkward as Conor thought they might. In a way, they’d managed to pick up where they’d left off on the old-friend scale. But the rest, the ex-lovers part, would be a topic for another day. After running a long time in companionable silence, they approached the path back to the hotel and something crazy popped into his head because he’d called her Slim. Being around Shelby had always set off nutty ideas.

  “Let me buy you breakfast.”

  Out of breath, she looked surprised, like she needed a reason. Like she was the last person on earth he should ask out to eat. “I should go home and shower. Get ready for the brunch.”

  “Come on, let me buy you breakfast.” His inept way of offering an olive branch. “It’s still really early.”

  She stared at him for a few breaths, while he worked on getting used to being around her again. She still rattled him.

  “But you hate me,” she said.

  “I don’t hate you. I’m mad as hell at you, and don’t know if I can ever forgive you—” he lifted his finger “—but, I don’t hate you.”

  “Well, that clears things up.” She glanced out toward the ocean, at her jogging shoes covered in beach sand, then at her watch.

  His crazy idea wouldn’t let go, and Shelby had just run several miles, she needed to eat. “Remember the place we used to get burgers at? The Bee Bop Diner?”

  “That crazy little place that can’t decide whether to be a fifties diner or a fast-food joint? If The Drumcliffe job hadn’t come through I planned to apply there.”

  “Seriously? Then you probably already know they serve a mean all-you-can-eat breakfast. Cheap, too. Come on—my treat.” He didn’t touch her, couldn’t. Not yet. But he started up the pavement, then turned back. “You coming?”

  “Okay,” she said, looking like she’d just witnessed the apocalypse.

  Over pancakes and eggs, his guard came down just a bit. Surprisingly they were both hungry and didn’t let old emotion get in the way of enjoying a good meal.

  They’d been friends long before they’d fallen in love and messed everything up. To clarify, he’d fallen in love and she’d messed everything up. But they still managed to have a civil meal together. Because they were adults now, right? Right.

  “So you’ve got a kid.”

  “I do. And regardless of how that came about, he’s a joy.” She smiled, her face softening with the mention of her son. “Hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life, but I wouldn’t trade him for anything.”

  That certainly set things straight. The boy was first in her life…as he should be. Still, he had a million more questions on that topic that should wait for another day. “He is cute. He’s got your eyes.”

  “Thanks.” Her expression spoke a thousand feelings—relief, appreciation and sweetness being the first to pop in his mind.

  He might be mad as hell at her, but old habits died hard. “Let’s hope he doesn’t inherit your height, too.”

  “Hey.” She knew well how to pretend offense at his chronic teasing.

  Their eyes met briefly, and a reminder of what they used to have, how they used to behave around each other, stood out. He looked at his last pancake, suddenly full. But he needed to keep the conversation going, even if he was afraid of what he’d hear. “So what’s it like to work in a big New York kitchen?”

  She sighed, pushing the last of her scrambled eggs around her plate. “How do I describe ordered chaos?” She put her fork down, her eyes sparking with enthusiasm. “It’s like a group dance, semi-choreographed, but with pots and pans, and noise, oh, so much noise.” She found the straw wrapper on the table and rolled and unrolled it. “Being part of a kitchen crew is always an accident waiting to happen, tempers ready to flare, insults waiting to get flung.” She glanced at him, and as she sensed his interest, her eyes latched onto his. There went another jolt straight down his chest. “And at the end, a miracle, the food gets plated like a work of art, and everyone loves each other again.” She lifted the straw wrapper to her mouth and blew to make it unfurl, then laughed lightly. “In other words, it’s crazy. Completely nuts. But I love it.”

  “The meal you served me was incredible.”

  She dipped her head. “Thanks.” After popping a bite of pancake into her mouth, she drank some coffee. “It’s got to be nuts being a deputy sheriff, too. Right?”

  “Some days. Yeah.”

  The waiter refilled their coffee cups and removed a few of the finished plates from their table.

  “These days with those tragic stories around the country, it’s got to be extra hard on you.” She looked sincerely concerned.

  “It’s all in the training, I think. We’re into community policing around here, and for a small town like Sandpiper, that works.”

  “Didn’t you work in San Diego for a while?”

  “Yeah, right out of college, I got in their peace officer training program.”

  “I bet you’ve seen it all.” Did she look awestruck?

  “I’ve been in some tough situations, that’s for sure.”

  “Wow. I think you must have the hardest job in the world.”

  “Hardly, but it keeps me on my toes.” For an instant, he let himself feel all that. Why not, she was laying on the compliments like extra mayo on a club sandwich. He puffed up his chest just a tiny bit. Pride went darn well with pancakes. It also came before the fall. “Do you remember how we met?”

  Her eyes popped open like she’d just been asked the million-dollar question on a game show, or a security question for a forgotten password. “Grade school?”

  “Fourth grade, when you were a pipsqueak.” It was his turn to play with the straw wrapper. “And you know why I liked you right off?”

  “I thought you couldn’t stand me.”

  “That’s because you were the only girl who could beat me at tetherball.” Suddenly thirsty, he drank from his ice water. “You had the heart of a lion. That’s what I noticed.”

  From her expression, he knew he’d impressed her, but the big question was why did he want to? Maybe it was carb overload madness from all the pancakes and syrup. Nevertheless, he went on. “You bothered the heck out of me, but you fascinated me, too.”

  “Then why’d you treat me so mean?” she said with an incredulous stare.

  Something about her brought out the tea
se in him. “Maybe it was your Pippi Longstocking braids.”

  She covered her face, doing her best not to blush. He could still embarrass her.

  Her coffee-with-cream eyes drifted to her runner’s watch, then went ultrawide. She looked at him, panicked.

  “Oh, my God. Forget the shower. I need to get to the kitchen to start brunch!”

  Chapter Three

  Shelby and Conor rushed through The Drumcliffe kitchen doors smack into a kitchen crew rushing around, setting up food stations, and Maureen Delaney, with an obviously anxious expression on her face.

  “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Delaney!”

  “It was my fault, Mom.”

  Maureen’s concern shifted to quizzical, with one curled brow. “I was getting worried.”

  “I forced her to have breakfast with me,” Conor continued. Shelby ignored him, instead focusing on everything she needed to prepare in less than an hour.

  Grabbing a chef coat from a hook in her cubbyhole, she shifted into gear. “Did everyone see the menu I posted yesterday for today’s brunch?”

  Mumbles and affirmations sifted through the small group. “Who’s assigned to eggs and making omelets?” Martha raised her hand. “Do you need help getting your veggies chopped and diced?”

  “I’m good,” Martha said, dicing bell peppers as she answered, a stainless-steel bowl of chopped onions beside her.

  “Conor, can you help her plate all of the options? The avocados are over there, and don’t forget grated cheese, sour cream and salsa.”

  “Sure.” He stepped to the basin and washed his hands, impressing her with not having to be told.

  “Fred, you’re the meats guy, right?”

  “Already started the pork chops, sausage, bacon and ham.” Of course he had, she could smell the rich, hunger-inducing aroma before she’d crossed the kitchen threshold, even though she’d just stuffed herself with Bee Bop Diner pancakes, bacon and eggs.

  “Great, thank you.” Relief swept over Shelby as the buffet shaped up. They could do this. Maybe brunch wouldn’t turn into a calamity after all, and the teamwork would save her from getting another strike on her record. She needed her job!