Reunited with the Sheriff

by Lynne Marshall

  She stopped evading him with busywork. “That’s very sweet of you, but won’t the others think you’re just sucking up?”

  “Probably, but I don’t care.”

  Was it true?

  “Look, the guy guided me from my first day on the job. I’ve looked up to him, tried to live up to his standards. I’d hate to see his marriage fall apart on account of his job.”

  The idea of shutting down to the public and doing her part to help save a marriage did ring of romance through and through. And being honest, Conor had a touch of romantic in him, too. Or at least he used to. A quick flash of them having a picnic in front of the Beacham House’s fireplace came back. He’d thought of everything including a small vase of wildflowers picked from the nearby hillside.

  She leaned against the sink counter and crossed her arms. “Okay. I’m game if Mark and your parents are okay with it. That’s a lot of money lost.”

  “Not if we do it on a Monday night, when the restaurant is closed anyway.”

  So there went a day off. Was it still worth it?

  He watched with an earnest expression as she thought things through. She was the one with a lot of making up to do. If he wanted to plan this one special event for his captain, she’d do her best to knock it out of the park with a special meal. Day off or not.

  “Okay, so I’m thinking lobster.”

  Before she said another word, Conor hugged her. Tight. Then he picked her up and spun her around, planting her feet back on the ground. She forgot all about side dishes and dessert and succumbed to his strong body, so close, and how she’d missed it. Missed him. How he still smelled of lingering lime-scented aftershave and the deputy sheriff uniform eight hours into his shift—a heady stew of secondhand smoke, beach air and someone’s too-sweet perfume. That part dished out a huge serving of jealousy, which prompted her to be bold. She stopped short of turning her head and kissing his neck. Someone else’s cheap perfume or not, he was still a great hugger.

  Unfortunately, he let go, his eyes wild with ideas. “I’ll have my mom decorate the room. We can move all the tables out of here except for one.” He pointed to the center of the dining room. “Right there under the chandelier.”

  “The better the ambience, the better the food?” Still, she hoped that some of the wild in his eyes was because of her.

  “Nah, you’ve got that part nailed.” He glanced around the empty dining room, as if imagining exactly how it would look. “Now all I have to do is convince Captain Worthington.”

  “You haven’t talked to him yet?”

  “I’m laying the groundwork with you first. Why promise something I can’t deliver, right?”

  Did he purposely say that to hurt her? “Uh, right.” The comment stung regardless, due to the nagging guilt she carried with her every single day.

  Things were so messed up between them.

  “I’ve got to take off, track down my brother and run this by him. Now that I’ve got my chef on board, this might really happen.” His enthusiasm was almost contagious. Except for one insecure thought.

  Was that how he thought of her, merely as a chef?

  *

  Conor wound up working overtime and didn’t get home until seven the next morning. He knew where to find his mother, since it was her favorite time to paint. Walking across the lawn to the edge of the beach, he found her with her easel in her usual spot, painting.

  “Good morning!” she called to him as he approached, ocean breeze whipping red hair around her face, a Delaney clan plaid blanket over her shoulders.

  “I brought you a coffee. Great idea about setting up a coffee center in the hotel lobby.”

  “Thanks.” She took the proffered cup. “On both counts. You just getting home?”

  He peeked around the corner of her canvas, and was awed by how his mother managed to capture the sea. This morning, thanks to the clouds and the wind, the painting depicted whitecaps and turmoil. “Yeah. Crazy night. Had to send some officers to the men’s colony again, too.”

  “That’s not good.”

  “A few bad apples riling folks up.” Conor made a point of not talking work much with his mother, because it worried her. “Everything’s fine.” For now. He took a sip of his decaf in hopes of falling asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. “They needed some extra bodies to stay on in the department.”

  “Still trying to impress your captain?”

  “Nah. You know me, always happy to make an extra buck.”

  “The Beacham?” Her train of vision moved slowly from her easel to his face.

  His mother was the only person besides Mark he’d told about his dream to own the place. He nodded. She returned a supportive smile, then looked back at her canvas to add a few more strokes. His secret was safe with her.

  He glanced at the ocean in time to see a wave crash against the rocks, sending sea spray like a geyser. “Hey, speaking of impressing my boss, I wanted to run something by you before I overstep anything and make plans.”

  “Go on.” Her eyes roamed from canvas to sea and back, as she leaned forward and delivered a few quick brushstrokes.

  “I’d like to use the restaurant on a Monday night in a couple of weeks for a private dinner for Captain Worthington and his wife. It’ll be their twentieth anniversary.”

  “You mean like a party?”

  “Uh, no. A private dinner. Just the two of them.”

  “A dinner.” Her brows rose as she dabbed her brush into the dark blue glob on her palette.

  “It’s kind of a two-fer. Shelby’s agreed to knock their socks off with a meal they won’t forget, which is good for me, but also for her. She doesn’t have a clue Mrs. Worthington is our county food critic.”

  “Why not tell her?”

  “I don’t want to stress her out or put extra pressure on her.”

  “I think if I were a chef, I’d want to know.”

  “But that’s the point, I’ve been reading up on this and evidently food critics don’t let restaurants know when they pop in.”

  “Like secret shoppers at the market?”

  He’d never heard of that one. “Yeah, I guess,” he said, screwing up his face watching his mother deep in painter’s mode, her wizened green eyes in total concentration. “Anyway, not that Mrs. Worthington will actually review us, but I thought, in case she did decide to, a good review might bring in more customers. I guess that makes it a three-fer.”

  “A three-fer, huh?”

  “If all goes well.”

  “And Shelby doesn’t mind spending her night off cooking?” Maureen Delaney appeared to be having her end of the conversation with the canvas.

  “She didn’t even hesitate, well, for long anyway.”

  “Mark know?”

  “He’s next on my list. Thought I’d run it by the real chief before I did.” He waited for her to look at him, then winked, and she grinned.

  “He’s doing a fabulous job, and running a whole lot more than you realize. If he says yes, I’ll say yes.”

  “Okay, but one more thing, the food critic part has got to be a secret. No stress. No pressure. No disappointment for Shelby. Just a secret shot at getting a review.”

  “My lips are sealed.”

  Conor took one last look at what was shaping up to be another dramatic and beautiful oil on canvas by his mother, a woman whose talent had remained untapped because she’d been stuck running a hotel and raising three boys most of her adult life. It never seemed fair, as far as he was concerned. “That’s beautiful, Mom, as always.”

  “Thanks. I’m determined to have one of my paintings in every single hotel room.”

  “Great idea. The paintings in the lobby really class the place up.”

  “Mark’s idea.” She didn’t need to say it, her pride for son number two was evident.

  “Okay, then, I’ll go talk to him about the dinner.” He fought off a yawn, then kissed her cheek before taking off across the lawn for the hotel lobby. “I’ll tell him Mom says
I can.”

  He always enjoyed his mother’s easy laugh.

  *

  Late that afternoon, after a few hours of peaceful sleep, Conor showered and shaved, and headed to The Drumcliffe kitchen to bring Shelby up on the plan. Walking across the parking lot from his hotel suite, he felt something shift inside. An old grudge. The thought of facing Shelby didn’t make his gut knot up like it had at first. They’d spent enough time together to help him get past some of the pain he’d dragged around with him for far too long. Old habits, like being friends with Shelby, had come back. So instead of being uptight about it, he climbed the half-dozen stairs and opened the kitchen’s back door with an honest-to-God smile on his face.

  “Hey,” he said when he spotted her stirring some kind of amazing-smelling red sauce. “Looks like all systems are go.”

  “I know. Mark told me.” She wore a bright multicolored scarf around her head, mostly covering her short hair in the back and had tied a knot above the part for her bangs. She looked vintage and cute, even when she cooked, like something that belonged in a logo.

  “He didn’t waste any time.” Mark had also agreed about keeping the food critic part a secret.

  “Neither did you.” She smiled, finally glancing up from the industrial-sized saucepan.

  Dang, she was pretty when she did that, and it bothered him that he noticed so easily. “You sure you don’t mind giving up a day off?”

  “It’s for a good cause.”

  She didn’t know the half of it. “That’s true. Okay, then, I’m going to talk to Captain Worthington tonight.”

  “You do that.”

  The only downside was having to turn from her smile and head to the sheriff station.

  A few others puttered around the kitchen, so Shelby waited until Conor hit the back stairs to go after him. The sauce could simmer, no worries there. She wanted to talk to him alone, to get something off her chest. The private meal was her ticket to buy back some trust from Conor, but there was more to it than that, and she was never any good at keeping her thoughts to herself.

  “Conor?”

  He turned with an expectant gaze. “Yes?” And damn, he looked great in his deputy sheriff uniform.

  “I just wanted you to know how grateful I am that your family has given me this second chance.”

  “Well, everyone deserves one. And it was Mark who gave it to you.”

  She reached out for his arm, lightly stroking down the brown uniform sleeve. Since he stood two steps down, she met his gaze eye to eye. “I can’t tell you what a giant weight has been lifted off my shoulders since telling you the truth about my situation. You deserved it from the start. I’m sorry I went a little crazy back then.”

  “I might have gone a little nuts under your same circumstances.”

  She squeezed his forearm. “I remembered needing to call you, so at least there was that, but then I froze and broke down, and messed things up even worse.”

  He shook his head, maybe because he didn’t want to rehash that night again. She locked onto his gaze and didn’t let go. In her gut, she knew she still had more to explain. For her sake. To help finish cleaning up the mistakes she’d made. She understood she was no longer worthy of Conor’s love, but maybe, just maybe she could earn back some of his respect. That was why she’d cook the heck out of the anniversary dinner for his boss. Because words would never be enough for what she’d done. “I’m sorry.” With every ounce of her heart she meant it.

  “I believe you.”

  She was thankful that from now on she could focus all her attention on her new job and caring for Benjamin. But secretly, she’d cherish every moment she had with Conor, because her old feelings kept renewing themselves whenever she did. “Thanks.” He had no idea how much this meant to her. Or maybe he did.

  Something seemed to change in his eyes. She hoped it was trust, and counted it as progress. “Oh, and I’m going to run everything by you for this special dinner. Taste tests and all. So get ready, buster. I won’t serve a thing you don’t approve of. I want to do my part to save that marriage.” Whether the captain’s situation was symbolic of theirs or not, she really wanted to give that married couple a second chance.

  Now the shift in his sea blue gaze darkened. His hands came to her shoulders and he drew her to him…for a kiss.

  Their kisses had been adding up, and each time had grown more intense. Man, this one nearly made her apron sizzle. And it was his idea!

  She relaxed against his mouth for a moment before he delved deeper, as though testing to see if there was still anything left between them. Tension coiled inside, and she met his passion with her own, their tongues getting to know each other again. She’d taken his kisses for granted back in high school, then during that amazing summer they’d gotten so much better at it. Right now, he proved he hadn’t forgotten all her favorite tricks, and little tingles ran up the backs of her knees.

  She dug her fingers into his neck and opened her lips, remembering and loving the silky feel of the inside of his mouth, the thrill of being so close. Tasting him. Inhaling his fresh-from-the-shower scent. Much nicer than the cheap perfume stuck on his uniform the last time.

  His hungry kisses contrasted with the tender touch of his hands on her back. He restrained himself, that was clear. Maybe the next time they kissed, he wouldn’t? A girl could only hope.

  She treasured this intimate moment, reminiscent of so many others when they were a couple. Long ago. All she could do was hope he felt their special buzz, too, because then she might have a chance to win him back. Wait, what part of that had anything to do with her long-term plans? The scary thought made her tense midkiss.

  He must have sensed it, because in the next moment, he ended the back porch make-out session, looking as confused as she felt.

  “We seem to be doing a lot of this,” he said. “Are you okay with it?”

  “Kissing you? Always have been, but—”

  “We’re only supposed to be friends?”

  She nodded. “Something like that.”

  “Is that how you really want it?”

  Was it? She’d asked to be friends with him when she thought that was her only option. When she was still sure she’d only stay in Sandpiper Beach as long as it took to find a bigger and better job. Now she wasn’t sure about anything, and he deserved an honest answer.

  “I’m not sure.”

  Chapter Six

  Conor knocked on the classic Queen Anne front door of the beautifully restored Victorian house owned by Laurel, his soon-to-be sister-in-law. “Is Mark here?” he asked when she opened the door.

  “Yes. Come in.” The brown-haired woman with kind eyes stepped aside so he could enter the reception area of the B&B. “I’ll go get him.”

  While he waited, he took time to check out the detailed touches she’d added to the stately home. A crystal chandelier that belonged in another era. An amazingly long oak table in a dining room that stepped back in time. He’d been in the house a dozen times, but now was the first he’d noticed how meticulous her taste was. He couldn’t keep his mind on his surroundings for long, though, because of a certain red-hot and ragged kiss he’d just delivered to Shelby. His heart still beat noticeably faster. What had come over him?

  For one thing, she’d kept touching him, then she’d admitted how much being a part of his life again meant, even if they were only friends. He’d let her explain, for at least the third time, the misguided reasoning of a woman who’d just found out she was pregnant the day she was supposed to fly home to meet him. Didn’t make that day hurt any less, but oddly enough, that day and the pain that followed was beginning to feel more and more distant. What did his mother used to tell him? There are always two sides to a story.

  His big mistake had been looking in her eyes while she squeezed his arm. Her touch had set off buzzing along his skin, even through the cover of his sleeve. Her sweet, sexy gaze had invited him in. As the old song went…and then he kissed her. Now he wanted to kick hims
elf for letting his guard down. No matter how hard he’d tried to shove the feelings deep down, he still wanted her.

  He’d tried since the day he’d discovered she’d returned to Sandpiper Beach to make rhyme and reason out of the crazy twist of Shelby coming back to town with a baby. To torture him? To make peace? A little of both? Any which way, the logic evaded him. Now they were supposed to be friends. Just friends. So why did he kiss her like he wanted her the way he used to?

  Because he did. The thought jolted him through the floor.

  “You look like a troubled man,” Mark said, his longish dark hair messy, like he’d been taking a nap or working too hard over a computer.

  “You don’t know the half of it,” Conor replied.

  “Is this about the anniversary dinner?”

  “Nope. That seems to be shaping up all on its own. I’ve been thinking.”

  “Uh-oh.” Mark grinned. “Well, in that case, maybe we should sit down. Can I get you some lemonade?” For a guy who’d checked into a dark place for the better part of a year when he’d first been honorably discharged from the army, he now looked comfortably at peace, here, of all the places, in a traditional Victorian B&B inhabited by three kids. Was that what love could do?

  Conor followed Mark into the modernized kitchen. “Sounds good.” His throat had been dry since he’d broken off the knockout kiss with Shelby, had seen her steamy expression. But he got completely confused when she’d admitted she wasn’t sure what she wanted with him. Hurt, he cut things short, said he had to get to work. To cover for that crazy story, he’d actually driven from the hotel parking lot across the street to here. As if she wouldn’t notice.

  He sat at the extra-long marble kitchen island while Mark poured the lemonade.

  “So what have you been thinking about besides anniversary dinners and secret food critic capers?” Mark passed a glass to Conor, then sat on the stool next to him with his own.

  “About Mom.”

  Mark twisted up his face. “Mom?” Clearly surprised.