Reunited with the Sheriff

by Lynne Marshall

  He’d made a big deal out of how his grandfather had helped him choose the ring and that it’d come all the way from Ireland. She wondered why he’d given her the ring when all he seemed to want was for her to move away for culinary school. Probably out of guilt, her father had come through with the tuition. Conor was the one she’d confided in about her plans to become a chef and he got right on the bandwagon. “You have to go, Shel, it’s your dream.” He hadn’t called her Shel once since she’d been home.

  She slipped the ring on her right hand, making sure the crown pointed toward her fingertips, since, if memory served her right, that meant she was looking for love.

  Conor had held his breath when she’d taken the ring from him and first put it on. Of course she’d pointed the crown toward her heart on her right hand. They were in a relationship, making a promise to each other, because once they graduated everything would be guaranteed to change in both of their lives. She was going east and he was heading south.

  He’d given her the ring a couple weeks after they’d gone all the way after having both been virgins. So daring, scary and wonderful to get that close to someone. He’d been as gorgeous naked as she’d imagined. He’d told her she was beautiful, when she felt anything but. Yet there was awe in his gaze that night. Did he still think she was beautiful?

  Would Conor even remember the significance of the ring and how it was worn?

  A crazy idea came to her. What if she turned things around on Conor. Instead of erasing the past, like he insisted, she’d flaunt it! Force him to remember all the good things about them. Maybe then he’d forget the bad…the part he wanted erased.

  She stopped cold. What was she thinking? This wasn’t part of her five-year plan. She was home temporarily, only long enough to make a name for herself and gain credentials. Sandpiper was the detour to her dream.

  She started to put the ring back in the box, but couldn’t. She had a battle to fight. She needed the ring to help win back Conor’s trust.

  *

  It was Saturday night before Conor ate at The Drumcliffe on dinner break again. He’d confessed his true feelings to Shelby and she’d left him standing in the dark on her porch. He understood it was impossible to take back that night she’d stood him up, even though they’d made a promise and she should have warned him in advance she couldn’t make it. And that was still the trouble: he wasn’t sure, after all this time, if he could let it go.

  Nothing mattered anymore, because he’d admitted the only way he could forget was to erase the past, and to use her words, that made them “impossible.” The last couple of weeks, being around her, he’d made the mistake of remembering how things used to be, but now he’d faced the fact they were impossible, and he was finally ready to move on. But before he cut things off completely, there was something he needed to tell her, before she found out on her own. At least he owed her that.

  Why it mattered, he didn’t understand, but it did. Felecia Worthington had written a great review in the Central Coast Ledger about The Drumcliffe and their new chef. Evidently Felecia had pumped Mom for some personal statistics about Shelby and had included them in the article. Central Coast California would now know much of Shelby’s personal business—being a single mom—along with what a great cook she was. Conor wanted to explain his reasoning for not telling her, before she read the paper herself.

  He pulled into his assigned hotel parking space and cut the engine. In uniform, he strode across the lot, heading for the back door to the kitchen. He’d noticed people waiting out front for dinner, and thought it better to grab his meal in the kitchen tonight.

  He pasted a smile on his face, wanting to be upbeat about the good news that could help Shelby’s career, though remembering how they’d left things on the doorstep the other night. She’d challenged him—if he needed to erase the past, then that made them impossible. He’d been stupid to be so honest, and she’d quickly figured out there was no fixing what had gone wrong between them. There was just no point in tiptoeing around the ugly truth. Still he smiled before he opened the door, because the truth was he had good news to share.

  Like Shelby had once described working in a busy NYC restaurant, controlled chaos was exactly what he found. He stood back and picked up on their rhythm. Tonight was more hectic than usual, because the house was full. Great news for The Drumcliffe, maybe not so much for the staff. They got paid by the hour, not the plates served.

  Fred, a Cajun man from Louisiana who’d been at the hotel almost as long as Rita had, noticed Conor, dashed by and handed him the night’s menu. He checked it out, quickly deciding on a traditional meal: clam chowder and king crab legs with what Shelby called hot potato salad, which was made from red potatoes, red onions and herbs and tossed with mustard, olive oil and garlic dressing, according to the menu. His mouth was watering already. It wasn’t quite corn-on-the-cob season, so he’d settle for one of her delicious fresh greens salads with whichever artsy vinaigrette she’d devised for the day. Yeah. Sounded great, and his stomach sang in excitement.

  Fred popped up again, took his order and sped off. Conor went to a corner of the long cutting board table to sit, trying to stay out of everyone’s way.

  Finally, from across the room at the stove with several huge pots of what he assumed were steaming crab legs, Shelby raised her head and noticed him. She wiped her forehead with her arm and lifted her brows in greeting.

  “Busy night,” he called out.

  “Cray cray! I’m not sure what’s happened, but I like it! I just hope we don’t run out of crab.”

  Well, he was sure why it was crazy tonight, and as soon as he had the chance he’d explain it to her.

  Fred delivered not a cup, but a bowl of chowder, chock-full of clams, and a slice of fresh corn bread. Not ordinary corn bread, but Fred’s signature bread, cheddar with jalapeños. One bite and he was already in heaven. As he happily went about eating his meal, he surreptitiously watched Shelby working nonstop. She knew, without a doubt, how to organize and run a kitchen, and pride welled up inside for her. The hot potato salad turned out to be the perfect complement to the crab legs. Wow.

  When he was almost done, Shelby stopped at his section of the chopping island and went to work on a couple bundles of scallions. Could a person really use a knife that fast? Something on her hand caught his eye. He squinted and looked closer. A silver ring. It looked familiar.

  Risking the loss of a finger or two, he reached across the chopping block and grabbed her right wrist to make her stop. He pulled her hand closer so he could have a better look. The Claddagh ring! She was wearing the promise ring he’d given her over ten years ago.

  “What’s this?”

  “You know exactly what it is,” she said, as she yanked her knife-holding hand away.

  A flood of feelings hit him, anger leading them. “Take it off. You’re mocking me by wearing that.”

  “I am not.” Defiance sparkled in her eyes. “Besides, it’s mine.”

  “You know exactly what the significance of that ring is.” He caught himself pointing like he did when he read the riot act to an arrestee, so he consciously stopped. “And you have no business wearing it.”

  “I can wear my ring whenever I want.” She raised her voice. Even in the rackety kitchen, her tone stood out and people turned their heads. “Besides—” she tamped it down “—I don’t see it that way.” She laid the knife down and gave him her total attention. “I’ve figured something out since the last time we talked. I can’t erase my past, and furthermore I don’t want to. It’s made me exactly who I am.” She used her index finger to poke at her own chest, and he was grateful she’d put the knife down first.

  He hadn’t finished his meal, but thanks to their tense interchange, he’d lost his appetite.

  “The difference between you and me—” she pointed at him and continued “—is I can choose to move on and try again.” She stared him down, and he didn’t dare look away. “If you ever want a shot at happiness, I suggest y
ou do the same.”

  “Is that a challenge?” Lame, but it was all he had in the comeback department, because she’d nailed it, and he’d turned defensive.

  “Absolutely.” She went back to chopping scallions. Chopping them to death.

  He drank the last of his water, trying to clear his head. His hand was curiously unsteady. She had the craziest ways of knocking him off his game. Just move on. It sounded so easy, yet it’d never occurred to him. Because he was stuck. Back there on that night.

  Frustrated and trying to clear his head, he took a bite of crab leg meat, chomping on it, forgetting to taste it. Then he remembered.

  Besides eating dinner, he’d come here on a mission, to tell Shelby about the rave review. Why it mattered that she heard it first from him didn’t make sense anymore. She was already mad at him and tossing out challenges. But he blundered on.

  “Now that I’ve pissed you off—” he licked drawn butter off his fingers “—I wanted to share some good news.”

  She stopped for one second, tossed him an as-if-I-care glance, then went back to concentrating on the scallions. Poor scallions. “Is that so?”

  “I thought you should know that Felecia Worthington wrote a rave review about The Drumcliffe and your cooking. Congratulations, chef, you made the county paper.”

  She dropped the knife. “What? She’s a food critic?”

  He wiped his hand with the paper napkin, then took the snipped article out of his shirt pocket and handed it to her. “You should be very proud,” he said. “It came out in today’s paper and it’s probably why there’s a line waiting to get in tonight. Never happened before in all the years I’ve been around.” Then he walked off, leaving her with her mouth open, scrambling to unfold and read the article.

  By the time he got to his car, there were footsteps rushing up behind him. Being in law enforcement, he tensed and turned, preparing for a possible altercation. But it was Shelby, running, out of breath, her face red, her eyes angry.

  “Why didn’t you tell me she was a food critic?”

  “Didn’t want to stress you out or put any undue pressure on you. You were doing me a favor.”

  Her anger softened a tiny bit. “Seems like you were the one doing me a favor.”

  He shrugged. “Works both ways.”

  “But if I’d known, I would have done something completely different, something that would’ve showed her who I am and what I can really do.”

  “You did that without knowing. Besides, from what I’ve learned, food critics never announce when they’re showing up.”

  She folded her arms, obviously frustrated. “That’s beside the point.”

  “That’s the whole point. Damn, Shelby, do we have to argue about everything? Can’t you just be happy about your great review?”

  She closed her eyes briefly. “I’m sorry. I am happy, and excited, and…well, frustrated.”

  “Frustrated, why?”

  “Because of you, Conor. Geez, don’t you get it? I’m asking you to give us another chance, and you set me up with a secret food critic who can launch my career.”

  “Just trying to help.”

  “Well, it ticks me off that you kept it a secret.”

  “So forgive me. It was to your advantage.”

  “Okay!” she yelled like she was still arguing instead of giving in. She calmed down and glanced at her chef clogs before seeking out his face again. “I forgive you, so let me take you on a date as a thank-you.”

  Her voice nearly inaudible.

  He went quiet. Studied her, the woman who could rile him up faster than anyone else in the world. The woman who’d disregarded him at a key moment, and now expected him to simply move on. Go on a date! When everything was different now. “Let me think about it?”

  “Is that your answer for everything?” A rhetorical question. He couldn’t describe her expression, but it landed somewhere between angry, frustrated and willing. With a little disappointment thrown in. He’d have to settle for the willing part. “Look, I’ve got to get back to the kitchen. Like you said, it’s standing room only tonight.” And off she trotted.

  The delicious meal he’d just eaten wrestled in his stomach. He hoped he hadn’t thrown her off her game, not with the big crowd to feed. She’d worn the ring, sending a clear message, and it’d made him crazy. Why couldn’t things be like they used to?

  Because they were both nearly thirty now.

  Time to act like a man? “I’ll take you up on that date,” Conor called, just before she hit the kitchen door.

  “Cool, but it’ll have to be a day date.” She glanced toward the kitchen door as an explanation. “How about tomorrow morning at ten?”

  She certainly didn’t waste any time. So he gave the thumbs-up sign to the woman who’d hurt him like no one else. Ever.

  *

  Shelby tossed and turned in bed that night. She should be exhausted from running nonstop to serve nearly two hundred meals! A new record for her. Yet she couldn’t go to sleep. Excitement, anger, frustration, happiness all rolled together in a barbwire tangle in her chest. What a mess she was.

  She’d humbled herself and asked Conor flat out to give her another chance. Even asked him on a date. His hesitation didn’t help a girl’s ego much, but she could understand his point. Yet after the kisses they’d shared lately, she was positive they still had that special thing. Didn’t he feel it, too?

  Of course, starting a relationship over again took a lot more than turning each other on, but it sure was a great start.

  In all fairness, she carried the most baggage. She had a baby now. He was still free as a sandpiper. Would a guy without a care in the world want to saddle himself with a kid, someone else’s kid at that? Not to mention a woman who’d hurt him to the marrow? Who, as of last week, still had plans to find a bigger and better job and to kiss Sandpiper goodbye for good. Though now she wasn’t so sure about that part.

  Was his heart, the one she’d always known to be loving and generous, big enough to forgive her? Big enough for two? At least he’d said he’d think about it.

  She’d asked for a day date for a reason.

  If Conor spent more time around Benjamin, he’d have to see what a great kid he was. He’d already admitted he liked “Benny” as he’d called her son. So, yeah, that was what she needed to do, maybe not cram the Claddagh ring down his throat, stop wearing it for now, find another angle to get through to him, like making sure her two favorite guys had more time together.

  First chance she got, she texted Conor to meet her and Benjamin at the park early Sunday morning. Recently, she and Fred had started alternating Sunday brunch service, and she was off. She might have to take baby steps where she and Conor were concerned, but she knew for a fact her Benjamin had the cutest toddler feet in the world, and even Conor would have to admit it. Where she might fall flat at winning her guy over again, her boy was sure to steal his heart.

  Was she playing dirty? You bet.

  *

  Shelby showed up for the date armed. She’d brought a picnic basket filled with deli-styled sandwiches, macaroni salad, canned iced tea and cupcakes, Conor’s favorite—spice cake with cream cheese frosting—a blanket to sit on, and toys for Benjamin, in case he got bored with the playground slides and swings. In typical toddler fashion, Benjamin wandered-walked somewhere in the vicinity around her as she headed into the park.

  Conor was already there, sitting on the bench of a picnic table under a tree, which put a smile on her face. When he noticed her, he jumped to attention and strode to help carry all the stuff.

  “Good morning,” he said, looking chipper for a guy who worked late.

  “Hi!”

  Without being asked, he took the wicker basket and blanket. Upon noticing Conor, Benjamin sped up and headed in a straight line to catch up.

  Conor bent down. “Hey, buddy, how’s it goin’?” Her son stood silent. In awe?

  “Say hi,” she encouraged. He waved, which made Conor laugh, and onc
e he put the basket on the table, he grabbed Benjamin and swung him around in greeting. Her son squealed in delight.

  “Want to swing?” Conor asked him.

  Benjamin pointed and shouted, “Fwing!”

  “Swing?”

  Off they went. Shelby smiled to herself over Conor’s natural slide into helping Benjamin learn his words, then she stood and watched the big man and small boy interact at the swing set. A warm sensation filled her chest, along with an unexplainable yearning. Was this what she wanted? A father for her boy? What about the big city restaurant plans? Taking the culinary world by storm?

  She remembered this was supposed to be a date, so instead of watching the “boys” and letting the sight dig deep and really get to her, she set up the picnic table with the cloth she’d brought. Then put the tiny plastic bud vase, with one perfect yellow rose from her mother’s garden, at the center. After, she headed for the playground, where they’d now migrated to the slides.

  “One, two, three,” Conor counted before gesturing for Benjamin, who sat at the top, to let go and slide down. He started again. “One, two.”

  “Two, two,” Benjamin repeated, then slid.

  Shelby laughed. “Don’t think he’s mastered the counting concept yet.” Then she made it to the bottom of the slide in time to catch her son before he did a face-plant in the sand. “He’s a little slow on figuring out the ending part, too.”