by Joanne Rock
“For what? She wants you to watch him longer?” Curious, she pivoted to face him, her socks sliding on the hardwood.
“According to her, she’s in treatment for postpartum depression.”
“You say it like you don’t believe her.” She remembered what her sister had said about everyone in town thinking Sam was intimidating.
Just now, with the dark scowl on his brow, she understood why.
“I’m not sure I do. She hasn’t given me many reasons to trust her, though I’d hate to think she would use such a serious condition as a cop-out. It’s damn unfair to the new mothers who truly suffer from postpartum depression.” He retrieved a black gym bag that had been stored under the changing table and started filling it with diapers, wipes and baby clothes. “I have to drop Aiden off at my mother’s before I make a few stops around town. Any chance you could take a ride with me? I figure the more we reminisce, the more likely it is that we’ll stir some memories that could help the case.”
She watched him collect supplies from around the nursery, his broad shoulders stretching the cotton of his blue button-down in the most appealing way.
She had been crazy to try coming on to him. But then again, he’d grown only more appealing in the years since she’d seen him last. She liked that he was a serious guy. He never made her feel that she needed to pretend happiness or lightness. Even better, he made her feel safe just with his presence.
“I thought you weren’t interested in my kind of reminiscing.” She shifted Aiden when he stretched like he might cry again, holding him upright against one shoulder and rubbing his back.
It took all her willpower not to tip her temple to his and sing him a lullaby. What was it about a baby that inspired such an immediate need to cuddle and care for them? It wasn’t just her own loss. Even before the miscarriage, she remembered how fun it had been to care for her brother Scott’s daughter when Ally had been a baby.
Across the nursery, Sam straightened. He set the bag on the top of the changing table and stuffed in a blanket before turning to face her.
“I am very interested.” He stalked toward her, his cool gray gaze unflinching as he watched her. “If I didn’t have a job to think about—or my son to consider—I can promise you this afternoon would have proceeded very differently.” He let the words simmer between them for a minute while she took in the import of the suggestion. “But I’m going to view this extra time to think as a good thing.”
He smoothed a strand of her hair away from where it was caught on Aiden’s blanket. He hadn’t even touched her and her heartbeat tripped over itself.
“You’ve had ten years, Sam Reyes.” She narrowed her gaze. “How much more time could you possibly need?” She could almost hear the argument brewing in his head. But she didn’t want to hear it. So she tucked Aiden closer to her chest and brushed her cheek along his downy head. “Don’t answer that. I’ll go with you, and we can argue all you like on the road.”
Heading toward the door, she wound her way back through the white utilitarian kitchen toward the entrance, picking up her boots along the way. Sam followed her, shouldering a duffel on one arm and stuffing a few items in a leather messenger bag.
Fifteen minutes later, he parked his pickup truck outside the Hastings’ home, waiting for a sheriff’s car to meet them. He’d arranged extra protection for Aiden after the threat he’d received.
“It must be hard letting him out of your sight.” She leaned over in the black leather passenger seat to stare at the infant. He was nestled in his car seat between them in the full-size truck cab. “Not because of the threat. Just for the sake of being with him. I’m sure you’re enjoying getting to know him more every day.” She stroked a finger over the fuzzy terry-cloth sleeper that covered one bowlegged knee. “If he was mine, I’d—”
Her voice caught awkwardly while Aiden blew bubbles. She was grateful the police car showed up just then, saving her from having to explain why she was an emotional basket case around Sam’s baby.
She unfastened the car seat while Sam stepped out of the truck to speak to the uniformed patrolmen tasked to watch the house—and Aiden—for the rest of the day. Five minutes later, Sam took the baby, the car seat and the gear and disappeared into the house before reemerging with a small brown basket covered with a white-and-blue cloth.
When he got back in the truck, she caught the scent of apples and held her hands out for the mystery basket.
“Was your mom baking?” She’d been alone with Sam for two seconds and already it felt like a date from the past. How many times had his mother sent him out with something homemade?
“Apple muffins.” Sam’s arm snaked along the back of the seat, ostensibly to turn around and see where he was going as he put the truck in Reverse.
But Amy didn’t mind the warm brush of his fingers on her shoulder and hoped that part wasn’t accidental.
“We got apple muffins for your afternoon of running errands?”
“She might have seen you sitting out here in the truck and drawn her own conclusions about the errands I had in mind.” He kept his expression neutral, but she heard the teasing note in his voice.
“Clearly she knows you much better than I do since I don’t have a clue what you could be planning.”
“I figured I’d use the muffins to bribe information from you.” He slid the basket from her hands and set it in the console as he headed in a familiar direction—out toward the Spencer farm, where they used to sneak away to be alone.
“Did they teach you that in police school? Bribing with Baked Goods 101?”
“No. I improvise my technique based on the situation. And since you’re proving to be a tough customer, I’m upping my game.” He turned down a quiet road that ran in the same direction as Main Street.
She smiled to see it was still deserted. She used to drag race bicycles with her siblings here. As the youngest, she never won contests like that, but the best days were the ones when they left the house in the morning and didn’t return until dinnertime.
“Well, now that I can smell those muffins, I’m starving. So what is it you need to know, Sheriff?” She tucked her boots under the truck’s floor heater to take the chill off her toes. It wasn’t cold out—the truck’s thermometer read sixty-four degrees—but she liked her feet to be warm.
“Why did you have tears in your eyes when I first walked into the nursery earlier?” He kept his eye on the road, slowing down for a wide pothole in a place where live oak branches from trees on either side created a tunnel of Spanish moss.
She wanted to lie and say it was because he’d turned down her flirting efforts. But not even ten years apart would make him believe she’d changed that much.
And, truth be told, it was better than having to talk about that last summer. She’d made some peace with her miscarriage at least.
“I had a second-trimester miscarriage last year and it...wrecked me.” There was no other way to describe the devastation that day had caused on her life.
“Oh, Ames.” His use of her old nickname slid right past her defenses and melted her heart, his hand coming to rest on her shoulder with a gentle squeeze. “I’m so sorry. I never would have asked if I’d had any inkling it was something like that.”
“I know.” She did, too. He wasn’t the kind of man who would pick at a wound to see it bleed. “It’s not as raw now. But seeing Aiden reminds me of those hopes and dreams I had.”
He turned the truck onto a dirt road around the back of the Spencer farm, close to where the creek ran. The old orchards weren’t as full as they used to be since the farm hadn’t been working for years, but small peaches littered the ground from trees that still produced fruit.
“What about the father?” he asked quietly, shutting off the engine near a wooden bridge. Old Mr. Spencer had built the bridge over the creek decades ago, but it h
ad held up all these years.
“He lasted about five minutes into my pregnancy and decided fatherhood wasn’t for him.” She’d been too in love with the news that she was expecting to spare much thought for her ex. A sure sign she’d been with the wrong guy anyhow. “I was more than prepared to be a single parent.”
“You want to go sit on the bridge?” He pointed toward their old spot.
He’d kissed her for the first time there.
Had he thought about that when he’d brought her to this place?
Dappled sunlight danced on the water, and the sound of the gurgling rush was apparent now that he’d turned off the engine.
“If you bring the muffins.” She reached for the door handle but waited to lift it until he nodded.
In the short walk to the creek’s edge, she moved to skirt around a muddy ditch, not wanting to ruin her boots. But Sam lifted her up easily, his arm circling her waist and plunking her down on the other side of the ditch before she had nearly enough time to savor his touch.
Still, her skin tingled beneath her dress for long moments afterward as they stepped up onto the gently rounded arch. The bridge supports were a naturally bowing tree branch that the old man must have sawn down the middle since the curved log halves perfectly matched. Sam rinsed his own boots in the water before he climbed up beside her and then lowered himself to sit on the planks, their legs dangling over one side.
With the sound of birds and rushing water in her ear, and the warm splash of sunshine on her shoulders, Amy felt more at home than she had at any other time since arriving in Heartache. Sitting beside Sam, with his strong arms and easy way with her, was a tantalizing memory she knew she shouldn’t get too caught up in.
She wasn’t staying in Heartache. And Sam had plenty of problems of his own to work through with a new baby at home.
But for now? He was not in a relationship. And their past had ended on a giant question mark that had lingered in her mind and in her heart for years.
“So you brought me here to reminisce?” she clarified, wanting him on board with whatever happened next.
“That’s correct.” He looked around the forest and then shifted to see her better. “This was one of a few places that came to mind as being an important part of that last summer.”
Tension curled through her at the reminder of the information he wanted.
“Are we back to the interrogation?” She crossed one leg over the other and gazed down into the water below.
The rush of shallow water could have mesmerized her if she hadn’t been in the middle of a very intriguing conversation.
“I think you know damn well no one has interrogated you yet.” He had moved closer while she’d been looking away.
His shoulder brushed hers, the warmth of his body heating her straight through his shirtsleeve and hers.
“So I’m free to reminisce about whatever I like?” She played with the hem of her dress until his hand covered hers and stilled the movement.
Could he feel her heartbeat pound where one of his fingers lay on the inside of her wrist? The sunlight found lighter hints of brown in his hair and illuminated the rough shadow along his jaw.
“Now that we’re alone, I’m very interested to see what kind of memory you’ll bring up next.”
She smiled then, confident now that it wasn’t an accident he’d brought her here. To this bridge. Where they’d first kissed.
“I don’t know.” She shook her head, feigning confusion. “It’s been a long time. Maybe you ought to tell me what you remember. That might help me.”
“I remember getting hypnotized by a wild girl who loved to run through forests.” He tunneled his fingers into her hair, igniting shivers down her spine.
She wanted to curl into that touch and seek more of it.
“A wild girl?” She wondered how much he was teasing and how much he had seen her that way.
“Oh yeah. She was hell on wheels.” His thumb stroked a path over the middle of her cheek, back and forth, a warm brush of calluses. “I could never keep up.”
Her heart turned over on itself. After all the years she’d spent hiding from the world since then, it was nice to remember a time when she’d felt strong. Desirable. When life was more exciting than scary.
“I don’t know that I remember her. Tell me more.” Looking into his eyes, she recognized the boy she’d been crazy about so long ago.
She still wanted him to kiss her every bit as much as she had that first day.
“I always had fun chasing you, Amy.” His lips neared her ear where he spoke the words softly against her skin.
More shivers. More want.
“I’m not running now.” She lifted her hand to his chest, where she could feel powerful muscle and the steady thrum of his heartbeat.
“Looks like I’m going to catch you for sure, then.” His words were a soft breath of minty air over her lips in the moment before his mouth slanted over hers.
Everything else stilled. His hand in her hair. Her fingers splayed against the placket of his shirt. He moved only his lips as he kissed her. A slow, tantalizing pressure until she opened for him, her tongue darting out to see if he still tasted the same.
He shifted then, circling her waist with one arm to draw her closer. His hand cupped her hip so their thighs pressed flush together, her right leg tight to his left. She ended up crossing her other knee over his too, half in his lap as she looped her arms around his neck.
He tasted like toothpaste and kissed like he had all the time in the world for her. She couldn’t get enough of him. She pressed nearer still, her breasts grazing the wall of his chest while she lost herself in the feel of him.
She hadn’t been touched like this since she’d been with him. He traced a path down her spine with slow deliberation, as if he could somehow press her closer, vertebrae by vertebrae. When he reached the waistband of her leggings, a ridge he must be able to feel through her thin cotton dress, he followed the line to one side and then backtracked to the other, as if he was contemplating sliding away a barrier.
Or maybe that was just her wishful imagination. Nerve endings flared to life all over her body. Her skin was tingling from his touch, and he hadn’t peeled away even so much as her sweater.
He broke the kiss to lean back, his gray gaze raking over her like a fiery touch.
“Bring back any memories yet?” He arched a heavy eyebrow, his focus returning to her mouth.
“I remember how hot and bothered your kisses make me.” She couldn’t imagine how she could sleep tonight after the fever he’d stirred inside her.
“That’s the most encouraging news I’ve had all day.” He rested a palm on her knee, his fingers teasing along the hem of her dress.
“But since I’m not sixteen anymore, I can’t just go home and be content with daydreaming about you.” She disentangled her arms from his neck before she started peeling off her own clothes. Or his. “And since you told me you weren’t in the market for anything fun and simple...”
What were they really doing here?
His cell phone buzzed in the silence hanging between them.
She knew he’d have to check it. So, sliding her legs off his, she reached back to satisfy her physical cravings with apple muffins instead of a sexy cop.
“Damn.” He scrolled through the screen and shoved the device back in his pocket. “I’ve got to get down to the high school before all hell breaks loose.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“YOU CAN’T DROP me off at home?”
Back in his truck, Amy sounded worried as he peeled out of the gravel road that led away from the creek. Away from the site of a kiss that had him seriously questioning his sanity.
He had wanted to coax secrets from her, not just breathy sighs and hungry touches. Ah hell. He wan
ted all that and more. But he needed the truth about whatever it was she was hiding, damn it.
“Not enough time.” He cursed himself for not having J. D. Covington followed sooner. But the police department was stretched thin to the point of breaking. And who would have thought the kid would go right back to school his first day out of juvie? Shouldn’t a family-court advocate have been making sure he stayed out of trouble? “Zach’s place is on the way to the school. If you think your sister is there, I could drop you off at the Chance house.”
“No.” The adamant refusal was followed by Amy tucking herself against the passenger-side door.
Retreating.
Had she argued with her sister to inspire that strong of a reaction? Amy was prickly as they came.
Except when he kissed her.
Damn, but he wished they hadn’t been interrupted. That there had been more time to explore the attraction. Things had been intense with her during their teenage years. But nothing like this.
Shit. He needed to get his head back to the task at hand. The safety of the town came first.
“I’ll try to wrap things up quickly at the school, but I should at least check in.” Turning out onto the main road again, he pressed hard on the accelerator but didn’t bother to slap a flashing light on the roof. Heartache was quiet this time of day—the calm before the storm when classes let out at Crestwood and student drivers took to the roads with more speed than sense.
“Something’s going on in the parking lot.” She pointed to the teachers’ parking area near the football field.
“Fender bender, maybe?” He noticed one car was pulled up tight to another. Even from a distance he could read the body language of angry people leaning in toward one another. They were adults out there, not kids.
He really didn’t want to get involved in a faculty dispute when he’d heard J.D. was causing trouble. Apparently the principal had tried to handle the uproar the kid’s return to school had caused, but by noontime, the superintendent had gotten involved and phoned the local police.
“Shit. That’s Kate Covington. She teaches social studies at the school.” He could see her now as he pulled off the road and into the lot. “And the woman she’s arguing with was behind bars up until a few hours ago. Tiffany McCord had an affair with her husband.”
