The Sheriff's Second Chance. Michelle Celmer

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СКАЧАТЬ up,” she said, surprised that so much damage had been done at such a low speed.

      “That’s not even the worst of it.” He lifted the hood. “Your block is cracked.”

      She didn’t really know what that meant, but it didn’t sound good. “So what you’re saying is, it’s definitely not worth fixing.”

      “I wouldn’t waste my money.”

      She trusted his judgment. It wasn’t the first time her car had been to that garage. Jake had worked on it years ago when his dad owned the business. Jake Senior retired and of course Jake Junior took over. That was the way it worked in Paradise. When the parent retired, the oldest child took over. And in Jake’s case, they didn’t even have to change the sign.

      “What should I do with it now?” she asked him.

      He slammed the hood and wiped his hands on the greasy rag hanging from the pocket of his pants. “I know a guy who owns a junkyard. He’d take it off your hands, give you a hundred bucks cash for it.”

      Someone would actually pay her cash for this pile of junk? “That would be awesome. What do I owe you for looking at it?”

      “It was fifty bucks for the tow. No charge to look at it.”

      So she would actually make money on the deal? Go figure. Granted not much money, but these days every penny counted.

      “Do you take Visa?” she asked Jake.

      “Sure do. Let’s go in the office.”

      Back in high school Caitie’s car hadn’t been the most reliable thing on four wheels, so she had seen the inside of the garage office enough times to know that virtually nothing had changed. He had the same grimy cash register that had gone out of date sometime in the past century, printed ads on the walls for car products that dated back to before she was born, and the entire office was covered in a fine coat of greasy dust. Even the floor felt sticky under her flip-flops. And though she wasn’t sure what color the walls were originally, now they were a filthy grayish-yellow.

      She watched Jake fill out the paperwork. His hands were dry and calloused with painful-looking cracks on his knuckles and grease caked under his nails.

      “Fifty bucks even,” he said, and she handed him her credit card.

      “When did your dad retire?” she asked as he ran the charge.

      “Three years ago.” He gave her the slip to sign, then handed over her receipt, leaving a greasy fingerprint on the edge. “You’ll need to sign the title over.”

      “I’ll have to find it.” She was sure her mom had it filed away somewhere safe. “So, do you like owning the business?”

      Leaning with one hip propped against the counter, he shrugged. “It is what it is. What else am I gonna do?”

      She wanted to say, Hey, I got out, and you can, too. But she would probably just insult him, or come off as uppity. Besides, she wasn’t exactly the poster child for making it in the big city. What Jake did with his life—or didn’t do—was none of her business.

      They chatted for a few more minutes, mostly about superficial things. He’d been four years ahead of her in school, so they didn’t have many friends in common. She was a little relieved when she finally said goodbye and left the garage.

      Many of the businesses in town closed their doors at five, but the thrift store stayed open until nine on weekdays. Needing several personal items to get her through the next few weeks, Cait parked her mom’s car in the street and walked the two blocks. She encountered a few familiar faces, but with a baseball cap hiding her hair and dark sunglasses shading her eyes, no one seemed to recognize her.

      As she stepped through the automatic door, a wall of cool air enveloped her. The thrift store, as with the rest of town, hadn’t changed much, and it was practically deserted.

      She took a quick look around to get her bearings, then located the personal care aisle exactly where it had been the last time she’d visited.

      She walked briskly to the aisle and grabbed a cheap bottle of both shampoo and conditioner and a package of disposable razors. Next she headed to the toy/gardening aisle, hoping to find some sort of book on landscaping.

      About halfway down the aisle, an adorable, towheaded little boy with curly hair stood intently studying a display of Legos, most of which were on a high shelf just out of his reach.

      “Do you need help reaching something?” Caitie asked, and he turned to look at her with bright green inquisitive eyes. Eyes that narrowed suspiciously as he gave her the once-over. She put him at seven or eight years old, and something about him seemed distinctly familiar, though she was almost positive she had never met him.

      “I’m not a’sposed to talk to strangers,” he said, so matter-of-factly it made her smile. Smart kid.

      “I’m Caitie,” she said, taking off her sunglasses, thinking it would make her look less intimidating.

      Like a lightbulb switching on, recognition lit his face. “You’re the lady in the pictures,” he said.

      “Pictures?” Feeling suddenly self-conscious, she shoved her sunglasses back on. “What pictures?”

      “In the box in Daddy’s closet.”

      Uh-oh. There was only one man in town who would have any reason to have photos of her in his closet. She suddenly realized why the boy looked so familiar.

      “Shopping incognito?” a familiar voice said from behind her.

      She winced and the spaghetti she’d eaten for dinner tossed around in her stomach. Three times in one day? What were the odds? Paradise was a small town, but come on.

      She turned to Nate, who was in his street clothes—a pair of navy chino shorts and a white polo shirt. In one hand he held a package of cookies, and in the other a box of tampons, of all things.

      “Great disguise,” he said.

      Not so great that he hadn’t recognized her. “Now I get it,” she said.

      “Get what?”

      “Why you were so cranky this morning.” She gestured to the items he was holding. “PMS.”

      “Daddy, what’s PMS?” Cody asked.

      He shot Caitie a look, then cut his eyes back to his son. “Never mind, Cody.”

      Cody was a miniature version of Nate but with Mel’s striking green eyes. Caitie couldn’t help wondering, if she and Nate had stayed together and had a child, who would it look like? Him? Her? A combination of the two?

      What was the point in wondering about something that never had and never would happen? Only a man smitten with a woman would buy her feminine products, meaning he must be involved with someone new.

      She wrote off the sudden churning in her belly as indigestion, when the truth was, it felt a lot more like jealousy. And that was unacceptable. But rather than walk away, she heard herself ask, “So, I hear you keep pictures of me in a box СКАЧАТЬ