The Sheriff's Second Chance. Michelle Celmer

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СКАЧАТЬ “She’s here, at the diner?”

      His dad nodded.

      Everyone in the restaurant had seen him pull up. He had no choice but to go in. And it wasn’t just a matter of his pride, although that was part of it. As a deputy sheriff, he had a reputation to uphold. If people began to see him as a coward, his credibility as peacekeeper in town would be compromised. And what could be more cowardly than turning tail and running from an estranged girlfriend seven years after the breakup?

      “Let’s go.” He marched up the walk and shouldered his way through the door. The second his shoe hit the black-and-white-checked linoleum floor, twenty or so pairs of eyes snapped in his direction and bore into him like an auger biting through steel. In a town the size of Paradise, where everyone’s nose was in everyone else’s business, good news traveled fast.

      And bad news traveled even faster.

      This reunion would be stressful enough without an audience, but it was too late to turn back now. A swift survey of the interior revealed many familiar and curious faces, but not the one he was anticipating. And dreading.

      The short walk to the counter felt like a mile. He slid onto his usual stool beside George Simmons, owner of Simmons Hardware, and his dad sat beside him.

      “Mornin’, Deputy,” George said, then nodded to Nate’s dad. “Mornin’, P.J.”

      “Mornin’, George,” P.J. returned. “How are things down at the hardware store?”

      George shrugged. “Can’t complain. How’s the house coming along?” he asked, referring to the Victorian-era home Nate’s parents had been renovating.

      “It’s comin’.”

      “Got that tile laid in the downstairs bathroom?”

      P.J. nodded. “Just about.”

      They had a similar conversation every morning, yet today it felt stilted and awkward. To add to the tension, Nate could feel the gaze of the entire restaurant pinned against his back.

      Their waitress, Delores Freeburg, who had worked at the diner as long as Nate could remember, appeared with a decanter of coffee and poured them each a cup. “Morning, Nate, P.J. Will you have the usual?”

      “Just coffee for me,” Nate said. His belly was too tied in knots to choke down eggs and bacon.

      P.J. patted the paunch that had begun to creep over his belt and said, “I’m starving. The usual for me.”

      Delores winked and left to put in the order, but not before shooting Nate a glance rife with curiosity.

      There was a brief, awkward silence, then George said, “So, Nate, I guess you’ve heard the news.”

      “I heard.” And he didn’t care to talk about it.

      “Been a long time,” George persisted.

      Nate poured cream and sugar in his cup. The idea of drinking it made his stomach turn, but he forced himself to take a sip, burning the hell out of his tongue in the process.

      “Seven years,” his dad answered for him, and Nate shot him a look that said, Don’t encourage him.

      But George needed no encouragement. He was a worse gossip than most of the women at Shear Genius, the salon Nate’s ex-wife owned.

      Nate pulled out his phone and pretended to check his messages, but that didn’t stop George.

      “Guess she got herself into a fix up there in New York.” George shook his head, as though he could relate, even though he’d never lived a day outside of their small town. “Some sort of federal investigation into her financial firm.”

      “I hope you also heard that I’m not personally under any suspicion,” a female voice stated from behind them. A voice that after seven years was still so familiar, Nate’s heart climbed up his throat and lodged there. Caitlyn Cavanaugh walked around the counter, facing them now, but Nate kept his eyes on his phone screen.

      “Welcome back, Caitie,” his dad said.

      “Hi, P.J. Long time no see.”

      “When did you get home?”

      “Just last night.”

      “And your parents have you back to work already?”

      “I offered. Deb called in sick. But I’ll warn you, I may be a bit rusty. I haven’t waited tables in almost five years.”

      “Well,” P.J. said with a shrug. “You know that nothing much ever changes around here.”

      “I guess not.”

      Nate could feel her eyes on him, but he couldn’t make himself lift his gaze. Maybe if he ignored her, it wouldn’t be real.

      “Hello, Nate,” she said, her voice quiet.

      He had no choice but to look at her now, and when he lifted his head and his eyes snagged on hers, every bit of pain and rejection he’d felt when she left slammed him in the gut like a fist.

      In her waitress uniform she looked almost exactly the same. A little older, maybe, her pale blond hair longer than the shoulder-length, no-nonsense style she’d worn in high school. And her smile wasn’t quite as carefree. But she was still his Caitie—

      No, she wasn’t his anything.

      Underneath the pain, the anger still simmered. It threatened to boil over and spill out like molten lava onto the Formica countertop.

      He said the only thing he could, so she would understand exactly where she stood. “That’s Deputy Sheriff to you, Miss Cavanaugh.”

      So that was the way it was going to be?

      Caitlyn Cavanaugh wasn’t really surprised. Of course she had hoped that after all these years Nate would have forgiven her, or at the very least, let go of the animosity.

      Apparently not. And that was not at all like the Nate she used to know. That Nate was so laid-back, so easygoing and nonconfrontational. After two years together she could count on one hand how many times they had argued. Come to think of it, she’d never seen him really angry at anyone.

      Until now.

      Under the icy exterior, he was seething. And though she would never admit it to another living soul, after all these years, it stung. Badly. But she refused to be labeled the only bad guy when he was just as guilty of betrayal. She may have left town, and she wouldn’t deny that sending a vague letter in lieu of a real explanation was a cowardly thing to do. But he seemed to be forgetting that he married her best friend only three months after she left.

      If it killed her, she would never let him know just how much that had hurt.

      “I beg your pardon, Deputy,” she said, pasting on a polite yet vaguely disinterested smile. One he didn’t return, not that she had expected him to. He’d always had a sweet, slightly lopsided grin that never failed to melt her on the spot. And hadn’t that been one of their biggest problems? СКАЧАТЬ