The Sheriff's Son. Barbara Daille White

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СКАЧАТЬ “Things have quieted, but the teams are still out doing their jobs. And you?”

      “Doing my job, you mean? Trying to, at least.” He grinned.

      She looked down, made an unnecessary checkmark next to an imaginary item. Tried to keep her mind on her own duties. “Have you found out who’s behind all these pranks?”

      “In two days? No. But I’ll start making rounds in the County car at night.”

      “If you’re taking on extra duties yourself, I’ll do the same.” It was the least a co-chair could do.

      “We can make up a team.”

      She shook her head. “No, thank you.”

      He leaned forward, giving her another look at his devilish grin. “Aw, c’mon, Sarah. Be like old times, when we’d cruise around in that old clunker I had.”

      They had spent more than a few of their nights riding alone in the dark, intimate closeness of the front seat of his car. She glared at him.

      The gall of the man yet again, same as on the night of the Town Hall meeting. Insinuating himself where he wasn’t wanted, using that same teasing tone. Acting as if they could regain what they’d had between them years ago.

      “That won’t work, Tanner. We’re not teenagers anymore.” She clutched her clipboard harder. “I can’t patrol after dark, anyway. I need to be home in the evenings for Kevin.”

      As if the mention of her son’s name had summoned him, the front door swung open. Tensing, she glanced past Tanner, then sagged in relief.

      Jerry, the mail carrier, came down the center aisle of the store juggling a couple large packing boxes. An envelope rested precariously on top. Her heart sank as she spied the return receipt card attached to it. Another creditor, wanting to make sure she received her overdue bills.

      “Afternoon, Sarah. Not a bad haul, today.”

      In his opinion, maybe.

      Jerry set the boxes on the counter. The envelope slid off to land on the floor at Tanner’s feet. “’Scuse me, Deputy.”

      “No problem.” Tanner bent and picked up the offending piece of mail. He frowned down at it, then handed it to Sarah.

      She scribbled her signature, ripped off the receipt, and returned it to Jerry, who nodded his thanks and left.

      “Let me set these boxes back in my office,” she told Tanner, “and we can go over the roster for the watch teams.”

      “Here, I’ll give you a hand.”

      Before she could protest, he lifted the packing boxes as though they weighed no more than the envelope. She hurried into her office, not wanting to be trapped in the narrow aisle with him.

      Her tiny back room gave her no better space. With the added height of his high-crowned Stetson and the heels of his dress boots, Tanner seemed tall enough to brush the ceiling. Broad enough to fill the room. Alive and healthy and strong enough to require all the air in the vicinity.

      “What do you want me to do?” he asked.

      “Just set them on the pile beside the filing cabinet.” She looked toward the desk, intending to place the envelope there, and cringed when she saw the bills she’d left lined up, with their incriminating red stamps marked Overdue. One little shift sideways, one turn of his head, and Tanner would see them, too.

      As he leaned over to put the boxes down, she hurried past him to the desk.

      “That’s some son you’ve got, Sarah.”

      The words stopped her in her tracks. After a long moment, she turned and faced him, her body blocking the desktop. “What do you mean?”

      He nodded toward the bulletin board. “Drawings up there, looking good. He shows more talent with a couple of crayons than we ever managed to do in Art. He take after his dad?”

      The blood rushed from Sarah’s head. Her face felt chilled, her mouth frozen. She didn’t want to answer Tanner. Couldn’t. But he stood looking at her, waiting for an answer.

      “No, his father doesn’t have any artistic skill, either.” It wasn’t a lie. Tanner had just made that clear. Still, the half truth seemed to twist in her heart.

      He stepped closer. “I say something wrong?” He reached up, as if to stroke the stray curls that tumbled against her temple.

      Time stopped. Turned back. Raced away.

      She stood, held in place by the look in Tanner’s eyes.

      His hand hovered near her head, a breath away from touching her, until he clenched his fingers and lowered his arm to his side.

      She whirled to face the desk, scooped the row of bills into an untidy pile and flipped it over. Hands shaking, she struggled to line up the edges of the papers.

      The crazy thought occurred to her that she should tell him everything right now. Reveal her money troubles. Confess the truth about Kevin.

      And request eight years’ worth of child support.

      But of course she wouldn’t. She didn’t want anything from Tanner. Except his rapid departure from her life.

      Behind her, he cleared his throat once, twice.

      She sighed inwardly. Sooner or later, she’d have to meet his eyes again. Slowly, she turned. To her relief, he had backed a step away.

      He shrugged and shoved his hands into his back pockets—in another attempt to keep from reaching for her?

      “If I stuck my foot in it just now, that’s because I’m feeling out of touch with you. So to speak.” He cleared his throat again. “I mean, nobody’s said much to me about you. You haven’t said much about yourself. Me, either, if it comes down to it. Guess we’ve got a lot to catch up on.”

      Not if she could help it.

      “So, what happened to your husband, Sarah? Where is he now? What’s he doing?”

      He asked the questions so casually, each one causing her a twinge of anxiety. She wasn’t ready for this conversation.

      Would she ever be?

      She swallowed hard. “That’s really none of your business.”

      “It was, once. You were my girl, Sarah. Nothing was going to change that.”

      “Then you walked away. Left town. Joined the army. What did you expect, that I would just sit home and wait for you?”

      She hadn’t expected Tanner to leave her. Or Daddy to die. Or herself having to do…anything that had come afterward.

      “Don’t know what I thought.”

      “Well, I—” The familiar squeal of brakes outside choked off her words. The school bus.

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