The Hero's Sin. Darlene Gardner

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      T HE HERO was uncomfortable.

      Sara sensed it in the taut set of Michael’s shoulders while she led him to the table where the Dombrowskis waited. Marie waved, flashing the same sweet grin as when she’d invited Sara to sit with them.

      Michael’s step faltered. “I thought you were here alone.”

      “I came alone but they invited me to sit with them.” She smiled at him. It seemed she couldn’t stop smiling at him. And why not? He was as modest as he was heroic. He smelled good, too. Like fresh air and warm skin. “You’ll like Marie and Frank. They’re new in town, like me. Retirees who like to kayak. And read. Marie wants to get me involved with Friends of the Library.”

      His steps were still slow, causing her to stop dead. She knew nothing about him except he’d lived in Indigo Springs sometime in the past. She’d gotten the vague impression some residents didn’t welcome his return, but other guests had nodded at him in acknowledgement when they reentered the hall.

      “I’ll understand if you’d rather sit with somebody else.” She grimaced. “Be disappointed, yes. But I will understand.”

      He touched her bare arm, sending pleasure shooting through her. “There’s no one I’d rather sit with than you.”

      Their eyes met, and she felt a connection that was tangible. Marie Dombrowski must have picked up on it, too, because she patted Michael on the hand after Sara performed the introductions. Once done making a fuss over the bruise on his forehead, she said, “Shame on Sara for not telling us she had a date. But where were you when she was boo-hoo-ing through the wedding?”

      “I didn’t boo-hoo, I sniffled,” Sara protested. At this rate, she’d be known as the weeping lawyer before she opened her practice. “Weddings do that to me. And Michael isn’t my date. We just met outside.”

      Marie’s mouth and eyes rounded comically. “You mean you left the hall and found a man?”

      “Don’t knock it, Marie,” Frank Dombrowski interjected. “Some women know what they want when they see it.”

      Sara laughed, even though Frank’s observation wasn’t far off the mark. “Michael’s not a complete stranger. I saw him res—”

      “Our paths crossed yesterday.” Michael shifted in his chair, his broad shoulders rolling under his suit jacket. He had a naturally soft voice that made everything he said carry more importance. “Sara was nice enough to invite me to join her for dinner.”

      “So you came alone, too?” Marie addressed Michael. “Don’t you live here in town?”

      “Not anymore. I’m an old friend of the groom’s. How about you, Mrs. Dombrowski? Bride or groom?”

      Sara got the distinct impression Michael didn’t want to talk about himself, but Marie seemed not to notice. “Groom. Frank and I contracted with Pollock Construction to redo our bathrooms, and we hit it off with Johnny. We just love him.”

      Marie chattered happily on, taking a break only to fill her plate with kielbasa, pierogis and other Polish foods from the buffet table. The subject of home improvement was obviously a favorite topic. By dinner’s end, Sara knew a lot about the Dombrowskis but no more about Michael Donahue than she had when it began.

      Sara was trying to figure out how to get Michael alone when the polka band struck its first chords.

      Marie jumped up and extended a hand to her husband, who got obligingly to his feet. “I hope you two don’t mind if we desert you. Frank and I love to dance.”

      “Have fun,” Sara said, then waited until the couple was gone to remark to Michael. “You don’t say much about yourself, do you?”

      “When somebody likes to talk as much as Marie,” he said, “there’s no point in denying her the pleasure.”

      She suspected there was more to it than that, but she played along. “I told you all about my law practice, but I don’t even know what you do for a living.”

      “I’m in construction.”

      She was about to ask him to elaborate when the groom’s father approached him from behind and clapped him on the shoulders. Smiling, Michael turned.

      “I’m glad you’re still here.” Mr. Pollock was an older, stockier version of his son with an open, engaging manner that was extremely likeable. His twinkling gaze drifted to Sara. “Do I have you to thank for that, Sara?”

      Impressed he’d remembered her name after the brief meeting in the reception line, she joked, “You know what they say about lawyers and our powers of persuasion.”

      Twin dimples appeared on Mr. Pollock’s face, making him look boyish. “Then maybe you can persuade him to stick around for a while. Our boy here’s a world traveler. Did he tell you he just got back from Africa?”

       Africa?

      “I didn’t think so,” Mr. Pollock said before Sara recovered from the surprise. To Michael, he said, “Please tell me you’re staying in the States for a while.”

      “Can’t do that,” Michael said. “I already applied for another assignment, probably in Ghana, but maybe in El Salvador.”

      As they spoke, Sara was aware of other guests watching them. Watching Michael . But even though the reception was at least an hour old, only Mr. Pollock had approached him. She wondered why.

      “If you ever decide to stay put, you know you have a job with me.” Mr. Pollock was about to say more when a willowy girl in her early teens with a mouthful of braces grabbed his hand.

      “You said you’d dance with me, Uncle Nick,” she said, pulling him away as she spoke.

      “Can you believe how shy this girl is,” he called to them over his shoulder, but he was laughing. “Catch you both later.”

      Michael turned back around in his seat.

      “Ghana? El Salvador?” Sara listed the countries. “I thought you said you were in construction.”

      “ Overseas construction,” he said. “I go where the work is.”

      “Isn’t all that moving around tough on you?”

      “It suits me,” he said.

      “Not me. My dad was a navy JAG so we never stayed in one place for long when I was growing up. I think that’s why Indigo Springs appeals to me. You can put down roots here.”

      He was silent.

      “How long ago did you leave?” she asked.

      “Nine years.” He gave her a wry smile. “And it’s time I left again. That catering truck should be gone СКАЧАТЬ