Hometown Sheriff Page 7

  “Please?” Jamie asked, turning imploring Nicklike eyes on her. “You can see my Scooby-Doo tent, too.”

  “Okay,” she said. “I need to go shut down my laptop.”

  Half an hour later, she sat in the Sinclairs’ family room, a strictly masculine domain featuring a black leather sofa and recliners, a wide screen TV and functional tables and lamps. The walls were decorated only by photographs of Jamie, framed drawings—obviously Jamie’s handiwork—and certificates.

  Jamie played a video for her and showed her a case filled with small collector cars. “This one’s like my dad’s,” he said, and drove the Chevy with sharp tail fins across the top of a trunk that served as a coffee table.

  “It sure is.”

  “Guess where I got this one,” he said, holding up an apple-red truck.

  “Um. Santa brought it to you.”

  He scoffed. “There’s no Santa, Ryanne. Only babies think there’s Santa.”

  “Sorry. Your dad bought it for you,” she guessed again.

  “Nope. My friend Wade traded it to me for my silver one with the black stripes.”

  “Ah-ha.” Ryanne admired his car collection for several minutes until Nick invited her to join him in the kitchen.

  “I figured you’d be grilling outside,” she said, watching him turn steaks on the grill built into the countertop stove. The smell of cooking beef made her mouth water.

  “Too hot. Want to slice that tomato?”

  She picked up the tomato and a knife and did as he’d asked.

  Mel stood across the center island from her, tearing salad greens. “Sure is nice to have you back,” he said. “Are you enjoying your vacation?”

  Thinking over her day, as well as the evening before, she realized these had been some of the best, most relaxing times she’d spent in years. She hadn’t thought of—her stomach took a plunge—Mason all day. Quickly she detoured the direction of her thoughts. “I think I am. My calves are a little sore. I ran a couple of miles this morning.”

  “In this heat? Ah, well, you’re young.”

  Nick reached back for a plate, his gaze sliding across her and a smile inching one side of his mouth into a self-amused grin. Recalling his comments about her being older than him, she wondered if that’s what he was thinking. When Mel turned toward the sink, she flicked the tomato stem she’d cut out and it hit Nick in the neck.

  He had changed out of his uniform into a T-shirt and worn jeans. The soft-looking shirt emphasized his broad shoulders and well-formed back. When he reached up to remove the bit of tomato from his neck, his muscles flexed with the movement and her mouth went dry.

  He forked the delicious-looking steaks onto a plate.

  They ate informally in the breakfast nook, Jamie chattering about his day, about the games he and Ryanne had played that afternoon. Being around Jamie was like being around Nick a hundred years ago. Nick had always been full of energy and quick to laugh. That playfulness had been stifled when his mother had taken ill. Ryanne remembered him always working and taking care of Justin during those difficult years.

  Sometimes now, in the little things he said, the teasing looks he gave her, she glimpsed the Nick she’d known back then. He looked so good to her, so surprisingly good, that until now she hadn’t noticed the tired lines around his mouth. When her focus settled on his lips, and she found herself watching him chew, she dragged her attention back to her food.

  She hadn’t eaten a steak this good—or a steak, period—for six months, and she enjoyed every savory bite until she couldn’t take another.

  “You done?” Nick asked.

  She nodded, and he stabbed the remainder, placed it on his plate and cut into the beef.

  Ryanne ran her finger down the condensation on the tall glass of ice water Nick had poured for her. Taking a drink, she glanced up to find him studying her with blue fire in his eyes. She set the glass down, swallowing and blotting her lips with her napkin.

  Nick laid down his fork.

  Something odd was happening between them, something unfamiliar and disturbing. It was as though a subtle, yet forceful, current ran between them, channeling energy back and forth.

  “Do we get dessert?” Jamie asked, after polishing off his second hot dog.

  Nick tore his gaze from Ryanne’s and nodded. “Strawberry shortcake.”

  “Yippee!”

  “You made it?” she asked, prepared to be impressed again.

  In reply, he whispered, “I bought it at Turner’s deli. Norm has a gal come in and make desserts and salads each day. Don’t blow my image. The kid thinks I’m super dad.”

  “Your image is safe with me.”

  He gave her a wink and stood to clear the plates.

  She raised a hand, and he sat back down. “Let me,” she offered.

  Carrying dishes to the sink, she arranged them in the dishwasher, then found the dessert in the refrigerator. Single slices, four of them. “How did you know I’d be having dinner with you?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “One piece was for your lunch tomorrow,” she guessed.

  He shook his head. “Midnight snack.”

  “Good thing I saved you. You’ll get fat, waking up to eat at midnight.” She wasn’t kidding anybody. He looked great, so whatever he’d been eating thus far had been in his favor.

  “Nick’s already up at midnight,” Mel said. “He’s a night owl.”

  Could have fooled her. He looked as though he’d gotten his beauty sleep in spades.

  “You didn’t get to see my tent yet,” Jamie said, finishing his dessert and jumping up.

  “Wash your hands, son,” Nick told him automatically.

  “Yes, sir.” Jamie went into a bathroom off the kitchen and water ran for several minutes.

  “He’s a thorough washer,” Nick explained.

  Ryanne nodded.

  “There’s also a pump bottle of glittery blue soap in there. Smells like bubble gum,” Mel said, wrinkling his nose. “And Nick finally got him washing his hands without kicking up a fuss.”

  Jamie returned, smelling like Dubble Bubble, and led Ryanne up the stairs to his bedroom.

  He had a bed that looked like a race car, with a matching spread and pillows and curtains. One entire wall held shelves four feet tall, which were stuffed with action figures, cars and trucks of all sizes, videos, crates of blocks and cans of Legos, balls and board games. Jamie opened a closet that held more toys, as well as clothing and plastic storage containers, and pulled out a vinyl tent, which he promptly pulled open and snapped into form.

  Scuttling inside, he called, “Come on in. It’s really cool.”

  Cool was the right word. Being in the Sinclairs’ house was the first time she hadn’t perspired buckets all day. Ryanne crawled in and imagined lying down for a long comfortable nap. Jamie immediately scrambled out and returned with a plastic Scooby-Doo lunch box.

  “Those were made of metal when I was a kid.”

  “I know. Wade’s dad collects ’em. He has some really cool ones, like GI Joe and the Porridge Family.”

  “The Partridge Family?”

  “Uh-huh. This one’s not for lunch, though. This is for my special stuff.”

  “Oh.”

  “Wanna see?”

  “If you want to show me.”

  He opened the latch and solemnly removed a stack of photographs, their corners bent and worn. He showed her a picture of Nick and another man standing beside a small car that she’d seen but couldn’t place. “What kind of car is this?” she asked, more to herself than to the child.

  But surprisingly, he knew the answer. “A VW Carmen Ghia,” he replied.

  Nick had a dark beard and she had to look twice to make sure it was him.

  The next snapshot was of Jamie at a birthday party, surrounded by gifts and balloons. Another showed him blowing out five candles. Yet another had him sprawled on Mel’s lap in one of the leather recliners, both of them sleeping. She smiled.

  “This
is me and my mama,” Jamie told her, reverently extending a picture.

  Ryanne took it and studied the frail-looking blonde holding the chubby, dark-haired baby. The young woman’s smile seemed kind of sad. Ryanne remembered Holly with Justin, two teenagers laughing, holding hands, driving fast. She tried to picture Nick with this girl, married to her, but she couldn’t.

  “She’s pretty, isn’t she?”

  “Very pretty.” Ryanne hadn’t been around many kids, but Jamie seemed like a smart, friendly, well-adjusted child, even though he obviously missed having a mother. Even after observing the Sinclairs for only a few days, she knew without a doubt that Nick had done a terrific job of raising his son.

  “Will you read me a story?” he asked.

  “Jamie, don’t overwhelm Ryanne.” Nick’s voice came from above the tent.

  The child met her eyes, a question in his.

  She smiled indulgently. “I don’t mind reading him a story. In fact, let me go get the falcon book your grandma gave me.”

  “All right!”

  Nick’s hair-sprinkled feet, still bare as they’d been as he’d cooked supper, were the first things she saw when she crawled out of the tent. She stood up and faced him.

  “If you’re sure, I’ll go take a shower,” he said.

  “Go ahead. I’ll be right back, Jamie.”

  When she returned, Jamie had spread a blanket and piled his bed pillows inside the colorful plastic tent. Ryanne crawled in and made herself comfortable. The boy had even angled the lamp beside his bed so that the light shone directly through a flap on the side. He wore a pair of summer pajamas and smelled like bubble gum and toothpaste. Maybe it was bubble gum toothpaste.

  As soon as she opened the book, he scooted over beside her, his shoulder against her arm, his hip against hers, and it was the most natural thing in the world to slip her arm around him.

  There’d never been a child in her life, and the feelings this little guy created inside her were new. What a loving, trusting creature he was. Inquisitive, bright. And unique. Even though he reminded her of Nick, he was his own person, a person she’d begun to like very much.

  Occasionally, Jamie made a comment about the story or asked a question. When it was over, he pulled a comic book from under the blanket and showed her the pictures, making up delightful captions as he turned pages.

  Finally, he laid the comic down and rolled over with his cheek against a pillow. His eyelids lowered drowsily. “My dad’s gonna build me a tree house for my next birthday. It’s gonna be in the tree beside the garage.”

  “That’s a good tree.”

  “It has a place where sticky stuff comes out,” he mentioned. “You should see it.”

  “That’s sap.”

  “Oh. What’s it for?”

  “Well...I guess the sap in a tree is like blood in our bodies. It probably carries the nutrients out of the soil up into the branches, like our blood carries vitamins and minerals from our food to all parts of our bodies.”

  She wasn’t sure her explanation was scientifically correct, but it didn’t matter, because his eyes had drifted shut and he’d fallen asleep.

  Hesitantly, Ryanne touched his silky dark hair, fingered it back from his temple, placed the backs of her fingers against his incredibly smooth cheek and caressed the skin for a moment. Nick was a lucky man, and any mother who could leave this child was a woman she didn’t understand. But then, she didn’t know the circumstances, and she wasn’t anyone who should be criticizing others on their choices.

  She moved the books to the side and covered him with the end of the blanket, then backed out of the tent and turned off the lamp.

  Nick was downstairs at the computer, studying numbers and listings of some sort on the screen. Fantasy football, maybe? He caught her approach from his side vision. “Shall I go up and tuck him in?”

  “Too late. He’s out. Inside the tent.”

  He grinned. “You’ll be his favorite playmate if you don’t say no once in a while.”

  “I didn’t mind.” She hadn’t had anything better to do, really, and being with Jamie made her forget about her weighty problems for a while. She hadn’t been able to do that for months, so their time together that day had been a blessing. “What are you doing?”

  “Comparing prices on some parts.”

  Standing behind him, she breathed in the enticing scent of sandalwood—his soap or shampoo. “Car parts?”

  “No, body parts. I have a black market thing going on here. Don’t look in the freezer.”

  His short, dark hair was still wet. “You’re still a smarty-pants, Sinclair, you know that?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Where’s your dad?”

  “Watching TV in his room.” He bookmarked a site and closed his laptop, turning toward Ryanne in the chair.

  “You have a great kid,” she told him, backing away and leaning against the center island counter.

  He had dressed in a pair of faded jeans with a rip in one knee and a T-shirt with the armholes cut out nearly to his waist, exposing acres of tanned skin. He nodded in agreement.

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt you,” she said, gesturing to the computer.

  “I have all night,” he replied.

  She raised a brow. “Like you don’t need to sleep?”

  He shrugged. “Care for an iced tea?”

  “I’d better get going.”

  “Jamie enjoyed you spending time with him. Thanks.”

  “No need to thank me. I enjoy him, too.”

  “He doesn’t get to spend much time with, well, women, except at his day care. I know they’re great to him and love him, but there are a dozen kids there, and he probably feels a lot more special having you all to himself.”

  “He is special, Nick. I never knew that a child would be...fun.”

  “It’s not all fun, trust me.”

  “I suppose not.” She headed for the back door and he followed.

  The muggy night air enveloped her as she stepped onto the back porch. He closed the door behind him and glanced upward. “Look at that clear sky. There are a million stars tonight.”

  They stood side by side in the backyard, necks craned. “I can’t remember the last time I did any stargazing,” she said. “I guess I’d see them once in a while from the balcony of my condo, but it wasn’t like this. The lights of the city outshine the stars. Here, you can see all of heaven.”

  “If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you’ve missed this place.”

  “No. I didn’t miss everybody knowing about and butting into my business. I didn’t miss the dreadful winters.” She lowered her gaze to study her mother’s house. She hadn’t missed the monotony or the provincial amenities. “How have you stood it this long?”

  The question didn’t surprise Nick. Ryanne had always wanted to leave Elmwood. She’d never understood his lack of desire to get away. He recalled one time, the year she’d been a senior and he’d been a sophomore, when she’d spoken to him of how she was going to take her scholarship and make something of herself in the world.

  Don’t you want to do something more than just work on old cars? she’d asked him. What have you planned for after high school?

  Working on old cars had sounded just fine to him. Still did. But she’d made it plain that his aspirations weren’t lofty enough for her. Obviously, she thought the same of his lowly sheriff’s job.

  “Where would I go that would be better than here?” he asked, honestly wondering. “The things that are wrong in my life would still be wrong no matter where I went. And many of the things that are good would be left behind.”

  She contemplated him, as though absorbing his words, but he knew she didn’t comprehend his hometown philosophies. “Haven’t you ever wanted more?” she asked.

  She had no idea. She knew nothing about him. Not really. Sure, he’d had dreams—who didn’t? But he’d had responsibilities, too. Still did. Her question angered him. “Do you think you’re happier than
I am because you went after more?” he asked.

  She sucked in a breath and looked away quickly.

  “Is more all it’s cracked up to be?” he persisted.

  She shrugged a shoulder finally. “I’d better go in.”

  She took a step to move away, but he caught her wrist.

  Turning back slowly, she glanced up at his face. Moonlight accentuated the moisture glistening in her eyes. He was an idiot. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. “Hey,” he said. “I’m proud of you for making something of yourself.”

  “Don’t be,” she replied.

  He dropped his hand from her arm. “Let’s walk down around the corner and see if we can spot any muskrats in the creek.”

  “What about Jamie?”

  “He’s fine. Dad’s still awake.”

  Surprising him, she said, “Okay.”

  They walked across his backyard, down a block and cut across a steep bank that led down to Penny Creek. The grass was high, and he walked ahead of her, flattening a path. Beneath his bare feet, the grass was cool. Near the water’s edge, they stopped and studied the bubbling water as it flowed over rocks and limbs in the moonlight.

  “Remember when we thought we’d catch one?” he asked. “We made a trap out of my dad’s tomato cages and some chicken wire.”

  Ryanne laughed and found a flat rock to sit on.

  Nick sat beside her.

  “Have you dated anyone since Holly?” she asked.

  “You’re getting kind of personal here.”

  She amused him more than she could know. This was so like the conversations they’d had all their lives. So different from anything he’d ever shared with anyone else. And he didn’t mind the intimacy one bit. “I’ve dated a few women since Holly.”

  “Really? Ha! Who?”

  He stood up at that. “I’m not going to tell you who!”

  “Why not? Are you ashamed?”

  “No!”

  “Embarrassed?”

  “No.”

  “What then?”

  “Well, you just don’t need to know,” he said finally. He moved to the edge of the water, used his toe to find a rock, and threw it into the creek.

  “Okay,” she said from behind him.

  Another splash sounded.

  “’Spose that was a frog?” she asked.