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Lassoing the Deputy
Marie Ferrarella
Can He Rope Her In?Ten years ago Cash Taylor said goodbye to his close-knit hometown and hello to the fast track of big-city success. Now a criminal lawyer with a guilty heart and a lot of soul-searching to do, he’s back in Forever, Texas, for his grandfather’s wedding.Taking a walk down the aisle himself is the last thing on his mind. That is, until he sees Alma Rodriguez, the woman he was crazy about but left behind. As a deputy, Alma knows how to keep her emotions in check. It’s not easy, especially when Cash looks into her eyes.He hurt her once, yet she can’t resist having him in her life again. Alma sees he’s troubled, and she wants to help—if she can keep love out of the equation. But it just might be the answer they both need!



Can he rope her in?
Ten years ago Cash Taylor said goodbye to his close-knit hometown and hello to the fast track of big-city success. Now a criminal lawyer with a guilty heart and a lot of soul-searching to do, he’s back in Forever, Texas, for his grandfather’s wedding. Taking a walk down the aisle himself is the last thing on his mind. That is, until he sees Alma Rodriguez, the woman he was crazy about but left behind.
As a deputy, Alma knows how to keep her emotions in check. It’s not easy, especially when Cash looks into her eyes. He hurt her once, yet she can’t resist having him in her life again. Alma sees he’s troubled, and she wants to help—if she can keep love out of the equation. But it just might be the answer they both need!
“Cash, is something wrong?”
He looked at her for a long moment before finally answering. “Other than my realizing how badly I treated you?”
“Yes.”
“I’m just realizing how many wrong turns I’ve taken since I left Forever.”
He was lying to her.
And then he abruptly changed the subject by looking at her, a hint of a smile curving his mouth. “A deputy, huh?”
“Why not? I was always interested in criminology,” she reminded him.
“I know, but I guess I thought that you were ultimately going to go into ranching. That criminology was, you know, like a hobby with you.”
“I guess that maybe you didn’t know me as well as you thought.”
“No,” he agreed sadly. “I guess not.”
To hell with backing off.
And she intended to fix whatever was wrong with Cash. For old times’ sake.
Dear Reader,
Welcome back to Forever, the little Texas town you first encountered when Sheriff Rick Santiago discovered a baby on his doorstep. A lot has happened to the peace-loving citizens since then, and it’s his deputy Alma Rodriguez’s turn to have her story told.
Ten years ago Alma was in love with Cash Taylor, who went off to college on the west coast to make something of himself so that they could begin their future. However, along the way he was at first seduced by big-city life, and then lost his soul there. He felt he was no longer worthy of someone like Alma, who was feisty, loyal and loving. But when his grandfather, the man who raised him after his own parents died, asks him to be his best man at his wedding, Cash cannot bring himself to say no. When he arrives, Alma is determined to keep a tight rein on her heart, and Cash is just as determined not to open his heart again because the consequences would be just too great. Ah, the best laid plans of mice and men (and women)...
As always, I thank you for taking the time to read my book, and from the bottom of my heart, I wish you someone to love who loves you back.
Best,
Marie Ferrarella

Lassoing the Deputy
Marie Ferrarella


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Marie Ferrarella is a USA TODAY bestselling and RITA® Award-winning author who has written over two hundred books for Silhouette and Harlequin Books, some under the name of Marie Nicole. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide. Visit her website at www.marieferrarella.com.
To
Helen Conrad
Who Has Gone
To A Galaxy
Even Further Away
Than Before.
Miss You.
Contents
Prologue (#u78e45c2e-3ce2-57c8-bef7-f9079b7eb158)
Chapter One (#uec1357be-e25d-5d3e-b18f-2f7cec13170a)
Chapter Two (#ubaf55662-3636-5577-a56b-7ca3cad2add6)
Chapter Three (#ufb6db125-586f-5ca4-b947-f1a32708eed3)
Chapter Four (#u9c6a4823-f592-508e-9d13-db36e8884365)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue
He almost hadn’t seen it.
The letter had arrived in his mailbox early this afternoon, tucked in between meaningless advertisements, flyers and catalogs offering him everything from overpriced steaks, uniquely packed and shipped overnight to his Beverly Hills apartment, to useless toys and gadgets only “the discerning professional could appreciate”—or hope to pay for, for that matter.
He’d tossed the lot of them into the garbage, but his aim was off and several pieces of mail fell to the kitchen floor instead of into the silver garbage pail.
He stooped to pick up the fallen pieces in order to throw them away, and that was when he found his grandfather’s letter stuck in between the catalogs.
Even so, he almost hadn’t opened the envelope.
He loved the man dearly. Harry Taylor was his only living relative and the best person—man or woman—that he knew, but the ever-widening dark vortex where he had resided these past four months was growing too large for him to crawl out of anymore.
He wanted his pain, his guilt to finally be over.
Others might have forgiven him for what had happened, but he couldn’t forgive himself, and lately, the burden had gotten to be too much for him to handle.
But the letter continued to call to him.
His grandfather, who staunchly refused to have anything to do with “modern nonsense” like computers or the internet, preferred to communicate the old-fashioned way and had written the letter using pen and paper.
Holding the envelope in his hand, Cash Taylor smiled for the first time in weeks, thinking fondly of the man who had written this.
His grandfather had always been there for him, taking him and his mother in when his father was killed in a freak accident on an offshore oil rig. And the man became his sole guardian when his mother died less than a year later, losing her battle with cancer.
A simple, hardworking, decent man, his grandfather knew nothing about what had happened, what was going on presently in his life.
His days on the ranch and living in Forever represented the best years of his life, Cash recalled, not for the first time.
Very slowly, he opened the letter. It wasn’t a long missive, as his grandfather had never been enamored with his own words. Consequently, the letter was incredibly short.

I’m getting hitched again, boy. To Miss Joan! Can you believe it? I finally wore her down. Wedding’s on a Saturday in three weeks. I know you’re real busy, but it would really make me proud to have you there, standing up for me. I miss you, boy.
Grandpa

That was all.
Folding the letter again, Cash tucked it back into the envelope. There was an ache in his soul, a yearning for what had once been.
“I miss you, too, Grandpa,” he whispered. “More than you could possibly know.”
In all the years that he had lived with the man, his grandfather had never come right out and asked him for a favor. But this invitation was clearly a request for a favor—his presence at the ceremony.
Cash looked at the gun he’d purchased just this week. The gun he’d bought to put him out of his misery.
The same gun, it now occurred to him, that would put his grandfather into misery.
He couldn’t pay the old man back for everything he’d done, for all his kindness, love and patience by killing himself. It wouldn’t be right or fair.
Cash picked up the weapon and crossed to his lavish bedroom with its vaulted ceiling and marble-tiled fireplace. He slipped the gun into the back of the bottom drawer of his bureau.
Disappointing his grandfather was not an option.
He was going to the wedding. There was time enough when he got back to do what he felt he had to do.
It wasn’t until later that he realized the invitation was a lifeline he’d grabbed on to and held with both hands.
His grandfather had saved him for a second time.
Chapter One
Sheriff Rick Santiago paused on his way back from the coffee machine, a filled mug in his hand. He looked thoughtfully at one-third of his team, his only female deputy, Alma Rodriguez. There was an odd expression on her face and she appeared to be at least a million miles away.
She’d been like that since yesterday and it just wasn’t her usual, cheerful behavior. He was accustomed to the raven-haired woman smiling and humming to herself.
He wasn’t used to seeing sadness in her brown eyes. “You doing okay, Alma?” he asked, his voice low and confidential.
Surprised at being addressed, Alma dragged her mind back to the sheriff’s office and tried her best to focus on her boss’s voice. It wasn’t easy when her mind was going off in three different directions at once. “Sure. I’m fine. Why?”
“I don’t know, you look a little…off,” he finally said for lack of a better word to describe what he’d been witnessing these past two days.
“No, I’m fine,” she answered with perhaps a tad too much enthusiasm. “But thanks for asking,” she added, hoping that would send Rick back to his broom closet of an office and thus bring an end to further questions.
Ordinarily, she would have loved nothing better than to lean back and talk with the sheriff, a man she not only admired, but liked. Forever being the semi-sleepy little Texas town that it was, there wasn’t all that much to do when the town’s two alcohol devotees weren’t staggering down the street because they’d imbibed just a wee bit too much, or Mrs. Allen’s cat didn’t once more need coaxing out of the tall front-yard tree.
And as for Miss Elizabeth, she hadn’t wandered down Main Street in her nightgown in nearly a year.
Crime, such as it was in Forever, was definitely down, allowing her to have too much time on her hands. And consequently, too much time to think about things she didn’t want to think about.
Like Cash Tyler’s return, however brief.
She wasn’t ready for it.
Harry Monroe had dropped his bombshell on her yesterday, gleefully telling her his grandson, Cash, was coming for the wedding.
Her stomach had been pinched in half ever since.
“Reason I’m asking,” Rick went on, leaning his hip against the side of her desk for a moment, “is because, besides that look of preoccupation on your face, the coffee you made this morning is just this side of lethal.” He paused to take a sip of the hot, inky brew, as if to show her that he had managed to survive the drink. “Now, I don’t mind it that way, and most likely Joe won’t, either,” he said, referring to his deputy brother-in-law, Joe Lone Wolf. “We like our coffee almost solid. But Larry, well, Larry just might threaten to sue you.” Humor curved his mouth as he referred to his third deputy, Larry Conroy, who was not the most mild-mannered man under any circumstances. “After he gets up off the floor and stops sputtering and choking, of course.”
It wasn’t that Larry was delicate exactly, but the man was downright picky about everything. While nothing ever pleased the man, this would definitely set him off on a marathon complaining session, he thought.
“My thinking is that maybe you put in twice as much coffee this time around,” he pointed out kindly, as if her error was the most natural one in the world. “Knowing how meticulous you normally are, I’m thinking that maybe you’ve got something on your mind.”
Rick leveled his dark eyes at her, giving her a look that had been known to make ten-year-old candy thieves confess to their crimes in an instant. It’d worked pretty well on the few suspects he had had to interrogate. Then he got down to what he really wanted to say to his deputy. “Something you’d like to get off your chest, but don’t really feel comfortable talking about at home?”
Alma’s family was comprised of five brothers and her father. It had been that way for a while now and her home life wasn’t really geared toward anything feminine. Normally, that was fine with her, since, for the most part, she’d always been a tomboy. Competitive to a fault, she took great pleasure in beating her brothers at whatever challenge came their way. But there were times, she had to admit, when she longed for another woman to talk to, to confide in. Granted, those times were few and far between, but they did occur.
Like these past couple of days.
Rick had noticed that, for the past two days, his energetic deputy looked anything but. He’d noticed a change, a difference in her demeanor. Her body was here, but her mind was somewhere else. He figured that as her boss—and as someone who cared—he wanted to know exactly where that was.
“What I’m saying,” Rick continued when she didn’t say anything, “is that you can talk to me. Anytime,” he stressed. “In or out of the office.”
A small smile curved the corners of her mouth. “I know that and I appreciate it.” She did her best to look as if she was brightening up. “But there’s nothing wrong, really.”
He knew resistance when he saw it, so for now he didn’t push the matter. “Except for the coffee,” he pointed out, raising his semi-filled mug.
“Except for the coffee,” she echoed in agreement. “Sorry about that.” Pushing her chair away from her desk, Alma rose to her feet. “I’ll go water it down before Larry has a chance to drink it.”
“Good idea.” Rick turned away and headed toward his office. To the best of his recollection, it was the first time that Alma had ever lied to him. But he wasn’t about to push her. She’d come around in her own time and he intended to be there for her when she did.
It occurred to him, as he sat down at his desk and looked at the framed photograph of his wife and infant daughter, that Alma might feel better talking to Olivia. Sometimes women opened up to other women.
As he took another sip of the leaden coffee, the sheriff thought about sending his wife to Alma on some pretext and then suggesting that the two of them go out for lunch. Maybe his deputy would feel more inclined to talk outside the office. Something was bothering her and he sure as hell intended to get to the bottom of it one way or another. He didn’t like seeing his people troubled.
Alma emptied out the nearly full pot of coffee into the sink in the tiny kitchenette. As she looked at the black mass that she had prepared earlier going down the drain, she had to admit that the coffee could have easily passed for mud. She was surprised that the sheriff was actually drinking it.
She made certain she didn’t let her mind wander as she prepared another pot.
That was stupid of her, Alma upbraided herself. To get so lost in her own thoughts that she hadn’t paid attention. That just wasn’t like her. She was the one who could always multitask, juggling three or four things at once.
The sheriff had been right, she thought ruefully, measuring out exact amounts of coffee. She’d added twice the amount of coffee per cup when she’d made the coffee this morning. That was completely unacceptable, not because she had made a terrible pot of coffee, but because she’d allowed her mind to wander to that extent.
Okay, so she didn’t have to be constantly on her toes the way her counterparts in the major cities had to be. Here, there were no life-and-death scenarios—outside of fire season, she qualified. But that was no excuse. She was letting Cash mess with her mind and he wasn’t even here yet. What was she going to be like when he was?
You’ll be fine, you hear me? Fine, she told herself fiercely.
It might not actually be fire season yet, she amended, but it sure felt like it to her. Except this was a different kind of fire. It was fire of the heart, she thought with a pang as she mentally counted the number of cups of water she was pouring in. God forbid she wound up doing something else wrong and sending everyone in the office running over to the walk-in clinic run by Dr. Davenport, complaining of stomach cramps.
You’ve got to get a grip, Alma. He’s only a man. Cash Taylor is probably fat and married and nothing like you remember. So snap out of it! she ordered herself.
She just couldn’t get his face out of her mind. His face the way he’d looked that last time they had been together. Right before he left Forever. And her. For good.
“You okay, Alma?”
This time it was Joe Lone Wolf asking. He was standing right next to her, she realized with a start. She hadn’t heard him come up, but then the man was a Navajo and he had a tendency to make as much noise as a shadow when he walked.
“Yes,” she bit off, “I’m fine. Why are you asking?” she demanded.
Joe took a step back, as if her temper had a physical side to it and it had pushed him away from her.
“Well, for one thing, you’re frowning,” he told her. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you frown before. From the inside,” he emphasized. “It made me think that maybe something was wrong and that I could help.” He nodded at the pot. “Is it ready yet?”
“Another couple of minutes,” she replied, relieved to have the subject changed.
She had to stop being so defensive. Rick and Joe were only showing concern. They cared about her.
Unlike Cash.
She did her best to smile. “Nothing’s wrong,” she lied. That made two, she thought, wondering what her limit for lies was.
Two?
Ten?
Two hundred? Just where did she draw the line? It would have been so much better if she just didn’t care. But she did. “I’m just thinking about what I was going to bring to the wedding as a gift for Miss Joan.”
“Hey, don’t want to leave Harry out,” Larry, overhearing her, chimed in as he came into the kitchenette. “They’re going to be a set now, Miss Joan and Harry.” The young deputy shook his head. “Miss Joan, married. Wow. It’s going to be really hard picturing her that way.” He helped himself to a cup of coffee. “Wonder if that means she’s going to raise her rates after they exchange vows.”
“What does one thing have to do with the other?” Alma didn’t see the connection.
Larry measured out four tablespoons of sugar. Watching him, it was all Joe could do to keep from shivering at the thought of taking in all that sweetness.
“Well, she’s going to be starting a new life as a bride, right? That means she’s going to want to have a lot of new things, isn’t she? New things cost money and her source of income is that diner of hers. Put two and two together, Alma,” Larry said loftily. “Miss Joan’s going to raise her rates, just you watch.” He frowned. “I’m going to have to start bringing sandwiches from home.”
“That means you’re going to have to learn how to make sandwiches first,” Joe quipped quietly.
Larry appeared not to hear, but he heard Alma’s protest loud and clear. Miss Joan had a very special place in her heart. The woman had given her a job at the diner when she was fifteen so that she, along with her brothers, could earn money to help their dad with the overwhelming medical costs that were involved in trying to keep their mother alive for just a little longer. Alma knew for a fact that Miss Joan had paid her more than the usual going rate.
“Miss Joan’s not going to do any such thing,” Alma insisted. “She’s not like that. Besides, that’s what the bridal shower is for, so that we can give her all those little extras. She’s already got anything she might need,” she pointed out to the blond deputy. “This is Miss Joan we’re talking about. Anything she needs, she’s got either at home or at the diner.”
“And Harry hasn’t exactly been living in a tree all these years,” Joe pointed out, joining the discussion and siding with Alma.
Sampling his coffee, Larry found that there was something missing. He put in more cream. His coffee now resembled light tan milk. “True, he’s got that ranch of his. And the house,” Larry agreed.
The house.
The house where Cash had lived before he’d left for college. Before he’d left her.
The yelp that rose from her lips had been an automatic reaction, happening so quickly she didn’t have time to stifle it. The back of her hand had come in contact with the coffeepot. Annoyed with herself, she pressed her lips together as she pulled back her stinging hand.
“Alma, you’re going to burn your hand,” Larry warned needlessly.
Joe was standing next to her and saw the instant patch of angry red that had popped up. “Hell, she already has,” he said. He took her hand, holding on to it by her palm. “C’mon, let’s get this under cold water first and then I can make this poultice for you—”
She pulled her hand away from him. The last thing she wanted was to be fussed over as if she was some helpless damsel in distress.
Get a grip, damn it! she repeated to herself.
“I’m fine, really,” she told Joe. Looking up, she saw that Rick had been drawn back to the kitchenette, most likely because she’d just yelped and made a fool of herself. She’d worked hard to make them all respect her and now she was sacrificing it all in a few minutes. This had to stop. “All of you, stop hovering over me.”
“We’ll stop hovering,” Rick told her patiently, “when you stop acting as if you’re expecting to see the ghost of Christmas past at any moment.”
He knew, she thought. Most likely, so did Joe. Damn it, she was supposed to keep her feelings to herself, not have them out in plain sight where everyone could see them on her face.
And feel sorry for her.
“I’m not waiting to see a ghost from Christmas past or from any other event,” she retorted. “I’m just a little preoccupied today, that’s all. Nothing that none of you haven’t been at one time or other—and a lot more than me,” she declared.
“Yeah, but you’re Alma. You don’t do things like that,” Joe pointed out in his calm, mild voice. “You’re supposed to be the one who keeps the rest of us in line, remember?”
“Flattery, nice way to defuse the situation,” Rick commented, amused, after Alma had retreated to the communal restroom to run cold water over the red mark on her hand.
“Works with Mona,” Joe said with the barest hint of a smile.
Rick laughed. “Maybe I’ll try that on Olivia, see if it works next time she’s got her back up about something.”
Larry shook his head in disbelief. “Henpecked, both of you.”
“Not henpecked,” Joe corrected. “Thoughtful.”
“And smart,” Rick interjected. “You get more flies with honey than you do with vinegar.”
“Yeah, if flies are what you’re after,” Larry cracked.
Joe and Rick exchanged looks. “He’s missing the point,” Joe commented.
“Completely,” Rick agreed. “Get back to us when you’re married, Larry. We’ll talk.”
“Married?” Larry echoed. “You’re kidding, right? Same routine every night? No, thanks. I’m never getting married.”
“Right. You just keep on living the dream, Larry,” Joe said, patting the other man on the shoulder.
“You really don’t know what you’re missing,” Rick told the younger deputy as he walked away.
He meant what he said. Because, for the first time in his life, he knew the difference between just being resigned to his lot and being really happy about it. And Olivia and their daughter made him happier than he had ever thought possible.
Larry muttered something unintelligible under his breath and went back to his desk.
“Jealous,” Joe concluded.
“Obviously,” Rick agreed. And then he became serious for a moment as they passed the restroom. “Do me a favor. Keep an eye on Alma,” he requested in a lower voice, nodding toward the restroom door.
“No problem,” Joe said.
On the other side of the door, about to walk out, Alma overheard the sheriff and Joe. There was no point in saying that she didn’t need anyone’s eye on her. What she needed was for Cash not to come back to Forever and mar what would otherwise be a very festive occasion.
But there was no way around it. Harry had been very excited when he’d told her. Cash was coming back for the wedding and she was just going to have to find a way to live with that until he left again.
It wasn’t fair, Alma thought, putting back the coffee can in the cupboard and automatically tidying up the kitchenette. It wasn’t fair that she cared after all this time and Cash obviously didn’t.
But she’d dealt with everything else that life had thrown at her; she could get through this, as well.
Hadn’t she dealt with her mother’s illness and with having to pitch in with her brothers to earn extra money to help her father pay all the medical bills that had accrued? Bills that had to be paid despite the fact that in the end, her mother hadn’t been saved. She’d succumbed to the insidious disease that had eaten away at her, a shell of the bright-eyed, vibrant woman she’d once been.
And hadn’t she dealt with the harsh reality that she wasn’t able to go away to college even as Cash, thanks to his grandfather’s insistence, left to pursue his dreams of becoming a lawyer?
She could have just given up then, but she didn’t. At that time she’d still believed that Cash would come back to her once he got his degree. Determined that he would never have cause to be ashamed of her, she’d been hell-bent to make something of herself. So, continuing to work at Miss Joan’s diner in order to earn a living, she took courses online at night.
It took a while, but she had finally gotten her degree in criminology. She’d always wanted to go into law enforcement and had been overjoyed when Rick had hired her on as a deputy.
Her eventual goal was to become a sheriff if and when Rick decided to move on.
If he didn’t, then most likely she would. But all that was for a nebulous “someday.” Right now, for the time being, this town where she’d been born was still her home.
A home that was about to be invaded.
She would have to psyche herself up, that was all, Alma silently counseled herself.
After she finished tidying up, she folded the kitchen towel, left it on the minuscule counter and walked back to the main room and her desk.
She was just going to have to—
Her thoughts abruptly came to a screeching halt and then went up in smoke just as her heart went into double time.
Cash was standing, bigger than life, right there in the middle of the sheriff’s office.
And right in front of her.
Chapter Two
“Hey, Alma, look who I just found walking by our office,” Larry called out. It became apparent that the blond-haired deputy had snagged Cash and brought him in, thinking perhaps that he was doing a good deed. “The city-slicker lawyer is finally paying the country mice back home a visit.” Larry chuckled at his own display of wit. It was a given around the office that he was always his own best audience. “How’s it going, Cash?” he asked, pumping Cash’s hand. “Any of those fancy ladies in Los Angeles manage to lasso you yet?”
“It’s going well,” Cash replied mechanically. “And no, they haven’t.” He wasn’t looking at Larry when he answered. He was looking at Alma.
And she seemed to be looking into his soul.
That was what he used to say to her, that she was his soul. It was a play on her name, which meant “soul” in Spanish. But, even so, back then, he’d meant it. He’d really felt as if she was his soul. His beginning, his ending.
His everything.
In that last summer, during the space between graduation and his going off to college on the West Coast, no one was more surprised than he was when he found himself falling for her. Really falling for her. They had grown up together. When he and his mother had come to live with his grandfather, he’d been seven years old, and after a while, it felt as if he had always lived here and always known the Rodriguez kids.
Hardly a day went by that he and Alma didn’t see each other, play with each other. Fight with each other. He was friends with her brothers, especially Eli and Gabe, and she always found a way to tag along, no matter how hard he and her brothers initially tried to ditch her.
It seemed that the more they tried, the harder she was to get rid of. Back then, he’d thought of her as a royal pain in the butt. He couldn’t remember exactly when all that had changed, but it had. Slowly, she became his friend, then his confidante, and then, ever so gradually, his best friend.
And finally, his first love.
Now that he thought about it, Alma had been part of his every day.
Until he left for college.
He’d left to make a future for himself and for her. That was what he’d told himself, what he’d believed. But somewhere along the line, he’d let himself get caught up with the newness and of life in a major city like Los Angeles. He was the country boy who hailed from a speck on the map and he wanted to be as polished, as sophisticated as the students he saw around him in his classes.
Still, in the beginning, while he was still homesick, he looked forward to Alma’s letters. He devoured them like a starving man devoured every last morsel of a meal.
But he soon discovered that his tall, blond good looks and Southern accent attracted more than just a handful of women. Male students befriended him, wanting him to be their wingman, their “chick magnet.” And female students just wanted him.
After a while, Cash forgot to answer Alma’s letters. And then he forgot to read them. He told himself he was too busy studying for exams, but the truth was that he’d been too busy cramming as much life as he could into his existence. It was as if he’d felt compelled to make up for lost time.
He had still studied hard, but every weekend saw him partying equally hard, each time with a different girl. That way it couldn’t be construed as anything serious and the tiny part of him that still had a conscience argued that he wasn’t being unfaithful to Alma.
Cash told himself that he was just becoming a more rounded person. He was socializing and making connections that would help his future once he became a lawyer.
Instead, it made him, Cash now realized, as incredibly shallow as the people with whom he socialized.
It had been a hell of a ride, though. Somehow, despite all his frantic partying, he wound up graduating near the top of his class. Offers came in from major law firms to intern with them. He made up his mind quickly. He picked the firm with the highest profile, one that dealt in criminal defense cases.
Once on board, he dedicated himself to becoming the best damn intern Jeffers, Wells, Baumann & Fields had ever had in their one-hundred-and-three-year history. He achieved his goal, rising through the ranks faster than any of the partners who had come before him and were now firmly entrenched in the organization.
And all through his rise, there’d been victories and accolades. And women. Many, many women whose names and faces now seemed to run together.
Somewhere along the line, he didn’t know just when, he’d managed to lose his soul without realizing it. It hadn’t really bothered him very much.
Until that horrible day when everything just blew apart.
All this went through his head in a nanosecond as he stood, looking at Alma, too hollow to even ache. “So how are you, Alma?” he asked quietly.
It almost didn’t sound like Cash. Had she ever known this man? Or had she just imagined it all?
“I’m fine,” she answered politely. Then, because the silence felt awkward, she added, “Your grandfather mentioned you were coming, but I didn’t expect to see you until just before the wedding.”
She didn’t tell him that Harry had gone out of his way to tell her—to prepare her—and that she’d dropped the glass she’d been holding, breaking it on the diner’s counter when she was given the news.
Cash had initially toyed with the idea of waiting until just before the big day, but he knew that if he waited until then, he might not be able to come at all. By then, the despair that held him captive, that ate away at him daily, might have grown too large for him to handle.
But all this was darkness he wasn’t about to share. It was his cross to bear, no one else’s.
So instead, he shrugged in response to her words and said, “I had a little extra vacation time coming to me. I thought I might just come early and catch up on things I’ve let slip away.”
Just like that, huh? You come sashaying back and we’re all supposed to put on some kind of show for you, is that it?
“Good luck with that,” she heard herself saying. With that, she walked past him, deliberately avoiding making contact with his eyes.
His voice followed her. Surrounded her. “My grandfather told me you became a deputy sheriff.”
She turned around. Considering that she was wearing the same khaki shirt and pants that the three men in the office had on, it would have been hard to make any other conclusion.
“I did.”
He laughed softly, but there was no humor in the sound. “Guess I had to see it for myself.”
She glanced down at her uniform, then back at him. “Well, you did.”
Even as the words came out of her mouth, Alma almost winced. Could either of them have sounded any more stilted, any more awkward, than they did?
That last summer, before Cash went away to college, leaving promises in his wake, they had talked about everything under the sun and the stars. There wasn’t a topic they hadn’t touched on.
More than talk, there had been trust. She’d trusted him the way she had never trusted anyone else, not even her brothers. And he had opened up to her, sharing his thoughts, his dreams for a future together with her. When he spoke, he’d created vivid pictures with his words. It had been exciting just to listen to him.
Together, they were going to change the world.
He’d even, at the last minute, she recalled with a pang, urged her to come with him.
But that was one of the impossible dreams.
“I don’t have any money saved,” she’d protested. Just as it had been with her brothers, every penny she’d earned had gone to help pay off her mother’s astronomical medical bills.
It was either that, or stand by and watch her father lose the ranch in order to be able to settle the outstanding account. She couldn’t allow that to happen just because she wanted to follow Cash to California.
“The money doesn’t matter,” Cash had told her with the conviction of the very young. “We’ll find a way.”
She’d wanted to believe him. Wanted, in the worst way, to go with him.
But her sense of honor, her sense of responsibility, had prevented her from impetuously leaving everything behind and following Cash. She just couldn’t bring herself to turn her back on her father at a time like that, even though she knew that he would urge her to follow her heart and tell her that he understood.
It didn’t matter if her father understood. She wouldn’t have been able to live with herself.
And so, she’d had to learn how to live without Cash.
The last night they were together, Cash had watched her solemnly and she remembered thinking that she had never seen such sadness in a person’s eyes. He’d promised her that he would be back for her.
He’d sworn that he would come back for her.
He’d told her that once he had his law degree and was working for a firm, she could stop working and go to school to get her own degree. He’d told her he would pay for it.
She’d hardly heard him. Her heart was aching so badly at the thought of living a single day without him, she could barely stand it. When she couldn’t stop the flow of tears, he’d tried to comfort her. And, as sometimes happens, one thing had led to another.
That was the first time they made love.
He’d left her, with great reluctance, the next morning, promising to be back, to make her proud of him and to love her forever.
Watching him go, his secondhand car growing smaller and smaller against the horizon, Alma had been certain that her heart would break right there and that she would die where she stood.
But she didn’t die.
And her heart only felt broken.
Somehow, she’d found a way to continue. She wrote him every day. What kept her going in the beginning was waiting for his letters.
The wait grew longer, the letters grew fewer. And shorter. Until they stopped coming altogether.
She remembered that now, remembered how she had felt when she finally made herself admit that he wasn’t coming back, not to the town, not to her.
Alma squared her shoulders. “Well, I’ve got work to do,” she told Cash stiffly. “So if you’ll excuse me—”
They sounded like two strangers who didn’t know how to end an awkward conversation, he thought. And that, too, was his fault.
Just like the Douglas murders were his fault.
“Sure. Sorry,” he apologized. “Didn’t mean to keep you from anything. Maybe we can get together later,” he suggested. If there was a note of hope in his voice, it had slipped out and attached itself to his words without his knowledge or blessings.
Alma’s voice was completely flat and without emotion as she echoed the word he’d used. “Maybe.”
When pigs fly, she added silently.
“Nice seeing you again, Alma,” Cash said by way of parting. “Really nice.”
And then he was gone.
Alma didn’t even look up.
“Well, that was awkward,” Larry announced the moment Cash was no longer in the office.
The last thing she wanted was to have a discussion about this—any of this—with Larry. She was fond of the man, but he had a gift for always saying the wrong thing at the wrong time and she wasn’t in the mood to put up with that.
“Larry, I brought brownies in yesterday morning. Why don’t you go and stuff them into your mouth?” she suggested, accompanying her words with a spasmodic smile she didn’t mean. “They’re in the cupboard.”
“No, they’re not,” Larry told her matter-of-factly. There was a touch of sheepishness in his voice when he spoke. Alma eyed him suspiciously and he instantly confessed. “Hey, I was here after hours and I got hungry.”
“You ate them all?” she asked incredulously. Why wasn’t this man fat? Instead, he was as skinny as a rail. “There were sixteen brownies,” she emphasized. She’d brought them in for the others, but then she’d stopped at the diner to see Miss Joan, and Harry had told her about Cash. After that, things were a blur. She’d completely forgotten about the brownies until this moment.
“I know,” Larry answered. “I counted them. They were probably the best brownies I ever had. Thanks,” he added. He had the good grace to look contrite and embarrassed by his apparent gluttony.
“Larry—” She began to complain that he hadn’t left any for the others, but at this point, it was all moot. She just sighed.
“Don’t pick on him, Alma,” Joe said. He scooted his chair to Larry’s desk for a moment. Reaching over, he patted the other man’s stomach. “He’s a growing boy.”
Annoyed, Larry pushed his own chair back, away from Joe. “Cut it out,” he warned.
“All right, kids, knock it off,” Rick ordered, deliberately using the word kids despite the fact that he was only a couple of years older than any of them.
When he glanced at Alma, there was compassion in his eyes. He’d been raised by his grandmother and he’d protectively looked after his little sister during those years. He was more geared in to the workings of a female mind than the average male and he sympathized with what she was going through.
“You want some time off?” he asked her gently.
That caught her by surprise. “What?” Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”
Crossing over to her desk, Rick turned so that while he faced her, his back was to Larry. He wanted to block the other deputy’s view. The office was a fishbowl, but he did what he could to give Alma some privacy.
“I know this is all kind of rough for you,” Rick told her.
“It would be,” she conceded, then said with feeling, “if I wasn’t over him, Sheriff. Really, I’m fine.” Rick had always been like another big brother to her. An understanding big brother who didn’t get off on teasing her the way her real brothers did on occasion. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do but it’s not necessary. I don’t need any kid-glove treatment. I’m the same person I’ve always been,” she assured him. “No need to walk on eggshells or tiptoe around me. Really,” she stressed.
“All right. If you want to stay on the job, look into this for me.” Taking a piece of paper out of his breast pocket, he placed it on her desk in front of her. “Sally Ronson just called, said that she saw the Winslow boys horsing around in the field beyond the high school. They were smoking.” There were two things wrong with that. “They’re underage and this is fire season. Get those cigarettes away from them and put the fear of God into them any way you see fit—just remember, we draw the line at flogging.”
He said it so seriously that for a second she actually thought that he was.
And then she saw the glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “Got you. No flogging.”
Joe, who listened unobtrusively to everything that went on in the sheriff’s office, looked up. “The Winslow boys?” Joe repeated, then asked, “Kyle and Ken?”
Rick nodded. “The very same.”
Joe shook his head. The two brothers were a rowdy handful.
“Good luck with that,” he told Alma. “Those two don’t have half a brain between them.” And then he raised his eyes to hers. “Want company?” he offered.
She knew what he was thinking. What all of them were probably thinking. That the sixteen-year-old twins were strong young bucks and she would need help getting them to listen to her.
“Thanks, but no,” she told Joe. “The day I can’t handle two snot-nosed teenage boys is the day I’m handing in my badge.”
Rick nodded, relieved that at least some of Alma’s fighting spirit was still intact. For a minute back there, when Cash had walked in, he’d had his doubts.
“Go get ’em, Deputy Rodriguez. And if they give you any lip,” he said, “bring them back here to me.” His eyes met hers. “Understood?”
“Understood,” she parroted. And then she smiled. “They won’t give me any trouble. Don’t go dusting off the jail cell just yet.”
After folding the paper the sheriff had given her, Alma tucked it into her back pocket. She did it as a formality. Everyone knew where the high school was and she was more than acquainted with the field he’d referred to. She and her brothers used to hang out there.
As had Cash, she remembered.
Even just thinking of his name made something twist deep in her belly. It would be a hell of a long two weeks.
Walking out, she silently blessed Rick. She was glad to leave the office on a pretext. Rick’s initial offer of letting her go home wouldn’t have been any good. She didn’t want to go home. Being alone with her thoughts right now was worse than being subjected to an afternoon laden with Larry’s jokes. She needed to keep busy, but being cooped up in the office with Larry unintentionally saying stupid things wasn’t conducive to having a tranquil afternoon, either.
She thought back to Joe’s offer to come with her. She actually wouldn’t have minded his company, but ever since he’d gotten married, he seemed to be slightly more talkative, slightly more prone to commenting on things. It used to be that he kept mostly to himself and spoke only when he had to. Right now, she would have preferred that version of Joe to the new, improved one. One that didn’t feel compelled to offer sympathy or comfort.
All she wanted to do was go on as if Cash Taylor was still on the West Coast. She didn’t want to talk about him or think about him.
Not exactly an easy matter, she realized a couple of moments later, given that his image popped up in her mind every second and a half.
That was because she was still in shock, she told herself. And why not? He’d come on like an apparition from her past, walking right into the middle of the sheriff’s office. Granted, Larry had propelled him into the room but that still didn’t negate the final effect.
Or the fact that her heart had stopped beating and then launched into triple time.
She hadn’t thought it was humanly possible for someone as good-looking as Cash to grow better looking over time, especially since she assumed that he had had a sedentary life since he’d left Forever.
But he had.
Those were muscles beneath his custom-made jacket. Firm muscles. They went well with his flat stomach and his taut hips.
As for his face, he seemed to have taken on a more chiseled look. Certainly his cheekbones had become prominent. All in all, it gave his profile a somewhat haunting look.
There was that word again, she thought. Haunting. She might as well admit that was the way she felt right now.
Haunted.
Haunted by Cash’s memory, by his presence—and by the thoughts of what might have been.
The next couple of weeks were not going to be good. She would just have to resign herself to that and make the best of it.
Easier said than done.
A lot easier said than done.
Chapter Three
The area just beyond the back of the high school couldn’t actually be called a park. It was a clearing with several sun-bleached benches scattered about and a lot of grass in between. Summer evenings invited couples seeking a private moment or two. During the day, children occasionally still brought their imaginations and played timeless games that didn’t require electricity.
Today the clearing was empty. Except for the Winslow twins, as had been reported. And, also as had been reported, they were both smoking. Each had staked out a bench and was sprawled out, sending smoke rings up into the hot wind.
Parking her Jeep close to the clearing, Alma got out and crossed over to where the twins were sitting. Her eyes swept over them and she nodded.
“’Morning, boys.”
Startled, one of the twins—Ken, the slightly shorter one—sat up straight. “’Morning, Miss Alma,” he responded somewhat nervously.
His twin, Kyle, said nothing. He merely glanced in her direction and nodded. Kyle had always behaved as if he thought himself to be the cooler one of the two. She’d come to favor Ken herself.
When she regarded the latter, he appeared not to know what to do with his cigarette.
Alma kept her voice friendly but firm. Her best asset when dealing with teenagers was that she could vividly remember what it was like to be that age. And how she had felt being chided by an adult. It helped temper her words.
“Put them out, boys,” she told the twins. “You know you’re too young to be smoking cigarettes, even if they were good for you, which they’re not.”
In defiance, Kyle took another long drag from his cigarette, then slowly blew out the smoke. As it swirled away from him, he smirked as he slanted another look at her.
“You gonna tell us that smoking cigarettes is going to stunt our growth?” The suggestion made him laugh. At sixteen, both twins were close to six foot six, like their father and older brother.
“No,” she said, walking up to Kyle and physically removing the cigarette from his hand, “I’m going to tell you that smoking cigarettes at sixteen is against the law.” She snubbed out the cigarette against the back of the bench.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Ken was about to throw his own cigarette on the ground and step on it to extinguish it. He wasn’t being perverse, like his brother, she realized. He just wasn’t thinking.
She relieved Ken of his cigarette, too, and put it out the same way. “And besides, it’s fire season,” she reminded the brothers. “You have to be extra careful that a stray spark doesn’t hit something flammable.”
Satisfied that both cigarettes were out, Alma looked at the two offenders. Most likely, this had been Kyle’s idea. He was the persuasive one of the pair. Ken would always follow him, afraid not to.
“Okay, I don’t want to see you smoking for another two years and, if you’re smart,” she added, looking at them pointedly, “never.”
Kyle bristled. He’d never liked being reined in. “Ain’t you got anything more important to do than to come by and make us put out our cigarettes?”
“Not at the moment,” she answered honestly.
Ken looked at her sheepishly. “You gonna tell our old man?”
Dan Winslow was known to be strict with his sons and there were no second chances. First offenses were dealt with quickly and harshly.
Alma saw no point in involving the man if she could get his sons to stop.
“Not this time,” she told Ken, breaking the cigarettes in half and then dropping them into the trash after she checked to make sure that the unlit ends were no longer warm. “But if I catch you at it again, then yes, I will. And he’s your father—call him that. Not ‘old man.’ He deserves your respect.”
Kyle laughed shortly. “You’ve never seen him getting out of bed in the morning.”
“No, I have not,” she readily agreed. “But just remember, we’re all going to get there someday including you—and that’s if we’re lucky.” She could tell that Kyle was eager to see her leave. I’m not stupid, boy. “Oh, and one more thing,” she said in her most innocent voice, “I’ll take that pack of cigarettes you have in your pocket, Kyle.”
She saw Ken flush. Kyle moved back, as if distance could prevent her from taking the pack. “It’s not ours,” he protested.
Good. At least she wouldn’t have to lecture the grocery store owner about carding his underage customers when they tried to buy cigarettes. “Oh? Then whose is it?”
“The pack belongs to our dad,” Ken blurted out even as his brother gave him a dirty look.
That means you’re going to get busted, she thought. She remained standing where she was, holding her hand out and waiting.
“If he misses them, tell him he can come by the sheriff’s office and get them anytime.” With pronounced reluctance, Kyle dug into his shirt pocket and surrendered the pack of cigarettes to her. She nodded and smiled. “Have a nice day, boys. And remember, keep your lungs clean.”
Alma got into her vehicle and drove away. In the rearview mirror, she could see the twins arguing with each other. Probably trying to decide what to tell their father when he questioned them about the missing pack of cigarettes.
Alma smiled to herself.
Having resolved the situation to her satisfaction for the time being, Alma was about to head back to the sheriff’s office, then changed her mind. It wasn’t lunchtime yet, but it was close enough to noon for her to take an early lunch. She decided that for once, she’d give in to herself.
Besides, she needed the sight of a friendly face.
The thought of stopping by the diner and seeing Miss Joan appealed to her.
The diner was like a second home to her, after the great many hours waitressing there. Granted, she wasn’t very hungry—seeing Cash had tied her stomach into a knot and killed whatever appetite she might have had—but she could do with the company. Female company.
She loved her father and brothers dearly and had done her best to keep up with the lot of them. For the most part, she’d succeeded and if they suddenly weren’t around, she would miss them more than words could say.
That being said, there were times when she found it nice just to let her guard down. Just to be a softer version of herself without having to prove anything to anyone—or feel as if she had to.
That involved talking to a woman. An understanding woman. And Miss Joan, despite the crusty exterior she liked to project, fit the bill to a T.
As usual, Miss Joan was behind the counter when she walked in. The woman looked up the moment she opened the door. One glance at her unlined face—remarkable considering her age—and Alma knew that Miss Joan knew exactly what she was going through. And why she was here at this hour.
“C’mon in, girl. Take a load off,” Miss Joan called out, beckoning her over to the counter. She glanced around and instructed the waitress closest to her, “Julie, go get Alma here a tall, frosty glass of lemonade, please.”
Lemonade sounded perfect. Trust Miss Joan to know just what to offer. Alma slid onto the seat at the counter. All she wanted to do was sit here quietly and listen to Miss Joan talk. About anything. There was something comforting about the woman’s cadence, as if just hearing her talk made everything better.
“That’s all right, Miss Joan,” Alma began. “You don’t have to go to any trouble on my account. I just want to sit here and—”
She got no further in her protest, but then, that was a given with Miss Joan. The woman overruled everyone, God included, Harry liked to say.
“It’s on the house, honey,” Miss Joan interjected. One hand fisted at her hip, she pretended to level a sharp look at Alma. “You’re not going to insult the bride-to-be two weeks before her wedding by turning down her offer, are you?”
Alma smiled. As if anyone could say no to the woman. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” she said with a smile. “Thank you.”
Julie came and placed the tall lemonade in front of her and retreated. Miss Joan waited until the waitress left, then leaned in over the counter and, in a low voice, asked, “So you saw him, didn’t you?”
There went her stomach again, Alma thought, annoyed with herself. It tightened so hard she found it difficult to breathe. Still, she feigned ignorance. “You mean Cash?” she asked innocently.
Miss Joan gave her a look that said she had no time for nonsense. “Don’t play coy with me, girl. Of course I mean Cash.” And then she laughed shortly. “Really doesn’t sound like much of a name for a grown man. Especially not for a lawyer.”
Alma recalled that Cash had once told her that when he reached his goal and finally became a lawyer, he was going to use only the initials of his first and middle names on his letterhead. His unfortunate first name arose from the fact that although his father was rushing to get his mother to the hospital on time, nature was against him and he didn’t make it. His mother wound up giving birth to him in the backseat. To distract her, his father had had the radio on. Johnny Cash was singing when the infant drew his first breath.
Since they’d been hoping for a girl and had no boys’ names picked out, his mother named him after the country-and-Western icon. Cash used to say that he was extremely grateful that Loretta Lynn hadn’t been singing at the time.
“Yes, I saw him,” Alma said quietly.
Miss Joan nodded. “Did you two talk?”
Alma held the lemonade glass with both hands, focusing on nothing else for the moment. She took a long sip through the straw, then shrugged as if talking to Cash or not talking to him was all really one and the same to her.
“A few words,” she acknowledged, knowing Miss Joan wasn’t going to let this go until she said something.
“So, you didn’t talk,” the woman concluded knowingly.
No, not really, Alma thought. Out loud she said, “There’s nothing to talk about anymore.”
The hazel eyes seemed to bore right into her. Alma felt like squirming, but she managed to stay perfectly still under the scrutiny.
“Since when have you taken up lying?” Miss Joan asked.
“I’m not lying,” Alma insisted. A little of her temper emerged. “What we had was a summer romance and then he went off to college and I didn’t.” Again she shrugged, doing her best to act as if she didn’t care about Cash or about what had happened that long-ago summer. “Not much of a story, really.”
“That’s because you left a lot out,” Miss Joan pointed out sternly. “Like the fact that Cash broke your heart.”
That was giving Cash too much power over her, putting too much importance on the time they had spent together. Alma lifted her chin defiantly.
“We were very young,” she insisted. “We had no business falling in love.”
“And yet you did,” Miss Joan concluded simply. “You’re not going to have any peace until you have it out with him and find out why he didn’t come back.”
There was no need to ask him that. “I know why he didn’t come back, Miss Joan. It’s simple. He liked that life better.” Better than me. “And talking about it from now until the cows come home isn’t going to change anything.”
“Might be a change for the cows,” Miss Joan quipped. She was feeling Alma’s frustration and sympathizing with it. “But what it also might do is open the door to changes in the future. Hey, you’re never too old to have things happen.” This time Miss Joan’s eyes were shining. “Look at me.”
“Hey, how about me? I love looking at you,” Harry said in his booming voice as he walked into the diner just in time to overhear the last line.
Walking up to the counter, the silver-haired man leaned over and gave his intended bride a quick kiss on the cheek.
“If that’s the best you two can do, you might as well forget about the wedding,” Alma told Miss Joan. “I’ve seen more passionate pet rocks in my time,” she teased.
“Huh,” the woman snorted dismissively. “Some of us don’t like to engage in public displays of affection.” She smiled at her fiancé. “Behind closed doors, though, is a whole other story.”
“Something to look forward to.” Harry chuckled, his blue eyes crinkling. “Right now, though, we’re here to get some of your world-famous potpie for lunch, darlin’.” He began to take out his wallet.
Miss Joan placed her hand over it. “Put that away. You know your money’s not any good here.”
“At least let me pay for my grandson.” He nodded toward the door.
Cash walked in at that exact moment. “I can pay for my own meals, Grandpa,” he said. He knew his grandfather’s funds were limited. The old man had given him more than a head start, paying for his first years in college. There was no way he could ever begin to repay him, but covering expenses would at least be a small start. “Besides, I should be paying for you.”
“Neither one of you is paying anything. Family doesn’t pay,” Miss Joan insisted. “And when I marry your grandpa, here,” she told Cash, patting Harry’s hand, “you become my family.”
Cash smiled, appreciating the sentiment. Nonetheless, he still pushed the twenty-dollar bill toward her on the counter. “Until then, I’ll pay,” he told her. “Call it a matter of pride.”
Miss Joan ignored the bill and left it sitting on the counter. “Two chicken potpies coming up,” she announced, raising her voice in order to relay the order to Roberto, the short-order cook in the kitchen.
Sitting on the other side of Harry, who was a tall, heavyset man, Alma was all but obscured. Still, she knew she was kidding herself if she thought Cash hadn’t seen her as he walked in.
With her haven invaded, it was time to go.
Deliberately not looking to her right, Alma got off the stool. “Thanks for the lemonade, Miss Joan,” she said, addressing the back of the woman’s head.
Miss Joan swung around, doing a quick assessment. “You didn’t finish it,” she pointed out.
“I know, and it’s very good, but I’ve got to be getting back to the office. I’ve already been gone longer than I should.”
“Big crime wave to deal with?” Miss Joan arched an eyebrow as she looked at her.
Alma smiled brightly. “You never know. Nice seeing you, Harry.” She nodded at the man sitting to her right. She’d always liked Harry and didn’t want to seem rude.
That wasn’t the case with his grandson. She barely nodded at Cash as she passed him, saying only, “You,” as if it was an afterthought. She let the single word hang there without any embellishment, allowing Cash’s imagination to supply any missing words he might have wanted to use.
Or not. It made no difference to her.
Alma walked out of the diner without a backward glance. The second she crossed the threshold and the door shut behind her, she quickened her pace. She wanted to get into her car and make good her escape before Cash had a chance to catch up to her.
She should have walked faster.
“Alma.” She heard Cash call her name but pretended not to. He didn’t give up. “Alma, wait up.”
Since he’d raised his voice enough to cause several people to look their way as they walked by, she had no choice but to stop.
“Yes?” she asked coolly, turning toward him as he approached her. Her tone belied the turmoil going on inside. She felt as if everything within her was squirming. She wanted to simply get away.
“Alma, wait,” he repeated, reaching her. “You don’t have to leave just because I came in.”
“I wasn’t leaving because of you.” Her tone was no longer cool. It was downright cold. “I said I had to get back to the office—”
She was lying. He knew she was lying. So, it had come to this. The most honest woman he’d ever known in his life was lying to him.
He’d done that to her, he thought with a bitter pang.
“I’ll go,” he told her quietly. “You stay and have your lunch. Or at least finish your lemonade.” And then, because something inside him longed to reach out to her, to just talk to her for a moment, he said, “Still like those things, huh?”
There wasn’t even a glimmer of a smile on her lips. She looked as if she was barely tolerating breathing the same air as he was. “When I like something, I stay with it. I don’t see any reason not to.”
“Ouch.” He smiled at her then. It was a small, sad smile that struggled to filter into his eyes. “That was a direct hit,” he announced, the way he might have once done when they played Battleship.
Her eyes narrowed to small, dismissive slits. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He was tired, so tired. A part of him had hoped that by coming back here, he could reclaim at least a small part of his soul. But he’d been wrong. Maybe he didn’t deserve to reclaim his soul after what he’d done.
“Yes, you do,” he told her softly. “We both do. You don’t have to run away each time I show up.” It was almost a plea.
Ordinarily, by now she would have relented, put the hurt behind her and moved on. But this hurt was too large to ignore, too large to place behind her. She’d be a fool to let it go and leave herself open to more pain. Because without the hurt to cling to and use as a shield, she’d be putting herself at risk all over again.
He was here only for the wedding. She only had to remain strong for two weeks. Just 20,160 minutes, that was all.
“You had nothing to do with it. I—” And then she stopped abruptly. Pulling her cell phone from her back pocket, she put it to her ear. “Hello?”
“I didn’t hear anything,” Cash said.
Covering the bottom of the phone for a second, she told him in a hushed, annoyed voice, “That’s because it’s on vibrate.” And then she turned her attention back to the cell phone. “Right. I was just coming back. Be there in a few minutes, Sheriff. I’ll take care of it then,” she promised.
With that, she ended the call and slipped the phone into her back pocket again.
“Take care of what?” Cash wanted to know. She’d already begun walking away from him.
“I’m sorry, but that’s on a need-to-know basis,” she informed him crisply, recalling the line from a TV program she’d seen recently, “and you don’t need to know.”
His eyes pinned her down for a moment. “You’re lying again, aren’t you? I’ve never known you to lie before, Alma, and now you’ve done it twice.”
I’ve lied to you more than that since you came back to town, she told him silently.
She raised her chin, a clear sign that she was getting ready for a fight.
“I have no control over what you think or don’t think, and frankly, I could care less.” There, another lie to add to the pile.
With that, she turned on her heel and got into the Jeep.
She was aware that Cash was watching her. And that he continued watching her as she started up the vehicle and drove away from the diner.
Cash was right and it annoyed the hell out of her. There’d been no phone call. She’d made it up, just as she had made up the so-called conversation she’d had with the sheriff. It was the first thing that had occurred to her in her effort to get away from Cash.
At least it had worked, she congratulated herself. She’d managed to get away without becoming entangled in any kind of verbal confrontation with him.
So what did she do for the other thirteen days before the wedding? she asked herself as a feeling of uneasy desperation undulated through her.
With effort, she banked it down.
This, too, shall pass, she promised herself—and fervently hoped she was right.
Chapter Four
Sleep had eluded her for most of the night, finally descending on her at almost three in the morning. Because she was so exhausted by then, she had overslept.
Feeling as if she was running on empty, Alma rushed through her shower and into her clothes. Her stomach protested the lack of fuel, rumbling and growling as she hurried to her car.
She knew she wouldn’t be of any use to anyone if she didn’t have at least something to eat. So, with a sigh, she made a quick side trip to the diner. She was going to get an order of French toast to go. French toast was her number-one comfort food, something her mother used to make in order to cheer her up when she was a little girl. Eating it always made her remember those days and how secure she’d felt.
She needed a dose of that right now. Badly.
Miss Joan looked up the second she opened the door.
“I was hoping you’d come in today.” Glancing over her shoulder, she called out to the cook in the kitchen. “Roberto, one order of French toast to go.”
Alma blinked, surprised. “How did you know?” she asked.
“I know a lot of things. What I don’t know,” Miss Joan said, coming closer, “was what the hell that was yesterday.”
Alma did her best to look innocent, hoping Miss Joan would take the hint. “What do you mean?”
“You know damn well what I mean, baby girl,” Miss Joan said. “The second Harry’s boy came in with him, you hightailed it out of here like some scared jackrabbit who’d just backed up into a coyote.” There was both annoyance and disappointment in the woman’s voice.

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