Secret surrender, p.12
Secret Surrender, page 12
Sarah drummed her fingertips over the bar, her face hot because Dean’s stare refused to leave her whenever the others weren’t looking. “From what I hear, he didn’t do all that much. Besides, who decided to hold this sappy lovefest at my bar, anyway?”
Aggie reached out and gave Dean a firm pat on the back, his smug grin spreading wider the moment Sarah caught his gaze. “I did. The least I owe him is a free drink. Heck, he’s been looking for work, and with Emilia busy taking care of Blaine, I sure could use some extra help at the nursery, don’t cha know?”
Sarah rolled her eyes and shuffled over to the bar’s glossy brass taps to pull that “free drink” for Dean, a row of confused faces narrowed her way.
“You owe him nothing. And will you all stop scowling at me like I’m crazy?” She focused down at the amber liquid rising in the glass she held at a forty-five-degree angle. “Unlike you all, I’m not about to worship some man who would have kept walking if not for one of the Chadleys swinging a bottle at his head.”
She shot Dean a sarcastic look, his eyes lighting at her short-sell on his efforts. “That’s not what hap—”
“Dean, not all of us are gullible.” She shook her head at him. “I know it sucks not being able to convince everyone in this town that you’re a stand-up guy.”
The muscles around his eyes stiffened, hinting that maybe she’d hit a nerve, though his lips still held that jovial upward curve. “I hear those Chadley boys were throwing rocks at people at the soiree too. That they’ve been harassing people for months. Any normal person would show some appreciation, Sarah.”
He held her gaze for a beat too long, his gaze flicking down her body and back up again, like he sought to remind her of how they’d met and just what sort of appreciation he’d received and still wanted.
She mumbled something about never being more glad to be considered abnormal, only for Sheriff Marlin to clear his throat and draw her attention back to the group. “I know you two have your differences, but Dean’s actions might have saved this town a great deal of trouble. After I dropped Mr. Holloway at home, I tracked down the remaining Chadleys. Their mother was in on the idea of them spending the night in the station’s holding cell, and she was mighty glad for the intervention. Maybe this time, they’ll get to acting right.”
The sheriff held his usual warm and even tone, his world-weary brown eyes sending a tight pang to Sarah’s chest. He of all people didn’t deserve her deception, but perhaps the truth of her friends-with-benefits relationship with Dean would hurt Peter more.
No doubt he’d think she was rebounding from Blaine, perhaps even consider her actions dangerous and self-destructive. Maybe he’d be right on both counts, but being with Dean felt good. She just wanted to feel good.
“You see, Sarah?” Ally’s semi-famous wide smile lit up, and she threw her arms around Dean’s broad shoulders, the sudden movement knocking him briefly off-center. “He’s a hero.”
Ally maintained her stronghold, and Sarah clapped her hand over her mouth to keep from spitting forth a hard laugh. Meanwhile, Dean’s eyes widened, and he mouthed what she thought looked like, “Help me!”
Sarah shook her head at Ally, which was really just her attempt at aiding Dean’s escape. “Gross. I think I’m going to vomit.”
She pushed a beer toward a patron farther down the counter, catching the sheriff’s puzzled stare bouncing between her and Dean. His lip pitched at one corner, and the two lines between his brows deepened.
He suspects something.
She swiped up a dish cloth and spun around, making busy with polishing glasses. Long minutes passed while she averted her gaze from the sheriff and Dean, all the while feeling both stares burning into her and for polarizing reasons.
Her heartbeat thundered loud and fast, and nothing she did slowed it down. One awkward and way-too-candid conversation with the sheriff had been bad enough. Maybe her “sworn enemies” charade with Dean wasn’t working after all.
But I wanted it to. For a short while, at least.
“Hey, Sheriff!” Ally’s overly bright voice shattered the strange silence, but Sarah continued her fake interest in the glass in her hand. “Didn’t you say you were looking to retire but couldn’t find someone to take over? I bet Dean would be a perfect candidate.”
Sarah snapped her focus back up, her mouth slipping open. How could Ally be so rude to bring up the sheriff’s retirement?
“Based on what?” The question shot from Sarah’s lips far more abrupt and abrasive than she intended. Especially since she’d intended to say nothing at all. “One act of half-hearted and coincidental bravery?”
The sheriff sent Sarah another quizzical stare before turning his gaze to Dean, then Ally. “I’m sure that would make my wife very happy, Ally, but there’s more to being sheriff than you think. Besides, we don’t know how long Mr. Holloway here will stay in town.”
The sheriff’s subtle change in demeanor had his jaw muscles twitching and his cheeks hardening. She’d seen that look a million times. Every time the sheriff wasn’t all that sold on a person’s character. Though she couldn’t condemn his skepticism, she too didn’t yet know all that much about Dean Holloway. Only that she enjoyed spending time with him, and he seemed to notice things about her that so many didn’t.
Dean sat forward, arms crossed over the bar, his attention fixed on her, and his wicked smile daring her to… to what? Her heart hitched, and she refused to finish that thought.
The dragging seconds had her forgetting to breathe, which then hung doubt over her recent deal with Dean the Devil. Her mind already worked over time to second-guess what every person around her thought—whether they knew of her relationship to this man.
Aggie reached out and pinched Dean’s black stubbled cheek. “He’d make one handsome sheriff. Don’t cha think, Sarah?”
The old woman stared at her now, increasing the erratic rhythm of Sarah’s heart. Meanwhile, her attention slipped to Sheriff Marlin, and her breath shallowed for a reason beyond the need to escape his scrutiny over Dean. “I like the sheriff we have. Peter’s been flawless at his job for decades. Besides, no one knows Harlow like Sheriff Marlin, and the role of sheriff isn’t a beauty competition. We all know he would have stopped the Chadleys himself, eventually.”
The sheriff’s cheeks turned slack, and he tilted his head to one side in seeming shock, like he hadn’t expected her compliment.
Dean cleared his throat, disrupting the exchange. “Sarah’s right, and I wouldn’t say I came to Harlow with sheriffing in mind.”
For the first time during that conversation, his tone relaxed and he spoke with all seriousness. Though even as he backed up her argument, he at least had the smarts not to look at her while he did so.
A sly smile pulled at her lips, and she turned to Ally, partly to distract from the warm-fuzzy sensation taking up space in her torso. Hormones. It’s just hormones.
“You see, even Dean agrees. Besides, you’ve been so focused on Mr. Holloway right in front of you, you’ve completely forgotten about Sheriff Williams over in Moresley.” She gave Dean an overly sweet smile. “Now, those are some smoldering brown eyes. Not to mention his diamond cut abs and those plump lips that look like they could kiss the life back into a three-thousand-year-old mummy.” She shrugged, turning back to Ally. “Sheriff Williams makes Dean here look like a week-old dropped pie.”
Dean’s shoulders shook in her peripheral vision while Ally let out a quick gasp and pressed a palm to her mouth, her other hand swinging out to land on Dean’s chuckle-affected shoulders. Like that would save him from the sting of Sarah’s barb.
At least she could say she’d upped the ante on dousing anyone’s suspicion. And there was the added bonus of having a mighty internal laugh at Dean’s expense…
“Bit harsh, girl. Uff-dah!” Aggie shook her head, her weathered forehead crinkled further in a What the heck is wrong with you? sort of glower. Understandable, since Sarah was putting in her absolute worst show of manners.
Meanwhile, the sheriff diverted his focus to his drink, face pale, while a heavy quiet cut the bar’s bustling background noise.
She lifted a brow at Dean and gave him a weak smile, begging him to hit back with an equally bruising reply, or at least save her from the hole of total awkwardness she’d just dug.
“I don’t know, Sarah.” A wicked grin lifted his cheeks, his eyes glinting in a way that said he was more than happy to oblige. “What with your general uptight and soulless personality, I get the feeling even Sheriff Williams’ lips would fail to resuscitate you.”
The sheriff, Ally, and Aggie all spluttered against flawed attempts to conceal laughter. Blood rushed to Sarah’s cheeks, and she glared at Dean, not all that sure how much of that glare was still for show. The insults hurt more as the receiver than the one doling them out, that was for sure.
She took a deep breath and slumped her shoulders, handing Dean her defeat. This was all part of their game. At least, she hoped so. Otherwise, she’d have to consider the amount of truth in his comment about her being uptight and soulless.
“So, how’s the arm, Dean?” The sheriff’s question cut through her thoughts, and he eyed her in a sidelong way that said he timed the intrusion to keep her from saying anything more.
“It’s fine.” Dean kept his stare trained on Sarah.
“You hurt your arm?” Ally frowned at him, her voice a little too sullen.
“Ricocheting glass.” The sheriff nodded to Dean. “Though this one insisted on going home to stitch himself up.”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” Ally pressed her hand to Dean’s meaty forearm. “You did your own stitches?”
His wicked smile returned, and he pitched his pale blue stare back to Sarah. “It’s amazing what a skillful pair of hands can do.”
She felt her eyes go wide, and choked back a splutter of her own, not one of stifled laughter but of buried astonishment.
The man’s provocations reached a whole other level, one that would get them both in trouble one day. Even Ally’s moon-white face took on a sudden deep blush. Hell, Dean laid on his charm so thick, Ally probably figured he’d directed his flirting at her.
A light ache, maybe of jealousy, wound through Sarah’s tummy, extending upward into her chest, that ache deepening to a distant pain. The jealousy and the pain were two things she refused to entertain. “I think I hear Gordon calling me.”
She turned toward the kitchen, bailing before Dean said anymore. But even as she made her exit, Dean’s overly confident and booming voice followed her. “I’ll see you later then, Sarah.”
By the time Dean got to Sarah’s house, the ink-black sky hosted little more than a thin, crescent moon. Her shift had ended an hour ago, and her front door swung open. She waited for him beneath the eaves and under the porch light—the glow of her amber-green eyes competing with her bright smile. Maybe, just like him, she rejoiced at their competent skills in fooling her friends.
From now on, night would spell the time for her to be his. A time where mystery and seduction came out to play. She sure as hell was all of that to him. Mystery. Seduction. Maybe more… though she wouldn’t want to hear about being “more”.
She wanted schemes and aversion. But he had just the scheme for her.
Play slow. Play dirty.
If he were lucky, win her heart. With all her bravado and hidden kindness, he didn’t deserve her, but he’d come too far to step back now.
Her smile broadened at him, and his heart took on a deep thud. He picked up pace over her porch and swept her up in his arms, taking her inside and away from anyone’s view.
No matter how many times he had her, he wanted more. Always more. No matter how many times he insisted he had control here, a quieter voice told him that was a lie. Because Sarah, in her beauty and strength, held all the power.
Twenty-One
Sarah paused under the hospital corridor’s stark white fluorescent lights, the air a touch too cold and her mind a muddle as she stared at Blaine’s door just ahead.
“I wouldn’t go down there.”
She spun around to Emilia’s pretty brown gaze, the scent of vending-machine coffee wafting from the paper cup in her hand. “Not unless you want to see the nurse cleaning out his wound. Trust me, it’s not pretty.”
Emilia nodded at a row of gray-blue plastic chairs along the wall. “Would you like to sit and wait with me? The nurse won’t take long.”
Sarah dropped her chin and gawped at Emilia, a dull pang of guilt expanding high in her tummy. “Oh. I. Yeah, sure.”
Eight days after the home invasion, word had gotten to her that Blaine was taking visitors, but for some reason, Sarah hadn’t banked on meeting his new girl again. Though she had no major issues with Emilia, the woman’s presence added weight to what was already a confronting task.
But Sarah had to be here to show Blaine her support. That there were no hard feelings. To dispel any guilt he might have over what had happened with her, in case that guilt impeded his recovery. Though even with all those reasons, a deeper part of her questioned whether, more than anything else, her own guilt prompted this visit.
Dean. His mere presence in her life, plus the fact that he made her happy, call it survivor’s guilt, even though her ex had no idea she was moving on too…
Emilia sat and took a slow sip of her coffee. Her weak movements and distant stare belonged to a woman who carried more than she could handle. She flicked her attention up to Sarah and gave a small smile.
“I keep telling myself I’m going to cut back”—she lifted the cup in a resigned sort of gesture—“but then something new happens, and well, I fall back to this trusty old crutch.”
Sarah wandered over and sat too, her chest muscles squeezing because Emilia had always shown more vulnerability than she ever could.
Maybe that’s why Blaine didn’t pick me.
She slammed her eyes shut at that thought, before opening them again and pasting on a smile for Emilia’s benefit. “I know more than a few people who would drink my bar dry over less than what you’ve been through.”
Emilia’s doe eyes relaxed into warm chocolate pools, and a slight smile lifted her lips. “I thought… Blaine… I thought he would die for sure.”
Her lower lip trembled, and she turned away, her thick lashes beating together as if she fought off tears.
“But he didn’t.” Sarah curled her fingers in her lap, wanting to reach out and comfort Emilia, to clasp the woman's hand and say something meaningful, but she couldn’t.
Not because this was Emilia—her replacement with Blaine—but because Sarah didn’t do tears.
Besides, she wasn’t the best support person, anyway.
She’d been so busy with work and Dean that she hadn’t had time to fully come to terms with what had happened. Heartbreaks. Gun fights. Near-death experiences. Yeah, that was a lot for any person to work through.
Emilia pressed her lips together, the edges lifting in pained acknowledgment, like she saw that Sarah tried but failed to offer help.
“You’re right. I’m very lucky.” Her whispered tone matched the paleness of her usually warm skin tone, that same skin red and splotchy around her eyes. “Blaine was a part of your life for so long. You must have been beside yourself too.”
Emilia reached out and did the thing Sarah had struggled with, the woman’s hand landing over Sarah’s on her lap and giving a gentle squeeze.
You must have been beside yourself too.
Had she been, though?
She frowned, unable to remember a time when she’d ever been beside herself… about anything.
Even in the wake of the worst of the worst. When her dad had abandoned her along with the other members of her family. When her mother had fallen apart. When Sarah had been forced to give up her dreams… she just kept going.
What other option was there?
Emilia withdrew her hand, and Sarah tore her frown away, directing it to the floor. “Blaine’s yours now. Maybe he’s always been yours, anyway. Don’t worry about how I’m doing, okay?”
What a charitable offer. Letting Emilia know she had nothing to feel bad about, so she could focus solely on her immediate problems. But really, Sarah didn’t like fuss. Much less over her. Much less since asking for help usually invited a barrage of unwanted intrusions.
“You know, I don’t expect you to cut him out of your life because of me.”
“No. I know that.” Sarah rubbed her fingertips over her temples and squeezed her eyes closed again, as if that might work to shut out this conversation. “I didn’t think you would, but you’ve got enough going on without me encroaching.”
She opened her eyes. Emilia still cupped her hands around her coffee. “You must think I don’t deserve him. Maybe you’d be right. You stepped aside so Blaine and I could be together because you thought that was the best thing for everyone, but I’m the one who brought trouble into his life. I’m sorry.”
Sarah flicked her attention over her left shoulder, to Blaine’s door, hoping the nurse might be done. No such luck.
She pressed her hands hard against her dark blue jeans, losing herself a little in the tiny threads and woven pattern. “Don’t apologize. You weren’t the one holding the gun. I’ll be fine, and I don’t hate you. Soon enough you and Blaine will go back to living happily ever after, okay?”
As foolish as those words felt to say, she honestly hoped Emilia would believe her. After three years of sharing her life with Blaine, he’d become her best friend. Three years of planning a future together, and now, would they continue to even be friends?
In an uncharacteristic move she couldn’t quite explain, she reached out and grabbed Emilia’s hand from her coffee cup, the woman’s skin clammy and her fingers stiff. Despite the voices in Sarah’s head screaming for her to let go, she held on, needing to feel at least a little better about herself.
She didn’t do emotion. She didn’t offer comfort either. Doubly so with a relative stranger such as Emilia. But Sarah hadn’t been there to help Blaine. His life had imploded, and she’d been busy hooking up with Dean.
