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“I’ll do my best to keep to myself, Sheriff.” No more charitable gestures, no more caring. Nobody would believe her capable of it anyway.
“My name’s Sam,” he said, shrugging one wide shoulder. “Just…call me Sam.”
She didn’t want to leave, to go back to her house where she’d spend the night in her own lonely wing of the Spencer mansion, listening to sounds outside their sculpted iron gates.
It was sad, really. Emma Trainor had made it more than clear: Ashlyn wasn’t welcome in Kane’s Crossing. Those gates would help to shield her, to keep her from reaching out again.
While she was searching for words, he spoke. “It’s good to see a Spencer doing the right thing. I think Emma was thankful for your help.”
Ashlyn had done her share of Spencer bashing, but his statement felt like a personal affront. “Some of us Spencers have a bit of honor.”
Sam’s hands rested on his lean hips. “That’s not what I wanted to say.”
“What did you intend?”
She noticed the slow simmer of his temper in the tensing of his fingers on his hips. “Let’s forget it before I say something we both don’t want to hear.”
“Anything you say won’t exactly be a news flash, Sam. Just go for it.”
“Nothing.” Dead, empty eyes, void of fight.
“Heck.” She shrugged, wanting to get their differences out in the open. “Why don’t I do it? The Spencers are a greedy lot. Stingy, monstrous, ugly. Is that it?”
He stayed silent.
How could she explain her flash of anger without seeming illogical? How could she make sense of the idea that she was the only one allowed to criticize her family? When she did it, it didn’t hurt as much.
“I think it’s time for you to leave, Ashlyn.”
In the background, Deputy Joanson cleared his throat. Ashlyn attempted to rein in her temper.
“I know, Sheriff, that having your father killed at my family’s factory won’t make us best friends.” There. She’d said it. Put it out there for Sam to handle any way he wanted.
Finally, something exploded in his eyes. His jaw tight, he said, “You don’t want to know how much hate I hold for your family. If I were you, I’d just walk through the door.”
He jerked his head toward the exit. “Joanson, drive her home.”
She said, “My car’s at Locksley Field. I can take it from there.”
But he was already moving toward the jail cells, oblivious to her voice. She watched him leave, shame catching in her throat.
She hadn’t gotten the chance to tell him how sorry she was about his parents.
But it didn’t make much of a difference. He probably wouldn’t listen anyway.
To Sam, this feeling of lingering guilt was much worse than any hangover he’d ever dealt with. And he’d nursed plenty of them following the weeks after he’d quit the District of Columbia Metropolitan Police Department in disgrace, the days after his wife’s death.
As he listened to the blessed quiet of Junior and Sonny sleeping off their canned-beer binges, Sam wiped a hand over his face, regretting what he’d said to Ashlyn Spencer.
Of course, it was no big mystery that his father had been killed in the factory. Everyone in town knew it. Ten other people had died that day, as well. Worst part of it was, Horatio Spencer had blamed Sam’s father for the deaths, but Sam knew better. His father had been talking about the grinding machinery, the wear and tear on the assembly line.
But any way you looked at it, Ashlyn wasn’t responsible for those deaths. Putting her on the same level as her family wasn’t fair.
Fairness. Justice. Words he didn’t believe in anymore. His sense of faith in the world had died the night his wife, Mary, had been killed by a hit-and-run driver.
He’d quit his job a few weeks before the accident. So when his buddies from the D.C. police force had shown up on his doorstep, pity dragging down their expressions, he’d known something was very wrong. Sam even remembered the exact instant his soul had been sucked from his body by the news of her death. He remembered feeling a numbness slide into the place where he used to keep happiness in all the colors of a rainbow, the place he’d tried to fill with dreams of marriage and warmth.
Rainbows. He hadn’t noticed one for a while, didn’t even know if he could still recognize the different shades. But when he’d looked into Ashlyn’s eyes tonight, he’d seen them—vibrant facets of blues, greens, violets—swirled together to create a glint of what heaven must look like.
Right, Sam. Just forget that she’s a Spencer.
He couldn’t forget the stark horror grimacing his mother’s lips when she’d heard her husband had been caught in the Spenco Toy Factory machinery. Couldn’t forget the quiet funeral she’d requested before she’d contracted a fatal case of pneumonia, joining her husband in death.
There were so many things he couldn’t forget. Couldn’t forgive.
Dammit, he’d come back to Kane’s Crossing to erase his past. His parents were far enough in the land of memories that it shouldn’t be tearing at him right now. All Sam wanted was to live the rest of his life in peace, in the presence of his foster brother, Nick, and his family.
Headlights flashed through the front office window, jerking Sam from his thoughts. Good thing, too. He’d never get any work done if he sank into a pool of emotion.
Deputy Joanson stuck his head in the door. “Sheriff?”
Sam tried not to seem as if he’d been mulling over useless memories again. “Yeah.”
“Ashlyn Spencer? Well, I dropped her off at Locksley Field, but…”
By God. “What?”
“Well, I know the other deputies, before me, would’ve chased her down, but she’s not too good at listening.”
Sam stood, worried now. He realized his agitation and erased his mind. “What the hell did she do?”
“Oh.” Gary stepped in the door, shrugged. “Nothing like that. Sorry to make you fret, Sheriff.”
“I wasn’t fretting.”
“Right. So she said she had her car at the field, but she lied to me. Wouldn’t get back in the grandma car. Said she’d rather freeze her patootie off than be caught dead in it again.”
“She walked home?” Two degrees below red-nose weather and the blasted woman was taking a stroll? “I’ll take care of it.”
Gary shuffled his feet. “Sorry I couldn’t tackle her like the other deputies would’ve. But she’s a lady.”
“Appreciate it, Joanson.” Sam grabbed his coat and clutched the Bronco keys. And he thought he’d only have to deal with drunks as Kane’s Crossing’s sheriff. Ashlyn would obviously make him earn his paycheck.
“I know, I told her.” Gary rattled on, blocking Sam in his bid to provide more information. “Women-folk shouldn’t be walking alone. Especially during April Fool’s with the high school boys roaming around.”
Sam almost laughed at his deputy’s concern. Maybe Joanson should visit Washington, D.C., on a normal night. That’d give the guy nightmares for sure.
Still, the idea of Ashlyn walking home alone made him cringe. Any number of things could happen to a woman strolling by herself on a country road. Things he didn’t want to think about.
“Besides,” added Gary, “her daddy’ll kill you if something happens to her.”
“I wasn’t put here to please Horatio Spencer,” Sam said, shutting the door on Gary’s answer.
The cold air nipped at his skin, and he thought of Ashlyn’s thin, fashionable red sweater and ankle-skimming pants. What was going through her mind?
He settled himself into the Bronco, easing the vehicle onto the road again. Ashlyn Spencer—a synonym for trouble, if there ever was one.
He cruised to the outskirts of town, near the Spencer mansion, intending to backtrack from there to Locksley Field. When a flash of red sweater filtered into his headlight view, he slowed to a near stop, putting down the window to talk with Ashlyn.
She kept going, barely glancing at him, forcing him to do a U-turn and roll down the passenger window.
“Get in before I lasso you in.”
Her walk was easy, swivel-hipped, casual. As if she were enjoying a sunny afternoon, parasol tipped over her head, fountains splashing in the background.
“I’m fine, Sheriff Sam.”
He kept his silence, knowing words couldn’t approach where his anger was leading him.
She seemed to catch his frustration, stopped, tilted her head. “I’m sorry for what happened to your family.”
His vision went dark for a moment. All he could do was nod, accepting her sentiment. He would’ve apologized to her for his sharp attitude in the office, but he found it hard to speak with his throat burning as sorely as it was.
Damned wimp. Since when did he get so emotional?
He put the Bronco in neutral, pulled the emergency brake, slid over to open the door and extended a hand to help her into the vehicle. An eternity seemed to pass before she accepted, blazing his skin with the touch of hers.
Wasting no time once she was inside, he retreated back to his side of the car, angry at his body’s reaction to her soft skin, her colorful eyes, her sweetheart smile.
Dammit.
He started up the car, drove a little faster than necessary in the hope of getting her away from him.
The police scanner did the talking for them, bits and pieces of static, beeps and Deputy Joanson’s monotone saying, “Testing, testing…” He really needed to hire that dispatcher. As soon as possible, too.
It was no use thinking about the job. He was much too aware of her honey-and-almond scent, the way her hair stuck out at interesting angles, making her seem as though she’d just tumbled out of bed. It was a long drive all right.
After what seemed like generations later, they pulled up to the Spencer mansion. Normally, its thunderous iron gates were like muscle-bound arms crossed to the rest of the world. But tonight the gates were open.
He and Ashlyn exchanged looks, noting the oddity.
The engine purred as Sam hesitated, peering up the stretch of driveway, past the fortress of pines—trees that blocked the brick Colonial-style mansion from gawkers, those unworthy enough to happen upon the Spencers’ seclusion.
He started to turn the steering wheel, aiming for the driveway.
Ashlyn reached out, her fingers clutching his biceps. They remained for a beat too long, lazily sketching down the length of his forearm as she absently peeked out the window at her grandiose home. He wasn’t sure she knew what she was doing, touching him like this, leaving a trail of dangerous fire that had spread from his arm to his stomach.
“I’ll bet my father’s waiting for me,” she said.
The words sounded ominous because Sam thought maybe Horatio Spencer was waiting for him, too. Waiting to blast him a glare he usually reserved for Sam’s foster brother, the one who’d purchased the all-important businesses from under the Spencers’ noses.
It didn’t matter that Nick had been helping needful families by giving them houses and businesses with money from his self-constructed fortune. Horatio Spencer looked upon the whole episode as a young man’s revenge against Chad, his son. The son who’d framed a teenage Nick for a crime he hadn’t committed.
Sam held back a grimace, welcoming this chance to greet Horatio.
Ashlyn’s hand left his skin, traveling from his arm to her neck, toying with the necklace she wore. It was a chunk of ordinary gravel, surrounded by gleaming silver half circles. He wondered why someone as rich as Ashlyn Spencer wasn’t wearing emeralds or sapphires to go with the shine of her eyes.
He couldn’t help asking about the charm. “Is your talisman strong enough to get you out of trouble?”
She started, maybe just realizing that she’d been rubbing it as if it were Aladdin’s lamp. “I’ve got my own strength.”
Shut out, as he’d done to her so many times tonight. “Right.”
Her smile was wistful. “It’s nothing, anyway. Just my albatross.”
He cocked his brow, not knowing what to say. Instead, they both returned their attention to the open gates.
“Let’s go,” he said.
Chapter Three
Ashlyn couldn’t believe Sam had cared enough to hunt her down and drive her home.
But, she told herself, don’t read too much into it. He’s the sheriff. He protects people.
Her hand still tingled from when she’d touched his muscled arm—tingles powered by a little girl’s dreams. If Horatio Spencer saw her in this car with someone who could be considered the family enemy, she’d have hell to pay. Even Ashlyn’s mother wasn’t too fond of the Renos and their foster son, Nick Cassidy.
Ashlyn still recalled the day she’d come home from Meg and Nick’s wedding, having served as an impromptu maid-of-honor. They’d caught her hanging out with the old men from the general store, rocking on the porch, exchanging salty jokes and laughter. She’d been oddly touched when Meg had hopped from Nick’s beat-up truck, five-month-pregnant tummy and all, to ask her to stand up for their union. Ashlyn had taken great pride in picking wildflowers for the bridal bouquet, in standing next to Meg at the altar while they’d exchanged vows.
She’d mattered to someone. She’d played a positive part in Meg and Nick’s happiness.
But when her mother had caught wind of the gossip, she’d all but keeled over. Ashlyn didn’t even want to remember what her father had said.
Sam floored the gas pedal, and Ashlyn grabbed the door handle. The Bronco flew up the driveway.
While trees swished by, Ashlyn tried to calm herself, hoping that she’d been wrong about her father being home. Maybe he was still at work, practicing his usual late-night hours.
They pulled onto the circular path that looped in front of the white doors and columns of her home. No one stood outside. Ashlyn breathed a sigh of relief, but stopped short when her gaze traveled to the second story.
Framed by a window, her mother’s silhouette stood sentinel, hand raised to her mouth. Ashlyn could imagine a cough racking Edwina Spencer’s body and the pills she would take to make her ailments disappear. Until the next sickness came along. And the next.
Her mother’s shadow seemed all the more desolate due to the two nearly deserted mansion wings spanning either side of her. All the windows reflected darkness, silence.
After Ashlyn left Sam, she’d shuffle to her room in one of those wings, alone, listening to the wind whistling through the halls, wondering if she’d ever have the courage or confidence to leave the only place she felt comfortable being a Spencer.
Sam pulled up to the doorway, stopping the vehicle. He watched her mother’s shadow, too, perhaps wishing he had a family to come home to. Or maybe Ashlyn was being overly fanciful, interpreting his softened gaze as more than it was.
His mouth turned up in a slight smile as Ashlyn realized she was staring again.
