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Sara eyed him a moment longer. “Samson and Delaney. Kind of funny, isn’t it? Almost like Samson and Delilah.”
His wife had once been his only weakness. “Funny.” Oh, yeah. Har-dee-har-har.
“Well.” Sara slid off the bar stool. “I’m a good listener if you want to talk.” Her tone was dry. They both knew Sam didn’t share his thoughts with much of anybody. “Don’t pour too much more of that stuff for the sheriff, here, Leo,” she said as she headed toward the door. “It’s lethal.”
Sam barely waited for the door to close behind Sara. “Leo.” He snagged his brother’s attention from the television and lifted his empty mug.
Leo grimaced, then headed back over to Sam. “She’s right, man, you’re gonna be sorry.”
“Pour.”
Leo shook his head, regretfully. But he poured, then ambled back over to watch the remainder of his black-and-white midnight screamer.
Sam lifted the mug of what was hands-down the vilest coffee he’d ever tasted.
“Y’oughta have a beer,” Leo said, not looking his way. “Or turpentine. Be easier on the stomach.”
Easier didn’t mean better. Given Sam’s current frame of mind, once he started drinking he wasn’t gonna want to stop until he couldn’t remember that Delaney was still back at his place.
“You going to Etta’s tomorrow?” Leo’s voice interrupted his grim thoughts.
Sam twisted the coffee mug back and forth, lining it up with the permanent rings on the bar. “No.”
“First time since you came back to the island that you’re going to miss her Sunday dinner.”
“She’ll live.” He wasn’t in the mood to discuss his reasons for avoiding his grandmother’s traditional Sunday meal. Leo knew the reasons well enough.
Leo shrugged. “Etta’s gonna use your tail for dog chow if you don’t show up tomorrow. With your wife in tow. Word travels fast around here. It’s a wonder she hasn’t already hunted you down about that particular bit.”
Truth was, Sam was a little surprised at that, too. “I can handle Etta.” And “towing” had never worked with Delaney.
Leo’s lips quirked. He looked back at the television. Then the clock. The bar would close at two. Not a minute before, not a minute later, whether there were patrons present or not.
“Heard she’s good-looking.”
“Etta? That’s where you get the looks, Leo,” Sam deadpanned.
His brother shot him the bird. Some described Henrietta Vega as a handsome woman. Sam considered her a tough old bird. In looks as well as personality. He loved her, but generally—aside from her fried chicken and mashed potatoes—she was a source of regular irritation.
“Did you leave her or was it the other way around?”
No respite. No need to clarify who Leo was speaking of. “Depends who you ask,” he said truthfully, and stood. “Don’t let the Haggerty boys back in here for a few days. Vern’s been aching for trouble since he got booted from the academy.”
“Their money’s good.”
“Their brains aren’t. Those two are spoiling for a fight about something and getting drunk isn’t helping. Next time they might do more damage than bust up a few bar stools.”
Leo nodded. “Yeah, whatever. Go home to your wife and stop lecturing me.” There was no heat in Leo’s voice.
Sam left.
Go home to your wife. Now there was a damned strange thing to consider.
Too strange to do just yet. Instead, he drove up and down Turnabout Road. Going slowly, looking over the sleeping town. Sara’s moonlit fields where she and Annie grew crops for their shop of lotions and herbal goops. Diego Montoya’s recently rebuilt dock where his ancient ferry rocked in the water, making soft thumps and gentle rattles. Then back up to the road to the far end of the isle where the gates of Castillo House were closed. A few windows in the big house glowed yellow in the night, but the Christmas lights from the party were all dark.
His tires crunched over gravel and crumbling black-top as he turned the vehicle around. Eight-point-seven miles straight down the only real road the island possessed and he was back at his own place.
No glowing windows welcomed him home.
He turned off the engine, leaving the key in the ignition. Nobody on the island would steal his truck. There would be no place to go with it.
He went inside, heading straight to his room. It wasn’t his imagination that caught Delaney’s scent as he walked through the dark house. It was the same custom perfume that she’d liked before.
He shook off the memory and moved to the glass door that opened onto the rear deck. But his hand paused as he glanced out.
She’d turned on the outdoor light and though it wasn’t very bright, he could plainly see Delaney sitting in one of the chairs on the narrow deck. That surprised him. Though she had pushed the chair as close to the house as it would go to put more distance between her and the rail overlooking the cliff. What didn’t surprise him was the file that she was reading, occasionally scrawling some note.
He stood there, silently, watching her for a long while, knowing she wouldn’t be able to see him standing there in the dark even if she did look his way. She was as slender as ever, her crossed legs as long and shapely as his dreams frequently reminded. Tailored, no frills and completely female with a love for shoes that made her ankles look even finer. He’d always been torn between male appreciation of her unabashedly sexy shoes and amusement that the things were hazardous. His gaze drifted down to her bare feet. Her toenails were painted red and that was new. Not at all the subtle pastel stuff she’d worn before. She’d also taken down her hair. The white-blond gleam of it drifted around her slender shoulders. From the day he’d met her, she’d confined her hair. In pins, or a ponytail. He still remembered the feel of the silky strands the first time he’d pulled the hair free. He closed his fingers against the itch in his palms.
Now, either she was playing some game that completely escaped him, or she really did believe they were divorced.
Both seemed implausible ideas when it came to Delaney.
He abruptly slid open the door and her head whipped around at the sound. “You can use the guest room,” he said before she could speak. “The bed’s not made. I’ll have to find you some sheets.”
She closed the file in her briefcase and pushed out of the padded chair to face him. The breeze lifted her hair. “I already did. Make the bed, that is.”
“Efficient of you.”
“Don’t look at me like that. It was something to do since I’ve been stuck here for the past few hours.”
He stepped closer to her, getting in her space. He’d learned a long time ago that it was one of the only ways to break through that mile-high reserve of hers. Most people would simply step away from someone invading their personal space, but not Delaney. Not when she had an even higher share of pride than reserve.
And underneath it all a boundless heart that occasionally snuck out and showed through her soft blue eyes. “I’m surprised you came out on the deck,” he murmured. “It’s pretty high up from the water.”
“Actually, it’s rather like being surrounded by the sky,” she said coolly.
Of course. Commenting on her fear of heights put that extra tone in her voice. “You have circles under your eyes.”
“Flattery always was your strong point, Sam.”
“You still don’t get enough sleep. Probably too busy reading case files in bed.”
She pressed her palm to her throat, her eyes going wide. “And here, all this time I thought you didn’t care.”
“Nice to know we still bring out the best in each other.”
She didn’t bat an eye. “Isn’t it? And I’ll take your kind offer of the guest room with my assurance that I’ll leave as soon as humanly possible. I’ll catch Mr. Montoya’s ferry first thing.”
“You can cut the act, Delaney. There’s nobody here but us.”
“Act.” Her brows drew together. “Were you always so…unpleasant?”
He almost laughed at that. “There were times you didn’t think so.” He touched the ends of her silky hair, a genuine smile tugging at his lips when her bravado disappeared in a puff. Something about her eyes. One moment they frothed like a whitecap and the next they were quiet pools that hid none of the depths inside her.
She shifted, adding a good foot of distance between them. “Really? I hardly remember.”
He had to give her credit for trying.
He turned back toward his room. “Come through here. Guest room’s across the hall, but you probably figured that out when you were hunting up sheets in my closets.”
She hurriedly snatched up the briefcase, following him. “I didn’t snoop.”
“Did I accuse you of it?”
“You implied it.”
He exhaled noisily. “Get some sleep, Delaney. And forget about catching Diego’s ferry tomorrow.”
“Why on earth would I want to do that?”
He knew if he looked at her, the whitecaps would be back. He knew if he looked at her, he’d want to touch her again, no matter how stupid it would be. “It doesn’t run on Sundays.”
She was silent a moment. “Dandy.”
Delaney was the only person he’d ever known who used the word dandy, much less for circumstances ranging from spectacular to abysmal. He sat on the end of his bed and then—because he was a man and she was his wife—he couldn’t help but look at her. “Not exactly like running to the corner and hailing a cab.”
“No.”
He pulled off one boot. Go away, Laney.
Her eyebrows drew together. “Are you trying to intimidate me?”
“By taking off my boots?” He removed the other and it hit the floor with a thud to lie by the first. “I’m not that obvious.” Yes, he was. Go away, Laney.
“By making me uncomfortable, you can control the situation.”
He stood and started on his shirt buttons. “Like this?”
“You’re so obvious.”
“And you’re not moving.” He tossed the shirt aside. “Maybe because you want to stay. The bedroom really was where we did all our best work.”
“Bedroom?” The word burst from her lips. “Half the time you—”
“I…what?” He prompted when her voice strangled down to nothing. “Didn’t wait to get to the bedroom?” He took a step toward her. And another. For each step he took, she inched farther away, the briefcase held in front of her like a shield. The door was within reach.
“Remember that time we—”
The phone rang.
She jumped a little.
He considered ignoring it. But he couldn’t. He was the bloody sheriff; the only law in a town that had a council but no mayor, because nobody wanted to take on the job of heading up the antiquated place. He eyed Delaney as it rang again.
She looked pale.
He was surprised she didn’t use the phone as her last means of escape. But then there were lots of things he’d found surprising about Delaney.
He went over to the bed and snatched up the extension. “Vega.” The airy hum over the line meant the call wasn’t local. Not the Haggerty boys getting into it again, then. “Hello?”
“Detective Vega?”
It’d been a while since he’d been called that. “Not anymore. Who is this?” But he knew the answer before the other man answered.
“Chad Wright.”
“Yeah?” Sam’s voice was bland.
The line hummed for a moment. Then Chad cleared his throat. “Well, I was looking for my fiancée.”
Fiancée.
Well, well, well.
Sam shoved his hand in his pocket to keep from tearing the phone out of the wall and slid his gaze to Delaney. “Who would that be,” he asked genially, knowing full well that it was the woman standing in the doorway of his bedroom, eyeing him suspiciously.
“Delaney, of course.” Chad sounded impatient. “Look, I know it’s late. But she never checked into the hotel in San Diego, and I haven’t been able to reach her on her cell phone. She said she planned to speak with you after she’d taken care of some business there, and I’m just trying to locate her. I’ve already checked with Castillo House, and she left there hours ago. Do you know if she was delayed in Turnabout?”
On Turnabout. It’s an island. Idiot. But not such an idiot that his concern kept him from calling Sam—something the other man had to have hated doing. “Cell phones don’t work out here.”
“Yes, I figured that out. So? Have you seen her?”
He held the phone in Delaney’s direction. “Your fiancé’s on the phone for you.”
Her ivory skin went white. She pushed back her hair from her face. “Chad?”
“You engaged to more than one guy?”
She didn’t answer that. The fine line of her jaw tightened. She set her case down on the dresser by the door before quickly moving forward to snatch the phone. She turned her back on him, but she couldn’t go far. It was a corded phone, as good as a leash.
Her voice was low, but Sam could still hear her as she greeted Chad Wright. Chadly Do-Wright.
And his wife was engaged to him.
He moved to the foot of the bed and sat down. He’d be damned if he’d leave, but listening to the muted one-sided conversation took him perilously close to the end of his rope.
The divorce proceedings she’d once started had long ago been dismissed, incomplete. She could well have filed again. Technically, he had abandoned her. Moved out of their apartment. Her apartment, to be precise. Hell, he’d moved out of the state, to the opposite side of the country. Wasn’t surprising that Chad had made a move on her.
