Tony couldn’t believe he was finally sitting across the table from the woman he’d been not pining for, but definitely thinking about for the last two and half months.
As he watched her animated expression when she described the frat boys’ latest antics, he couldn’t help remembering the first time he’d met her. How her hands shook when she’d held him at bay with that nothing of a pistol, her face deadly serious. He still wasn’t convinced she would’ve shot him, although now that he knew some of her story, he had to admit that the prospect was more likely than he first believed.
With an effort, he kept from asking her about her ex-husband and her former life in Georgia. Somehow, he simply couldn’t imagine Sarah Bennett being cowed by any man, although the very thought still made his blood boil. His emotions ran the gamut, from praying Paul Prescott would never track her down in Willow Bay to wishing he would turn up. Tony could beat the living shit out of him and then stick him in jail for the rest of his life. Or better yet, shoot the bastard, weight his body, and drop him into the watery depths of Lake Michigan. He was fairly certain Liam, Will, and Henry would have his back on that one.
That smirking mug shot haunted Tony’s dreams. More than once since Sarah had come into his life, he’d awakened in a cold sweat, trembling and furious. The crime scene pictures filled his mind every time he encountered her—those horrifying shots of her daughter’s broken body and the grim photos of Sarah beaten and bloody.
Jesus, what kind of monster does—
“Don’t you think so?” Sarah’s voice brought him back to the Fishwife with a start.
He blinked, realizing he’d lost most of what she’d said for the past couple of minutes. Something about the frat boys… Oh hell, he couldn’t come up with what and she’d know immediately if he tried to fake it.
He’d have to ’fess up. “Sorry, I was drifting.” Giving her a sheepish smile, he went for broke. “You look so amazing tonight I got distracted.”
Pink color stained her cheeks, disarming him completely. “Thank you,” she said, lowering her eyes. “Back at you, Deputy. I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen you in anything except your uniform or beat-up work clothes.” She chuckled and held up one hand. “Or your yachting uniform.”
Tony grinned, enjoying how the candlelight reflected in her turquoise eyes and brought out the rare silver threads in her auburn hair. “I’m not even sure how the whole Hawaiian shirt thing got started, but an entire section of my closet is dedicated to them. I’m most comfortable in T-shirts and jeans or shorts, and I haven’t put on nice pants and a button-down shirt in ages—it feels kinda good.”
“I was thinking as I got dressed tonight that I need to go shopping for clothes that are more appropriate to beach town life. I don’t even own a swimming suit.” She leaned toward him and made the confession in a hushed tone.
He played along, faking a look of horror. “What? I can’t believe they’ve let you stay here.”
“May I refill your glass, Ms. Bennett?” Their server arrived with a large pitcher of iced tea and poured as Sarah nodded. “Your food will be out in just a minute. Sorry it’s taking so long. We’re pretty packed tonight, so things are a little slow in the kitchen. I can get you some more bread if you like.”
“Sure,” Sarah said. “And more apple butter? It’s delicious.”
“You betcha.” The girl topped off Tony’s glass, picked up their empty salad plates, and disappeared.
“How does she know my name?” Sarah asked, her brows pinched together in a frown. “As a matter of fact, I haven’t had to introduce myself to a single person in this town and, yet, everyone seems to know my name.”
He chuckled. “That’s village life for you.”
“It’s nice, if a little disconcerting.” She took the last piece of bread from the basket and dipped it in the container of apple butter that had come along with it.
He was glad to see her eating with such gusto. She’d been downright skinny when she first arrived; now she was blooming like a rose. Although she was still small, her cheeks were rounder, and where she’d once been all angles and lines, now she curved quite nicely. More important, she was no longer hunched in on herself, no longer… What was the word? Cowering?
He wanted to believe that new confidence was due in no small part to him. He’d worked hard over the past few weeks to develop an easy friendship based on trust and mutual attraction. Oh yeah, he knew she was attracted to him. However, he also realized she’d never do anything about that feeling if he pushed her. So he’d stayed in the background, a steady, safe presence, keeping in her line of vision without getting into her personal space.
“Disconcerting?” he asked.
“I’m guessing it’s hard to keep a secret around here.”
“Well, we are a small town,” he admitted. “But you know, it’s not a gossipy place.”
Sarah raised one brow. “Um, I’ve met Perry.”
“Perry’s harmless. The Grind is a hangout, so he hears everything. He doesn’t indulge in vicious rumors or mean gossip, though. He just listens and knows what’s happening.” Tony rested his chin in his palm, unable to take his eyes off her. “He’s a great resource for Sheriff Gibson and me because his memory is incredible.”
“So I want him on my side, right?” She popped the last bite of bread into her mouth as the server arrived with another warm loaf of bread.
“You’re up next,” she said and picked up the empty basket.
Tony gave the girl a smile and a nod before turning back to Sarah. “We’re all on your side, Sarah.”
She stared at him, her face a morass of conflicting emotions. “I hope that’s true.”
He read the fear in her eyes and made a decision. The time had come to bring up the eight-hundred-pound gorilla that was always present when they were together. “Will you tell me about Georgia?”
* * * *
Sarah had been anticipating the question for weeks, had even played out several scenarios in her mind from dumping everything at Tony’s feet to refusing to speak of her past at all. Now that he’d finally asked, she was completely tongue-tied. She dropped her gaze, too aware that the wrong choice might make or break her tentative friendship with the handsome deputy.
Talking to Dr. Benton had been cathartic. Julie already knew most of the whole ugly story, and bits and pieces had come out with Carrie, Sophie, and Libby. But letting Tony in on the horrors of that time somehow made her feel vulnerable—if she revealed to him what she’d allowed for all those years, would that give him permission to treat her the same way? Was he even capable of such cruelty?
He’s male, isn’t he?
Immediately her conscience cried foul on that thought. Tony wasn’t Paul. He’d never once exhibited any behavior to prove he was capable of such viciousness. She trusted him—as much as she was able to trust any man—and for what it was worth, he was the first man she’d been even faintly attracted to since Paul.
At least she assumed that attraction was what she was experiencing. Her emotions had been so stunted living with Paul that she barely recognized the flutter low in her belly when Tony came into view or the little shiver that tingled through her when he touched her, however briefly. Although the very thought of being physical with him, of having his hands and lips on her, left her nauseated and shaking with terror.
“If you aren’t ready to talk to me, it’s okay.” Tony reached out a hand and let his fingertips brush hers across the table.
With that tentative touch, she made up her mind. “No, it’s just that I–I don’t talk about this easily,” she said, her gaze meeting his.
“I imagine not.” His eyes were so kind she almost dissolved into tears.
Thank God, their table was tucked into an intimate corner of the sprawling restaurant. The low hum of other diners’ conversations, punctuated by the occasional shout of laughter, barely reached them out here on the screened porch that overlooked the bay.
Sarah swallowed hard and straightened her shoulders as Tony sat still and silent, his fingers still resting against hers. She was certain that a single word from her would give her a pass, and he’d take the conversation right back to the warm July weather or what movies were playing at the Lakeside Drive-In or whether or not two refrigerators would be enough in the new kitchen at the shelter.
Basking in the safe warmth of his gaze, she made a daring choice—she’d start at the beginning. Maybe she wouldn’t seem like such a fool if he understood how it had been at first. “I was so young when I met him—only eighteen. The day after graduation, a bunch of us were at the club, lying by the pool, getting a start on our tans.” She glanced down at their hands and drew enough strength to give him a cockeyed smile. “Ames, Georgia, still thinks it’s nineteen sixty-four. Lots of old money, lots of privilege—think cotillions, debutantes, mint juleps, and boys in pink polo shirts and docksiders, no socks.”
“I’m already picturing you at sixteen, coming down the stairs in a long dress, carrying a bouquet of what? Gardenias?” He smiled and moved his hand closer, intertwining the tips of their fingers. “Did you wear a tiara?”
She allowed the touch and her stomach unknotted ever so slightly. Her heart beat a little faster when she realized that he was trying to make this easier for her, using humor to help her take a step back from the story. “Nope, I was the rebel who wove flowers in her hair instead. Mama was crushed I didn’t want to wear the tiara she and my grandmother had worn. Her only consolation was that I agreed to wear the diamond eardrops and pendant that my great-great-great grandmother had hidden from the Yankees.” She let her Georgia drawl come through on the last word. Maybe, just maybe, she’d get through this without embarrassing both of them.
“Did you live on a plantation?” he asked.
“We didn’t—we lived in a very upscale neighborhood that was once a plantation. Now it’s mini-mansions and stables and a country club. My ancestors had a tobacco plantation, though, back before the War of Northern Aggression.” She kept the teasing lilt in her voice.
“Would that be the kerfuffle we Yankees refer to as the Civil War?” He winked and reached for a piece of bread. “I guess it’s all a matter of historical perspective, right?”
“Isn’t most of life?” She wrinkled her nose at him, delighted with his low rumbling chuckle at the rhetorical question.
The server appeared with their food before he could reply, and for a few minutes, Sarah focused on shrimp scampi, roasted potatoes, and sautéed green beans. Tony was right, the cuisine was delicious—well worth the wait—and they ate companionably, talking about cooking and the history of the Fishwife and what there was to see and do around Willow Bay. When he offered her a fried shrimp from his plate, she gave him some scampi in exchange. They debated the relative merits of dessert, but decided against it, opting instead for second helpings of shrimp.
Everything seemed so normal that continuing her personal horror story in this place felt discordant. She set her fork on her near-empty plate and met Tony’s eyes over the flickering votive between them. “Could we go somewhere quieter to talk?”
He paused, the last bite of potato midway from his plate to his mouth and the look in his eyes sent a shiver down her spine. Crap, did he think she was flirting, trying to…to seduce him? Did that sound like an invitation?
She caught her breath, floundering. “I mean… What I meant was—”
He put the fork down, reached for her, then pulled his hand back and placed both palms on the table. “Sarah, stop. It’s okay. I know what you meant.” His warm gaze captured hers, affection so clear in his eyes that her stomach flipped over. “How about we finish up here and head down to the beach? We can walk out on the breakwater and watch the sunset.”
Her sigh of relief was louder than she meant for it to be, but he was still smiling, so she nodded. “Sounds perfect.”
* * * *
Sarah rarely noticed sunsets. She was always too focused on locking herself in, bolting doors, and closing window blinds or shutters against the approaching night and all the dread that came with it. Tonight though, the evening was awash with color—strokes of pink, orange, and deep red were painted over a darkening blue sky, turning the lake into a glistening pool of fire. She stopped at the edge of the beach and caught her breath at the sight of the ruby sun resting a hand’s width above the horizon. “Oh, my God!”
Tony touched her shoulder. “What? What is it?”
She smiled up at him. “The sunset. It’s... it’s beautiful.”
“I know.” He led her over to a bench. “Here, take off your shoes and roll up your pant legs.” He sat and yanked off his sandals and placed them under the bench.
Even his feet were handsome—not all hard and horny and rough-nailed. A startling thought considering she wasn’t all that crazy about feet in general and men’s feet in particular.
“Won’t somebody take them?” She toed off her espadrilles and picked them up. “I can carry them.”
“Nobody will touch them.” He plucked the canvas shoes from her fingers and set them next to his, where they looked like a child’s footwear by comparison.
“Are you sure?” She owned two pairs of nice shoes, and in Chicago, she’d never have left any belongings on a public beach, expecting to come back and retrieve them. Most of the time, she didn’t even carry a purse—only her phone in a case that also held her driver’s license, a credit card, and some cash tucked into her pocket as she had tonight. That and a lip gloss and her keys.
“I promise,” he assured her. “It’s an unspoken rule of the village.”
“Okay.” Sarah couldn’t keep the edge of doubt from her tone as she leaned down to fold up her pant legs. “What if we forget them?”
“We won’t.” He stopped in the midst of rolling his own pant legs to give her a grin. “However, if we did, we’d find them in the lost-and-found box at the lifeguard station right over there, which is never locked.” He pointed to a shack some fifty yards down the beach. “That’s where anything left on the beach ends up. And usually, if they know whose stuff it is, one of the village kids will deliver your lost items right to your door.”
Sarah shook her head. “I’m sure not in Chicago anymore, am I?”
“No, Dorothy, you’re not.” He extended his hand, invitation shining in his eyes. “Want to take a walk to Oz with me?”
After hesitating for a second, she slipped her hand in his, surprised that her biggest worry wasn’t the intimacy of the act; rather, her fear was that her hands were coarse and not at all feminine from the work at the shelter. Even wearing gloves hadn’t protected them from calluses and blisters. If he noticed her rough skin, he showed no sign as he enveloped her much smaller hand in his and started up the beach toward the rock jetty.
At the edge of the water, he stopped, pointing to the giant fiery ball settling onto the horizon. “Watch this,” he murmured.
The waves whooshed on the shore as they stood hand-in-hand, their shoulders barely touching. The sunset took her breath away—one moment the sun rested on the surface of the lake, the next it seemed to have sunk into the water. Her hand tightened on Tony’s while the whole sky became a study in crimson, and to the east, a few stars glimmered white gold above the bay. In one long hiss, she released the breath she’d been holding.
“That was... amazing,” she whispered, as if speaking in a normal tone might destroy the magic of the moment.
Lacing his fingers with hers, they continued walking along the hard-packed sand. “Yeah,” he said. “Gets me every time.” His voice was gruff with emotion and once again Sarah was taken aback.
Who’d ever have guessed this most masculine of men would turn out also to be such a sensitive soul? So gentle? He turned any notion she’d formed about male behavior on its ear. In the short time she’d known Tony Reynard, she’d never once seen him red-faced with fury or gritting his teeth to keep his temper in check. She’d never heard him tear someone down with cold, calculated cruelty or, for that matter, even utter an unkind word. Not that she believed for a moment that he was incapable of anger—he was human after all. But incredibly, he seemed to be exactly the kind, easygoing soul he presented himself to be.
Sarah widened her stride to match his long steps and, when she did, he slowed his pace with a faint smile.
“Sorry,” he said. “I sometimes forget most people’s legs aren’t as long as mine.”
“You’re fine,” she said. “You’re just fine.”
And he was… He certainly was.