The Sheriff of Shelter Valley. Tara Quinn Taylor
woman challenged him at every turn—something he particularly liked about her—and yet she’d never, until that moment, been difficult to follow. Just difficult to get any information from.
Of course, she’d been hurt, was wary. Probably loath to risk letting anyone get close again. Greg could understand that. It had taken him a long time to open up after Shelby left.
“And now that I’ve pointed it out to you?”
“I know.”
“And?”
“I don’t know.” As Ryan toddled toward Greg to see what he was doing, Beth leaned over the washer. “How’s it going back there?”
Greg twisted the faucet again and it gave immediately. Probably because exasperation had added strength to his grip. “Good,” he told her. “Another five minutes and you can throw in your first load.”
“Can I have the wrench, Ryan?” he asked, surprised when he turned his head to see the little guy so close to him, staring him right in the eye. Without blinking, the boy handed over the wrench.
“He’s a man of few words,” Greg said to Beth.
“We’re working on that.”
With his only living relative in the day care business, Greg knew a lot about kids. “He’ll talk when he’s ready.”
“I hope so.”
Greg made one more adjustment. “Here you go, little bud,” he said, handing the wrench back to Beth’s son. “You want to drop that in the toolbox for me?”
Ryan put the tool down on top of the hammer.
“I’ll bet he has more to say when it’s just the two of you,” he said as he slid the appliances in place against the wall.
“Not really.”
She sounded worried. Greg figured it had to be hard for her, a single mother—all alone in the world, as far as he could tell. She had no one to share the worries and heartaches with, to calm the fears, to share the mammoth responsibility of child-rearing.
More than ever, he wanted to change that.
If she’d let him.
“Did you get to the Mathers’?” she asked as he packed up his toolbox.
Greg nodded. It had been just as difficult as he’d expected.
“Bad news?”
“A sheriff rarely gets to deliver good news.”
“Clara told me they lost a daughter.”
Resting a foot on his toolbox, Greg leaned his forearm on his leg. “It’s been almost twenty years,” he told her, nowhere near ready to leave. Ryan was sitting on the floor a few feet away, a toy on his lap, pulled from a neat stack of colorful objects in the bottom drawer of the end table. The boy was obviously occupied, but Greg lowered his voice, anyway. “She and some friends were in a boat on Canyon Lake. They hit a rock. She was thrown and ended up underneath the boat.”
Beth’s eyes clouded. “They have pictures of a boy in their bedroom. I’m assuming they have a son, too?”
Greg nodded.
“Is he still around?”
“He’s still alive.” Greg sighed. The Mathers had physically deflated as he’d told them about the latest trouble Bob had gotten into. “After Molly, their daughter, was killed, they focused everything they had on Bob. He became their reason for living. He was a rebellious kid, but they pinned all their hope, love and energy on him.”
“You knew Bob?”
“We graduated in the same class.”
“Is he good to them?”
Greg wasn’t surprised by the compassion he read on Beth’s face. He’d been touched by her natural warmth the first time he’d run into her at the day care. He hadn’t needed his sister’s priming—her point-blank match-making attempts—to get his attention. Odd how someone could be so closed off and yet emanate such caring.
“Bob somehow came out of it all believing that the world owes him a living. He’s a conniver who works too little and drinks too much.”
“He’s not good to them.”
Most of what Greg knew, he wasn’t at liberty to say. “He hasn’t been home to see them in over five years.” He could tell her that much.
“What a shame. They’re such nice people.”
“They are.”
“It’s not right, you know,” she said softly, her arms wrapped around her middle as she leaned back against the wall, facing him and the room where her son played.
“What’s that?”
“Life, I guess. You have people like the Mathers, filled with unconditional love, great parents in an empty house, and their son, a jerk who’s completely wasting one of the greatest gifts he’ll ever get in this life. I’d literally give a limb to have what he’s just throwing away.”
She stopped, stepped away from the wall and busied herself with closing the closet door and picking up the packaging from the dryer vent, the papers she’d been given with the appliances.
She’d said more than she’d meant to. He could tell by the stiffness in her back. The way she wouldn’t look at him. Greg knew the signs well. He’d seen them again and again over the years as he’d questioned suspects. Could tell when just another push or two would wring the confession he was seeking.
“How about we take this little guy out for ice cream?” he asked, walking toward Ryan.
“Cweam?” the boy echoed, staring up at his mother.
“He’s messy,” Beth warned.
It wasn’t a no. Greg was elated. Probably far beyond what the situation warranted.
“Messiness is an unwritten rule when you’re two,” he said lightly.
He could read the uncertainty in her face. Which only made him want her capitulation that much more.
If he was a nice guy, he’d give up. Go away and leave her alone, quit bugging her, as she seemed to want. Except, Greg didn’t feel at all sure that was what she wanted. From the very beginning, whenever their eyes met, which she didn’t allow often, he’d felt the communication between them.
Something about this woman kept bringing him back, in spite of her refusal to have anything to do with him. And he had a pretty strong suspicion that she was drawn to him, too.
Her mouth said no. But he wasn’t convinced the rest of her agreed.
“Aren’t you worried about what people will think?” she said in a low voice.
As excuses went, it wasn’t one of her better ones. “It isn’t against the law for sheriffs to eat ice cream with messy kids.”
“Cweam?” Ryan asked again. Beth picked him up.
“Greg—” She stopped abruptly.
It was the first time she’d called him by his first name. He liked it. Too much.
“You know what I mean,” she said, her shoulders dropping. “I’ve only been here six months and don’t know many people, but I’ve certainly seen how well-oiled the gossip wheel is in this town. It might make things uncomfortable for you if you’re seen with the cleaning lady.”
“We aren’t snobs in Shelter Valley.”
“I know, but I’m a nobody who cleans houses and you’re the boss of the entire county.”
“I don’t think Mayor Smith would be too happy to hear you say that.”