Heartbreak Cove (Sanctuary Island) (RE8) (16 page)

Chapter Fifteen

“Somebody had a good day off,” Ivy commented archly, flipping her coal-black Bettie Page waves off her shoulders with a petulant pout. “Good, that makes one of us.”

Andie wanted to ask how Ivy could tell, but she was a little afraid of the answer. Realizing she’d lifted a self-conscious hand to her tidy French braid, Andie dropped it and cleared her throat. “Yes, well. The weather is warming up, it was nice to spend some time outside.”

“Oooh, Sheriff!” Mischief flashed behind the black-framed cat-eye glasses Ivy wore some days, purely for fashion purposes. “Isn’t there a law against public indecency?”

Frowning repressively, Andie changed the subject. “Any calls for me?”

“Wyatt Hawkins, from the
Gazette.
He’s got some questions.”

Apprehension prickled a cool chill over Andie’s scalp. “I’ll call him from my office. Anything else?”

Ivy tilted her chin down to stare meaningfully over the tops of her glasses. “Not unless you’re willing to let me live vicariously with some down and dirty details about your date with Sam Brennan.”

All it took was one mention of Sam to restore Andie’s good mood. That afternoon on the lake had changed everything between them. Sam had let her see beneath his gruff, tough-guy shell to the bruised heart and lonely solitude at the core of him—and she’d told him her worst secret, but he hadn’t looked at her like she was an idiot or should have known better. He’d been angry at her father for not supporting her.

Sam’s anger on her behalf was like being taken by shoulders and shaken awake. Andie could look back at that time in her life now and see that while she’d certainly made mistakes and trusted where she shouldn’t—her crimes hadn’t been so terrible that she deserved to lose everything. She hadn’t deserved being abandoned by her father.

On the other hand, Andie couldn’t regret the way things had played out. If her father were a different man, if he’d been more understanding and loving, Andie would never have picked up and moved to Sanctuary Island.

She’d never have met Sam. At the moment, that seemed like a worse fate.

“Oh fine,” Ivy grumped. “If you’re not dishing the dirt, you might as well head out to the Firefly. Wyatt said he’d meet you there.”

“Perfect! I’m supposed to have lunch with Sam,” Andie said without thinking.

Ivy brightened instantly. “Oooh, a nooner! That’s promising.”

“If by ‘nooner,’ you mean splitting my usual order of cheese fries with another human being so I don’t start the afternoon shift feeling like a blimp, then yes.” Amused despite herself, Andie flicked her fingers good-bye at Ivy’s stuck-out tongue, and headed out.

At this hour, before the lunch rush, the Firefly Caf
é
was almost empty. Other than Lonz, the owner and head chef, and an older waitress Andie didn’t recognize, the only person Andie saw when she stepped into the restaurant was slouched into the back corner booth, nursing a cup of coffee and scowling at the waitress’s attempts to get him to order anything else.

“I’m here for a meeting,” Wyatt groused, shoving ink-stained fingers through his disheveled brown hair. “Not to clog my arteries with animal byproducts and spike my blood sugar with high fructose corn syrup.”

“I see,” the waitress retorted, propping one hand on her hip above the flare of her sea-foam green uniform skirt. “So I’ll just keep the free coffee refills coming, and you can fill your veins with caffeine—which is so all natural and healthy, it’s basically medicinal. Is that right?”

Andie felt her eyebrows shoot up as she checked the woman’s nametag. Florene. Andie thought Florene might last—after the previous waitress left to get married, the Firefly had become a revolving door of women looking for work but unable to deal with the idiosyncratic demands of Sanctuary Island’s quirkier residents and Alonzo’s tendency to conduct every conversation at top volume. Florene was older than most of Lonz’s applicants—in fact, as Andie studied the woman, she had to revise her original estimate of middle-age up by a decade or two.

“That
is
right,” Wyatt insisted, sitting up straight and emphatically holding out his mug. “Coffee is the nectar of the gods, and besides that, studies show—”

The waitress cut him off by rolling her eyes and filling his mug to the brim from the pot she carried. “Next you’ll be telling me people aren’t designed to eat meat or gluten or what have you.”

“As a matter of fact,” Wyatt began, but Florene only rolled her eyes again.

“I don’t know how you got muscles like that, eating no meat.”

“Whey protein shakes,” Wyatt shot back.

“That’s revolting,” she said in a bored tone. “You’re cute. But I’m seventy-three and I’ve eaten steak and fried chicken and biscuits my entire life. Still here, still kicking.”

“I bet you’d be kicking higher if you lived healthier,” Wyatt retorted.

“Boy, you don’t want to see me kick. I’m liable to aim it at your backside.”

“Lonz!” Wyatt yelled. “Your new waitress is threatening me.”

“Aw, write an expos
é
about it then,” Alonzo shouted from the depths of the kitchen.

“Maybe I will,” Wyatt grumbled as Florene carried her empty coffee pot back to the pass in triumph. “I’m sure the residents of Sanctuary Island would like to know the poison this place regularly serves.”

“I like her,” Andie commented as she slid into the booth across from the newspaperman.

“Hi, Sheriff.” Wyatt gulped at his coffee, dark eyes studying her over the rim of his mug. Wyatt Hawkins might be a vegetarian health nut, but he backed up his nutritional choices with a sharp mind and a body honed at the gym. As Ivy liked to say, Wyatt treated his body like a temple … and she was ready for worship.

Andie could see how Wyatt’s lean musculature and stern, serious eyes would appeal to some women. Her tastes ran more to slow, gentle smiles and big shoulders broad enough to carry the weight of the world.

“Mr. Hawkins,” Andie said, making an effort to rein in her focus. “How’s the newspaper business? I hope you’re still managing to get along with Barry Fillmore.”

“He’s still a whiny jerkwad, if that’s what you mean.”

“It wasn’t, but I can read between the lines. As long as nothing major has changed, I’ll leave you two to enjoy your feud. Let me know if you need another mediation, and I’ll bring my riot gear and handcuffs.”

Wyatt’s mouth quirked like he wanted to smile, but instead he put his Serious Reporter face on. “Will do, Sheriff. Of course, that’s assuming you remain sheriff after the upcoming election.”

Suppressing a sigh, Andie sat up straight. “I can’t say I’m looking forward to this interview, but I’ve been expecting it.”

Interest sharpened Wyatt’s gaze. “Have you?”

“Sure.” Andie shrugged. “It’s the first sheriff election with two real-live candidates this town has seen in more than a decade. It stands to reason the
Gazette
would run a story. And I’d certainly be curious to read any interview you run with my opponent.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be talking to Nash, too,” Wyatt assured her, “but this piece isn’t just about the election. It’s more about … you.”

Andie blinked and took a too-hot sip of coffee to hide her surprise. “Me. What, like an interview? I’ve been sheriff for three years, the people of Sanctuary Island already know what I stand for and how dedicated I am. They know me.”

“I think there’s more to know.” Wyatt clicked the end of his pen a few times, studying her. “For instance, no one seems to know much about your personal life.”

Her personal life. As in Caitlin, and the circumstances of her birth, and how Owen hadn’t even known about her for the first ten years of her life? No. “My personal life is off limits,” Andie said sharply.

Wyatt’s gaze bored into her face as if he were trying to drill a hole through her forehead to get a peek at her secrets. “The people deserve to know.”

“The people deserve a competent, intelligent, experienced sheriff who takes the safety of this island seriously,” Andie snapped. “That’s it in a nutshell.”

“Okay, but they’ve got a choice in the matter this time. Don’t you want to give them a chance to make an informed decision on election day?”

“I’ve more than proven myself over the last three years of my term in the sheriff’s office. What happens when I’m off duty is my own affair.”

“Affair. Interesting word choice.” Wyatt scribbled something down as Andie absorbed that comment. She frowned. Wait. Was this about Sam?

“I don’t have anything more to say here.”

But before she could rise from the cracked vinyl seat, Wyatt pinned her in place with a calculating stare. “I’m going to print this afternoon with an article about you, Sheriff Shepard. I’d like to be able to quote you and let you tell your side of the story, but if you walk out of this interview, I’m comfortable running with what I have. I’ve corroborated my information with multiple sources.”

Andie froze, already picturing a storm of gossip about to slam into her niece. Caitlin was only just settling in, still fragile, and she certainly didn’t need to deal with rumors and ugliness about things she couldn’t help. “What information?”

Clipping the words briskly, Wyatt said, “Are you involved with a man named Sam Brennan?”

So it wasn’t about Caitlin. Relief that her niece was probably safe made Andie lightheaded for a minute, but deep inside her chest something heavy coiled and waited. Sam. What about Sam?

Wyatt clicked the pen again. “Should I just mark your response down as ‘No comment’”?

“It’s complicated,” Andie retorted. “I guess you could say we’re involved. It’s a fairly recent development. What about it?”

“So you don’t know Mr. Brennan very well?”

“If this turns out to be some morality thing about how it’s indecent that I’m not married, I’m going to cancel my subscription to the
Gazette.
”

“Please.” Wyatt sat back in the booth, outrage deepening his voice. “I’m hardly going to haul my paper back into the dark ages by running some ridiculous opinion piece about how unmarried ladies ought to stay home. But as a public figure, you come in for more scrutiny than the average person. Your choices affect the rest of us. Which means that even if I happen to like you personally and think you’re a better candidate for sheriff—the truth has to come out.”

“What truth? What’s this all about, Wyatt?”

For the first time, a fleeting emotion softened the hard angles of Wyatt’s face. Regret.

“You really don’t know, do you? I’m sorry, Sheriff. I really am, but … better you find out from me than when you pick up the paper tomorrow morning.”

Something about Sam—Sam and all his secrets. There was more to him than met the eye, depths she hadn’t begun to plumb, but what could be bad enough to make Wyatt Hawkins look at her like that? Half of her wanted to shake the truth out of him immediately, while the other half wanted to bolt out of the booth and flee the caf
é
so she never had to hear it.

Andie clenched her fingers around the coffee mug until a chip in the ceramic dug into the side of hand hard enough to break the skin. “Tell me.”

Pity gentled Wyatt’s voice. “Sam Brennan served four years in the California penitentiary system for animal cruelty. Sheriff, you’re dating an ex-con.”

*   *   *

Taylor was going on day seven of keeping a secret from Matt, and she was about to lose it.

What was that all about, anyway? Used to be, Taylor McNamara was the town champion at hiding things and putting on a who-gives-a-crap face, but with Matt … she’d never been able to pull it off. He’d seen through her right from the beginning, even before she’d noticed him or spoken to him.

Matthew Little had watched her spin out of control, talk back to teachers, skip class, get suspended for vandalism of both the regular and cyber varieties … and he’d seen someone he wanted to be friends with.

Taylor shook her head in despair. How was she supposed to combat that?

With days of ducking his calls and sending only terse, monosyllabic texts back and forth, that’s how.

She just didn’t want to go to Matt with half the story. When she’d told Jo Ellen what she and Caitlin had overheard from Sam’s phone call in the loft, Jo had advised patience. With that distant look that came over her sometimes when she thought about her struggles with alcoholism and her stint in rehab, Jo had said, “Let’s give Sam a chance to come clean. Lord knows, I owe him that. I owe him my life—because I’d never have the life I lead now if he hadn’t helped me.”

And okay, that was convincing. Taylor was grateful to Sam too. She even liked the guy, for the gruff, affectionate way he treated Matt and for his gentle care with the horses.

But that didn’t mean Taylor was willing to let things lie.

So when Matt called her for the third time since school got out, Taylor bit her lip, let it ring through to voicemail, and turned back to her laptop … the secret one she’d built herself, so her dad couldn’t take it away when he grounded her.

Yeah, okay. She was kind of a closet nerd. She’d learned to deal with it … mostly by literally sitting in her closet on top of a pile of shoes while she gleefully hacked her way around the world.

Not that this is cyber terrorism or anything
, she comforted her writhing conscience.
This won’t even involve hacking … probably. Just research. I’m like a private investigator digging for facts
!

That felt better, she decided, attacking Sam’s online records with renewed vigor. She wasn’t even sure what she was looking for—some clue to the stolen horse’s rightful owner, maybe, or how much he was worth. But just as she linked into a news article that looked promising, her phone buzzed with a text from Matt.

[Where r u? Pick up ur phone! Big news—D coming to grad]

“D” … for Dad. Matt’s dad, who he hadn’t seen in literally years, was coming to graduation. This was officially too big for texting.

Matt answered on the first ring. “Finally! Where have you been? I never even saw you at school today!”