Heartbreak Cove (Sanctuary Island) (RE8) (17 page)

“I’ve been around,” Taylor said vaguely. “Matt! Come on, tell me more about your dad. Did you talk to him? How did he sound?”

“We didn’t talk, but he PMed me on Facebook. I don’t know why we never chatted that way before, it was great! He said he’s definitely coming for graduation and he can’t wait to see me. I told him all about school and Dakota and you … it was awesome.”

Dakota first, of course,
Taylor thought with a trace of bitterness. She shoved it down to find a delicate way to ask, “And … what did you tell him about your mom?”

There was an awkward pause on the line and Taylor could just picture Matt’s lanky form squirming slightly. “He asked about her, but … it was too weird to tell him about her marrying Dylan. I don’t know, I kind of gave him the impression we were still living in Harrington House as the caretakers, not like it’s our, you know, actual home.”

Something pinged at Taylor nerves. She frowned. “So he knows where you live now?”

“Well, yeah.” Matt sounded confused. “I mean, the invitation says graduation from Sanctuary Island High—pretty sure there’s only one of those.”

“And only one Harrington House on the island,” Taylor finished, her fingers moving swiftly over the keyboard almost on autopilot.

She listened with half an ear as Matt went through the conversation beat by beat, peppered with his worries about what his mom would think. Although he seemed less concerned about that than maybe he should be, Taylor considered as she quickly hacked into Trent Little’s records.

Matt’s dad was … not a nice guy, if his rap sheet was anything to go by. Bile surged into the back of Taylor’s throat, sour and shocking, as she read the list of charges that ranged from public drunkenness to assault to … and there it was: domestic disturbance. The others were more recent, but the date on the domestic was years back. Taylor swallowed. It was around the time Matt and Penny Little first showed up on Sanctuary Island.

That’s what Penny had been running from when she packed up her son and left her life for the uncertainties and hard work of a new future in a new place. Something happened in that house to make her run, and it was bad. Sickened, Taylor covered her trembling lips with the fingers of one hand and gripped her phone with the other.

What now?

What was she supposed to do with this information? And seriously, what the hell was up with every man in Matt’s life turning out to be a criminal!

“And that was it,” Matt finished. “He said he’d be there. And I know it’s a month away still, and man, I wish it was tomorrow. But it’s good, I guess. Maybe those weeks will give me a chance to figure out how to tell my mom he’s coming.”

“You have to tell her,” Taylor agreed, maybe more vehemently than she’d meant to. “Like now, Matt. Seriously, your mom deserves to know that you contacted your dad, that you invited him here…”

That you told him where she lives now and implied that she’s alone and defenseless. Oh, man.

“I know.” Matt’s frustration echoed down the line. “I know it’s kind of crappy and I don’t want to upset my mom—but don’t I deserve something here, too? I think I deserve to know my own father, and I thought you agreed with me.”

Even if he’s a wife-beating scumbag? Why, oh why did I tell Matt to go for it and call his dad? We should have left it alone. What if he comes here and hurts someone? It’ll be all my fault!

Taylor had no idea what to do next. She clutched her head, too full of secrets and nerves and fears to think straight. She had to tell Matt
something
or she was going to explode.

“Sam’s a horse thief,” she blurted out, then immediately winced. Smooth, McNamara, very smooth.

“Wha—what? Are you crazy, Sam is not a thief.”

“Not according to him.”

“What do you mean?” Matt tried to laugh it off, but it sounded tense. “Sam came to you and told you he’s a horse thief? Come on.”

“Of course not. I overheard him talking to his partner back at the horse rescue place. At least, I think that’s who it must have been. Jo says—”

“You told Jo about this?! I can’t believe you, Taylor!”

“Jo’s like a mom to me,” she defended herself, trying not to get upset.

“I know, but even if it’s true, I’d hate to see Sam get in trouble. Whatever he’s done, I’m sure he had a good reason for it. He’s a good guy.”

“I like him, too,” Taylor said, something inside tearing like tissue paper at the knowledge that Sam Brennan might be a good guy who’d done something wrong for all the best reasons, but Trent Little was not. “And for what it’s worth, Jo agrees with you. She thinks he’ll come clean when he can, and until then, she wants to wait and give him space. So I haven’t told anyone else. I almost didn’t even tell you.”

The way Matt sighed gave Taylor a mental image of the jittery way he ran both hands through his messy hair when he was upset. “Is it lame to say I kind of wish you hadn’t? With everything else that’s going on—it feels like too much, you know?”

“Yeah. Sorry. I just didn’t want to keep this major thing from you. It felt wrong.” Taylor’s stomach lurched. She was keeping way worse stuff than this to herself, but maybe that’s what was best for Matt. Maybe it would be selfish to unload the truth on him … as long as she could figure out another way to avert disaster.

“Yeah. About that.” The long, sheepish pause made Taylor sit up straight in her chair. Matt cleared his throat. “I got a letter from Stanford today. I got in.”

Taylor’s heart clenched but the grin that spread over her face was real, too. “I can’t believe you’re only telling me this now! That’s amazing, I’m so happy for you. And for Stanford, too—if you pick them, they’re the luckiest college on earth.”

“I don’t know,” Matt said slowly, as if the words were reluctant to leave his mouth. “Stanford was my number-one choice, even after I got into UVA. But Dakota wants me to seriously consider UVA because, you know, she’s going to Sweet Briar. So we’d only be an hour apart.”

Taylor’s smile stiffened until it felt like a mask. “Well. Isn’t that just a little slice of heaven, right there?”

“Don’t be like that,” Matt sighed. “I haven’t decided anything. I’m still weighing my options.”

“What options?” Taylor demanded. “Stanford wins, hands down. You’ve wanted to go there since you were a kid! It’s one of the top-ranked schools in the country!”

“UVA is pretty highly ranked, too. And a way better deal, financially, since we’re in state.”

Taylor threw up her hands, so agitated that she nearly pitched her cell phone across the room. “Dude. Matthew. Your stepfather is a freaking billionaire. I think he can swing footing the bill for Stanford. And UVA’s undergrad isn’t nearly as big a deal as their grad schools, so don’t even.”

With a weird, unreadable note in his voice, Matt asked, “Since when do you care about college rankings?”

Since you started applying
, Taylor thought, but didn’t say. Instead, she sniffed disdainfully. “Please. You think I haven’t gotten the talk from Jo Ellen and Dad? They’d be thrilled if I applied to UVA, believe me.”

“Why don’t you?” Matt asked excitedly. “If you got in, and Dakota would be down the road … it would be awesome! Nothing would change.”

That’s exactly why I can’t,
Taylor thought with a pang. But even more importantly, “Matt. Listen to yourself. You can’t choose a college based on sticking close to your high school friends, or even your girlfriend. This is the first big step into the rest of your life, and I know you’re weighing your options, but I think you should go ahead and tip considerations about me
and
about Dakota right off the scale.”

And if Dakota’s not telling you the exact same thing, she’s a selfish idiot who doesn’t deserve you,
Taylor finished silently.

“Easier said than done,” Matt grumbled. “I know I said I was looking forward to meeting new people in college, and I am, but the truth is, I don’t make friends that easily. And the ones I have now … I could never replace you. I wouldn’t even want to try.”

The seriousness of his voice made Taylor clutch at the phone and dig deep for lightness. “Obviously you can never replace me. I’m irreplaceable. And no matter what college you pick—you won’t have to replace me, because you’re not going to lose me.”

“Promise not to disappear on me, even if I’m three thousand miles away?”

“I promise.”

Even if it would be better, safer, and healthier for me to use that distance to try to dig myself out of the pit of Unrequited Love Despair.

Taylor had never excelled at making the smart, healthy choice.

Chapter Sixteen

Sam blinked awake with the smell of hay and horses in his nose. When he went to roll over, he had to stick out a booted foot to stop himself from tumbling off the pile of straw he’d been propped against.

What the hell am I doing sleeping at the barn?

A plaintive whinny from the stall behind him dispersed the mental cobwebs. Right, Queenie’s bellyache. When he’d let her out into the outdoor pen yesterday afternoon so he could muck out her stall, he’d noticed a distinct lack of anything to muck out. That was the first warning sign, followed quickly by the way Queenie kept lying down, rolling on her back and getting up—only to repeat the process over and over.

Sam knew what that meant: bellyache. He could only pray that with a little TLC, he could keep it from turning into the kind of colic that required emergency surgery. He’d run out to the pen to stop her from rolling anymore and possibly tangling her poor insides up any further. Then he settled in for a long night of dosing the groaning filly with Banamine and hand-walking her up and down to distract her from the pain and to encourage her pipes to start working again.

Around four in the morning, when he knew she was out of danger, Sam had contemplated heading home to Harrington House. But after sixteen straight hours on his feet, it was all he could do to slump down with his back to Queenie’s stall and pass out right there on the stable floor.

A fact which his back and neck were not so happy about this morning. Tilting his chin sharply enough to crack the tension in his spine, Sam grunted at the eye-watering pain in his shoulders. He heaved himself to his feet just as Jo Ellen Hollister rolled back the barn’s double doors and strode in, with a takeout cup of coffee in one hand and a folded newspaper in the other.

She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw him, and Sam palmed the back of his neck. He must look like a homeless bum off the street. “Colic,” he said, gesturing at Queenie’s stall.

And, of course, that was all he had to say to get a nod of understanding from Jo. Any horsewoman as accomplished as Jo knew the score. A horse’s digestive tract was a more delicate machine than the most temperamental European racecar, and any little problem in that area could explode into something life-threatening with no warning.

Jo headed for her office, tucking the newspaper under her arm, but she hesitated at the threshold. She glanced over her shoulder at Sam, worry and concern and something more deepening the shadows around her eyes.

“Your mare. She okay now?” Jo asked.

“Started acting interested in hay and her water bucket again around three thirty,” Sam reported. “And then she gave me the ultimate proof a half hour later. I swear, I’ve never been so glad to shovel up a big pile of horse sh—”

“Sam,” Jo broke in, turning to face him and holding out her newspaper. “I’m sorry. There’s a story in here I think you ought to see. But first, can I ask—when was the last time you talked to Sheriff Shepard?”

With a start, Sam pulled his cell phone from his jeans pocket only to find the screen blank and unresponsive. “It’s dead. Mind if I use the charger in your office to plug in?”

“Of course, but Sam.” Jo followed him into the office like a terrier nipping his heels, but Sam was intent on getting his phone turned on so he could check for messages from Andie.

“I should have checked in last night,” Sam explained, fumbling the cord for the charger with sleep-clumsy fingers. “I usually at least call to say good night to Caitlin. I bet they’re wondering what happened to me.”

Before Jo could reply, Sam’s phone came to life with a buzz. It latched onto the Windy Corner Wi-Fi and instantly downloaded—holy geez. Sam stared down at the screen, then up at Jo’s tight-pressed lips.

“I’ve got a dozen texts from Andie and just as many voicemails,” Sam said tensely, crushing the phone in a grip so hard, he heard the casing groan. Forcing himself to ease up, he met Jo’s worried gaze and grated out, “You asked about Andie before. What do you know? Is she okay?”

Jo’s eyes widened and she rushed to reassure him. “Yes! Andie’s fine and so is Caitlin, as far as I know. But Sam, I really think you ought to read her texts, or at least the newspaper article, before you call her.”

Sam had forgotten the newspaper completely. This time, when Jo Ellen held it out, he took it and scanned for a headline that made sense. It didn’t take a lot of scanning.

Blaring from the front page was two-inch-high boldface type screaming

“SHERIFF IN BED WITH A VIOLENT CRIMINAL ELEMENT?”

Sam’s blood congealed into ice slush. Violent criminal element. That meant him. That meant they knew, the whole town knew … Andie knew. Black and white type blurred to gray in front of his eyes, but it took him a long, sluggish heartbeat to realize that it was because the paper was crumpled in his tight, straining fist.

“How many people have seen this?” he asked, the words tearing their way out of his throat like shards of glass.

“Everyone in town. He sent out a special bulletin, so even the people who don’t take a print subscription got an email with that article.”

Sam closed his eyes as his world came crashing down.

“It’s about your past,” Jo said quickly. Her voice sounded like it came from a distance, and Sam squinted over at her with an effort. She put an urgent hand on his elbow. “Did you hear me? The reporter, he found out about your record, the arrest and the jail time from years back. That’s all.”

The words echoed through the empty wasteland of Sam’s head where they struck like ringing a bell. “That’s all.”

Jo was watching him steadily, the calm strength of her presence enough to ground Sam in the moment and jumpstart his brain back into gear. She dipped her chin in a nod, raising her eyebrows significantly. “Yes, that’s all. As in, the newspaper reported on matters of public record from your distant past. No one in town, including Andie, knows anything more than that.”

Something in the way she was studying him finally sunk in. He straightened his shoulders and squared his jaw. Jo had always turned a blind eye before, and that was as far as he cared to involve her. “There’s nothing more to know. And how do you know Andie’s seen the article already?”

Jo didn’t roll her eyes, but it looked like she wanted to. “Believe me, everyone looks at special bulletins, when Wyatt sends them. But beside that, Andie’s quoted in the article. And fine. We’ll play it your way. I just didn’t want you going off half cocked, hearing some of your secrets spilled and spilling the rest yourself without thinking.”

“I appreciate that,” Sam said carefully as the last bit of hope he’d had to somehow mitigate the damage of this before Andie found out some other way died a swift death. He thumbed through her texts with a sinking heart.

[I need to talk to you. Call me. Please call or text me as soon as you get this.]

They were all variations on a theme, no indication of her mood other than a rising sense of urgency as the timestamp got closer and closer to dawn and the daily delivery of the
Sanctuary Gazette.

Maybe she’d wanted to give him a heads up, which was more than he had a right to expect. Or maybe she’d wanted to yell at him in person before he had a chance to read her angry reaction to the news of his past in print. If so, he owed her at least that much.

Steeling himself to make the call that would no doubt end any chance of a relationship with Andie, Sam gave Jo Ellen a rueful glance. “Give it to me straight. How bad is it?”

Jo’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Andie’s reaction.” Sam shook the paper. “Does she promise to head the pitchfork posse and light the torches herself? Or does she just deny that we were ever together?”

Instead of the pity he dreaded, Jo’s eyes tightened with righteous fury, the kind a woman feels on another wronged woman’s behalf.

“If that’s what you think, you don’t know her at all,” Jo said calmly, aiming each word with precision. “She didn’t deny you or condemn you. She defended you.”

*   *   *

Andie dropped a subdued Caitlin off at Sanctuary Elementary and waved at the traffic monitor with exactly the same level of cheer she used every single morning. King Sanderson, the self-proclaimed monarch of the island, wore a battered brass crown over his neon-green crossing guard vest and usually smiled back with the unfettered joy of a man who didn’t have a firm grasp on reality—and who therefore tended to love any and everyone he came into contact with.

Except, apparently, Andie. Today, instead of a wave, she got a wide-eyed look of alarm and a quick hop backwards out of the crosswalk and onto the curb. As if she might be tempted to run him down if he didn’t get out of her way.

A stone dropped to the bottom of Andie’s belly, but she held her head high and drove slowly past King and a gaggle of gaping moms still waiting in the drop-off line. Andie wouldn’t give any of them the satisfaction of showing that she hated being the subject of gossip, but inside she was squirming. She felt the eyes on her, the judgment and curiosity and disappointment. For a brief, dizzying moment, Andie’s mind tossed her back to the last time she’d been the scandal of her department.

Both times, over a man. Andie met her own wry gaze in the rearview mirror. On the surface, the situations were awfully similar—the differences were all deeper down. The difference was that this time she was sure Sam Brennan deserved her trust and support. This time there was no doubt in her heart.

That reminder enabled Andie to calmly, carefully navigate her way to her office. Climbing out of her SUV and adjusting the fit of her crisply pressed uniform shirt, Andie braced herself for her deputies’ reaction. And Ivy, what would Ivy have to say?

Actually, Andie thought she might enjoy that. She had a feeling Ivy would be on her side, no matter what. And no one put things in perspective quite like Ivy Dawson. Andie quickened her pace until she was moving briskly, brushing through the front door and nodding briefly to Deputy Fred, who stared but managed to tip his coffee in a casual salute.

Bolstered, Andie headed for her office since Ivy wasn’t at her desk. But just as she put her hand on the doorknob, it twisted and Ivy slid out, cheeks mottled pink and eyes glittered with anger. Andie felt herself waver, wondering if she could truly count on her friends the way she’d hoped, but she didn’t have time to freak herself out about it.

Ivy grabbed her by the elbow and seethed, “He just walked right in! No appointment, wouldn’t wait out here, and what could I do? He’s got a cane! I can’t smack a man with a cane. If he falls, his six-hundred-year-old bones will crumble like a mummy’s and he’ll sue me for everything I’m worth! Which, granted, isn’t that much. So maybe the joke’s on him.”

A considering look narrowed her eyes, but Andie stopped her before she could rush back inside and assault whoever it was. “Ivy! Get a grip, and please don’t smack anyone. Any concerned citizen who saw that article this morning has the right to come in here and make a complaint. I’d prefer them to wait in the bullpen, but…”

“Oh, this isn’t just any old—and I do mean
old
—concerned citizen,” Ivy groused, crossing her arms over her lemon-yellow sweater set. Tiny red cherries were embroidered along the collar, matching the enameled cherry barrettes pinning up the sides of her black hair and the red gloss on her snarling mouth. Today, Ivy looked like the pretty teacher in a fifties rerun sitcom, except for the snap of fire in her expression.

Fire that wasn’t aimed at Andie, who breathed a tiny sigh of relief and gratitude. “Listen, whoever it is, I’ll go talk to him and we’ll clear everything up. It’s going to be a rocky couple of days, I’m sure, but this will all blow over.”

“You think so.” Ivy arched a skeptical, perfectly plucked brow. “Well, I’m behind you either way. Whatever happens, I believe in you. We’ll face it together. I’ll even come in there with you, like backup!”

“I don’t need anyone to watch my back,” Andie said gently, touched to the bottom of her heart. “But I appreciate the sentiment. You’re a good friend, Ivy.”

“Hmph.” Ivy retreated to her desk and perched on her chair like a sentinel on guard. “It doesn’t take a good friend to see what’s going on here. Small towns—everyone knows your business and has an opinion about it.”

“I have faith in the people of Sanctuary Island,” Andie said, to remind herself as much as to calm Ivy down. “They have a right to their opinions. And come election day, they’ll make the choice that’s right for them. Until then, I’m going to hold my head up and do my job. That’s all that matters.”

Ivy grinned, sudden and sly. “Sure, that’s all that matters. That, and spending time with your hot, hot honey. I swear, for a man that choice? I think I could overlook an arrest record or two myself.”

That brought a heated flush to Andie’s cheeks, but it also lifted her mood. So when she shook her head and pushed open the door of her office to confront whatever elderly citizen wanted to make his displeasure known, she was smiling.

“Good day, Miss Shepard,” Dabney Leeds said from the chair behind Andie’s desk. That was her chair he was sitting in, as smug and self-satisfied as an emperor looking down on a supplicating peasant. “I’m so pleased to see you looking well and happy this fine morning.”

Andie kept the smile in place through sheer force of will. “It’s Sheriff Shepard,” she replied, proud of the steadiness of her voice. She shrugged out of her jacket and hung it on the hat stand in the corner. “What brings you to my office, Mr. Leeds?”

“It’s Councilman Leeds,” he countered, his faded blue eyes avid on her face, searching for signs of weakness. “For the purposes of this meeting, anyway. Have a seat, please.”

Gritting her teeth against the gall of being offered a chair in her own office, Andie took the one closer to the door. She gave Leeds a cool stare that masked her inner chaos of confusion and caution. Unwilling to let him set the entire tone of the meeting, Andie took charge. “Did you really make your driver carry you all the way over here just to gloat over my embarrassment? Go right ahead if it makes you happy, but keep it as brief as you can. I have real work to do today.”