Allison Leigh - Sarah And The Sheriff

It was still burned in his memory.

He climbed out of his truck, nodding at Sawyer, who was leaning against one of the stone columns on the front porch. “Matthew,” he greeted the second man.

Sarah’s father ambled down the steps, sticking his hand out. “Max. Good to see you again.”

Max returned the greeting, looking past the man to his new boss. “What’s up?”

“Thought it best to discuss things away from the station.”

Max looked from Sawyer to his brother.

“He’s aware of the situation,” the older man said. “Let’s walk.”

“You’re surprised,” Matthew observed as they headed away from the house, cutting across the drive toward a sweeping, open area unoccupied by anything but a stand of mighty trees.

Max didn’t like feeling out of control. Sawyer might be the sheriff, but the investigation was Max’s . “It was my understanding that nobody but my superior and the sheriff knew what I was really doing here.”

“Matt’s noticed another discrepancy among his trucking records,” Sawyer told him. “This time on a shipment of stock heading to Minnesota.”

“How recent?”

“Couple weeks.” Matt settled his cowboy hat deeper over his forehead. “When I talked to Sawyer about it, he admitted the other thing that’s been going on.” His face was grim. “Bad business. Kind of thing I don’t want to see going on in Weaver.”

“Drug trafficking shouldn’t be going on anywhere ,” Max said flatly. For five years, he’d been serving on a special task force investigating distribution cells that were cropping up in small towns. The less traditional locations were highly difficult to pinpoint.

“You’re right about that,” Sawyer agreed. “Seems as if Weaver is just one more small town to become involved lately.” He tilted his head back, studying the sun that hung low on the horizon. It wasn’t quite evening yet, but the temperature was already dropping. “Much as I hate to admit it, we need help. That’s why I didn’t oppose your assignment here.”

It wasn’t exactly news to Max since he’d have done just about anything to get out of this particular assignment. But he was here now. He’d do his job.

He was a special agent with the DEA and it was one thing that he was usually pretty good at.

“I’m going to need the details about your discrepancies,” he told Matthew.

The other man pulled an envelope out of his down vest and handed it over. “Copies and my notes.”

Max didn’t bother opening it now. He shoved it into his own pocket. “Anything else?”

“Matthew!”

All three men turned at the hail from the house.

“Supper’s on!”

For a moment, Max thought the woman on the porch was Sarah. She bore an uncanny resemblance. But when she turned and went back inside, he didn’t see that waist-length braid.

“Care to stay?” Matt offered. “My wife, Jaimie, is a pretty fine cook.”

“Another reason why I’m out here,” Sawyer admitted. “Bec—my wife—is in Boston on some medical symposium all this week. Been getting tired of my own cooking.”

“Appreciate the offer,” Max said. “But I need to get back to town.”

“At least come in and say hello or Jaimie’ll bug me from now until spring. Everyone in the county wants to greet the new deputy.”

“Sure, until they start remembering the days when I lived here,” Max countered. His father, Tony, might have been the criminal, but Max hadn’t exactly been an altar boy. Getting friendly with the folks of Weaver was not in his plan. He was just there to do a job.

In that way, at least, he could make one thing right with the Clay family.

But after that, he and Eli would be gone.

Still, Max could read Sawyer’s expression well enough. The steely-eyed sheriff expected Max to act neighborly.

“I’d be pleased to say hello,” he said, feeling a tinge of what Eli must have been feeling when Max had lectured him on behaving well.

Matthew wasn’t entirely fooled, as far as Max could tell, as they headed toward the house. They skirted the front porch entirely, going around, instead, to the rear of the house. They went in through the mudroom, and then into the cheery, bright kitchen.

“Don’t get excited, Red,’ cause he’s not staying,” Matthew said as they entered. “But this here’s Sawyer’s new right-hand man, Max Scalise.”

Jaimie rubbed her hands down the front of the apron tied around her slender waist. “Of course. I remember you as a boy, Max.” She took his hand in hers, shaking it warmly. “Genna talks of you often. She always has such fun sharing pictures from her trips out to see you and Eli. I know she must be so pleased that you’re back in Weaver. How is her leg coming along?”

“More slowly than she’d like.”

“Mom, I still can’t find the lace—” Sarah entered the kitchen from the doorway opposite Max, and practically skidded to a halt. “Tablecloths,” she finished. “What’re you doing here?”

“Just picking up some paperwork from the sheriff,” Max said into the silence that her abrupt question caused. “Nice to see you again, Miss Clay.” He looked at Jaimie, who was eyeing him and her daughter with curiosity. “And it was nice to see you, too, ma’am.”

“Give your mother my regards,” Jaimie told him as he stepped toward the mudroom again.

“I’ll do that. Sheriff. Matthew. See you later.”

He was almost at his SUV when he heard footsteps on the gravel drive behind him.

“Max.” Her voice was sharp.

The memory of that voice, husky with sleep, with passion, hovered in the back of his mind. He ought to have memories just as clear about Jennifer.

But he didn’t.

He opened the SUV door and tossed the envelope from Matthew inside on the seat. “Don’t worry, Sarah,” he said, his voice flat. “I’m not trying to run into you every time we turn around.”

She’d taken time only long enough to grab a sweater, and she held it wrapped tight around her shoulders. Tendrils of reddish-blond hair had worked loose from her braid and drifted against her neck. “Believe me,” she said, her tone stiff, “I didn’t once think that you were .” She worked her hand out from beneath the sweater. She held an ivory envelope. “It’s an invitation for your mother to my cousin’s wedding.”

He took the envelope, deliberately brushing her fingers with his.

The action was a double-edged sword, though.

She surrendered the envelope as if it burned her, and the jolt he’d felt left more than his fingertips feeling numb. “Ever heard of postage stamps?”

She didn’t look amused. “Most of the invites are being hand-delivered because the wedding is so soon. Friday after Thanksgiving. We’re all helping out with getting them delivered. Since your mom’s in the same quilting group as Leandra’s mother, they wanted her to have an invitation.”

“Leandra?”

“My cousin. She’s marrying Evan Taggart.”

He remembered their names, of course. Taggart had grown up to become the local vet. Leandra was yet another one of the Clays and, he remembered, Sarah’s favorite cousin. If he wasn’t mistaken, he thought the vet had been on some television show Leandra had been involved with. More proof that Weaver wasn’t quite so “small town” as it once was. “I’ll make sure she gets it.” He tapped the envelope against his palm. “Eli told me what he did today.”

She pulled the dark blue sweater more tightly around her shoulders, and said nothing.

He exhaled, feeling impatience swell inside him. “Dammit, Sarah, at least say something.”

Her ivory face could have been carved from ice. “Be careful driving back to Weaver. Road gets slick at night sometimes.”