Michelle Celmer - The Sheriff's Second Chance

“I guess we blew our chance.”

“Big-time,” Nathan said.

“Even if we were still attracted to each other … and I’m not saying I am, but if we were, we have completely separate lives now. I made a life for myself in New York. And you have a family here. Unless either of us were willing to relocate—”

“So, are you saying that you’re not attracted to me?”

Men and their pride. “I never said that.”

“And you call me elusive,” he said.

He was using her own words against her. And he seemed … closer than he’d been a minute before. “I was speaking hypothetically,” she told him.

Yes, he was definitely closer now. So close she could make out his individual features in the dark. So close she had to tilt her chin up to meet his gaze. And when she did, when their eyes locked, something in the air shifted.

“So, are you or aren’t you?”

The Sheriff’s Second Chance

Michelle Celmer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MICHELLE CELMERis a bestselling author of more than thirty books. When she’s not writing, she likes to spend time with her husband, kids, grandchildren and a menagerie of animals.

Michelle loves to hear from readers. Visit her website, www.michellecelmer.com, like her on Facebook or write her at PO Box 300, Clawson, MI 48017, USA.

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For my Mom,

who never once doubted that I would be a success

For my Dad,

who continues to support and encourage me

For Charles,

who is not just a kick-ass editor, but a friend

For Melissa,

whose faith in me has driven my career since she bought my first book

For my children and grandchildren,

who never fail to remind me of what’s important

And finally, for Steve, whose strength has taught me

that giving up is never an option

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Excerpt

Chapter One

The instant Deputy Sheriff Nathan Jefferies pulled his cruiser into the diner lot and saw his dad, P.J., standing out front instead of waiting inside like he always did, he knew something was up. He grabbed the phone he’d lobbed onto the dash when he’d walked Cody into day care, and, sure enough, there were two missed calls from his dad and two more from his mom.

By the time he killed the engine and climbed out of the car, his dad was standing at the driver’s side door—definitely not their usual routine. “Something wrong?”

The old man shrugged. “I just thought maybe we could try someplace different for a change.”

Someplace different? Was his dad forgetting where they lived? With a population of 1,633, Paradise, Colorado, didn’t exactly have a huge selection when it came to dining establishments. There was Joe’s Place, but that didn’t open until lunch, and there was Lou’s Diner. Aside from those, and the Howard Johnson’s on the highway several miles east of town, there wasn’t anywhere else within twenty miles to get a decent breakfast. Or any breakfast for that matter.

Something was definitely up. “What’s going on, Dad?”

His dad sighed and rubbed a hand across a jawline beginning to sag with age. “Son, she’s back.”

Nate wasn’t sure what was more pathetic: that he knew exactly who “she” was, or that he still gave a damn after all these years.

He steeled himself against the residual sting of rejection, the burn of betrayal that still seared his heart like acid.

“Was bound to happen eventually, I s’pose,” his dad said. “She couldn’t stay away forever.”

Not forever. Just seven years.

Seven years with no explanation of why, after two years together, she’d packed her bags and left town. Nothing but that pathetic excuse for an apology she’d sent him weeks later.

Dear Nate, I’m so, so sorry...

Nate shook away the memory.

“We could skip breakfast today, son. We don’t have to go in there.”

Nate blinked. “She’s here, at the diner?”

His dad nodded.

Everyone in the restaurant had seen him pull up. He had no choice but to go in. And it wasn’t just a matter of his pride, although that was part of it. As a deputy sheriff, he had a reputation to uphold. If people began to see him as a coward, his credibility as peacekeeper in town would be compromised. And what could be more cowardly than turning tail and running from an estranged girlfriend seven years after the breakup?

“Let’s go.” He marched up the walk and shouldered his way through the door. The second his shoe hit the black-and-white-checked linoleum floor, twenty or so pairs of eyes snapped in his direction and bore into him like an auger biting through steel. In a town the size of Paradise, where everyone’s nose was in everyone else’s business, good news traveled fast.

And bad news traveled even faster.

This reunion would be stressful enough without an audience, but it was too late to turn back now. A swift survey of the interior revealed many familiar and curious faces, but not the one he was anticipating. And dreading.

The short walk to the counter felt like a mile. He slid onto his usual stool beside George Simmons, owner of Simmons Hardware, and his dad sat beside him.

“Mornin’, Deputy,” George said, then nodded to Nate’s dad. “Mornin’, P.J.”

“Mornin’, George,” P.J. returned. “How are things down at the hardware store?”

George shrugged. “Can’t complain. How’s the house coming along?” he asked, referring to the Victorian-era home Nate’s parents had been renovating.

“It’s comin’.”

“Got that tile laid in the downstairs bathroom?”

P.J. nodded. “Just about.”

They had a similar conversation every morning, yet today it felt stilted and awkward. To add to the tension, Nate could feel the gaze of the entire restaurant pinned against his back.

Their waitress, Delores Freeburg, who had worked at the diner as long as Nate could remember, appeared with a decanter of coffee and poured them each a cup. “Morning, Nate, P.J. Will you have the usual?”

“Just coffee for me,” Nate said. His belly was too tied in knots to choke down eggs and bacon.

P.J. patted the paunch that had begun to creep over his belt and said, “I’m starving. The usual for me.”

Delores winked and left to put in the order, but not before shooting Nate a glance rife with curiosity.

There was a brief, awkward silence, then George said, “So, Nate, I guess you’ve heard the news.”

“I heard.” And he didn’t care to talk about it.

“Been a long time,” George persisted.

Nate poured cream and sugar in his cup. The idea of drinking it made his stomach turn, but he forced himself to take a sip, burning the hell out of his tongue in the process.

“Seven years,” his dad answered for him, and Nate shot him a look that said, Don’t encourage him.