Allison Leigh - A Montana Homecoming

Weren’t sheriffs supposed to wear khaki-colored uniforms and badges in full view to warn all innocent bystanders of their position? Shane was wearing a charcoal-gray shirt, open at the throat, and blue jeans that fit entirely too well.

“I’m busy, Sheriff.”

“I could see that through the window.” His voice—droll though it was—was deeper. Everything about him seemed deeper. His gray eyes. His golden hair. His…intensity.

“Where are you staying?” he asked.

It was the last question she expected. Not that she’d expected any questions from him, since she had been naive enough to believe he’d be far, far from Lucius. That had been his plan that one summer. To finish seminary and take his ministry wherever he could help people the most.

“I’m staying here,” she told him.

His mouth tightened. Then, in a clearly conscious effort, his entire expression gentled. “Do you think that’s wise?” His voice was even more gentle. More careful.

Her spine stiffened. “You needn’t speak to me like I’m deranged, Sheriff.”

“I wasn’t.” Again in a gentle, careful tone.

She understood where it came from, and why, but she still hated it. Hated that it was coming from him, most of all. “Yes, you were. Are.” She also hated the fact that she was the one sounding defensive. She swallowed and scrambled for her wits. Her composure. She was a composed woman. Had always been a composed woman.

Except for the brief time when she was more than a girl but not yet a woman and had spent more hours than she could remember in a room where there were no sharp corners.

“This is…was…my father’s home. I’m staying here. Unless there’s some law against it?”

He didn’t look pleased. “By yourself?”

“Yes,” she managed calmly.

Something in his eyes made him look even less pleased. Anyone else and she might have blamed it on the dwindling light, or on the bare bulb that would have sufficed as a porch light if it had been a higher wattage.

“Here.” He abruptly pulled out his wallet and slid a card from it. “Call me if you need anything.” He extended the business card.

She plucked the card from his fingers, careful not to touch him. “I won’t need anything,” she assured him stiffly. “But, thank you.”

“I’ll come by and check on you in the morning.”

“I don’t need to be checked on.”

“You’re not—”

“Capable enough to stay alone in the house where I grew up?” She crossed her arms. “I’m not crazy, Sheriff.” Not anymore.

“Nobody said you were, Laurel.” His deep voice was smooth, so incredibly smooth, that they might just as well have been exchanging pleasantries on the steps of his daddy’s church. “But this place is—”

“What?”

“Falling apart,” he said simply.

Truthfully.

The defensive balloon that had puffed up deflated, leaving her feeling off-kilter. “I’ll be all right.”

“The furnace stopped working last year. Roger never had it fixed.”

“It’s the middle of June. I won’t need the furnace yet.”

He barely waited a beat. “Yet?”

She unfolded her arms. Folded them again. She’d been debating the idea of staying since before she’d driven back into the town limits. It wasn’t as if she had anywhere else to go. Not since two weeks ago when she’d called off her own wedding at the very last minute. Finding out that Shane was still in Lucius didn’t change a thing where her plans, her nonplans, were concerned.

Did it?

“It won’t be cold for months. I’ll have plenty of time to fix the furnace,” she said more confidently than she felt.

She had time, yes. Money? That might be another matter. A matter she intended to keep to herself.

“You can’t be planning to stay.”

He actually sounded horrified, and it surprised her enough that she managed not to get defensive over the flat statement. “Why not?”

He jammed his hat on his head. “This house isn’t fit for anyone to live in it.”

“How do you know?” She highly doubted he’d spent Sunday afternoons visiting with her father.

“Because I make it my business to know what’s going on in my town.”

“Including the habitability of my father’s house.”

“Yes.”

“How sheriffy of you.”

“You’ve earned yourself a smart mouth somewhere along the way.”

She managed an even smile. But the truth was, she didn’t have a smart mouth. The only thing she’d done in her entire adult life that wasn’t agreeable and sensible was walking out on her wedding to a perfectly decent man. “Maybe I’ve picked a few things up from the third-graders I teach. You went from the Lord to the law,” she observed. “Time brings all sorts of changes to a person.”

“Time doesn’t change everything,” he said flatly.

She didn’t know what on earth to make of that, not when they were both living evidence to the contrary. So she just stood there. And the silence between them lengthened.

Thickened.

She cast about in her mind fruitlessly for something—anything—to break the silence, only to gasp right out loud when a metallic chirp sounded.

Shane made a muffled sound and pulled a minute cell phone off his belt. “Sorry,” he murmured and flipped it open. “Golightly.” His voice was brusque.

She, for one, was perfectly happy for the intrusion as she drew in a long, careful breath. His call, though, was brief, and when he snapped the phone shut, he was very much in lawman mode.

“I’ll check on you later.” He settled his hat and turned on his heel, clearly expecting no arguments from her this time as he stepped off the porch past the rotting steps.

She didn’t have the nerve to argue, anyway. Not when he looked so grimly official. Instead she stood there in the doorway, hugging her arms to her waist, and watched while his long legs strode across the tired yard toward the tan SUV parked behind the little car she’d rented at the airport in Billings.

He wasted little time backing out and driving up the road toward town, but she still had plenty of time to study the word that was emblazoned in dark-green printing on the side of his SUV: Sheriff.

Shane was the sheriff.

And it was a sheriff who’d arrested her father one hot summer night for something he hadn’t done. Something she’d never, ever believed he’d done.

The brake lights of Shane’s truck—the sheriff’s truck—disappeared and Laurel finally drew in a full, cleansing breath.

It didn’t quite stop the trembling inside her, but it helped.

She let her gaze drift up and down the road. One way, the way Shane had driven, lay the town proper. The other way, beyond a sharp curve that skirted the stand of tall, centuries-old trees, lay nothing but miles and miles of…nothing.

She’d come back to bury her father.

But once she’d done that, once she’d dealt with his belongings, with the house, there was nothing else for her here. As much “nothing” as what lay beyond the curving highway.

Unfortunately, Laurel knew as she finally turned and went back inside the house, there was nothing for her to return to in Colorado, either. No job. No home. No fiancé.

Maybe she was just as crazy as Shane probably thought.

“I heard you were here, but I had to see it with my own eyes.” The voice was deep and smooth as molasses and definitely amused.

Laurel set the heavy bag of weed killer in the cart next to the bucket and cleansers she’d already put there and turned toward the voice, a smile already forming. “Reverend Golightly. I was going to call you later today.” She dashed her hand quickly down her thigh, then extended it. “It’s so good to see you.” The pleasure in her voice was real. In fact, it was the first real pleasure she’d felt in weeks, and definitely since she’d arrived in Lucius the previous day.