Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Rush Callahan stood at the gas pump, pulling his cap lower as fat snowflakes drifted down. The ancient green Chevy, a gift from Pop, groaned even after he killed the engine.
Riggs sprawled in the passenger seat, his ears twitching as the pump clicked. Rush envied the dog’s ability to not give a damn about anything. Lucky bastard.
Rush tugged the collar up against the cold, surveying the church lot across the street jammed with cars. There were parking violations galore, but he dismissed the thought just as quickly. He was off duty for the next week. His deputies could handle whatever happened in Northfield.
The town wasn’t exactly a hotbed of crime anyway.
For the most part, life here moved at a leisurely pace.
Parking tickets, the occasional drunk and disorderly call from the pub, the proverbial cat stuck in a tree—those were the kinds of calls that filled his days as the sheriff.
It was a far cry from the Marines, but that’s exactly what had drawn him to the job.
Inside the Pump ’n Go, Norma Leggett looked up from her magazine and smiled.
“Hey, Sheriff.” Her short silver curls bounced as she set aside her magazine on a towering stack of well-worn National Tattlers.
Wrapped snugly in her cardigan, Norma radiated the kind of grandmotherly concern that put Rush on high alert for what was coming.
“Been thinking about you. How are you holding up?” she asked.
Rush smiled briefly, pulling a few bills from his wallet and setting them on the counter. “I’m good, Norma. Tell Dale I said ‘hi.’”
Norma’s brows pinched together, concern etched across her face. Here it comes, Rush thought, stiffening slightly. “You know, if you ever need to talk—”
Rush flinched inwardly. “Appreciate the offer.”
Without waiting for a reply, he stepped outside into the blowing snow. In a town as small as Northfield, everyone knew everyone, including all their business. It was both a blessing and a curse, especially when you were the center of the latest big news.
Outside, at least, the crisp air felt easier to breathe.
Dale Leggett, his hands stuffed deep into his down parka, hunched slightly against the biting wind, waited for him outside. “Hey, Rush. Headed up to the cabin?”
“Dale,” Rush greeted, nodding at his Pop’s oldest friend.
For the past year, Rush had been going out of his way to get gas at the station closer to his house rather than in Northfield to avoid moments like this.
Looked like his luck had finally run out.
“Yep,” Rush said, already edging toward the driver’s-side door.
Dale’s smile faded, and his tone softened. “You been over to see your Pop lately?”
“Last weekend,” Rush said. He hesitated. “He was having a good day.”
Which meant he remembered Rush’s name, and Rachel and Sarah’s, his sisters, before the confusion set in. Lately, the good days were fewer and further between, and there was only a shadow of the man who’d raised him and the girls.
Most days, Pop just stared out the window of the nursing home, his fingers still twitching like they were wrapped around a wrench.
Rush hated seeing him like that. Drifting. Silent. The man who could rebuild a carburetor in his sleep and taught Rush how to change the oil on the Chevy when he could barely see over the hood.
The truck still ran like a dream, mostly because Rush kept it alive out of pure stubbornness, and because part of him felt like if he let the truck go, he’d lose that last piece of Pop that still made sense.
Dale nodded slowly. “That’s good. He always did light up when you walked in.” Dale jerked his chin toward the church across the street. “Big wedding over there today. Another one of those Hart girls is getting married. Lily, I think.”
Rush paused, his hand hovering over the door handle as he glanced at the church, cataloguing the information.
He knew Lily Hart and her family. Not well, but he made it a point to know everyone in town—it came with the badge.
Lily was the pretty little redheaded one who blushed whenever they ran into each other. She owned the wellness studio on Main Street across from the sheriff’s department.
Even if he didn’t make it a point to know the residents of Northfield, it would have been hard to miss her, since she taught a yoga class on the village green last summer. He was no more immune to long legs and big breasts begging to be freed from tight yoga outfits than the next red-blooded man.
Lily Hart had that golden-girl personality—kind, sweet, sunny, with a shy smile for everyone, which was why it was a surprise to him to hear she was marrying Tucker Cawthorn.
On paper, those two made perfect sense. The beautiful small-town girl and the former high school football star.
The problem was that Rush had had a few run-ins with Tucker over the years, usually for something minor, like getting too loud at the pub and mouthing off when he’d had a few too many beers.
Nothing serious, nothing worth arresting him over, but enough for Rush to file him under “potentially problematic.”
From what he knew about the man, Tucker spent more time at the bar reminiscing about his high school football days over beers with his friends than a man should with a woman like Lily at home.
A man like Tucker usually put himself first, which made him think Lily deserved better, even though he didn’t know her well enough to say why.
But he wasn’t in the mood for small talk about residents today. He had a tank full of gas and enough food and good whisky to last him a week up at Pop’s old hunting cabin high in the Adirondack Mountains, where he could finally breathe without someone asking him how he was holding up.
Especially this week.
The one-year anniversary of the worst night of his life.
“Looks like it,” Rush said, his voice carefully neutral as he tugged the door open. “Take care, Dale.”
Before he could escape, Dale clapped a firm hand on his shoulder. Rush went still, bracing himself. His vision tunneled for half a second, just long enough for the world to tilt.
Cold water. A child’s scream, high and piercing.
“Hey, son, I’m real sorry about what happened. I know this week is hard for you, what with the memorial coming up and all. Saving that little girl… Well, you’re a hero in my book. Hell, in everyone’s book.” Dale hesitated, his throat working like the next words were harder to say.
“I know it don’t feel like much of a victory, not when her mama didn’t make it.” Dale’s voice trailed off, his eyes misting as he patted Rush’s shoulder clumsily.
The word “hero” landed like a gut punch. Rush’s jaw locked, his grip on the truck door handle turning white-knuckled.
He didn’t deserve that word. He hadn’t earned it. Hero implied he’d done enough. But no matter how many people insisted otherwise, he knew the truth. He’d fallen short, and nothing could change that.
And he sure as hell couldn’t show up at that memorial and pretend otherwise.
Rush blinked hard and nodded at Dale. “Just doing my job,” he said hoarsely, keeping his eyes on Riggs. The dog’s ears tilted forward, sensing Rush’s unease, and he sat up at attention.
Dale’s expression softened into the kind of pity that made Rush’s stomach churn. “Well, I know Pop must be proud of you too. You Callahans—always stepping up when it counts. Don’t let it weigh you down, son.”
Rush nodded tightly. He swung himself into the cab, the worn leather bench seat creaking under his weight. That look—the one everyone in town gave him—was suffocating. That was why he needed to get the hell out of there.
“Enjoy that cabin.” Dale’s face split into a grin.
“Your Pop and I had a hell of a time up there back in our day on our hunting trips.” He pounded the top of the truck with a hearty laugh.
“You be careful up there, and keep an eye on this storm. They’re saying the Adirondacks are gonna get hit hard later today. ”
Riggs stuffed his nose in Rush’s jacket and searched for a treat as Rush pulled out of the gas station. Rush handed him one absently as he pulled up to the stoplight at the end of Main Street and checked his phone.
Three missed calls.
He didn’t need to see the numbers to know those calls were from his sisters.
Again. He let them go to voicemail, like he had the last time.
The light was taking forever, as if the universe wanted to test his patience.
He sighed, leaning back against the seat, counting down the minutes until he was on vacation.
The church doors burst open.
Rush straightened in his seat as a woman in a big puffy white dress came flying down the steps. She was all tulle and panic, her veil streaming behind her like a parachute.
Rush’s instincts as a soldier jerked into place; immediately he was on high alert. What the hell? Northfield did not have runaway brides.
But this one was running straight for his truck in a mad dash with her skirt lifted high on her long legs. Her high heels wobbled in the snow as she raced down. Rush’s eyes caught on a white band circling high on one of her slim thighs.
“Aw, hell,” Rush muttered as the woman slammed both hands on the hood.
Lily Hart stared back at him, her eyes wide, her chest heaving nearly to overflowing in the tight white satin wedding gown.
Rush dragged his eyes away from that sight and swore viciously under his breath. He recognized that look. He had two sisters. Wild. Exhilarated. Trouble. He didn’t want any part of this, not today, not ever. He was getting out of town, not rescuing runaway brides.
Except… she just stood there, those damn enormous eyes staring at him like he was the only thing standing between her and whatever awaited behind her at the church.
“Help.” Her lips formed the words. They weren’t audible, but they were enough to punch him right in the gut.
Shit. That was all it took. One word. He could never ignore that word, especially coming from a woman.
Riggs barked once, breaking the silence.
“Down,” Rush said firmly to Riggs.
The dog’s head tilted to the side, and Rush imagined an “Are you shitting me?” look on his face, but he jumped down from the passenger seat to settle on the floorboard obediently.
Rush was already halfway across the seat, shoving the passenger door open. “Get in.”
Lily didn’t hesitate, scrambling to yank up layers of her god-awful dress, and hopping onto the bench seat.
She tried to pull the door closed, but the dress had taken over the front seat like it had a life of its own.
She yanked again, falling back on the seat, her breasts threatening to spill out of the top.
The truck wasn’t built for a two-hundred-twenty-pound man, a military dog, and a bride in a dress the size of Texas. She yanked hard, pulling the dress up higher, and slammed the door closed behind her. And froze.
Riggs looked between the layers of gauzy white dress that surrounded him to the woman who had stolen his spot, clearly disgruntled. Rush nearly laughed. Riggs had retired from the military with him and was already used to the creature comforts of civilian life, but he still looked like a badass.
“He doesn’t bite,” Rush said gruffly.
A high whistle filled the truck. Rush recognized the sound. He glanced at the woman sharply, but she was already holding a red inhaler to her lips.
“Buckle up,” he growled, slamming the truck into gear. Snow sprayed as they tore away from the curb.
This was a mistake.
He knew it.
But it was one he made every time.