Chapter 8 #2
She was uncomfortable getting involved in Sam’s personal life, but she couldn’t find it in her heart to refuse. Her gaze locked on the too-damn-sexy sheriff as he strode toward the truck even now.
“I’ll tell him.” She disconnected.
The driver’s-side door opened, and he took a seat beside her. “That mess is done, and apparently J.D., Megan and Bailey have all left school anyway. Sorry.”
She passed him the phone. “Sam, I hope you’re not upset, but I have a message for you.
I really debated answering your phone when it rang, but I was worried it could be your work.
The number was local but unidentified.” She realized she still had the baton in her other hand and tried to slide it back into her purse discreetly, but she noticed his gray gaze followed her movements.
“Everything okay?” He shoved the phone back into an open slot on the dashboard and pulled the door shut behind him.
Outside in the parking lot, the principal had corralled the bystanders away from the drama. The bell rang, signaling the end of the school day. Sam must have been trying to beat the rush since he threw the truck in Reverse and wasted no time backing out of the teachers’ parking area.
“The call was from Aiden’s mother.” So awkward. She hadn’t even gotten the woman’s name. “I told her you were unavailable and asked her to call back, but she was upset, really upset. She seemed very anxious and wanted reassurance that Aiden is doing well.”
She watched Sam’s jaw flex while she spoke. He seemed to be focusing on the thinning crowd outside the window, but when he turned to meet her gaze, his gray eyes flashed with anger.
“Kind of Cynthia to check in on the child she abandoned.” He did not seem to have the same empathy for her that Amy had felt.
But perhaps he had reason not to trust the sincerity of the woman’s pleas?
The woman had walked away from her baby, something Amy found difficult to fathom.
But then, she also understood postpregnancy hormones could be very tricky.
She readjusted the restraint on her seat belt as Sam headed in the direction of town.
Away from where they lived on Partridge Hill.
“She asked me to let you know that she is working hard to get better, and that she’ll come back soon to check in with you.” Her obligation complete, she told herself not to ask anything more about it.
Cynthia wasn’t her business.
But Sam appeared so unmoved by the message that Amy couldn’t help but wonder why he’d been screening calls from the mother of his child, especially when he’d always said that two-parent families were better than one.
“Then it’s a good thing Aiden isn’t old enough to ask where his mother went.” His grip was tight on the steering wheel as they passed the pizza joint on Main Street that his foster family owned. “Like I was.”
Amy remembered the little bit he’d told her about his life before foster care. His birth certificate lacked a father’s name, and his mother had abandoned him one day while Sam was in first grade. He’d taken the bus to school and come home to an empty house.
“Have you looked for her?” she asked.
“My mother?” He shrugged. “I needed her as a kid. Now?” He shook his head. “I can’t see the point.”
“You told me once that even a bad mother is better than no mother.” She wondered if he still believed that. Would he try to work things out with Aiden’s mother?
And if so, she needed to be very careful about what she let herself feel for him.
“It’s human nature to want to know your birth parents. I suppose I can’t deny Aiden that.”
Her stomach clenched at the thought of Sam with another woman. Not just any other woman, but Aiden’s mother. They could be a real family one day after Amy went back to her life in Atlanta.
“Is Aiden’s mother ill?” She found herself asking the question as they drove past Last Chance Vintage, the consignment shop her sister Erin owned.
Forcing herself to focus on the scenery and not the idea of Sam with his old girlfriend, she squinted into the sun’s glare to see the display in the consignment-shop window.
Her sisters had told her about the store in their letters over the years, and the storefront was every bit as quirky and charming as she’d imagined it.
The faceless mannequins in the window wore Ts featuring 1970s-era rock bands paired with full, feminine skirts that had a 1950s vibe.
The hand-painted sign out front used purple lettering on driftwood.
Very eclectic and reflective of Erin’s aesthetic.
But not even the sight of the store could lessen her interest in Sam’s answer. Like it or not, he was bound for life to the woman through the child they shared.
“The last time I checked one of her messages, she claimed she’s suffering from postpartum depression.” He made another turn that took them away from Main Street and toward the town hall and the sheriff’s office.
“You don’t believe her?” Amy tensed, feeling defensive on the woman’s behalf.
Did Sam have any idea how strong the hormones associated with pregnancy could be? How deeply emotional they could make a woman? During and after?
“I have a difficult time trusting someone who disappeared from my life after a one-night stand, never revealed that she was carrying my child and only reappeared because she couldn’t care for our son.
” His voice remained level, but the cold judgment in it was evident.
“And before you jump down my throat, let me remind you that if the situations were reversed, and your partner had deprived you of getting to know your own child, you might feel every bit as resentful as I do.”
He parked the truck in the town-hall lot with a hard jolt of the gearshift and switched off the ignition. They stared at each other across the cab, the engine ticking in the quiet.
Guilt pinched as she considered that she had judged him unfairly. He had a right to be upset. And to worry about the well-being of his son.
“You’re right.” She would. “She should have told you about the baby.” Sam would never have bolted like Amy’s ex. “But if she’s truly trying to get better for Aiden’s sake—”
“She has to.” He said it fiercely, his gray eyes flashing a cold, fiery determination. “It wrecked me when my mom checked out on being a parent. I won’t see my son go through that kind of pain.”
“He won’t.” She knew that for certain. “No matter what happens with Aiden’s mom, your son will always have you in his life.”
Unlike Sam, who’d grown without his father.
“Yes.” His jaw flexed, and he seemed to weigh his words. “But no one takes a mother’s place.”
The words hinted at a wealth of unspoken hurt, making Amy ache for the child he’d been.
Not sure what to say, she reached to squeeze his wrist. Just a brief touch to indicate that she understood.
Sam wasn’t the kind of man who revealed his emotions lightly, and she wanted him to know she appreciated him letting her in—if only for a moment.
Too bad the glimpse he’d given her made her more wary than ever about getting involved with him.
“True.” She cleared her throat, allowing her thoughts to stray to her own mother and their lack of relationship for the last ten years.
That had been a unique hurt that never went away.
“And for what it’s worth, I do realize that this is none of my business.
It wasn’t my place to ask about any of it. ”
Because no matter that she and Sam had just re-created their first kiss out on that old bridge today, they weren’t going to pursue a relationship, and she wouldn’t be staying in town any longer than it took to heal the family rift and renovate the cabin.
“I don’t mind you asking me tough questions.” His forthrightness had been something she’d admired about him long ago. He might be quiet, but he’d never been secretive—aside from his disappearance, which he’d now explained.
“No?” She found it difficult to meet his level gaze, more confused than ever about where they stood with one another.
“Not at all. I’m going to keep asking you tough questions until I find out what you’re hiding. So it’s only fair you put me on the spot sometimes, too. Keeps us even.”
With a few concise words, he’d made it crystal clear to her. He wouldn’t stop looking for witnesses to testify against Jeremy Covington.
But for better or worse, she hadn’t seen the face of the man behind The Incident. So as far as she was concerned, she didn’t have anything else to tell him.
“Is that why you brought me to the cop shop with you?” She pointed to the town hall and sheriff’s office. “To interrogate me about whatever it is you think I’m hiding?”
“Hardly.” He retrieved his phone and pocketed it. “I need to file paperwork about what just happened at the school and how we dropped the ball with J.D. I spoke to the principal in the parking lot, and she assured me J.D.’s mother took him home before lunchtime after the uproar he caused.”
“Seems weird how Tiffany McCord was in jail this morning and now Covington’s wife will take her place tonight.” The argument on school grounds had rattled Amy, bringing back ugly memories of her own disputes with her mother.
One quarrel in particular had made her mother so angry she’d turned the same shade of red that the social-studies teacher had today.
“Kate Covington is not going to jail. She’ll get an appearance ticket and be back home in no time.
But it will be a good chance to ask her some questions.
I’ll let Linda Marquette talk to her until Kate cools down—she’s got a lighter touch than I do.
” He pointed to the uniformed officer pulling up to the building now.
The same one who’d arrived at the school just before they left.
“I should go give her a heads-up on details of what shook down. But I can arrange someone to give you a ride home if you wait a minute.”
“That’s okay.” She’d been avoiding downtown Heartache long enough. “I’ll walk over to Erin’s store. I haven’t seen her or the shop yet, and it’s time.”
A furrow in his brow deepened. “Are you sure?”
“I’ll be fine.” She could use a walk to clear her head, a little time away from the attraction growing between them all over again.
“Let me get your door.”
As he exited the driver’s side, she gathered her purse and checked her face in the flip-down visor.
She felt an odd flutter of nerves at the idea of walking down Main Street, where anyone could see her.
At least her mother stuck close to home, so she didn’t have to worry about running into Diana Finley unexpectedly.
But there was always that uncertainty that the man who’d haunted her nightmares could still be free. That was, if Sam had locked up the wrong man and the real bastard who’d tried to hurt Gabriella still lurked out there. A man Sam was working hard to keep behind bars.
Still, Amy felt for her pepper spray in her bag as Sam opened the passenger door. Stepping onto the truck’s running board, she moved the spray to an exterior pocket where she could reach it easily.
Sam shook his head as he shut the door behind her.
“What?” She smoothed her dress straight, wondering about his expression.
“Just trying to guess why you need a personal armory in that bag of yours.” He nodded at the purse, where only the cap of the spray was visible.
How had he guessed?
Then again, it shouldn’t surprise her that he’d be an observant man. He’d been on the police force in San Jose for years before moving back to Tennessee. No doubt he’d had to stay on his toes in a bigger city like that.
“Doesn’t hurt to be safe.” How many other things had he seen or guessed about her that she thought she’d kept hidden?
“Can’t argue with that.” He held up his phone as he backed up a step. “Call me if you want a lift afterward. I should be done in an hour or two.”
What was he suggesting? That they spend more time together? Something monumental had shifted between them this afternoon with that kiss, but they hadn’t really addressed what it meant.
“And who will show up if I call? The man who kissed me? Or the sheriff who wants to interrogate me?”
She probably couldn’t afford to see either of them again. Because even though she liked kissing Sam—a lot—his personal life didn’t leave much room for a passionate affair.
More’s the pity. Because that kiss with Sam had been one helluva toe curler.
“Maybe it’ll just be your friend. Seems like we’re both in need of one.” Jamming the phone in his back pocket, he waved goodbye and stalked toward the town hall.
The fact that Sam Reyes wanted to be her friend more than he wanted to interrogate her made her feel special. Just knowing he was looking out for her gave her a stronger sense of security than any baton or pepper spray.
Call her crazy. But it was the most romantic proposal she’d heard in a long time.