Threat Of Darkness. Valerie Hansen

direction safely diverted, just the way she’d taken it from its owner.

       Several police officers were already approaching warily when she turned to face them. Their guns were drawn, their expressions deadly serious so she announced, “You can relax, fellas. Everything’s under control. I got his gun away from him for you.”

       One deputy sidled past her to cuff the addict while another stepped up and took the pistol from her hand.

       If Samantha hadn’t already been so keyed up that she could barely think straight, she might have shrieked when she saw that cop’s face. Her jaw did drop and she was pretty sure her gasp was audible. His light brown hair and eyes and his broad shoulders were all too familiar. It couldn’t be him, of course. It simply couldn’t be. She hadn’t had one of these déjà vu moments for months. Maybe years.

       Her pulse leaped as reality replaced imagination. She couldn’t catch her breath. This was not another bad dream. John Waltham, the man who’d broken her heart so badly she’d wondered if she’d ever recover, was standing right in front of her, big as life.

       Before she could decide how to greet him, he set the mood of their reunion. His “What did you think you were doing?” was delivered with such force it was practically a growl.

       That attitude stiffened her spine and made it easy to answer, “My job.”

       “You’re a nurse, not a cop.”

       “Oh, so I’m supposed to just stand there while you and your buddies waltz in here and start shooting?”

       “If necessary, yes.”

       “Don’t be silly. I knew Bobby Joe wasn’t going to hurt me,” she insisted, wishing she fully believed her own assertion. When an addict was under the influence there was no way to predict what he or she might do.

       Handling the pistol expertly, John unloaded it and passed it to one of his fellow officers to bag as evidence before turning back to Samantha.

       She noticed that his expression had softened some but it was too little too late. She was already bristling. “What are you doing back in town?” She eyed him from head to toe. “And why are you dressed like a member of our police force?”

       “Because that’s what I am. I’ve come home,” he said flatly.

       Samantha couldn’t believe her ears. After all he’d put her through, all the tears she’d shed after he’d left her high and dry, he had the unmitigated gall to return and go back to work as if nothing had changed. How dare he!

      * * *

       Seeing Samantha again had been disquieting to begin with. Seeing her with the perp’s loaded gun in her hand had dealt him such a staggering blow he’d almost been rendered speechless.

       Although Sam was prettier than ever, she now exhibited an element of authority and expertise that floored him. The last time they’d been together Sam had clung to him, crying and begging him to stay in Serenity. She’d acted as if she couldn’t bear to see him go and was positive she couldn’t live without him.

       Now, however, she was behaving with such self-assurance he was stunned. His high school sweetheart had grown up in his absence. Boy, had she!

       Waiting until the addict had been escorted to a patrol car and stuffed into the backseat, John approached her for the second time.

       She looked up from her task of packaging the quilt and the child’s clothing. She didn’t speak, didn’t smile.

       John cleared his throat. “I think we got off on the wrong foot just now. It’s good to see you again, Sam.”

       All she did was nod.

       “Nice job calming the suspect. Just don’t try anything like that again.”

       He’d thought she might reply because her jaw dropped slightly but she snapped it shut and kept mum. “I told you I was sorry a hundred times,” he said quietly so others wouldn’t overhear. “What happened between us in the past was for the best, Sam. You and I both know that.”

       With a noisy sigh and shake of her head she regarded him for long seconds before she finally spoke. “I’d adjusted fine to you being a detective in Dallas, John. What the… What are you doing back in Serenity?”

       “You don’t sound happy to see me.”

       “Happy? Happy is getting the gun away from Bobby Joe Boland and saving that little boy’s life. There was no joy in going through the struggles I faced after you left me. I won’t do it again. Not for anything.”

       Floored, he stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets and tried to look unconcerned. He’d thought he’d made Samantha understand his desire to better himself, to advance his career. Surely she must have had some empathy because she’d insisted she wanted to do the same thing in regard to nursing. They had both succeeded. He’d just had to move away in order to accomplish his goals and she’d been able to do it right there in Serenity.

       “I kind of hoped you’d be glad to see me, Sam. It’s nice that you’re doing so well.” He gestured toward the area where the doctor and nurse were smiling at the formerly unconscious boy. “Looks like a good save.”

       “This time. I wish I could rescue them all.”

       “Kids, you mean?”

       “Yeah.” Another sigh. “There are so many like…”

       “Like you used to be?” he offered. When her eyes narrowed and she glared at him he was afraid he’d reminded her too much of her own childhood.

       “I managed. And I’m still managing,” Samantha said, closing and tagging the bag of belongings that would go in the medevac chopper that was going to transport the child to a bigger hospital. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

       “Maybe I’ll see you in church Sunday?”

       You could have knocked him over with a feather when she said, “Not a chance. I don’t go to church anymore.”

       “Why not?” The way John remembered their youth, Sam’s faith had seemed stronger than his. What in the world would make her stop attending worship services?

       At first he didn’t think she was going to answer. When she lifted her chin higher and said, “Because I got tired of everybody asking me about you,” he wished she hadn’t told him the truth.

      * * *

       The swing shift sped by for Samantha. Weary and eager to get home and relax, she clocked out at midnight, grabbed her purse and headed for her compact, blue sedan.

       Overhead lights cast a yellowish glow across the medical-center parking lot. Fall breezes were scattering dry leaves and either piling them against the tires of the few remaining vehicles, or tumbling them down the hill into the farmers’ mowed fields beyond.

       Samantha turned up the collar of her fleece jacket and clasped her arms across her chest to help ward off the chill. She knew she hadn’t been the same since she’d seen John again and she didn’t like the feelings of loss—and of buried anger—that kept washing over her.

       Logic insisted that it was foolish to relive an unhappy past. The problem was, most of her time with John Waltham had been blissful. Elating. Filled with the promise of a perfect future.

       That was the real problem. She was once again coming face-to-face with a shattered dream and seeing how irrational it had been in the first place. Childhood attachments were fine for kids. A person had to grow up eventually. In a way, John had done them both a favor when he’d left town and forced her to stand on her own two feet. Intellectually, she believed that. All she had to do was convince her emotions.

       Because of hospital rules, Samantha’s car was parked in a distant section of the lot designated for employees. There were some lights back there, too, but the farther she got from the buildings the more forbidding the encroaching darkness