Someone Like You. Susan Mallery

reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear and froze when her fingers encountered the Brillo mop. Oh…my…God. She’d completely forgotten about her appearance. Now what?

      She winced silently and realized there was nothing she could do but tough it out and hope he hadn’t noticed.

      “I meant, why did you take the job of sheriff?”

      His dark blue eyes settled on her face. Even as she felt her insides begin to melt, she reminded herself that he was probably trying to figure out why she had chocolate stains on her cheeks. She rubbed her skin and let the alcohol make her not really care.

      “I wanted a change,” he said. “Plus it’s a great place for Emily to spend the summer.”

      Emily? What were the odds of that name belonging to his aging but adored Saint Bernard? Zero, she decided, as her string of bad luck continued.

      “Your wife?” she said with a smile and what she hoped was an expression of polite interest.

      “His daughter.”

      Bev spoke as she walked into the living room. She set down the tray of cookies along with three glasses of milk.

      “Mac’s little girl is eight.”

      Jill tried to get her mind around the concept. Over the years she’d imagined him with an assortment of women who were nothing like her, but she’d never thought of him as a father.

      “I have her for the summer,” he said, and took a cookie from the plate. “Bev has agreed to help out with day care.”

      Jill turned her attention to her aunt, at the same time swinging her head. Instantly the entire room tilted on end before settling back to a normal axis. Two thoughts filled her brain—the first, that Mac wasn’t married. At least, not to his daughter’s mother. The second thought was more troubling.

      “You don’t like children,” she reminded her aunt. “That’s why you gave up teaching.”

      Bev handed her a glass of milk. “I don’t like them in groups,” she corrected. “Maybe I read Lord of the Flies too many times—I’ve always felt children could turn rabid at any moment. But individually they’re fine.” She smiled at Mac. “I’m sure Emily’s an angel.”

      Mac looked startled by Bev’s theory on children and their potential. “What?” He shook his head. “No, she’s just a regular kid.”

      There was something in his voice, Jill thought, as she grabbed a cookie and took a bite. Something…wistful. Or was that her liquor-laced brain doing the talking?

      She sipped her milk, swallowed and nearly gagged. “I can’t,” she said, thrusting the glass at her aunt. “After the brandy, my stomach won’t like this at all.”

      “Of course it will. Just pretend you’re having a Brandy Alexander. In two courses.”

      “Oh. Okay.”

      Mac looked at her. “You’ve been drinking?”

      Faint disapproval sharpened his gaze and tightened his mouth. A quick glance at the clock told her it was a little past three in the afternoon.

      “It’s after five in New York and I’ve had a bad day.”

      Make that a bad week, possibly a bad life.

      “Don’t worry. Jill’s not a wild woman,” Bev said with a comforting smile. “She’s just a little out of sorts. When does Emily arrive?”

      “Around five. I’ll bring her by in the morning. I didn’t want to work on her first day, but I have to appear in court.”

      “Don’t think a thing about it,” Bev told him. “I’m excited at the thought of the two of us spending the summer together. We’ll have fun.”

      Jill thought about warning Mac about her aunt’s “gift” and how she sometimes passed from normal to just plain odd. But what was the point in worrying him? Besides, Bev had a way of making a person feel special and loved and maybe that was something every eight-year-old little girl needed.

      Mac rose and murmured something about heading home. Jill wanted to rouse herself enough to ask where exactly that was. His house. Not that she planned any more midnight intrusions. One humiliating moment like that was enough for anyone’s life. Nope, she would avoid Mac as much as she could while trapped in the hell that was Los Lobos. She would practice whatever form of law they expected here, handling their petty problems while sending out her buffed-up résumé to large law firms all over the state.

      And in her free time, she would plot revenge. Mean, hard-hearted, satisfying revenge that would reduce her rat-bastard ex-husband to a quivering mass. She smiled at the thought and felt something cold and wet drip onto her leg.

      “Oh dear.”

      Her aunt sounded concerned, which made Jill want to ask her what was wrong, but she couldn’t seem to open her eyes or speak. Something was taken from her hand.

      “How much brandy did she have?” a man asked.

      Mac, Jill thought hazily. Yummy, sexy Mac. She’d had a crush on him since she was thirteen years old. But he’d never noticed her. Not really. He’d been nice and friendly, but in a distant, big-brother kind of way.

      It was because she hadn’t gotten breasts. Not real ones like her best friend Gracie. Nope, Jill had what Gracie’s mom had referred to as “discreet curves.” Jill didn’t want discreet. She wanted blatant, sexy, in-your-face boobs.

      She felt herself slipping down in the chair, then suddenly she was high up in the air. It was like floating or flying or both.

      “On the sofa?”

      “Yes. I’ll get a blanket. I’m sure she just needs to rest.”

      “Or drink less,” a man said with a chuckle. “She’s going to feel like crap in a few hours.”

      That won’t be anything new, Jill thought as she burrowed into the pillow that found its way under her head. She’d been feeling like crap for two days. Only this was better. It was warm and cozy and she felt safe again. She let herself drift off and vowed that when she woke up, everything would be different.

      

      MAC GAVE UP the pretense of not watching the clock somewhere around four forty-five. He had the thought that the waiting would be a whole lot easier with a beer in his hand, but he wasn’t going there. Not with Emily on the line. Not with it all being his fault.

      He wanted to blame someone else, to point the finger and say he wasn’t responsible, but he couldn’t. Not when he’d taken every step himself. He couldn’t even blame Carly. His ex-wife had been more understanding and forgiving than he deserved.

      Because she was organized and didn’t see the value in making him sweat, she arrived five minutes early. He watched the Volvo pull up into his driveway and was outside before either of the occupants had a chance to open their doors.

      “Hey, kiddo,” he said as Emily stepped out.

      His daughter was slight and blond, with big blue eyes and a smile that could light up the heavens. Only she wasn’t smiling now. Instead her mouth quivered at the corners and she wouldn’t look him in the eye. She clutched Elvis, her tattered, stuffed rhino, to her chest and stared at the ground.

      He hadn’t seen her in nearly two months and it was all he could do not to grab her and hug her forever. He wanted to tell her he loved her, that she’d grown and gotten more beautiful, that he’d thought about her every day. Instead he tucked his hands into his jeans pockets and wished he could go back in time and make things different.

      “Hello, Mac.”

      He turned his attention to Carly. Petite, well dressed, with her gold-blond hair cut to her jawline, she walked around the car and moved toward him.

      “You