Secretly Married. Allison Leigh

outside this place.”

      “You shouldn’t have bothered.”

      “Maybe it’s not a bother.” Her smile flashed briefly. She nodded at Leo when he abandoned his cleaning rag to fill a glass with soda that he placed in front of her before he moved over to the small television at the far end of the bar.

      Sam thought maybe he owed Sara an apology. But the Vega and Drake families went way back. Sam had grown up with Sara’s brother, Logan. Long ago both he and Logan had left Turnabout Island.

      They’d both returned.

      And while he felt an apology was in order, he wasn’t entirely certain why. Things weren’t that way between him and Sara. They never had been. Never would be, even if he weren’t still married and his kid brother wasn’t hung up on her.

      He picked up his mug and drained it before he spoke. “I should have told you.”

      “Why? There are things I haven’t told you, either.” Her smile widened a little. “Nothing quite as major as a marriage, mind you.”

      “You’re too nice, Sara.” He meant it. She was nice.

      “Yeah,” she agreed lightly. “All that niceness going to waste with no man around to take advantage of it.”

      Sam looked up to find her watching Leo as she spoke. “Don’t expect your grandmother to be quite as understanding,” she warned, sounding amused. Then she nudged his shoulder with hers, companionably, and sat forward, propping her elbow on the bar. “Funny that I never pictured you with the buttoned-down type,” Sara murmured. “How’d you two meet?”

      Buttoned-down type. Laney would detest that description. He’d have to remember it. “Working a case.”

      “And you don’t want to talk about it.”

      “No.”

      “Well, that’s fair enough.” She was silent for a moment. “Janie told me she took Delaney to your place. Presumably you know that, by now.”

      He grunted noncommittally.

      “Do we need to check your place for a body?”

      His lips twitched. “Not yet.”

      “So, what are you doing here?”

      He nudged his mug. “What’s it look like?”

      “Come on, Sam. You dropped the news that you’re secretly married and walked out of Annie and Logan’s party. And now, hours later, you’re at a bar you detest. Did you leave her alone at your place or what?”

      “Delaney’s capable of fending for herself. Believe me.” More than capable. The woman preferred it to ever depending on someone else. She could dredge up a wealth of trust for her patients, but had she had enough in him?

      Had he deserved it? No.

      Sara eyed him a moment longer. “Samson and Delaney. Kind of funny, isn’t it? Almost like Samson and Delilah.”

      His wife had once been his only weakness. “Funny.” Oh, yeah. Har-dee-har-har.

      “Well.” Sara slid off the bar stool. “I’m a good listener if you want to talk.” Her tone was dry. They both knew Sam didn’t share his thoughts with much of anybody. “Don’t pour too much more of that stuff for the sheriff, here, Leo,” she said as she headed toward the door. “It’s lethal.”

      Sam barely waited for the door to close behind Sara. “Leo.” He snagged his brother’s attention from the television and lifted his empty mug.

      Leo grimaced, then headed back over to Sam. “She’s right, man, you’re gonna be sorry.”

      “Pour.”

      Leo shook his head, regretfully. But he poured, then ambled back over to watch the remainder of his black-and-white midnight screamer.

      Sam lifted the mug of what was hands-down the vilest coffee he’d ever tasted.

      “Y’oughta have a beer,” Leo said, not looking his way. “Or turpentine. Be easier on the stomach.”

      Easier didn’t mean better. Given Sam’s current frame of mind, once he started drinking he wasn’t gonna want to stop until he couldn’t remember that Delaney was still back at his place.

      “You going to Etta’s tomorrow?” Leo’s voice interrupted his grim thoughts.

      Sam twisted the coffee mug back and forth, lining it up with the permanent rings on the bar. “No.”

      “First time since you came back to the island that you’re going to miss her Sunday dinner.”

      “She’ll live.” He wasn’t in the mood to discuss his reasons for avoiding his grandmother’s traditional Sunday meal. Leo knew the reasons well enough.

      Leo shrugged. “Etta’s gonna use your tail for dog chow if you don’t show up tomorrow. With your wife in tow. Word travels fast around here. It’s a wonder she hasn’t already hunted you down about that particular bit.”

      Truth was, Sam was a little surprised at that, too. “I can handle Etta.” And “towing” had never worked with Delaney.

      Leo’s lips quirked. He looked back at the television. Then the clock. The bar would close at two. Not a minute before, not a minute later, whether there were patrons present or not.

      “Heard she’s good-looking.”

      “Etta? That’s where you get the looks, Leo,” Sam deadpanned.

      His brother shot him the bird. Some described Henrietta Vega as a handsome woman. Sam considered her a tough old bird. In looks as well as personality. He loved her, but generally—aside from her fried chicken and mashed potatoes—she was a source of regular irritation.

      “Did you leave her or was it the other way around?”

      No respite. No need to clarify who Leo was speaking of. “Depends who you ask,” he said truthfully, and stood. “Don’t let the Haggerty boys back in here for a few days. Vern’s been aching for trouble since he got booted from the academy.”

      “Their money’s good.”

      “Their brains aren’t. Those two are spoiling for a fight about something and getting drunk isn’t helping. Next time they might do more damage than bust up a few bar stools.”

      Leo nodded. “Yeah, whatever. Go home to your wife and stop lecturing me.” There was no heat in Leo’s voice.

      Sam left.

      Go home to your wife. Now there was a damned strange thing to consider.

      Too strange to do just yet. Instead, he drove up and down Turnabout Road. Going slowly, looking over the sleeping town. Sara’s moonlit fields where she and Annie grew crops for their shop of lotions and herbal goops. Diego Montoya’s recently rebuilt dock where his ancient ferry rocked in the water, making soft thumps and gentle rattles. Then back up to the road to the far end of the isle where the gates of Castillo House were closed. A few windows in the big house glowed yellow in the night, but the Christmas lights from the party were all dark.

      His tires crunched over gravel and crumbling black-top as he turned the vehicle around. Eight-point-seven miles straight down the only real road the island possessed and he was back at his own place.

      No glowing windows welcomed him home.

      He turned off the engine, leaving the key in the ignition. Nobody on the island would steal his truck. There would be no place to go with it.

      He went inside, heading straight to his room. It wasn’t his imagination that caught Delaney’s scent as he walked through the dark house. It was the same custom perfume that she’d liked before.

      He shook off the memory and moved to the glass door that opened onto the rear deck. But his hand paused as he