Sarah's Secrets. Lisa Childs

      Dylan nodded. “He’s right, Sarah. You don’t want Jeremy to know there was a threat, especially if it is just some sick joke.”

      If. But what if it wasn’t? What did that mean for a man who lay dying in a hospital bed in Milwaukee? Short of kidnapping her, Royce figured he wouldn’t get her out of Winter Falls while her son was in danger. And he didn’t blame her.

      But then what did he know about mothers? He’d met some in the course of his job that he’d thought cared about their kids. Then they had proven him pathetically wrong.

      Dylan stepped close to him. “You okay, Royce?”

      He nodded. “Yeah, yeah, just tired. Is this game or practice almost over?”

      Pulling a whistle from his pocket, Dylan called a stop to the action on the soccer field. As the kids scrambled over, another car entered the lot. Lights flashing, sirens blaring, the patrol cruiser stopped near Sarah’s Mercedes.

      “Subtle.” Royce shook his head.

      The sheriff sighed. “I don’t know what I’m going to do about that deputy.”

      First the kids fell silent, then resumed excited chatter. Dylan raised one hand and blew the whistle again. “It’s nothing. Just Deputy Jones.”

      Parents who had watched their children or were just arriving to pick them up swarmed the field and the sheriff.

      Despite not being familiar with casual touches, Royce found himself cupping Sarah’s elbow and steering her away from the crowd, as much for his protection as hers. During his years with Milwaukee PD and the FBI, he’d done the mob scene. Remembering the crush of bodies, the lack of oxygen, he dragged in a quick breath.

      “You don’t need to do this. I can wait. I’ll think of something to tell Jeremy.” She pulled her arm free of his grasp.

      The silk slid through Royce fingers, and he dropped his hand back to his side. For some reason he liked touching her. Probably just because it ticked her off. “I agreed to do this. I’m not reneging. Where’s your son?”

      He turned to find a boy standing near them, the boy who looked like Dylan. Golden-blond locks stuck to the perspiration on his high forehead. Concern clouded his otherwise bright-blue eyes. “Mom? You okay?”

      “Yes, I am. I’m sorry about earlier…”

      “Were you visiting the hospital again? The sick kids?”

      “I was at the hospital earlier.”

      He offered a reassuring smile. “I’m okay, Mom. Totally healthy.”

      She laughed. “I know. Hey, you looked good out there.” Her red lips curved into a proud smile, which faltered as she followed her son’s gaze to Royce. “Jeremy, this is Mr. Graham. And this is my son, Jeremy Mars.”

      The boy stuck out his hand, an ID bracelet dangling from his wrist. Such an uncomplicated kid. How’d he come from such a complicated mother?

      Royce shook her son’s hand. The boy’s grip was firm. “Nice to meet you.”

      A thought flitted through Royce’s head and lodged like a cramp in his gut. Dylan had claimed this child was his in a manner of speaking. Despite his wedding ring, how involved was the sheriff with Mrs. Hutchins? Except for how it affected his plan to bring her to Milwaukee, it shouldn’t have mattered to him if she slept with every married man in Winter Falls and bore them children. But it did matter.

      Under the adults’ tense silence, Jeremy squirmed, flushing from more than his physical exertion. “I saw you talking to Uncle Dylan earlier…”

      “Uncle Dylan?” The cramp eased.

      The boy nodded. “Yeah, pretty cool having the sheriff for my uncle. He’s my coach, too. He couldn’t get out of uniform today because of the break-in. That’s gotta be why his deputy came here with the sirens on.” Excitement blazed in those blue eyes.

      Royce’s mouth quirked into a grin as he recalled his own youthful fascination with every aspect of the law. “A break-in?”

      “Yeah, at Doc’s office. He’s the only doctor in town. I hope they stole his shots.” The kid shuddered. They probably had.

      “So how do you know my uncle?”

      The kid would make a good interrogator. “We’re friends. I’ve worked with him before.”

      “You’re a cop?” The blue gaze flicked over Royce’s unshaven face. “Narcotics, like Uncle Dylan was in Detroit?”

      Royce fought a grin and shook his head. “Private investigator.”

      “I thought cops didn’t like ’em.”

      And the kid was well-informed. “That’s not—”

      “True all the time.” Dylan chuckled. “Just most of the time.” He slapped a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder.

      Royce glanced around and noticed the other kids and families had dispersed. He drew an easier breath. “Yeah, yeah, until the private investigator is called in to bail the police out of a jam.”

      Dylan chuckled again. “Also helps when the private investigator is ex-FBI.”

      “FBI?” The kid’s brows met his hairline, and his eyes rounded. His voice cracked with reverence. “You were an FBI agent?”

      Sarah sighed. “Oh, no…”

      Royce suppressed a chuckle at her reaction and nodded. He didn’t have any more to say about his time at the FBI, especially to a kid. Hell, there wasn’t much in his life, past or present, that he could tell a kid. “Ready for me to drive you home yet?”

      “You’re driving us home?” Jeremy’s glance slid over his mother’s face.

      She didn’t jump to offer a lie, so Royce did. “Yeah, she has some car problems. Dylan and the deputy will see to it. But I’ll be happy to give you and your mother a ride home.”

      Despite his fatigue and his godfather’s last hope hanging on a thread in Milwaukee, he wanted to give Sarah a ride. How long had it been since he’d held a woman? The fact he couldn’t remember didn’t reassure him. His hand on her elbow was the closest he’d been to one in a long while. Taking a step closer to her, he drew in a ragged breath and inhaled the scent of orange blossoms. His brows rose. He’d expected something heavy and expensive.

      “Where’s your car, Mr. Graham?” the boy asked.

      “The silver Avalanche.”

      The kid gasped, law enforcement obviously not his only interest. He loved trucks, too.

      Royce turned toward Dylan. “I’ll wait at her house until you come by. Then we’ll talk.”

      Dylan nodded.

      The deputy rushed forward when they neared the parking lot. “Mrs. Hutchins, are you all right?”

      She nodded, but Dylan answered for her, his deep tone a warning in itself. “It’s just car trouble, Jones. We’ll deal with it.”

      “But—but I can drive her home…”

      Under her breath, which caressed the side of his neck and stirred the hair he never found time to have cut, she murmured, “Everybody wants to drive me home.”

      He flashed a glance at the deputy. The young man was a minute from tongue-lolling in his blind adoration of the gorgeous widow.

      “Jeremy and Sarah are riding with me.” The kid had already rushed across the lot to the SUV, his fingers streaming along the silver fender as Royce’s itched to stream along Sarah’s thigh. Her silk trousers, molded against her by the slight breeze, silhouetted long, graceful legs. In his overtired, fevered mind, he could picture them wrapped around his hips as he buried himself inside her.

      He