Sarah And The Sheriff. Allison Leigh

entirely, going around, instead, to the rear of the house. They went in through the mudroom, and then into the cheery, bright kitchen.

      “Don’t get excited, Red,’ cause he’s not staying,” Matthew said as they entered. “But this here’s Sawyer’s new right-hand man, Max Scalise.”

      Jaimie rubbed her hands down the front of the apron tied around her slender waist. “Of course. I remember you as a boy, Max.” She took his hand in hers, shaking it warmly. “Genna talks of you often. She always has such fun sharing pictures from her trips out to see you and Eli. I know she must be so pleased that you’re back in Weaver. How is her leg coming along?”

      “More slowly than she’d like.”

      “Mom, I still can’t find the lace—” Sarah entered the kitchen from the doorway opposite Max, and practically skidded to a halt. “Tablecloths,” she finished. “What’re you doing here?”

      “Just picking up some paperwork from the sheriff,” Max said into the silence that her abrupt question caused. “Nice to see you again, Miss Clay.” He looked at Jaimie, who was eyeing him and her daughter with curiosity. “And it was nice to see you, too, ma’am.”

      “Give your mother my regards,” Jaimie told him as he stepped toward the mudroom again.

      “I’ll do that. Sheriff. Matthew. See you later.”

      He was almost at his SUV when he heard footsteps on the gravel drive behind him.

      “Max.” Her voice was sharp.

      The memory of that voice, husky with sleep, with passion, hovered in the back of his mind. He ought to have memories just as clear about Jennifer.

      But he didn’t.

      He opened the SUV door and tossed the envelope from Matthew inside on the seat. “Don’t worry, Sarah,” he said, his voice flat. “I’m not trying to run into you every time we turn around.”

      She’d taken time only long enough to grab a sweater, and she held it wrapped tight around her shoulders. Tendrils of reddish-blond hair had worked loose from her braid and drifted against her neck. “Believe me,” she said, her tone stiff, “I didn’t once think that you were.” She worked her hand out from beneath the sweater. She held an ivory envelope. “It’s an invitation for your mother to my cousin’s wedding.”

      He took the envelope, deliberately brushing her fingers with his.

      The action was a double-edged sword, though.

      She surrendered the envelope as if it burned her, and the jolt he’d felt left more than his fingertips feeling numb. “Ever heard of postage stamps?”

      She didn’t look amused. “Most of the invites are being hand-delivered because the wedding is so soon. Friday after Thanksgiving. We’re all helping out with getting them delivered. Since your mom’s in the same quilting group as Leandra’s mother, they wanted her to have an invitation.”

      “Leandra?”

      “My cousin. She’s marrying Evan Taggart.”

      He remembered their names, of course. Taggart had grown up to become the local vet. Leandra was yet another one of the Clays and, he remembered, Sarah’s favorite cousin. If he wasn’t mistaken, he thought the vet had been on some television show Leandra had been involved with. More proof that Weaver wasn’t quite so “small town” as it once was. “I’ll make sure she gets it.” He tapped the envelope against his palm. “Eli told me what he did today.”

      She pulled the dark blue sweater more tightly around her shoulders, and said nothing.

      He exhaled, feeling impatience swell inside him. “Dammit, Sarah, at least say something.”

      Her ivory face could have been carved from ice. “Be careful driving back to Weaver. Road gets slick at night sometimes.”

      Then she turned on her heel, and for the third time that day, she walked away from him.

      Chapter Three

      Despite Sarah’s hopes, days two, three and four of Eli Scalise were just as bad—or worse—than day one.

      He didn’t hit another student with a dodge ball, but he was still miles away from the model of behavior. A conversation with his previous school had told her that this was not the norm where Eli was concerned.

      By Thursday, she knew she had to speak with Max about it. She hated the fact that several times throughout the day, she put off calling him. It showed her cowardice.

      And since she was supposed to be thoroughly over the man, what did she have to be afraid of?

      For another ten minutes or so, her students would still be in the cafeteria, practicing their part in the holiday program they’d present in less than a month. And Sarah had done enough dithering.

      Nerves all nicely inflated, she snatched up the phone and dialed the sheriff’s office. But Pamela Rasmussen, her uncle’s newest dispatcher, told her that Max was out on a call.

      “I can get a message to him if it’s urgent. His son’s okay, isn’t he?”

      Okay was a subjective term, Sarah thought. “It’s not urgent. I’d appreciate you asking him to give me a call when he’s free, though.”

      “Sure, Sarah. No prob. So, how are Leandra’s wedding plans coming together?”

      “Rapidly.” Sarah was Leandra’s maid of honor. “She’s got so much going on with the start-up of Fresh Horizons that we’re all doing as much as we can to take some of the wedding details off her shoulders.” Fresh Horizons was Leandra’s newly planned speech, physical and occupational therapy program. It would be located at her parents’ horse farm, so they could utilize hippo-therapy as a treatment strategy.

      “Wouldn’t mind taking the honeymoon off her shoulders,” Pam said with a laugh. “Think Evan Taggart was one of the last hot bachelors around here. Everyone else seems too young for us. Or too old.”

      Sarah had an unwanted image of Max shoot into her brain. She knew he’d turned forty that year. His August birthday was just another one of those details about the man that she couldn’t seem to get out of her head. “Hadn’t really thought about it,” Sarah lied. “Thanks for leaving the message, Pam. Gotta run.”

      “You betcha.”

      She quickly hung up, then nearly jumped out of her skin when the phone rang right beneath her hand where it still rested on the receiver. She snatched it up. “Sarah Clay.”

      “Sounding sort of tense there, Sarah.”

      Her breath eked out. “Brody. What’s wrong?”

      “Nada. Kid’s fine.”

      She looked toward the classroom door. She could hear footsteps outside in the corridor. “Then what are you calling me here for?” She made it a point not to blur the lines between her real life and her other job. It’s the reason she’d been as successful at keeping that other duty under wraps as she had been.

      Not even her family knew about it.

      “Megan needs more schoolwork. She’s already blown through the materials you left.”

      She wasn’t surprised. Her few encounters with Megan Paine had told her the girl was exceptionally bright. “Maybe you should just register her for classes.” Her associate, Brody Paine, hadn’t been entirely thrilled with the idea of homeschooling Megan. Presenting the child as his daughter while under his protection was one thing. Trying to keep the girl up on her schoolwork was another. Not even two months of it had made the man more comfortable with the situation.

      “My daughter’s not ready for that. She is still adjusting to her mother’s death.”

      Sarah’s nerves tightened a little. That was the cover, but she wasn’t used to Brody