Reunited With The Sheriff. Lynne Marshall

taken for granted kept returning. Now she longed to fit back in and have a routine, something she’d never achieved back east. I used to run along the beach every morning. Maybe if she got up early enough, before her mother left for school, Mom could watch Benjamin and she could take a run? Like the old days. She was too young to think in terms of old days and new days, but being a single mom had straightened her out about her prior carefree life. It didn’t exist anymore.

      Neither did dreams. She’d lost one too many jobs in New York, and was back home in small-town Sandpiper Beach to regroup. Not exactly the path to culinary greatness.

      Reality was a real snotwad. She sighed and turned her thoughts determinedly to the next chore on her agenda, meeting the chicken delivery man for tonight’s menu.

      When she parked in the hotel lot, she saw Conor’s car. The guy who’d taken her to the airport and kissed her goodbye, reminding her about their promise before he’d sent her away. The promise she’d broken. The hair stood on her arms. What if it was his day off and she saw him today? Would it be as horrible as last Saturday night? Nothing could top that out-of-control reaction. She’d nearly set the kitchen on fire!

      Whatever pain or sadness she’d caused him, not to mention herself, was history. She was all grown up now with her boy on her hip to prove it. Using her keys, she opened the hotel kitchen—her kitchen—and forced a smile. She was head chef somewhere. Then Benjamin kicked his sturdy legs to get down, but no way would she let him run around her kitchen grabbing anything at his eye level. Soon he quit squirming and pointed through the glass door.

      “Truck, I know,” she said.

      He had a funny way of pronouncing f’s instead of t’s and she didn’t want to encourage him to say fruck in public.

      The delivery man had arrived with chicken breasts, thighs and legs for today’s special, fresh from a local farm.

      As she signed off on the delivery from the back steps of the kitchen, Conor left his hotel room, looking dressed for the gym. The pen nearly slid across the page. He looked nothing short of a superhero in shorts and a tight T-shirt. Gorgeous. And to think he used to only have eyes for her.

      A memory of their summer together—their bodies tangled tight, with him inside her—made her cheeks heat up. That had been one hot summer. Dream on. He hates you, remember?

      The man would never want to get involved with her again, especially now that she had a son. So why was he in her thoughts at random moments like this?

      Because she’d never realized how much she’d loved him until she’d lost him.

      * * *

      Conor worked out like a madman at the gym, doing double the usual sets on free weights. He’d just seen Shelby again, with her son in her arms, on the back porch of the hotel kitchen, and he needed to get her out of his mind. Sweat ran down his forehead and made his eyes burn. He started in again with a one-armed preacher curl.

      He’d been twenty-seven the day she’d forgotten to show up, and he thought he’d never get over her. He’d seriously thought his life had ended for a while there. What a chump. But he’d finally moved on, had even thought about getting engaged early last year.

      He transferred the dumbbell to the other arm and started the same routine.

      The experience with Shelby had turned his formerly outgoing self inward, and the couple of relationships he’d ventured into since she’d dumped him had failed. No woman wanted a guy who never communicated. Elena had been the unlucky person who’d paid for Shelby’s carelessness.

      He dropped the weight and stood, pacing the mat while his arms burned and fingers tingled.

      He couldn’t let Shelby hold him back another day, especially since she’d clearly moved on, being a mother and all.

      He glanced around the gym. Maybe he’d ask out the first girl out who showed any interest. With great effort, he remembered his smile and plastered one on while catching the eye of a tall, fit redhead. She smiled back.

      Ten minutes later, failing at casual conversation with a willing woman, and having zero interest in asking her on a date, he headed home to shower. It really ticked him off that now that Shelby was back, he couldn’t get his mind off her. Dude, you have a serious problem.

      Once back at the hotel, when he got out of the shower, he found Mark in the hotel suite. His brother spent most nights with Laurel these days, and it had been ages since Conor had seen him alone. Now that he worked the front desk, Mark dressed in navy pants and a pale blue shirt. The combination made his already deep blue eyes borderline electric. Right now, those eyes watched him. Conor and Mark were overdue for this talk.

      “Why’d you hire her?”

      “Shelby?”

      “Who else.” Conor threw the used bath towel on the corner of his bed and stepped into his boxer-length briefs.

      “I needed a chef, she applied, she had the best credentials.” Defensive as hell. “Aren’t you over her? You almost got engaged to what’s her name last year.”

      “Elena. Her name was Elena.” Conor pulled on a T-shirt, his back still wet.

      “Maybe if you’d brought her around more, I’d remember.”

      He let that slight roll off, though it was true. “It would have been nice to have a heads-up. That’s all I’m saying.”

      Blue eyes nailed him with a challenging stare. “So I’m supposed to consult you on all things ‘hotel’ even though you personally told me you didn’t want anything to do with running the place.”

      “It’s Shelby, man.” On went the jeans. Zip.

      “So you are still hung up on her.”

      Conor got in his brother’s face. “I can’t exactly avoid her since I live where she works. She probably thinks I’m a total loser.” He lived there to save for the Beacham House up the coast that’d been sitting empty for years. Like his heart.

      He used to want The Beacham for Shelby, now he wanted it for himself. Only himself. A place where he could brood without his family watching his every move. But even a run-down, never-finished house had to be saved for.

      Mark took a step back. “Okay, so you’re definitely not over her.”

      When Conor saw her that morning, it verified his hunch from the other night—she was thin. Too thin. Like maybe she’d been sick or something.

      Why should he care? “Beside the point. She doesn’t give a rip about me.” Hell, she’d obviously been involved with someone else, while knowing about their promise and the plan to meet. On the other hand, being fair, which he really didn’t feel like being, he hadn’t asked her to be a monk, just to show up in four years. And she’d bought a plane ticket. “Did you know she has a kid?” It must be hard being a single mother with a kid to support. Maybe that was the reason for the physical change. Stress.

      “Yeah, that’s why she came home. Whoever knocked her up didn’t stick around.”

      “Hey, show some respect.” Like Conor should care how Mark referred to his chef.

      “I’m just stating the facts. She and the baby are living with her mother.”

      Again, why should he care? Maybe because long before they were lovers, they’d been friends. She’d also been the first girl he’d ever trusted. And loved.

      Now, he’d never be able to trust her again.

      Mark snapped his fingers near Conor’s face, getting his attention again. “So you do still care. Right?”

      Conor gave a frustrated headshake over the density of his brother’s brain.

      * * *

      Sunday morning, Conor borrowed Daniel’s Labrador retriever, Daisy, for an early-morning