He’d been hit right then with a powerful dual punch of emotions: first, fear that she’d get hurt when the car hit the diner wall; and second, bittersweet nostalgia when, for a split second, it was five years earlier and he’d been back on her grandfather Macer’s porch, his arms around her waist, leaning in to kiss her sweet mouth, euphoric with hope and excitement that Coraleen would be his. But instead of leaning into him, she’d pulled back and stopped him from kissing her. And then she’d said the words that changed their lives forever.
“I’m the one who embezzled that money, Remy. Not Grandpop. You have to arrest me.”
Remy squeezed his eyes shut, an attempt to block not only that memory but the memory of all that came after. His denials. His demands that she tell him she was lying. The blank way she’d looked when she’d stared Judge Reinhardt in the eye and pled guilty. The hollow and afraid expression in her eyes and her forced smile when she waved goodbye from the back of the prison transport van. But most of all, the way she’d looked at him during that one and only time she’d allowed him to visit her in prison, as if she was imprinting everything about him into her memory and didn’t think she’d ever see him again.
But he’d been dead wrong about that look, because immediately the “look” disappeared, replaced with one of disgust, and she’d told him how she really felt about him. Which wasn’t very nice. After that, she’d refused to allow him any more visits to see her in AZ/PC.
He’d had no choice but to move on with his life, and it would be wise of him to remember that he had to do the same now. He’d finally grudgingly accepted she’d committed the crime to which she’d confessed, and he was a man of the law. Coraleen had made her choices and he had to make his. And as much as seeing her again brought back all the old feelings of attraction he’d had for her, nothing could happen between them. Not like she wanted anything to happen, anyway.
Desire for her aside (and yeah, that desire was still strong as could be and completely undeniable no matter what his mind told his body), he needed to make sure she was okay.
And then he had to keep his distance.
Pretty clear that’s what she wanted.
It didn’t take long for him to winch up the Impala and hitch it to his Jeep, but eventually the job was done. Reinhardt appeared on the street corner, frowned, then came closer, checking out the destruction to Delilah’s Diner.
“Tow truck unavailable?” Reinhardt asked, kicking at a piece of broken brick on the wooden sidewalk.
Remy nodded. He didn’t so much mind the man’s company, but he wasn’t at all pleased with the warning the man had given him earlier.
Steer clear of that girl.
Yeah, sure, good advice, given that he was running a campaign for sheriff and didn’t need to be linked to a convict. Former convict, he reminded himself. But he still wasn’t going to put up with someone trying to tell him what to do. Or talk about Coraleen in a bad way, for that matter.
His walkie-talkie squawked, and the voice of Gail Ender, from Dispatch, came on the line. “A report just came in: shots heard fired off Countyline Road. Um…it’s April third, by the way.”
Both Remy and Reinhardt sighed. “Some things never change,” Remy muttered. Jimmy Loftus was shooting his rifle into the air as he did every year on April third, the day his wife had left him. The man went on a major bender on his Dump Day anniversary, as he called it, and inevitably took out his rifle and let loose with a few loud blasts. Once in the morning and once at sundown.
Remy pressed the button on his shoulder. “I’ll get out there in a bit and calm Jimmy down.” The man wouldn’t reload the shotgun until evening. That would give him enough time to get Coraleen’s car over to the auto shop, get back to the hospital to see how Coraleen herself was getting on, and go find Jacob Bullard.
Pressure tightened in his chest at the thought of the scrape on Coraleen’s forehead, but even more disturbing was the way she’d tried to act like she hadn’t cared when Reinhardt had warned him away from her. A line had flickered in her jaw and her eyes had gone dull. Yeah, she’d cared. A lot. And for a split second he’d wanted to slam his fist into Reinhardt’s face for hurting her. Not good.
“What do you plan to do with that piece of junk?” Reinhardt asked, nodding at the Impala, his eyes squinting as he spoke.
“Take it to Dave’s Auto-Body. Get it repaired. Shouldn’t take Dave too long.” The car had survived despite tough times. Just like its owner.
“Told you not to stick around that Pettigrew woman. She’s bad news—associating with her could compromise your reputation. Hope you don’t end up like your father. That scandal was a true black mark on this town.”
The familiar tightening squeezed Remy’s chest at the reminder of his father.
Damn Reinhardt.
Remy was not anything like his father—no way would he ever let lust compromise duty. He hated the constant reminders. But he hated more being told what to do, and Reinhardt had stepped over the line.
“I appreciate your concern. I’m not sure what my father’s disgrace has to do with anything, however.”
“Your father let his feelings for a criminal affect his judgment. He compromised a drug trafficking investigation and cost the County a great deal of money. Don’t forget the fact we almost let that woman off because of the evidence your father hid.”
“I’m not talking about this now,” Remy said firmly. Decisively. “Like I said earlier, I was just doing my job.” He gave a quick tug on the line holding the Impala to his Jeep.
“You got better things to do than go hauling a convict’s car around.”
“She’s not a convict—not anymore. And we can’t leave her car here.”
“Be careful, Remy. You may not think Lydell Wallaby is real competition, but you can’t afford to lose any votes.”
Remy tipped his head at Reinhardt. He wasn’t sure he liked where this conversation was headed, but at least Reinhardt had dropped mention of his father. “I know Lydell’s gunning for this position, but do you seriously think Deloro County will vote in a man without experience in law enforcement?”
Reinhardt remained silent for a moment, then without looking Remy in the eye, he said, “I’d asked you to meet me for coffee at Delilah’s this morning to tell you something about the campaign. We got interrupted before I could do that. Now that I’m retired, I can provide an endorsement. Lydell thinks he has my backing—”
“I’d heard. Wasn’t sure to believe the rumors or not.” Something shifted uncomfortably inside Remy’s chest. “I made it clear I wouldn’t ask anyone for endorsements. My record speaks for itself, and I’m sure the public sees that. They trust in my abilities. In me.”
“A bit naïve of a perspective,” Reinhardt said, a slight hint of sarcasm layered over his tone. “In truth, I haven’t made up my mind if I’m going to lend either you or Lydell my support. Sounds like you don’t want mine.”
What the hell was Reinhardt getting at? Was this some sort of test? Remy hated being played. “I didn’t say that,” he responded, working to keep the building anger out of his voice. “If you want to endorse me, I’d appreciate the gesture. I’m just saying, the decision is yours.”
“Be that as it may. I’ll make my choice later this week. I do worry, though, what kind of choices you’re making with this Pettigrew woman.”
“Her name is Coraleen,” Remy said tightly, fury building inside him.
But Reinhardt had already taken off up the road. Leaving Remy to wonder what the hell the former judge had against Coraleen. And why would Reinhardt—or anyone, for that matter—want to back Lydell? The man was a political paper-pusher, jumping from position to position—city council to county supervisor—and with absolutely no law enforcement background. Lydell might be great at passing noise ordinances, but he’d make a crap sheriff.
Besides that, it royally pissed Remy off that Reinhardt would even think threatening him with a vote would get him to change how he did things. Did Reinhardt t
hink he was as malleable as his father had proven to be? He kicked the tire well of the Impala, hard.
Hell—no way was he his father. He had honor, integrity, and he’d do the right thing no matter what.
He always did.
The sounds of the hospital surrounded Coraleen as she waited, not-so-patiently, on her small cot in a corner room of the local ER, shivering in her thin cotton exam gown and sitting awkwardly so her butt didn’t show. She wanted to be released already so she could look for her horse and then get the heck out of town.
During the drive to the ER, she’d been too focused on not throwing up in Remy’s Jeep to remember to ask him if he knew who’d bought Visada.
None of the relatively few people from Meadowview who’d visited her in prison (Delilah, Chessie Gibson, and Juliet Terrell) knew more than a rumor that someone local had ended up with Visada.
While still at AZ/PC, she’d managed to contact the company that ran the auction, but they’d been unable to come up with any information for her. Several of the auction items were simply listed as “Property.” Had to be Visada was one of those “items.” Coming back to Meadowview was her one shot at finding her horse.
She kicked her legs out, needled by impatience. Did it really take an hour to get results of an X-ray and exam? Signing a release form needed to happen, and soon. Once she was released, she could walk back into town, then figure out what to do with the car. She’d planned to sleep in it (Impalas had a nice back seat—good for using as a bed while temporarily homeless) while she tracked down Visada, but if it ended up at Dave’s Auto-Body (the only place in town to get a car repaired—or a sewing machine or a fridge, for that matter), then her temporary housing wouldn’t be feasible. Dave was known for locking his yard up tight.
She couldn’t afford to rent a room (not like there were many in Meadowview—the few local B&Bs and two ritzy places catered to the wealthy tourists, and the closest cost-efficient motel was forty miles away). And yeah, she could have asked one of her friends if she could stay the night, but pride had somehow wedged itself in tight and she’d never been able to put that particular request out there. She didn’t want to be pitied. That wasn’t why she was back in town. She’d hold her head up high, no matter what.
Maybe she could sleep in the park. Or the cemetery. People did that, right?
But if someone caught her trespassing, she could go back in the slammer. Her car had better be where she left it. Market Street sloped a little bit downward. If the Impala wasn’t running, she could at least give it a push and let it roll down to the park at the end of the hill. There was a public bathroom at the park.
Down the hall came short bursts of laughter and quick squeaks of practical shoes on the vinyl floor, muffled low voices carrying concern and care, and a variety of beeps and bells, endless sounds from various machines that were helping the few in Meadowview in need of urgent care. She regretted her impatience—she was only here because Remy had gone all Protector Dude on her. Others needed care.
Still, though, irritation kept sliding up her spine.
Because she’d spent the last five years waiting, and was so very much done with waiting and being told what to do. And the ER had a lot in common with her recently-departed domicile.
So far she’d been directed to take off her clothes, sit here, stand there, raise her arms, lay still, etcetera, etcetera. Just like prison. So it galled her to be under someone else’s orders within the first full twenty-four hours out of the clink. Even if that person ordering her about was her former pediatrician.
She frowned. Doc Witting used to be much more friendly. The cranky way she’d spoken to Coraleen an hour before had seemed out of character. Maybe the woman was having a bad day…but maybe her mood was all about Coraleen. She hoped it wasn’t about her, though, as the thought made her sad.
As Coraleen swung her legs, pondering this possibility, the doc came back into the exam room, scowling at a computer tablet in her hands. Maybe cheerful conversation would put a smile back on Doc’s face.
“Uh, we didn’t get much of a chance to talk earlier, before they whisked me away to Radiology. It’s good to see you again. Didn’t think you’d still be in Meadowview,” Coraleen said, nerves making her chatter like a blue jay guarding a pine tree. “Thought you’d be retired by now and living in Cancun. Or was it Cozumel?”
“Belize,” Doc Witting said absently, tapping something into the tablet with one finger. “Didn’t happen. One of the other docs retired while you were—” She bit off what she’d been about to say and gave Coraleen a tight-lipped look. “Never mind.”
A tightness tugged at Coraleen’s chest. She knew what the doc had been about to say. While Coraleen was away in prison for stealing Lydell Wallaby’s entire campaign fund for his state assembly bid. All three hundred thousand smackeroos.
She hadn’t, of course, but she couldn’t let anyone know that. Nope, for all intents and purposes, she’d been the one who’d made off with the dough. And that’s the only version of the truth she wanted out there.
Because if she’d told the actual truth? Well, everyone and their brother would assume her grandpop had made off with the money. And she couldn’t have that.
Glancing down at her bare feet, she mumbled, “Sorry about Belize. And sorry about—” She cleared her throat, knowing there was nothing she could say that would make this woman like her again. So much for happy talk. “Think I can get out of here soon?”
“I’m still waiting on your bloodwork. Should be e-mailed in a minute or two.” The doc glanced back down at the tablet.
Coraleen shifted uncomfortably. “You wouldn’t know, by any chance, who ended up buying Visada at the auction of my grandpop’s stuff, would you?”
Doc Witting frowned, but didn’t look up. “Your horse? Nope. All I know is the bank bought the land. I don’t know who ended up with the rest of Macer’s things.”
“Thanks,” Coraleen replied. Not that she’d expected the doc to know the answer, but she’d had to ask.
“Where’s the sheriff?” the doc asked suddenly.
Not pacing the hall, that’s for sure.
A fact Coraleen knew well because she’d hopped off the bed a few times and peered down the corridor looking for him, against her better sense.
“Um…I don’t know where Remy went. He took off after he brought me in. Doubt we’ll see him again.” She could only hope. Crushing on Remy was a thing of the past. She had her future to look toward, which meant getting her horse, getting out of town, and getting to the job her former cell mate Janice had waiting for her.
The door to her room opened and Remy came in. He leaned on the doorway, one hand on his hip, the other on the door.
She lost her breath.
“You feeling better?” he asked, gazing at her with dark brown eyes that glinted in the harsh overhead light.
Her heart flipped around like a kid on the monkey bars. She swallowed, twice, actually, and after an additional second or two, managed to find her voice again. “I didn’t realize you were still here.”
“Actually, I had to head out for a bit. Just got back. How are you?”
“Not quite sure yet,” she said. He’d been asking about her health, but her answer had been more about her mind and heart and soul. She had no clue how she was doing, staring at the man she’d dreamed about for years. The man she couldn’t have.
Maybe they could have been something, long ago, but not anymore. Not with the choice she’d made and who she’d become.
She’d thought herself in love with him a couple of times, not that he ever knew, of course. They’d met when he’d been twenty-one and a brand-new deputy, and she’d been all of fifteen. She’d immediately fallen for him. He’d been totally out of her reach back then, but she’d thought she was in madly, desperately, passionately in love…until six months later when her young heart discovered Geoffrey Clauser (source of many sighs from girls—and some boys—in the halls of Meadowview High), the star of the high sch
ool musicals and captain of the lacrosse team.
Three years after that, her virginity long gone and Geoffrey more recently departed for the head cheerleader—and a week before her high school graduation—she’d been riding Visada on a country lane when Remy had driven by, smiled, and waved her down to have a friendly chat.
Twenty minutes later, he drove off and left her with her heart firmly attached once again to everything Remy Toussaint.
She’d made a plan: graduate, then go after Remy, both barrels a’blazing, and make him love her the way she thought she loved him. Utterly. Completely. Passionately.
But two days later, her grandfather—Lydell Wallaby’s accountant—had been accused of embezzling the man’s campaign fund.
The accusation had almost destroyed Pop.
Coraleen had made it through her graduation ceremony but after that she put all her plans on hold—including not only going to college but also seducing Remy. And about two years later, when it looked like for sure Pop would be convicted, she’d made a huge decision. A seventy-year-old man with congestive heart failure couldn’t serve a prison sentence. So she’d done everything she could to protect the man who’d given her a family when her parents had died.
She’d taken the rap for her grandfather and had never looked back. Not even to tell Remy she loved him.
“Doc?” Remy asked, focusing his attention on the doctor, totally oblivious to the tornado whirling around in her head and heart.
Doc Witting gave her a soft smile, which was nice to see. “She’ll survive. Hard head on that one.”
Remy flashed his gaze back to Coraleen and gave her a wink and a half-smile. Something inside her felt like butter in the full sun—all warm and melty. She ripped her gaze away from Remy’s and focused on Doc Witting.
“So, um, Doc? Am I free to go?” she asked. When the doctor looked pointedly at Remy, she added, “It’s okay, you can tell me what’s going on with him in the room.”
Doc thumbed the scrollpad on her tablet, squinted a bit, then looked back up. “You have a rather severe concussion, but no internal injuries and no broken bones,” she said. “Bloodwork all looks fine. You’ll need to keep fairly inactive for a few days. Most importantly, though, you need someone to wake you up every few hours tonight.”
Always the One: (Meadowview Heroes # 2) (The Meadowview Series Book 6) (Meadowview Heat) Page 3