And it had to be especially tough to reenter society after being locked up for years.
He came the rest of the way into the kitchen, took the sponge from her hand and tossed it in the sink, regretting his harsh words and the way she’d almost flinched. Her comment at the hospital about being homeless had been spoken with the same confidence he remembered in her, but there’d been a way in which she’d stared off past him, a way in which she’d tightened her jaw as she’d spoken, as if she did truly feel fear and worry and vulnerability. That expression had tugged at his heart.
And he’d fought that tug, as hard as he’d fought the tug in his groin every time he caught sight of her. He did so not need to feel anything for Coraleen Pettigrew.
Besides responsibility and yeah, maybe even friendship, that is.
“Sorry, kiddo,” he said. “I shouldn’t have yelled. I just want you to rest, that’s all. Doc gave us pretty specific instructions to keep you sedentary for a while. Can you go sit back down, please?”
Fear faded from her eyes, replaced by a sharp glimmer of something he recognized from her youth: defiance.
“Pretty clear I’m no longer a kid,” she ground out.
Oh, yeah, that had been clear years before. Seemed like Coraleen had gone from her awkward stage to full-blown adulthood in one fell swoop.
He remembered seeing her over the years, and noting rather dispassionately how she was growing up, then one day, almost as if out of nowhere, he’d caught sight of her as she was walking across the town square, her gaze firmly fixed on legal papers she held in her hand, her shoulders slumped, steps slow. And it was clear she’d become a woman. That moment had been about a year after her grandfather had been accused of embezzlement and after she’d graduated from high school. There was nothing like tragedy to force someone to grow up, and quick.
She’d taken his breath away that day, and suddenly he was seeing her everywhere—at the courthouse, walking down the street, in Camden’s Grocery scrutinizing prices…and when she started working at Delilah’s Diner, serving coffee to customers, he’d taken to eating there every morning, just to see her smile.
Which she did with much less frequently than before her grandfather had been accused of embezzlement, but when she did—on those rare occasions when something would trigger her to break out in one of her effervescent grins that seemed to light the world on fire—those moments were to live for.
He cleared his throat. “I didn’t mean it as an insult. I guess I did it out of habit. That’s what I called you that day I rescued you in the woods, and you were pretty much a kid back then.”
She simply raised an eyebrow at him in response.
He sighed. “It won’t happen again.”
“Thank you,” Coraleen said primly. Then she turned and padded, barefoot, to the great room and to the leather couch, where she plopped back down and covered herself back up with the knitted blanket. Then promptly closed her eyes and groaned.
“Need anything?” he asked. “Pain pills?”
She whipped her head around, then groaned again. Loudly. “Remind me not to move my head too fast. Don’t want to black out on you again. Or throw up. That was embarrassing. And no, I don’t need anything. Just my car and the ability to get out of this town.”
He ignored her minor tantrum. She’d earned the right to be a bit peeved with the world. He walked into the great room and flipped on the switch to the lamp next to the couch. Gentle light warmed the room. “Dave called. He found a replacement radiator, but it’s being shipped up from So Cal. Means repairs to the Impala won’t be completed for another day, maybe two. Maybe not even until the end of the week.”
A hollow look appeared in her eyes. She squeezed them shut, then opened them back up and put a rather false-looking smile on her face. But her jaw was clenched tight. “I’ll find a place to stay tomorrow, I promise,” she said, her voice somewhat brittle. “Or maybe I could borrow a car from someone.” Then she cut their connection and stared vacantly out the window, a tic flashing along her jawline.
“Why did you come back to Meadowview, Coraleen?” he asked quietly, hitching a hip on the sofa’s arm. “You have no money, you’re driving a wreck, and the friends you do have here would be happy to drive over to Placer County to visit you at your new home.”
Coraleen twisted her mouth to the side, then looked down at her hands, fingers twisted together into a knot on her lap. “Originally I thought I’d get out in time to move back in with Pop. But when he died, that all changed.”
Remy nodded. “I’m sorry.”
“Thanks. I decided to live with a friend in Placerville. But I have something to do in Meadowview, first.” She hesitated for a moment, biting her lip, then hitched a breath and continued. “Did you know all Pop’s belongings were auctioned off for back taxes?”
“Yeah, I heard about the auction. I didn’t go, though.” He’d known the date. The time. The location. But the thought of watching all Coraleen and Macer’s belongings sold for cold hard cash—even though the man had owed the bank big-time—had made his stomach go sour. He’d come up with a lame excuse and stayed away. So had most in Meadowview.
Coraleen swallowed twice before adding quietly, “Seems like Visada was auctioned off that day.”
Remy’s stomach churned at the hollow sound of her voice, and as what her words meant slid into place in his mind. “Oh, hell, Coraleen, I didn’t even think about your horse.”
She looked up at Remy, now wearing a hopeful but guarded expression. “You don’t know who bought him, do you?”
He shook his head slowly. “Sorry. No clue.”
Regret hit him. After all he’d done to save the animal years before, he should have made sure after Macer’s death that the horse was going to a good home. Hell, he lived a good five miles from town and owned twenty acres himself. He could have bought the horse. Not that he rode—after one disastrous event in grade school in which he’d been bucked off a horse straight into a compost heap, he’d kept his distance. But still, he could have simply pastured Visada.
He reminded himself that the one fenced-in area was under an acre, an old pen used by the former owners for a couple of goats, and that there wasn’t a barn on the property—nowhere appropriate for a retired racehorse to live—but still. God. Even though Coraleen had rejected having anything to do with him, he could have at least helped Visada.
“So that’s why you’re back? To find your horse?” he asked.
Nodding, she twisted her mouth sideways. “I need to find him. He’s all I have left of Pop.”
“Did you ask Juliet?” he asked.
“Yeah, but she was out of town during the auction. She asked around, but no one seems to know. Delilah didn’t know who bought him, either, but she heard someone local has him.”
He tipped his head. “But Macer knew he wasn’t well. Why didn’t he make arrangements for Visada, you know…just in case?”
She grew overly interested in her toes, which peeked through the knitted blanket. “He did. He knew how much that horse meant to me. He promised he’d put into his will that Visada was to go to Juliet. She was totally up for that, and would have been happy to take care of my horse for me until my release. But something went wrong and I’m guessing somehow Visada was listed as”—she huffed—“property, and ended up on the auction block.”
He reached out a hand. Touched her arm, lightly, with a slight brush of his fingertips against her skin. She closed her eyes and let her head tip back onto the sofa. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “Wish I could help.”
A shadow crossed her face. She opened her eyes and didn’t look at him, but didn’t move her arm away from his touch, either. “I’ll keep asking around.”
“I will, too. I get that you’d want to see him again. What will you do when you find Visada?”
“Buy him back!” she said promptly, then deflated, as if realizing she had no money. “Blast. I saved up about fifteen hundred dollars from working in the prison cafeteria.
Thought I could offer that to his new owner as a down payment. But looks like I’ll have to put the money toward car repairs.” She bit her lip. “I may not be able to buy him back just yet, but I will. I have to find him. I just have to.”
A spot in Remy’s chest warmed, pouring liquid heat into his veins. How sweet that she wanted Visada back. How poignant. He made a mental note to ask around, maybe even check in with Sally at Sally’s Feed Sack. He tagged that onto his mental To Do list, then stood, pressure building up inside him to find Jacob Bullard before evening switched to night and the temperatures dropped too low.
“I need to head out for a bit, ki—uh, er, Coraleen,” he said. “You sure you don’t want me to get you anything before I go?”
“I’d shake my head, but it would probably hurt again. I don’t want to be a burden on you. I’ll be fine alone for as long as you need.”
“I’ll be back in under two hours, I figure. Maybe sooner. You have my cell number if you need anything. Or if there’s an emergency and you can’t reach me, call Dispatch. Some places in Meadowview still don’t have service, but they can patch through a call onto the official system.”
“I’m serious, Remy. I’ll be fine.”
“There’s a big claw-foot tub in the guest suite and a bottle of bubble bath Chessie Gibson made if you want a bath. Don’t take a shower—I don’t want you slipping and getting yet another concussion. Otherwise, stay on that couch.” He hesitated. “I’m sorry to leave you again, but duty calls.”
“Gotta catch all them rule-breakers, right? Make sure they use their turn signals. Don’t let them litter. Rein in all that jaywalking,” she joked.
He smiled at her joke, but a little tightly. “Darker things happen in Meadowview than littering, Coraleen. You should know.”
As soon as the words came out of his mouth, he regretted them. And when her face turned a lighter shade of grey, he regretted it even more. He’d been referring to what had gone down with his own father, not Coraleen.
“I apologized to the community,” she said, her voice strained. “Served my time. I was an exemplary prisoner.”
He sighed. “That wasn’t what I meant, and I apologize, once again. Things do happen in this town, Coraleen, and some of it isn’t so great.”
She met his gaze with hers, worry tracing through the wrinkles on her brow. “But Meadowview is so pretty. Charming. Soft and fuzzy, like a kitten.”
He chuckled. “True. And it’s a heck of a lot safer than many places. I’m just saying, my staff don’t just go around helping little old ladies across the street, although…” He grinned. “Mrs. Peterson does need some assistance getting across Market Street sometimes, especially during tourist season.”
He grew sober again, and glanced out the window. “Truth is, we’ve seen some bad stuff. Meth has always been a problem in a rural environment like ours. Plus, the economy the way it is, people have leaned more toward alcohol, too, and when that happens, there are always ramifications. Drunk driving. Child neglect. Spousal abuse. You get the drift.”
“Is that why your deputy was so twitchy with those handcuffs?” she asked.
“Maybe. Bill’s a little high strung.”
She snorted. “Tell me about it.”
“He’s just trying to prove his mettle. He’s new, and his job would be the first to go if anything changes in the department.”
“Cutbacks?”
He shrugged. “More like if I lose my position as sheriff, then the new sheriff might clean house.”
Wrinkling her brow, she asked, “Why would you lose your position?”
“There’s an election coming up.”
She sat up straight. “Are you being challenged?”
“Yep.”
“But everyone in Deloro County loves you. You’ll get reelected, no problem. Right?”
“Not sure. I just found out my competition is making some promises he can’t—or maybe I should say he shouldn’t—keep.”
“Who’s the idiot running against you?” she asked.
“Lydell Wallaby.”
The way she sucked in a breath told him she was just as shocked to hear the news as he’d been when he’d first been informed that little kiss-ass Lydell had put his hat in the race for sheriff.
The grandfather clock in the hall chimed, and he started. “Sorry, Coraleen, but I really do need to go.”
She closed her eyes and nodded, then squeezed her eyes together tight. Was it a trick of the light, or had he seen the glint of a tear in the corner of her eye?
Compassion and oh, hell, who was he fooling, attraction had him coming up to her.
Attraction made him kneel next to the couch.
Attraction forced his hand to slide the nape of her neck and his forehead to press against hers as her eyelids fluttered open and she caught her breath at the sight and touch of him.
Attraction had him lightly pressing his lips to hers.
And attraction had him deepening the kiss when her eyelids fluttered shut and her mouth softened under his and she moaned.
Sweet. Coraleen tasted sweet, like fresh dew on a stem of grass.
He’d imagined what she’d taste like, but this was better. So much better. He slid his hand to the back of her head and pressed her to him, sinking deeper into the kiss, touching his tongue to the tip of hers, then sliding into her mouth, enraptured, almost unaware of thought, just of sensation and desire and—
She pulled back. Let out a long, shuddery sigh.
He opened his eyes and released his grip. How had his fingers become so tangled in her hair, he had to wonder. When had that happened?
“Get some sleep, okay?” he whispered, amazed he’d even been able to make sound, any kind at all, come out of his throat.
“Sure,” she whispered in response, but not meeting his gaze as he pulled back. Came to standing.
“And Remy?” she added, her voice barely audible.
“What do you need?”
“Please don’t do that again.”
He jerked his head back. “What, kiss you?”
“You are what you are and I am what I am, and put together, those two things make one big mistake.”
A minute ago, he would have agreed with her. It’s what he’d told himself ever since she’d been back in town. But now, after kissing her? He knew he’d been wrong. She was wrong. Kissing Coraleen wasn’t a mistake. “Do you mean because of the election? Because of what people might say?”
“You’re a cop.” Her tone was flat. Empty.
It hit him then—they were back to five years before, when she’d told him anyone to do with law enforcement stunk. Coraleen didn’t want to date him because of who he was. What he was.
The sheriff.
He cleared his throat. “I can’t help the fact that I want you, Coraleen, but if you really hate me because I’m a cop, then it’s clear you’re right. Kissing you was a mistake. It won’t be repeated.”
Then he turned and walked away.
Bubbles were heaven. Sheer and utter heaven. A heaven that could wipe away all tension. Why had she never known this?
Coraleen moaned with pleasure and slid even deeper into the cast-iron tub in Remy Toussaint’s guest bathroom. Steam, and the scent of cucumber and lavender—another of Chessie Gibson’s concoctions—rose into the air and surrounded Coraleen with bliss and tranquility.
Thoughts of Remy kissing her and her pushing him away still drifted around above her head, but at least because of the deliciousness of bubbles, those thoughts weren’t front and center, demanding she pay attention.
Back in AZ/PC, the women would talk about what they do when they got out of prison. Most had families they were eager to see, lives they were eager to get back to. They talked about how they couldn’t wait to attend their kids’ PTA meetings, see a movie in an actual theater with real butter on the popcorn, or go shopping at the mall. Bubble baths played a large role in the memories and dreams of these women.
Coraleen had never been mu
ch for bubble baths; she’d far preferred her grandfather’s outdoor shower with the creeping thyme underfoot and the smell of mint that grew adjacent to the corrugated metal three-sided unit, but when Remy insisted she take a bath instead of the shower (she had a concussion, not an issue with her vestibular system, but hey, the man was being protective and who was she to argue?) she’d dumped about half a bottle of bubble bath into the tub and clambered in.
Besides, a long, soaky bubble bath should be good for clearing her head. And wow—did she ever need to clear her head after that kiss.
She wasn’t clueless—she knew he desired her, he’d even admitted it. But she was also practical.
Sure, he was attracted to her even after all these years, but she was still the opposite of anyone Remy Toussaint would ever want a future with. So she’d done what she had to do and ordered him not to kiss her again.
And even though he hadn’t argued with her (and yeah, she’d kinda hoped he would), she was sure he’d respect her decision and would keep his hands to himself.
The man was just that good at following rules.
Which was a good thing for her. Mostly.
After another ten minutes passed and the water had grown tepid, Coraleen rose and wrapped herself up in the large white towel Remy had left on the vanity. He’d remembered to grab her shopping bag full of clothes from her car before dropping it off at Dave’s. A bag that contained only a pair of jeans, a windbreaker with the Arizona Federal Penal Colony logo emblazoned on the back (a parting gift from AZ/PC), a dark blue T-shirt with the same logo, a pair of gray sweats with the same logo yet again, three pairs of standard white socks and three pairs of white cotton granny panties. Convict chic.
No mistaking her for a fashionista.
She supposed she could wear the T-shirt and sweats. She’d bought the T-shirt, shorts, and a pair of flip-flops she’d been wearing off a metal spindle rack in the first convenience store she’d come to after driving away from AZ/PC. The grand total for the outfit she’d worn coming into town had been a whopping $12.99, and looked as cheap as the price.
Always the One: (Meadowview Heroes # 2) (The Meadowview Series Book 6) (Meadowview Heat) Page 8