Secrets

by L. A. Fiore

  Moving from the kitchen, he joined her in the hallway. Slipping back into who everyone knew him as, he put out his hand and said, “Hank Weathers, sheriff.”

  Arissa looked at his hand, hers shook slightly when she slipped hers into it but damn she really should have braced herself. “Arissa Haywood.” Her mouth was suddenly dry but since her feet were still wet from the lake in her kitchen, she pulled her thoughts together. “Thank you. I wasn’t sure what to do since Billie is previously engaged.”

  It didn’t go unnoticed by Hank how small and soft her hand was. He wondered if the rest of her felt that smooth, but he wouldn’t let his mind wander there. Or at least he was trying hard not to but failing. City girls attempting to make a life in the country…it rarely worked the way they planned. Hank knew from personal experience. He gestured to the front door. “Let me grab the beer and I’ll give Billie a call.” He didn’t wait for her to answer as he made his way to his SUV, pulling his cell from his back pocket. He tapped the screen, and put it to his ear. As he waited for Moe to answer, he grabbed the twelve pack of Yuengling out of his car. “Moe, Hank, I need Billie over at the old Meyer’s place now.” Hank was climbing up the steps just as he was pulling the phone from his ear and tucking it back into his pocket.

  Arissa’s focus was on the beer. “You really brought beer.” Her gaze lifted to his and she was feeling the need to brace herself again. The dispatcher had undersold his appeal.

  “Jo said you needed beer.” Hank looked down at the box of Yuenglings he was carrying, then back to Arissa. “If you don’t, it doesn’t go bad.” He walked past her and back to her kitchen where he waded through the water, and placed the twelve-pack in her fridge. The sound of water moving under his feet didn’t sound as bad as when he first got there.

  Arissa had been thinking maybe she wasn’t cut out for a small town, what with the only plumber unwilling to tend to an emergency because of a dart game, but the sheriff coming to the rescue, bringing beer, all because his dispatcher told him she needed it, she was willing to give the town a chance. And if part of that decision was based solely on the sight of the man standing in her kitchen…people based decisions on far less every day. “Would you like a beer?” she asked, following him back outside, then realized he was on duty and answered her own question. “You’re on duty.”

  “That I am.” He nodded and took a seat on the top step of the porch stairs. “What brings you to Summerville?”

  Arissa joined Hank on the steps, which seemed smaller with his large frame taking up most of the space. Her eyes zeroed in on his legs and the muscles of his thighs. She looked away, resisted the urge to bite her lip, but damn. She was surprised there wasn’t a higher crime rate in Summerville with this man as their sheriff. She suddenly felt inclined to get into some mischief. Realizing he’d asked her a question, she replied, “I’ve always lived in Charleston, but I wanted something different, wanted something more. Saw this place…” She gestured to the house. “And fell in love with it and the town.” She chuckled and added, “Despite my attempt at adding an indoor pool in the kitchen, it’s a great house.”

  Hank watched as the bottom of her shorts inched further up her thigh when she sat down. The skin looked so smooth, his hands fidgeted to touch it. He folded them between his spread legs so he didn’t reach out and do just that. Hank chuckled. “It is a great house. Just needs a new shut-off valve, but the Meyers were too cheap to pay the hundred bucks for one.” He looked at her. “So, Charleston, huh?” Hank asked, looking to get more information out of her.

  “So the lake in the kitchen is from a known problem. I suppose that’s a good thing.” Arissa would be having a conversation with her inspector. If the town knew about the problem, he should have. She put that away for now and answered the sheriff’s question. “I work there. Well, I did, but as editor for Southern Charm magazine, my work can mostly be done online, so…” She glanced back at the house. “I moved out of the rat race.”

  Hank nodded and shifted his gaze when he realized he was focusing on her mouth and how it moved. His eyes scanned the street as he spoke. “Women around here love that magazine, so be prepared to be bombarded with questions.” Hank paused and waved to a couple walking by. “Yeah, Charleston is not my thing, either. Just go there every now and again.”

  Arissa rested her hands behind her, watched the couple Hank waved to walk by. “Charleston is all I know, but that,” she said, her eyes moving to him as a smile played on her lips. “Waving to your neighbors, a sheriff who stops by to shut off the water and brings beer. I was missing that. You get lost in a big city. I didn’t like the feeling of being lost.” She paused, looked across the street to her neighbor who wasn’t at all hiding that she was watching them. “I want to put down roots. This seems like a good place to do that.”

  Hank caught Maureen watching them and knew by five that evening the whole town would know of his visit. He looked at Arissa. “It is a good place, but…” He gestured with his head to Maureen. “One thing about small towns, Sweetheart, everyone talks.”

  Arissa followed his gaze. “I’m beginning to understand that, but if they’re talking about me chatting with the…” She almost said sexy sheriff but caught herself. “The sheriff, I’m okay with that, but warning noted.” Her smiling eyes met his when he glanced her way. “Have you lived here your whole life?”

  “Even talking to the sheriff is gossip,” Hank said on a chuckle, and looked at his boots. “Yep, I have. Been the sheriff for eight years now. Not much goes down here but I wouldn’t wanna be anywhere else,” he said. Then let his mind wander to ex Phoebe, but only for a second because he wouldn’t let it stay there. “Are you here alone?” Hank liked to think he was asking so he could take a tally of the people in his town, but he wasn’t kidding anyone on why he asked.

  Arissa mused to herself that the gossip he spoke of was less about him being the sheriff and more about him, specifically. Her gaze drifting to his bare ring ringer. Sexy and single, she was sure there was lots of talk around town about Hank Weathers. A car passed, slowing as it approached. “Hey, Sheriff. See you in two weeks. I got money riding on it.” The man said, grinning big before driving off.

  Hank waved to Fred with a smile on his face. “See ya then!” He shouted but as soon as Fred drove off, Hank looked at Arissa, waiting for her answer.

  Watching the dynamic of the sheriff and the locals drew a smile from Arissa before she acknowledged, “Yeah, it’s just me. I was working such long hours I didn’t have much of a life. That was partly why I wanted to make the move.”

  Hank chuckled because all his years here, he knew you couldn’t have an elaborate life in Summerville. It was one of his reasons for occasionally taking weekend trips to Charleston. “Well, Summerville ain’t gonna give you much of a life. It’ll give you a quiet, peaceful one, and a shit ton of gossip. But in the end, it’s all good.”

  “Sitting on this stoop, watching neighbors greeting and waving, talking to you who’s only here because I needed help, it’s the kind of life I’m looking for.” She tilted her head and teased, “As far as gossip, I run a magazine. I adore gossip.”

  His life was exactly what she was looking for. He had heard those words before, but seeing the softness on Arissa’s face, the way she sat back resting on her hands, Hank had a feeling she wasn’t shitting him when she said this was the life she wanted. But for how long? Gossip and county fairs didn’t hold a candle to the glamour of the city. In the end, people returned to what they knew. “Good to know.” He smiled at her. She smiled back. Hank felt her sincere grin hit his gut. He had to look away. This woman sitting next to him was making him feel things he hadn’t felt in awhile. Hank kept his focus forward; looking up the street as Billie’s old beat-up van came swerving down it, and not because he had beers in him, but because he was a shitty driver.

  “That’s the plumber?” Then it dawned on Arissa that Moe had been adamant that Bil
lie wouldn’t leave his game, he had forty dollars riding on it, but the sheriff made one call and here Billie was.

  “Yep, sure is,” Hank said as he stood.

  Billie came to a halting stop before he flew out of the driver’s seat just as fast as he’d come down the street.

  Arissa stood, watching Billie, when she said in a bit of awe, “You just had to call and he came.”

  “Yep,” Hank said as they both watched Billie open the back doors of his van and grab his tool bag. “One of the perks about being the sheriff, Sweetheart, I call and they come running.” Hank winked at Arissa, snatched his sunglasses from his shirt and put them on. He bounded down the steps toward the driveway to his blacked-out SUV. “Put a new shut-off valve in, will ya,” he said to Billie as he passed him.

  “Got it,” Billie said, holding up the part he had clutched in his hand.

  Hank opened his door, put a foot to the running board and looked back at Arissa. Just the sight of her had that warmth in his gut coming back full force.

  Arissa wasn’t ready to let him leave. She called after him. “I heard you hold the title for darts in this town. Maybe you can teach me.” She felt her cheeks warm because she’d all but asked him out, but considering the man, she’d be kicking herself if she hadn’t.

  Billie was walking up the steps, heard Arissa’s comment and in his passing, he muttered, “Yeah, but not for long.” Then he walked into Arissa’s house without a greeting or introduction, right to the kitchen, to install the new valve. One he should have done two years ago.

  Hank cranked the engine, and put the window down. “May sound sexist, but we tend to keep the darts away from the women in this town because they find their way into bodies more than the board.”

  He hadn’t said yes to her invitation, but she couldn’t help the smile. Recalling her experience with Billie and Moe, she called back, “I suspect, Sheriff, that might be more intentional than lack of skill.”

  “It’s definitely intentional.” Hank chuckled. “But, maybe you can come by my place, I got a board set up in my barn.” He shouldn’t have said anything but he also didn’t stop the words. He just hoped that Maureen didn’t hear him. He looked at her and waved, she waved back with a huge smile on her face. Fuck, she heard him. Hank brought his eyes back to Arissa.

  She absolutely would like to come by his place. She smiled wide before she called back, “I’ll bring the beer.” Then she turned toward the door, looking back at him from over her shoulder. “Thanks for saving the day, and the beer.”

  Hank took in Arissa from head to toe. His cock twitched. He waved to her before he took off down the street. He had a feeling that she was going to fit right in with the women of Summerville, and that they were going to take to her as well, but it wasn’t just the women in town that were going to take a liking to Arissa.

  2

  Hank was heading back to the station when his phone rang. He didn’t even have to look to know who was calling. Word got around, and in most cases faster than rabbits fucking. He stopped at the red sign, leaned to his right and retrieved his cell from his back pocket. He swiped the screen.

  “Hey, Ma,” he greeted.

  “Hank, I heard you stopped by to see the new girl who moved into the Meyer’s place?”

  Not a hello, go fuck yourself, or anything. Nope. Straight to gossip. Good old Summerville.

  “Yep, I did,” Hank muttered, and rubbed his forehead.

  “Come by. I have treats for the guys and Josephine,” his mother offered, but she was lying out of her ass. In the time it took him to get to his parents’, which was all of four minutes from where he was, his mom will have unwrapped something and thrown it into her own baking dish. She just wanted the scoop on the new girl.

  “Yep,” Hank muttered again and opened the console compartment. He lifted the ibuprofen bottle and shook it. It was empty. Fuck. Hopefully his visit with his mom didn’t take too long to prolong the already brewing headache.

  Hank pulled into the driveway and took in his childhood home. In all the years, nothing had changed. The white washed brick facade, the black shutters that his dad painted every three years. Gardens that ran the length of the front path and wrapped around the house, with mature plants that had taken his mom a long time to design and plant but now year after year they sprouted and grew filling the front and back yards with color.

  His mom tried to get him to paint his own house the same color, display the same plants in the front. He drew the line, but he did let her pick out his living room furniture. He was out of his SUV, and walking up the path when his mom appeared at the front door. A smile so big planted on her face, one that was now etched with wrinkles from a life lived.

  She swung the screen door open. “Tell me, is she pretty? Old, young? I heard she was young—”

  “Hi to you too, Mom,” Hank said, as he slipped past his babbling mom. He went right toward the kitchen and… yep, a loaf pan sat on the island with Dehlia’s signature apple crumb sitting in it. He heard his mother shuffling behind him, muttering something but he spoke over her. “Just bake that, Ma?” he asked while taking a seat at the island and pointing to the impeccably clean loaf pan.

  “Of course,” his mom said with a wave of her hand. “Enough about what I baked, tell me about the new girl?” She went to the fridge and pulled out a glass pitcher of tea.

  Catherine and Henry Weathers were good people. They loved their small town and their son with all they had. Catherine spent most of her days in her gardens or could be found walking up and down Main Street, socializing. In other words, gossiping. Every once in a while she would slip into Moe’s to see her husband, who held the same spot at the bar. His dad wasn’t a big drinker; he used Moe’s as his gossiping station and poker room. Hank was pretty sure his dad was convinced if he didn’t make a daily appearance at Moe’s, the place would fall down.

  “Dad call you?” Hank asked, watching his mom pour the liquid sugar into a glass.

  His mom stopped mid-pour and looked up from what she was doing. “What makes you say that?”

  “Jesus,” Hank grumbled. “For fuck sakes, Ma, I’m not dumb or blind.”

  “Language, Hank Henry Weathers.” Catherine berated him. “And I never said you were dumb or blind.” She pushed the glass toward Hank. “Drink, you look like you might be dehydrated.”

  “Jesus,” Hank muttered into the glass before taking a hefty gulp. His focus shifted outside to the gardens, and to the plants she’d insisted he know by name: dahlias, salvia, monkshood and Jacob’s ladder. And still he knew them. He shook his head. Turning his thoughts back to the conversation at hand he asked, “Isn’t there an age when you all stop gossiping? It took all of ten fucking minutes for Moe to tell the bar, which is how Dad knew, and then he called you. Ma, this shit has to stop.” Hank lifted the glass and took another swig. He knew he pissed her off when she put her hands on her hips and glared at him.

  “It’s not gossip…” She started then stopped. She wasn’t going to insult him so she clarified, “It’s not all gossip. We love you, we care, so you can deal. Now, are you eating enough because Maisy at the market said she hasn’t seen you nearly enough. Do you need me to start preparing meals and freezing them for you?”

  Hank sighed and looked down, eyes focused on the old butcher block. He didn’t lift them when he said, “That’s cause Maisy only works during the day, like I do.” He lifted his head and looked at his mom. “I go shopping at night, and no I do not need you to prepare me food. I’m thirty fucking six years old.” Hank occasionally visited Charleston, for his own pleasure, but maybe next visit, he would look into places to live.

  “I know how old you are, and honestly that language. You did not learn that from me.” Moving the conversation on she asked, “So is there anyone special? If so, you know you can always bring her here for dinner or tea and cake.”

  Maybe he sh
ould shock the shit out of her and tell her about the two women he hooked up with two weeks ago, that he’d bring them by. But that would only take up more of his time. So, he decided to go with, “Wouldn’t you already know if I was? I’m surprised no one calls to tell you when I piss.”

  She did have her people around town that kept her informed. It was hard letting go, but he was right so she waved his comment off. “As long as you are pissing regularly, that’s all I need to know. But if you aren’t, you need to get that checked. You know your father started having—”

  “Ma!” Hank held up a hand. “Enough,” he told her and she shut her mouth. “Now, I gotta go and I am not taking that loaf with me cause we both know you bought it from Dehlia’s.” Hank rose.

  Catherine stared a beat too long at her son before she crossed the room to him, lifted up on her toes, and grabbed his cheeks like she used to when he was a little boy. “Guilty, but I wanted to see my boy.”

  Hank squinted his eyes at his mom, and knew very well that she wanted the gossip because she saw him pretty much on a daily basis. “Thanks, Ma,” he said, kissed her forehead, moved from her grip and made his way to the front door.

  Once in his SUV, he put a hand to the middle console and remembered he needed to stop and get some Advil or aspirin. Or maybe some bourbon. Or both. Yes, both sounded good. He pulled up in front of the station, but instead of going in, he walked across the street toward Maisy’s Market. With his strides long and quick, he was able to dodge all that tried to stop him by offering a quick greeting.