by Elise Faber
And maybe that wasn’t fair, maybe he’d always shoved Haley into the little sister category because it was safer. They were not quite five years apart, and he couldn’t think of her as gorgeous or sexy, not as a teenager. She’d still been in middle school, and he’d been readying to leave for college.
Not to mention the small fact that he’d been dating her sister.
But he and Maggie weren’t together anymore, and further, they’d sorted out their differences. Now Haley was grown . . . and single.
And so was he.
Maybe—
Nope. Definitely not going there.
Groceries and then breakfast. Those were the things he should be thinking about.
He slipped from Haley’s bedroom and quietly made his way to his car. His driver’s side door took some serious coaxing—and cursing—to open, but he finally managed to get in and start the engine.
Along the way, he dialed Rob, the detective at the Sheriff’s office with whom he’d spoken the night before. They’d had a tenuous relationship the previous year—Sam having stepped in to offer some help to Rob’s wife, Melissa, when their dog had been injured and Rob had been busy on a case.
Rob hadn’t liked that, and Sam had to admit he would have been pissed if another man had stepped in to take care of his woman.
But both Rocco and Melissa had been hurt. That in and of itself had trumped any rules of etiquette or Bro Code or whatever.
Sam had done what he’d had to do.
Thankfully, Rob had eventually seen reason.
He’d managed to solve the case that had been threatening the town as well as his family, and he and Melissa had patched things up. She’d even discussed some of their marriage hurdles in her last book.
Yes, he’d read it.
Yes, that probably meant he had way too much free time on his hands.
Or that his life was pathetically empty.
Yay for pleasant Sunday morning thoughts.
“Johnson,” Rob said by way of greeting after the phone had rung a few times.
“Hey,” Sam replied. “Thanks for the assist last night.”
Rob scoffed. “It’s my job.”
“Not sure that coordinating ambulance dispatch on a Saturday night really is your job,” he said. “But I appreciate it anyway.”
“It got me out of the hundredth round of UNO,” Rob said. “I should be thanking you.” A pause then, “So you’ve moved on from rescuing married women to rear-ending defenseless ones?”
Sam turned onto the road that led to the center of town. “First, your wife pretty much rescued herself. And second, I blame the deer.”
Rob snorted.
“Seriously,” he said. “It’s a problem. Another one jumped out right in front of my car when I was driving Haley home last night.”
“Are you sure it was a different deer?” Rob was grinning, Sam could tell. The bastard. “Or maybe that one just really likes you.”
“Third,” he continued with his list, despite Rob’s smartassedness, “That’s gross and against the law. Not to mention, deer carry all sorts of disease-transmitting pests. Also, fourth, it’s like the fucking deer gauntlet out here.”
Rob burst out laughing. “Deer gauntlet,” he repeated, almost hysterical.
“Hilarious,” Sam muttered, but he was smiling. “Deer-mageddon better?”
“Hmm.” Rob considered that. “Maybe Deer-pocalypse.”
They both cracked up.
Eventually, Rob sobered. “But if it really is becoming a problem, I’ll get someone from the city to trim back the brush along the road. Last time I was out there, it was pretty overgrown.”
“Thanks, man. That should help.” Sam signaled and turned into the lot for the grocery store. “We might also have to bring in Fish and Game if it continues.”
“I think we might have a hotshot vet who could recommend that as necessary.”
Sam smirked and agreed, and they talked a few minutes more about the logistics of that. He told Rob he’d pass along the name of his contact from the wildlife department so they could start moving Deer-gate after he got back to his house.
Ah. Small town life.
Though, Sam was much happier the Sheriff’s Office was dealing with deer instead of drugs this time around.
He had the feeling they were, too.
Darlington was supposed to be a safe place to raise families and somewhere kids didn’t have to worry about their moms getting kidnapped.
Melissa had been put through the wringer, that was for sure.
After saying goodbye, Sam hung up, pocketed his phone, and wrestled his door open before heading into the store. This early in the morning it was almost empty, and he breezed through Haley’s list quickly, adding in a few treats—banana ice cream, banana bread, banana cake—as well as a bouquet of flowers.
Yes, he was still feeling really guilty about the accident.
Yes, he might have also been wanting to prove to her that despite what had happened between her and her fiancé and between him and her sister, there were still good guys out there.
Also—newsflash—yes, he might have wanted to show her that he was one of those good guys.
This was going to become a problem. He could already sense that.
But ignoring the shitshow that was no doubt barreling toward him, Sam simply added a cheeky little teddy bear to the cart and went to the register to pay.
Haley deserved to feel good.
Five minutes later, he was heading to his SUV to load up his car, leaving the cashier, who had been studying him with unhidden curiosity, behind. Five more minutes, he guessed. That was how long it would take for the question of who he’d bought the flowers and bear for to circulate around town.
Gossip had begun to move at near light speed since Esther, eighty years old if she was a day, had started a Snapchat three months before and then put out the call for any and all rumors.
She particularly liked using the detective filter, one that put her in a police hat and aviator sunglasses, while she discussed the merits of a particular theory about who was dating who or which teenager had gotten caught doing something naughty.
And because the snaps expired within a day, the whole town jumped on them the moment Esther posted.
How did he know about this?
Because he followed her.
Sam, meet sad, empty life.
Rolling his eyes at himself, he loaded the groceries into his trunk and then forced open his car door. He needed to get the SUV looked at, but for the moment it was running, and so that could wait until tomorrow.
For now, he needed to ply Haley with banana treats and flowers and try to tease a smile out of her.
Unfortunately, when he pulled up to her house and saw the scene that was unfolding there, he knew that smiles were going to be a long time coming.
Seven
Haley
* * *
How many years would she spend in prison if she murdered her mother?
Would a judge understand that she’d been driven to the absolute brink and give her a lighter sentence because her mother was driving her absolutely crazy?
She’d woken up stiff and sore but relatively rested, all things considered. Sam had left her medicine and a glass of water within easy reach, along with her little knee scooter, which had been really considerate of him.
Of course, he hadn’t locked her front door when he’d left. Which, one—this was Darlington so that was normally fine, and two—she’d probably been sleeping when he’d needed to leave and he hadn’t wanted to wake her, so also fine.
What was decidedly not fine was the fact that the unlocked door had meant that her mother had let herself in.
Loudly and with all the drama her mother was so apt at providing.
The screech had nearly toppled Haley from her scooter as she’d made her way from the bathroom, after having cobbled together a sponge bath and wrestled her way into some sweats and a fresh T-shirt.
Forg
et the bra. Ain’t nobody got time for that shit in that moment.
“Haley,” her mother shrieked. “Your face! Oh my God, you look horrible.”
“Good to see you too, Mom,” Haley muttered then hissed out a pained breath when her mother pulled her into a tight hug. Her neck and shoulders were tender, and having her aching head plastered against her mom’s generous bosom didn’t feel all that great either. “Easy,” she said, extracting herself. “I’m fine. It was so late last night, I was going to call you this morning.”
“Except you didn’t call!” her mom wailed. “I waited and waited, and you didn’t call.”
“I woke up ten minutes ago,” Haley told her.
The hysterics cut out. Just like that. “Oh.”
Yeah. Oh.
“Go sit down, Mom.” She started to wheel herself forward. “I’ll tell you everything that happened.”
Her mom’s blond curls bounced as she whipped her head to narrow her eyes at Haley. “Everything?”
“Every. Unexciting. Thing.”
“Fine.”
She flounced down the hall and flopped down into the armchair. Which left Haley the couch. That Sam had slept on. Oh God. Had he cleaned up the blankets? Did it look like a man had slept on her couch? Was there about to be another shrill rejoinder to join the first?
The wheels of her scooter squeaked as she made her way into the family room. Three. Squeak. Two. Squeak. One. Squeak. Blast—
Off?
Except not, because her couch looked exactly as it had when she’d left for work the previous day, down to the throw pillows in their proper position and her fuzzy sheep-covered blanket tossed over an arm.
She carefully maneuvered herself onto the couch—with no help from her mother. But wasn’t that typical? Her mom swept in to look like she was saving the day, while at the same time stealing all the focus for herself.
And leaving drama and devastation in her wake.
Yeah, there was that.
Haley slipped her phone from her pocket, saw that it was barely nine. Was it too early to go back to bed?
Yes? No?
“It’s rude to be on your phone in the middle of a conversation.”
She opened her mouth, about to explain that she’d only been checking the time, before realizing that was a futile response. Her mom wouldn’t listen. Ignoring anything that didn’t fit with her particular viewpoint or argument was her mother’s superpower.
So instead, Haley pocketed the phone and sat back on the couch. “How have you been?”
“Oh, terrible,” her mom said, and she was off, lamenting about how difficult her life was, how challenging it was now that her father was required to travel more than ever for work, how lonely and quiet the house was.
Haley could have suggested that her mom travel with her dad. As empty nesters, there wasn’t any reason for her mother to stay behind in Darlington, and they could easily afford it.
But her mom wasn’t interested in solving her problems.
She just enjoyed complaining about them.
So, Haley shifted slightly, propping her foot up on a pillow and letting her back sink into the couch. Immediately, her nose was surrounded with spice and male and . . . Sam.
Her stomach clenched, memories flooding her. Of sitting next to him on a different couch while watching a superhero movie with him and Maggie. Of a quick hug when she’d failed a really important math test. Of him wrapping his arms around her and holding her tight as she’d shed tears over a jerky boy that had never been able to compete with him in the first place.
After all these years, he still wore the same aftershave or deodorant. Or maybe, he still just always smelled like Sam.
Like home—
“Are you even listening to me?”
Fuck. Haley had missed a rare moment requiring her to comment during one of her mom’s diatribes.
They were like unicorns.
All sweet and rare and shit, but never missing a chance to gore a fucker.
“I’m—”
“All I do is love you!”
Haley closed her eyes and let her head flop back against the cushions.
“I spent two full days in labor, and you just—”
Where were the Backstreet Boys now? She could use them blaring to life on her phone and drowning out the verbal lambasting right at that moment.
“Hi, Mrs. Donovan.”
The sound of Sam’s voice made Haley’s eyes flash open. He pushed through the front door, arms laden with grocery bags, and crossed to the kitchen island to set them down.
Then he turned to face her, pity in his gaze. “Hey.” A pause before a soft question. “How are you feeling?”
She started to raise one brow and winced. “Fine. Though movement of any type is excluded from that sentiment.”
His mouth quirked. “Good to know. I brought you—”
“Samuel Johnson,” her mother interrupted. “As I live and breathe.” She pushed to her feet, and all of the shrillness she’d been using with Haley disappeared. Yup, that sharp, cajoling tone was a gift reserved solely for her daughters.
She was a real giver, her mother.
Her arms went around Sam’s waist, and he got the bosom treatment. His cheeks were flushed when her mom let him up for air. “It’s good to see you, Mrs. Donovan—”
“Jenny, please.” She tittered. “Mrs. Donovan makes me feel old.”
“Jenny,” Sam said. “It’s been a long time. How are you?”
Haley winced, and that time it wasn’t because of her injuries. Both she and Sam had been out of the game too long if they were making a rookie mistake like asking her mom that question.
As predicted, that question continued the rant, but instead of plunking himself onto the couch and listening in abject horror as the tirade continued, Sam made his way into the kitchen and began putting away groceries. Her mother trailed him like a puppy, talking a mile a minute as he began rustling through bags.
“And then Haley didn’t even call me to tell me she was okay.” Another wail.
Good God, but how was her father still married to her mother?
Probably because he traveled most of the year.
Snorting, she maneuvered herself back onto her scooter and wheeled her way into the kitchen. Her mother’s voice was nails on the chalkboard, but Sam didn’t seem to mind as he puttered around.
“And I didn’t sleep a wink,” her mom said. “I’m so exhausted I can barely keep my eyes open.”
One second Sam had been putting the milk away in the fridge, the next he was a flurry of movement and words. “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that,” he said, hustling over to lace his arm with her mother’s. “You should go home right now and get some rest.” He tugged her toward the front door and then out on to the porch.
“Oh no, I couldn’t leave her—”
“I insist, Jenny,” Sam said, and their voices faded until Haley heard her mom’s car engine start and gravel kick up.
She leaned her head to the side, peering through the window as her mother’s car disappeared down the road.
Sam walked back into the house, one last bag slung over his arm. “I bought these before I realized I’d unleashed your mother,” he said, crossing over to her and pulling out a colorful bouquet of daffodils, sunflowers, and tulips. He set it on the counter in front of her before extracting a palm-sized teddy bear from the bag.
It was purple—her favorite color—and sporting a mournful expression as it clutched a tiny pillow embroidered with “I’m sorry.”
“I would have bought you the giant one,” he said, plunking it into her palm, “if I’d known that I’d unleashed the famous Mrs. Donovan tirade on you.”
Haley glared at him.
She could not be bought with some weeds and a sad-looking stuffed toy. “Apology not accepted.”
His lips twitched, totally unaffected by her show of temper. “You always could hold a grudge.”
A huff as she crossed her arms. “Well,
considering you hit me and thus unleashed the wrath of Jenny Donovan, I think this particular grudge is warranted.”
“Maybe.” He tugged on the end of her ponytail. “But one could also say that technically you’re not supposed to slam on the brakes to avoid hitting an animal.”
“Yeah,” she muttered. “You tell that to Bambi.”
Sam burst into laughter. “God, you could always make me laugh.” His fingers came up to brush her cheek. “I really am—”
“Not allowed to apologize again.”
His eyes warmed even as his laughter faded. It took every bit of her restraint to not lean into his touch, to not stretch up on her tiptoes—tiptoe, rather—and press her mouth to his.
She wanted to feel that warmth inside her, to wrap herself in him, not just physically, but in all the emotions he evoked in her.
She wanted . . . him.
God. A decade had passed, and she still felt the same damn way.
She was pathetic.
“Haley.”
One terse word, but oh how she loved the sound of her name sliding across his tongue.
She forced her gaze from his lips, from the mouth she’d imagined slanting across hers so many times before. His eyes, an intoxicating mix of brown and green and gold, locked with hers, but this time there was something different in their depths.
Not pity or derision, which she half-expected, given that she had spent the last ten years mooning over him.
Nor was it confusion.
“Haley,” he said again. Lower. Huskier.
Could it . . . might it be heat?
That notion didn’t compute in her brain.
Sam had never looked at her like that before—with awareness, with desire. His palm slid across her cheek, tangling in the hair on her nape.
“Haley.”
A benediction? A prayer for . . . forgiveness?
His head lowered and—
Was this really fucking happening?
Sam kissed her.
Eight
Sam
* * *
He was losing his mind.
He could not be kissing Haley.
Could. Not.