Reunited with the Sheriff

by Lynne Marshall

  “Can someone put together the fruit salad? Oh, and squeeze the orange juice?”

  “I can do that,” Maureen chimed in.

  “Oh, you shouldn’t…”

  “I enjoy getting my hands dirty. Always have. Don’t worry.”

  “I can help, too,” Abby, the head server, looked enthusiastic about pitching in.

  That left Shelby to prepare today’s special, the peach-stuffed French toast. She bolted to the pantry and pulled out the extra thick bread, threw it on her station counter near the large, long grill, then strode to the double-door refrigerator for a couple cartons of eggs and some cream. On a second trip, she grabbed the extra-large stainless-steel bowl of fresh peach slices she’d had the foresight to leave overnight infusing in her special mix of spices and natural juice. The preparation smelled great.

  The next hour whizzed by as everyone focused on their jobs, and five minutes before ten, when The Drumcliffe Sunday Buffet was set to open, every food station was ready to go. Several times during that hour, Shelby glanced up to Conor’s reassuring smile. He knew his way around the kitchen, probably from growing up at the hotel. Even Maureen seemed content with the fare and how the well-orchestrated disorder had all turned out. “I’ve got to try that French toast,” Maureen said.

  “You’ve earned it!” Shelby plated two half slices oozing with the lightly stewed peach sections, and ladled warm maple syrup over the top. “Let me know what you think.”

  After one bite, Maureen let out a sigh of ecstasy. “Oh, my God, this is delicious.”

  Shelby grinned and glanced to the right in time to see Conor’s proud expression. They’d all worked as a team, focused on one thing and one thing only, to make a damn fine brunch buffet for the hotel guests and locals looking for a change of pace on a Sunday morning. What could have turned into a catastrophe had become triumph.

  The action was nonstop for the next two hours. Along with great reviews on the French toast that totally boosted her pride, a few mishaps were averted, and meals kept rolling out the whole time, until the last guest was served and cleanup began.

  “I think that’s a new record for Sunday brunch,” Maureen said, tallying up the server receipts. “Wow.”

  “Fantastic.” Conor offered a high five, and she obliged.

  After a brief smile, she got down to business, taking back full responsibility for running the show. “Conor and Maureen, please don’t stick around for cleanup. We’ve got it covered,” Shelby said, glancing at each of her staff.

  “Are you sure, dear?” Maureen said, sounding more like a mother than a boss.

  “Absolutely. It’s a beautiful day, go out and enjoy it.”

  “Yeah, Mom, go set up your easel and paint somewhere.”

  “Well, you don’t have to ask me twice to do that.” Maureen’s Mona Lisa smile reassured Shelby that, thanks to Conor taking the blame and sticking around to help, she’d saved her job. Inwardly, she let out a huge appreciative sigh.

  Nothing could hide the completely satisfied smile she flashed at Conor, who stood across the room, ready to tackle loading the industrial-sized dishwasher. Was he staying on to help anyway?

  The hero points kept adding up, but he’d always been that kind of guy, as far as Shelby was concerned.

  A pang of guilt twisted her smile into a near pout. She’d really screwed up where he was concerned. If she could only find a way to make up for that.

  If Conor kept staring at the small but mighty chef, her brown eyes flashing with victory, he might do something stupid. Like pick her up and swing her around. So he forced a look at the mile-high stack of plates and the job at hand. They’d been serving too fast and furious to attempt keeping up with washing the dishes during the actual brunch hours.

  Something had changed since that moment this morning when he’d considered turning around and running the other way when he’d first seen her jogging on the beach. Over breakfast, things had gotten familiar, like old times, when he could trust her with his life.

  The problem was, he’d also trusted her with his heart, and she’d put it through the food processor. Bottom line, he couldn’t get sucked in by her contagious never-say-die attitude, and that great grin. Nope. Too much had changed. Right before his eyes, her smile quickly changed into a lemon-sucking pucker, as if she’d read his mind. She turned and scraped her grill as though removing barnacles from a boat.

  She was a mother now, the sole breadwinner for her and her son, who, because of him asking her to have breakfast with him, could have put her job in jeopardy. He was positive, after talking to her earlier, that she still had plans for making it big in the culinary world. Something that was theoretically impossible here in Sandpiper Beach.

  Rinsing used to be his favorite job when he’d been coerced into helping in the kitchen during summers. Now, he got a little overaggressive with the hand sprayer on the stack of dishes he rinsed, and soaked his shirt.

  She’d only stick around long enough to get back on her feet, then head off to set the culinary world on fire. No way would Sandpiper Beach ever hold on to her. Hell, that was all she’d ever wanted to do since her mother used to barter tutoring for after-school cooking classes for Shelby. She’d told him time and again how that first Little Chefs class had changed her life. From fifth grade on she’d found her calling. He’d been the lucky recipient of hundreds of gourmet lunches throughout high school, too. Back then he’d been her biggest encourager.

  Right out of his life.

  He stacked another rack of plates on the conveyor heading for the high-temp sanitizing dishwasher, then shifted to the other end. The first batch passed through the splash guards and hit him like a sauna square in the face and chest. He remembered to put on thick, elbow-length rubber gloves before removing the cleaned, and extremely hot, dishes.

  They’d had a good run earlier, followed by a great morning and breakfast together, before jumping into save-the-brunch mode. With the extra help from him and his mother, they’d made up some time, too. It’d been fun to be part of her team, and she handled things skillfully, like a trouper. She was a natural on her turf in their restaurant kitchen.

  It was the personal level he couldn’t handle. Or trust, trust for the girl he’d once promised his heart to. Yet something seemed to have changed between them today. His anger had dialed back a notch. If he didn’t watch out, he might get stupid again.

  And for that reason, he’d avoid her. It wasn’t because he was a coward, he was just being practical. Things had changed, and what they’d shared would never be the same. Once all the dishes had been washed and put away, while Shelby was distracted with her staff discussing Sunday night dinner, he took off.

  *

  Wednesday morning, after working out at the gym, Conor stopped off at the local market for a few things he liked to stock in his hotel suite: milk, microwave popcorn, beer, mixed nuts, whatever else struck his fancy. Just his luck, Shelby was there with the kid from the picture on her cell phone, coming straight down the chips and cookies aisle. Benjamin, was it?

  Sandpiper was too damn small. So much for avoiding her.

  “Hey!” she said, smiling wide, like all had been forgiven, and looking cute in faded jeans rolled up to her calves, with a short-sleeved white eyelet shirt. The dangly turquoise-beaded earrings caught his attention, too. She also wore beach sandals and her nails were painted bright pink. So like her.

  Whether worn out from his intense workout or from holding a long-term grudge, he wasn’t sure which, but his animosity had subsided. Back in the day, she was the person he’d known better than anyone else. Never in a million years could he have predicted the curveball by the name of Benjamin.

  “What’s up?” he said, faking a casual response as he caught her checking out his cart.

  “Needed more diapers and milk, but you know how things go at the market.” She glanced in her own shopping cart, filled with at least ten other items beyond the two she’d mentioned.

  He hid his smile.


  “Been busy? I haven’t seen you around since Sunday.”

  So she’d noticed he’d been avoiding the hotel kitchen and dining hall.

  Time to fudge. “It’s been real busy at the department.”

  Benjamin looked at him like he was a giant stuffed bear whom he wanted to hug. “Hi,” he said to the child out of obligation, never expecting the huge smile he received in return. The look messed with his standoffish attitude, making him want to smile for real, but he tucked it inside.

  “I guess that’s how it goes in your line of work,” she said, making excuses for him, and continuing the small talk. She still managed to get under his skin. Her hair shone under the market lights, and her fresh look, with only wearing mascara and lipstick, appealed far more than he would’ve liked.

  “Yeah, all depends on what’s going on in the county.” Lame and boring answer, but he wasn’t here to socialize, just to grab a few things and get home. He tore his gaze away from her and concentrated on her son, instead—the smiler with big blue eyes and blond curls.

  She gave an extra-friendly and overly understanding smile. “Well, if you give me a heads-up any night you’re working, I’ll have your dinner ready in advance.”

  “Kind of you.” He couldn’t avoid looking into her eyes and wondering what else she hinted at. Did she want to see him more? Wouldn’t it be easier all the way around to leave that chapter of their lives behind and move on? Something he was still working on.

  “Well, you’ve probably got a lot to do before work, and I’m holding you up,” she said, clearly resigned to his resistance.

  “As do you.” Could he sound any stiffer? They used to be lovers. Maybe that was the problem, he remembered too much. Now his ears felt warm. He’d blame it on the workout. At least try to be sociable. “Wouldn’t want that ice cream to melt.” He chose the most obvious item in her cart, besides the huge bag of diapers, to comment on.

  “No,” she said, lifting her brows, her mouth in a tight straight line. “Someone told me I needed to feed myself before I fed everyone else, and that’s exactly what I intend to do with that rocky road ice cream.”

  Finally he let a genuine smile out. “Wouldn’t want to get between a woman and her ice cream.” After her requisite laugh, he said, “Well, guess I’ll see you around.” Then he politely moved his cart down the aisle.

  Thank goodness that was over.

  Except when he got to the parking lot, where she was busy putting her boy in the car seat and her groceries were still sitting in the cart. He rolled up beside hers and since her trunk was popped, without being asked, he put her reusable grocery bags inside, then quickly rolled both carts to the corral. By the time she stuck her head out of the back seat, he was almost to his car.

  “Thank you!” she called out.

  He waved without looking back, because he was going to have a hard enough time forgetting those dangly earrings and pink toenails without seeing her another second.

  Shelby sat behind the wheel of her car, staring at the parking lot asphalt. Stick with the plan. Sandpiper is only a detour. You can’t waste ten years of your life. Prove you can run a kitchen, then move on. Go for the goal.

  Conor had worn gym shorts and a snug T-shirt to the market, and looked substantial and appealing. Okay, say it—gorgeous. Was she that shallow?

  Of course there was more. Conor tugged at every emotion she had. She may have loved and lost him, but there was something they’d always be. Or should be. Friends. Now all she had to do was convince him.

  *

  “And where were you last Sunday night for dinner?” Grandda came out of nowhere, maybe from hiding behind the gazebo? Conor was speed-walking back toward his room to cool down, cutting through the hotel side yard, after an early Sunday morning run. Grandda had his interrogation mask on, where he narrowed his eyes until they were slits, and supposedly made the interrogee shake in their boots. At least that was how it used to work when Conor was a kid. He also wore his signature gold golf pants and a bright green vest over a yellow plaid short-sleeved shirt in readiness for his daily game. It wasn’t like Conor could pretend he didn’t see him, so he slowed down, and his grandfather paced beside him.

  “Let me think, that was several days ago. Let’s see…” He snapped his fingers. “I had to work late. There was a concert on the beach, and too much beer consumed.” In other words, the usual drill for a beach town on weekends.

  “You know it’s our tradition.” Not carrying his usual putter, Padraig had his hands in his pockets. “Especially with your cousin Brian being here. I was hoping you’d get to know each other sooner than later.”

  “He’s here for six months on a work visa, plus we’re roomies. We’ll have plenty of time.” Conor glanced at his grandfather’s anxious face. “I’ll make a point of spending time with him.”

  “Good. He’s only a year younger than you, you know.”

  “You have mentioned that a few times, yes.” Conor needed to level with him. “Work comes first, Grandda, you know that.” Grandda didn’t know the half of it, and Conor’s plan was, after already confronting Mark about why he’d hired Shelby, not to let anyone else in the family, especially his grandfather, know how having her around was messing with his head. “And a lot’s been going on.”

  The suspicious gaze his grandfather returned proved Conor hadn’t been nearly convincing enough. Maybe he should have sworn Mark to secrecy since he and Grandda were close.

  Conor often blamed work when he wanted time alone, but truth was he’d been looking for excuses to stay late and avoid the hotel and just about everyone who lived or worked there. The last thing he wanted to do was answer questions about Shelby. All that had changed now, so the family might as well all get over it and move on.

  “… It’s off-putting when you skip out on it,” Grandda continued, forcing Conor to click back in and pay attention to their conversation. “There’ll be no excuses tomorrow night. I might not be around much longer, and I want my family together on Sunday nights.”

  Oh, he was laying it on thick today, using his deathbed threats and all. The guy was eighty-five, it wasn’t like Conor could predict how much longer his grandfather had on earth, but his gut told him the man would make it to a hundred based on orneriness alone. “Okay, I’ll make sure to be there tomorrow night.” He raised his right hand. “I promise.”

  “That’s the good lad.” He gave a bony hug, then released Conor and took off at breakneck pace for Mark, who happened to be passing by.

  Whew. Conor was off the hook, for now anyway.

  *

  Sunday night, like a good grandson, Conor arranged his on-the-job dinner break to coincide with the family meal. He gathered Brian from their hotel room tucked away in the back on the first floor, and walked him to the pub, now closed for the standing weekly family dinner.

  “How’re you liking California so far?” Conor asked.

  “It’s beautiful. I could get used to the fair weather.” His cousin fresh from Ireland had a distinct accent, much like Daniel’s wife, Keela, and Conor found it musical and pleasing to the ear.

  Brian’s broad grin also reminded him of his grandfather.

  “I’ve got a couple days off next week, maybe we can do some windsurfing or sailing together.”

  “’Twould be grand.”

  He opened the double glass doors and they stepped into the usually noisy bar to find the rest of his family and extended family already there but not seated. The pub closed on Sunday afternoons to allow for the private family dinners. His clan had gathered in a loose group with three or four different conversations going on, from the sound of things.

  Conor greeted his brothers, Daniel, the oldest, and Mark, the middle, and their respective ladies, Keela, who looked like she could deliver any minute, and Laurel. Then he bent to say hello to the little girls, Anna, Keela’s daughter, Claire and Gracie, Laurel’s twins, then did a quick fist bump with Peter, Laurel’s teenage son. Mark’s ready-made family. Cono
r was proud of how his brother, after resisting any responsibility for nearly a year, had stepped up to the challenge of being a stepdad and taking the lead with the hotel. He guessed all it took was the right woman. The thought pinched tight, so he glanced around.

  He nodded at his grandfather, who looked beyond pleased to see him, especially with Brian by his side, though now Keela had stepped in to carry on a fast and furious conversation with Brian, far too difficult for Conor to understand with their Irish accents thickening by the second.

  He crossed the room to shake his father’s hand and give his mother a hug before they all sat down for the meal. His father, Sean, made sure to make the newest member welcome. “Can I pull you a beer, for a change?”

  Brian was usually the one doing the honors since they’d employed him in the bar, under Padraig’s watchful eye. “Yes, thanks.”

  The irony with Sunday night dinners, and the secret reason why Conor had skipped out on it last week, was that he didn’t want to eat a dinner he knew had been prepared by Shelby, or risk seeing her. It was the plain truth, no matter how childish that seemed.

  Mom cleared her throat. “Everyone. I’ve invited a guest tonight. Someone who spends all her time fixing food for everyone else, and who deserves to spend more time eating.”

  Conor lost the healthy appetite he’d walked in with.

  “Someone who’s been an unofficial member of our family for many years,” Maureen went on.

  With dread, Conor glanced at the petite form appearing from behind his brothers. Shelby was dressed in a cream-colored sleeveless long shell with beige straight-legged cropped pants, and gold-tinted espadrilles. Her short hair cupped her ears and the bangs swept across her forehead, accenting her warm dark eyes. She carried her toddler, Benjamin, on her hip while the ladies oohed and aahed over how cute he was, curly blond hair and all. Her unsure gaze made Conor suspect his mother had refused to take no for an answer when she’d made the invitation. For an instant, he felt sorry for her, knowing exactly how she must have felt getting strong-armed into a dinner with the last man on earth she probably wanted to see on a regular basis.