The night temperature seemed to have risen. Which was ridiculous. It had to be her. Becoming hot under the collar. Literally. If only she’d thought to wear a blouse, a camisole, something more substantial than a bra beneath her jacket. She could have removed the jacket, then, in deference to the heat. She’d checked the weather before making the trip to California and thought she’d been prepared for the warmer climate. So much for that notion.
“Why don’t I get you some punch,” Sara suggested suddenly. Too perceptively. “You and Sam can find a quiet place to talk.” She smiled, doing a better job of it than Delaney had. “Take care of your business.”
They were all adults. It didn’t bother Delaney at all that it apparently took urging from Sara before Sam would be cooperative.
Right.
She exhaled and surreptitiously tugged at the front of her jacket in hopes of getting some air. “Punch would be nice,” she lied. If she tried to swallow anything but water, she wasn’t sure she could be responsible for the consequences.
Sam lifted a sardonic brow when Delaney hesitated as Sara moved away. “Well?”
She followed.
The woman—taller than Delaney by several inches—seemed to have far less difficulty making her way through the crowd. Or maybe people just naturally got out of Sara’s way in the same manner they did for Sam.
Delaney watched the pair of them from the corner of her eyes. Sam and Sara. A striking couple. Both tall and raven-haired. They could have been brother and sister, only, Delaney knew Sam had no sister named Sara. Janie, yes. But not Sara.
Not that she’d ever met Janie, or his brother, Leo.
Not that she ever would.
The envelope crinkled as her fingers tightened. She nearly jumped out of her skin when Sam closed his hand around her elbow.
“Little jumpy, Delaney?”
He used to call her Laney. She carefully moved her arm away from his touch. “It’s been a long day,” she said smoothly. It was the gospel truth. An incredibly long day. But it was worth it to have Alonso taken care of. She’d worked long and hard to make sure of it.
“Delaney.” Sam watched her much too closely. “You all right?”
He’d recovered from his surprise. Now she couldn’t read his expression to save her soul. A regrettably familiar position.
She lifted an eyebrow and brushed a strand of hair away from her face again. “Right as rain, Sam.” But her voice was clipped despite herself and she deliberately looked around. Sara had made it to the row of tables near the house, laden with food and refreshments. But Sam and Delaney were still amidst the dancers and had finally begun to draw attention. “Is it serious between you two?” She cringed at that. Don’t ask the question if you’re not prepared to listen to the answer.
“Does it bother you to think it might be?”
“Is it still impossible for you to give a straight answer?”
“What do you think?”
“I think you’re as annoying now as you ever were,” she said evenly. She turned on her heel, grateful to keep her balance with her sinking heels. She should have just given him the ring, whether it embarrassed him or not, and gone on her way. Or, better yet, she should have left it with Annie and Logan Drake. They could have delivered it. He would hardly have refused that type of personal delivery.
There were just too many “should haves” where Sam was concerned.
She realized Sam hadn’t moved, and turned around to look, only to find him looking right back at her, his head cocked to one side. Studying? Judging?
Then he suddenly turned his head and Delaney followed suit, looking over to the house.
Alonso slouched against the wall near the high, double-wide door, his hands shoved in the pockets of the new baggy jeans she’d given him. His stance was casual, but Delaney knew it was feigned.
Even though Delaney had prepared herself for this, too, she still felt herself bracing. Still felt defiance coursing through her, joining the rock ’n’ roll beat inside her stomach.
Sam looked back at her.
Oh, yes. Definitely judging.
Her grip tightened on the envelope as Sam headed toward her, his steps unhurried. He stopped just in front of her. “Should have known this would have something to do with him,” he said, angling his head so she could hear his low voice. “Some things never change.”
Her throat went tight. “Some people never change, either.” He wasn’t expressionless, she realized. An angry muscle flexed in his tight jaw.
“When are you going to learn your lesson where he’s concerned? Hasn’t he cost you enough?”
You mean when he cost me you? She wanted to voice the question. Better sense prevented her. “He has a name, Sam. Alonso. And he’s cost me nothing of value.” Her voice was flat. Hopefully it disguised the pain.
He tilted his head again, considering. “Been practicing your target shooting, I see.”
“Alonso has been accepted as a resident at Castillo House. You might as well get used to seeing him on the island.”
“In my jail cell, maybe.”
Every nerve inside her tightened. The work Logan Drake and his wife, Annie, had accomplished in the past year at Castillo House with homeless and troubled youth had drawn attention from Delaney and her colleagues—enough attention that she’d swallowed the fact the program was located on Sam’s turf and approached them about Alonso.
And Castillo House was Alonso’s last chance to avoid jail time. The judge was out of patience where the boy’s probation was concerned.
“Not without cause, Samson. Even you don’t stoop that low, do you?”
Despite the music, the chatter, the revelry all around them, the silence between the two of them lengthened, thickened. “Crediting me with some integrity?” he finally asked. “There’s a change.”
She exhaled slowly, reining in a wealth of frustration and other emotions she didn’t even want to put a name to. “Here.” She pushed the envelope that contained the delicate wedding ring at him. “I don’t know why you marked the envelope ‘return to sender’ in the first place. What kind of game you’re—”
“It was never a game with you. A game would have been fun. Enjoyable.”
The sentiment was nothing she hadn’t already known.
It still hurt.
“Then I’d think you’d be heartily glad to have this back.” She wriggled the envelope, wishing he’d just take the thing.
“What’s got you so anxious all of a sudden?”
She raised her eyebrows. “Sudden? I’ve tried sending this to you more than once!” She’d even tried a courier, to no avail.
“Maybe you should’ve taken the hint.”
“What hint? That you want no reminders of our time together? I’m sure you don’t. But the ring is—”
“Yours,” he said flatly. “Even if you are doing something official now.”
She blinked at that. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
His head lowered another inch toward her and she steeled herself not to shift away. “Why now, Delaney?”
There was a burning deep behind her eyes. Her foot slid back. She shifted and glanced past him. Sara approached, bearing two plastic cups, filled to the brim, no doubt, with punch. “You’re not the only one who’s moving on, Sam.” Some were just better at it than others.
His lips twisted. “Anyone I know?”
“Is it any of your business?”
“I think so.” The envelope crinkled in his grip. “But let me guess. Your esteemed associate, Chadly Do-Wright.”
Sam had never liked Chad Wright. Of course the reverse could be said, too. Chad had never particularly cared for Sam. If she’d known how things would end, she’d have paid more heed to Chad’s sensible arguments from the start. Instead, she’d followed her heart.
Sam suddenly reached out, drawing the lock of hair away from her face. She stiffened her knees.
Not even her heart, she mentally corrected. She’d followed something f
ar more base where Sam was concerned.
And people thought only men were ruled by lust. Now that was a serious joke.
As if he’d read her thoughts, he slipped his fingers along the strand of hair again. His knuckles brushed her temple. Her cheek.
“Don’t touch me.”
“Afraid Do-Wright wouldn’t approve?” His fingertips slowly grazed the circle of her ear, taking extraordinary care in tucking the hair behind it.
“It’s Chad.” Her voice stalled altogether when his fingers glided along her jaw, and his thumb tucked beneath her chin, inexorably forcing it upward. She closed her eyes, then dragged her lids upward again, afraid of betraying any additional weakness.
She heard his tsk, even though it was half under his breath. “Look at you. As trussed-up as ever. At least, you’re trying to be. Double-breasted suit. Hair in a knot. Only, you want to unbutton the suit, don’t you. And your hair’s falling down. Has Chad seen this side of you?”
“The crossing was windy.”
His thumb slid over her lips, pressing them closed. “Ninety minutes on the open water. It usually is windy.”
“Sam,” her lips moved against the callused pad of his thumb. “The ring—”
“Screw the ring,” he said flatly. Then his thumb moved and his head lowered. His mouth covered hers, inhaling the gasp of shock she couldn’t prevent. His hand went behind her neck, preventing her from jumping back.
There was no love in the kiss. She knew it. He knew it.
He was angry. Twenty-one months hadn’t seemed to change that fact one bit.
And he still tasted like the darkest, sweetest sin to ever exist as the kiss went on and on. Her body burned as she helplessly kissed him back.
She swayed when he finally let her free. Delaney was barely aware of the shock on Sara’s face, or the stares of everyone else around them. She wanted to slap him. Kick him.
“That was uncalled for,” she said hoarsely. “Absolutely.”
“You’re kidding, right?” His lips stretched in a humorless smile, and he suddenly turned around, facing the gaping onlookers.
His voice rose, so everyone could hear. “My wife, Delaney, finally comes to Turnabout, the least I can do is greet her with a kiss. Wouldn’t you all agree?”
Chapter 2
My wife.
Some deep instinct made Delaney lock her knees as Sam’s comment rang in the sudden silence. If she’d had any doubt that Sam ever told anyone from Turnabout, his hometown, about their excruciatingly brief fiasco of a marriage, the shocked faces all around them removed it.
He’d turned back to her and was looking at her mouth. Despite the audience and her desire to tear out her hair and scream at him for this game he was playing, her lips tingled all over again.
And it was irritation at that, that got her moving again. She slapped the envelope against his chest. “You know we’re no longer married,” she snapped softly.
He exhaled sharply, turned and strode away.
The envelope fell.
She very nearly followed after him. He hadn’t wanted to talk with her when they were married, why on earth would he want to when they weren’t? If he wanted to walk away from what should have been a simple matter, she wasn’t going to stop him.
He’d walked away from her before, after all.
She snatched up the envelope and headed blindly away from the curious eyes that seemed to be burning into her from all sides. But escape was blocked by the dancers one way and the whitewashed stucco building on the other. She trembled, never feeling more like screaming in her entire life.
Wouldn’t that be a tidy item to add to her record? “After installing patient in residential program, subject became hysterical when former spouse referred to her as his wife….”
“Yo, Doc V. You didn’t tell me Mr. Cop-man was gonna be here.”
She marshaled her scrambled thoughts. Smoothed back her hair again and looked up at Alonso, who’d come down from his slouch to stand in front of her. He’d grown a foot in the past year. At only fifteen, he easily topped six feet, a good six inches taller than she. He was more gangly than broad, but she knew time would eventually fill in the spare gaps and he’d cut an impressive figure. “You being at Castillo House has nothing to do with Sam.”
Alonso’s lip curled. “Right.”
Her day really had been too long. “Think about it.” Her tone was short enough that Alonso kept his next smart-aleck remark from emerging.
“Is he a cop here, too?” He focused on shoving up the long sleeves of his oversize T-shirt.
“He’s the sheriff.”
“Yeah, well he better not be hauling me off to jail, or—”
“Or?” Delaney looked sternly up into his young face. Alonso Petrofski was a combination of beauty from the mocha skin to the green eyes he’d inherited from his Jamaican mother and Russian father. In most respects, he was brilliant. And in most respects, troubled, neglected and full of anger and opinions. She’d started out as his court-appointed therapist. Now, a very rocky four years later, she’d like to think she was his friend.
Some days that was easier to believe than others.
“You’re not going to jail, Alonso. Not unless you do something illegal here. And if you do that in the next two months, your probation will be revoked and you’ll finish out your full sentence in jail back in New York. Then all the good work you’ve done the past year will be for nothing.”
“Not if you can’t find me,” he said.
“Turnabout is an island, Alonso. You won’t be going anywhere that we don’t know about.” Logan Drake, the man responsible for the running of Castillo House, smiled coolly, seeming to appear at their sides out of nowhere.
Alonso had already told Delaney he figured Logan was a hard-ass. Given what Delaney knew about Logan’s former profession, she figured the assessment was fairly accurate.
“He’s not exaggerating.” A very pregnant girl stood beside Logan, addressing Alonso. “It’s Drake’s way or the highway. But believe me. He’s easier than the sheriff. I’ve been here for three months, so I oughta know.” She shot a rueful glance up at Logan, who softened a little and tugged the end of her long red braid.
“This is Caitlin Reed,” Logan introduced. “She’ll show you what chores you’re assigned to tonight.”
“Man, I just got here.”
Delaney remained mum. This was Logan and Annie’s center. The sooner Alonso became acclimated to his new home, the better.
Logan merely lifted one broad shoulder, his blue gaze again impassive. “Everybody here works, Alonso. You want to stay, you’re welcome. But you’re gonna work the same as the rest.”
The boy stared Logan down for a long, taut minute. Alonso drew up every centimeter of height he possessed, as if it would give him some advantage against the man with whom he stood eye to eye. It had no effect on Logan. He merely waited. Solid. Strong. Sure. Then Alonso made an impatient sound, swore—under his breath, because swearing was against the rules of the house—and headed back up the shallow steps and inside the massive doorway. Delaney watched him go. Saw the way he curtailed his long-legged stride to accommodate Caitlin’s shorter, somewhat waddling one.
Along with relief was a sense of loss. Alonso had become a large part of her life. Right or wrong, he was more than a patient to her. But she couldn’t handle him alone, and something had to be done. He was too young to be left to his own devices. He needed a home.
Hopefully, Castillo House would provide what she couldn’t.
She glanced up at Logan. He hadn’t said a word about Sam’s outrageous announcement after kissing her, and she was grateful. “I know you don’t really have room for him, yet, with your renovations still underway. But I appreciate it. He really needed to get away from his usual crowd.”
“Long as your boy toes the line, we’ll get along fine,” Logan said. Then his hard face softened, making him look immeasurably younger, when a slender woman with a mass of blond curls stopped next
to him, sliding her arm through his. Annie Drake.
“Alonso will be fine.” Annie smiled far more easily than did her husband. “And we do appreciate the—”
Delaney waved away the thanks before Annie could finish. She didn’t want to advertise the donation she’d arranged for Castillo House. “We can keep that between us.” What her mother had donated would go a little way toward the renovations the big old house still required. A little way toward making the physical space necessary for another person. Like Alonso. Which made having to approach her mother for funds worth it. Just because Delaney had loathed having to do so, her mother’s donation had been just one more in a long line of charitable causes she thoughtlessly supported, meaning nothing more nor less than if Delaney had been a stranger.
“Secrets have a way of coming out, Delaney. Sometimes it’s better all around to put everything out on the table.”
Delaney didn’t know if that was a reference to her and Sam’s history, or not. But there was nothing in Annie’s expression that Delaney could take exception to.
She was just feeling defensive.
Because of Sam.
“Um, you’re…Delaney. Right?”
A young woman had approached. Why not? For all the attention Sam had thrown her way, she might have been the circus come to town. “Yes.”
“I’m Janie Vega.”
Something indefinable curled through Delaney. So she’d meet some of Sam’s family after all. “You’re Sam’s sister.” Timid, she thought, as she looked for some resemblance between the girl and Sam. They had the same dark eyes, but that seemed to be all. “He told me about you.”
“I wish we could say the same about you.”
Maybe not so timid, after all, Delaney thought, eyeing Janie’s crossed arms. Logan and Annie murmured excuses and moved off with no small amount of haste. “I’m sorry,” she told Janie.
“Why? Sam’s the one who’s been keeping his mouth shut all this time.” Her voice was tart. “Ironic, considering how he feels about deception.”
Secretly Married Page 2