by Amy Frazier
“Dad?”
Garrett slipped his arm around his son’s shoulders. “All that’s water under the bridge. Right now, my job’s to make sure no one gets hurt. You included.”
Rory looked at him as if he expected more.
“I need to find out what Rachel wants, and you need to check on those signs.”
Outside on the sidewalk someone stuck a mike in his face. “Sheriff McQuire! What is your explanation of the photo circulating in the tabloids?”
“No comment.”
“Do you think the voters of Colum County will see this as an issue come the next election?”
He didn’t even rise to that one.
At the diner he plowed through reporters waiting for cameramen, and cameramen waiting for reporters on the steps outside. Rachel would serve the media, but she wouldn’t allow their equipment in her establishment, creating a tag team approach to eating. All heads turned as Garrett stepped through the doorway, but Rachel immediately intercepted him.
“I need to speak to you in private,” she said, leading him through the kitchen and into the very back of the diner. Abruptly, she shoved him into the storeroom, then closed the door behind him. Standing in the dim light of a single overhead bulb was Samantha. Dressed in Geneva’s clothes, which were way too big for her, she looked tired.
“How did you get here?” he asked.
“I cut across the outer pasture to the Stones’ farm. Isolde brought me in.”
He thought of “the vultures” just outside. “You want me to take you back to Whistling Meadows, is that it?”
“No. I’m not going back to Whistling Meadows. Geneva’s daughter’s coming for me in a half hour. She’s going to drive me to Atlanta.”
The painful inner knot that had started to unravel up at the cabin began to tighten around his heart.
“Who’s going to take care of your llamas? The farm?”
“Red and Mack.”
“Where are you going from Atlanta?”
She sighed. “I don’t know yet.”
“If you knew, would you tell me?”
“No. Then you’d have to lie for me.”
He stepped forward to take her in his arms, but she put up her hand. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“How long will you be gone?”
“I don’t know that, either. At least as long as it takes for the media to clear out of Applegate. I thought the furor would have died down by now, but since it hasn’t, it’s not fair of me to disrupt people’s lives here.”
“Maybe we needed to have our lives disrupted.”
She didn’t answer.
“When you come back, will you stay?”
“I don’t know.” She moved past him toward the door. “I just wanted to say goodbye.”
“That’s it, then?”
“Yes.” She reached for the doorknob, but he grasped her wrist.
“Stay and show your true colors, Samantha. You know who you are. Who you want to be. People in town are standing firm behind you.”
“I’m afraid if this circus doesn’t move on, they’ll quickly lose their stomach for the drama.”
“Don’t underestimate them. Or yourself. All you have to do to prove yourself a bona fide Applegate citizen is to plant your feet on Whistling Meadows and refuse to leave.”
“It’s not that easy.” There was anguish in her eyes.
“Because you never meant to stay,” he said bitterly. Catching on.
“I—I wanted to. But I didn’t know if I could.”
“What kind of an answer is that?”
“The only one I have. I was vulnerable when I arrived. I couldn’t guess what role the town, the farm, the people would play in my recovery. I didn’t know how strong I’d be.”
“You have to tell me,” he said. “What role did I play?”
“You’re angry—”
“You’re damned right I’m angry. Because you’re blowing everything off. Blowing me off.”
She put her fingers on his lips. “Don’t say something you’ll regret.”
He thought about how he’d opened up to her overnight at the cabin. Physically and emotionally. He certainly regretted that, big-time.
Rachel poked her head into the room. “Geneva’s daughter’s here.”
And just like that, Samantha slipped out of his life.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
FOR THE FIRST WEEK AFTER Samantha left town, Garrett kept busy controlling the dwindling media horde. It actually took a couple days before “the vultures” realized their prey had escaped. And two days after that, “the gawkers” moved on to the next breaking story.
And then Applegate returned to normal. At least everybody else seemed to breathe a sigh and settle back into their pre-media-blitz existence. Garrett felt as if he was coming down with the flu.
During the second week, Rory begged to help Red up at Whistling Meadows. Red assured Garrett Rory would get paid. Samantha had given him the power to hire and reimburse any help he might need maintaining the llamas and the farm. Mack was already working there, which irked Garrett not a little as he was short staffed, yet he’d kept Mack’s deputy position unfilled.
In the end, Rory rode his bike to the farm while Garrett avoided the stretch of two-lane running by Samantha’s property.
After three weeks had gone by, people started approaching Garrett with blind date offers. Oh, in true Applegate fashion, they didn’t discuss what they did or didn’t know about him and Samantha. And they didn’t come right out and say they were trying to fix him up. They just innocently happened to mention that their daughter, granddaughter, cousin once removed, or friend of a friend was going to be in town and they were having a little get-together. Would Garrett like to join them?
He wouldn’t, and he didn’t.
He was still angry with Samantha for leaving. And still angry with himself for exposing her and forcing her to go.
He hadn’t heard from her.
When almost a month had gone by, Jonathan Stone took a seat at the counter next to Garrett in the diner. “Can I have a word with you, Sheriff?”
“That depends. If your single great-niece is in town visiting, this conversation’s over.”
“Tetchy.” Jonathan grinned. “But considering my track record—” he’d been married three times “—I’d be the last person to dabble in matchmaking. No, I’m here in my capacity as selectman. We’ve set a date for the road bowling tournament. Second Saturday in August. The ninth. That’ll give you two weeks to put the road-closing signs up.”
“What route will you be using?”
“Red Harris suggested we start at the top of the old dirt logging track that runs between Whistling Meadows and my place, then onto the paved county highway and right down into Main Street.”
“We’re talking a pretty steep grade.”
“That’s what’ll make it interesting.”
“How many people participating?”
“Seeing how it’s our first year, we cut registration off at twenty teams. Plus, each team will have an impartial scorekeeper drawn on the morning of the tournament.”
“Sixty crazy people let loose on county roads.” Garrett turned back to his coffee. “I can’t wait.”
Rachel came over and plunked a slice of cherry pie with vanilla ice cream in front of Garrett. “On the house. Seems you could use a little sugar, Sheriff.”
He was fine. He just needed to find that equilibrium, that emotional autopilot he’d been cruising on before Samantha had hit town.
“Hey, Dad!” Rory came through the door. His hair was sun-streaked and tousled and his tanned arms were beginning to show some muscle. “Mom here yet?”
“She said suppertime.” Garrett checked his watch. “It’s only one o’clock.” Noelle had finally agreed to a face-to-face meeting to discuss the custody arrangement. He’d put the fire department on alert. “What are you doing in town? I thought you were working until four.”
“I am,” Rory replied betwee
n mouthfuls of cherry pie he was cadging from Garrett’s plate. “I’m in town to get yard sale signs.”
“For whom?”
“Red.” His son scowled. “He got a letter this morning from Samantha, telling him to sell everything in the house.”
The statement hit like a thunderclap. “Is she selling Whistling Meadows?”
“She didn’t say.”
Surely the sale of the farmhouse contents was a first step. Why, after a month, did the news cut so deep?
“Dad, I know you told me to leave this whole Samantha and the media thing to the adults, but…I gotta say, you need to talk to Red. Get Samantha’s address or phone number or something. Convince her she can’t just up and leave Applegate. The llamas. Us.”
How could he? Seemed she’d already made up her mind.
“I know you’ll do the right thing,” Rory said, crimson pie filling streaking his mouth. “Gotta run. I’m excited to see Mom.”
Garrett felt as if he’d been blindsided, but why should he? Samantha had held out no hope that she’d be back. He’d made her no promises, and neither had she. Although, since her flight from Applegate, she hadn’t shown up on the news—yeah, he’d watched for her—and since he had no idea where she was, he pictured her back in her old lifestyle. He didn’t exactly know what that might involve—except money—however, he’d bet that the Lawrences weren’t road bowling.
To the obvious dismay of his staff, he pretty much growled his way through the rest of the afternoon. He couldn’t help himself. By the time Noelle’s Lexus pulled into his driveway, he was a walking headache.
“Pull yourself together for Rory,” Geneva said as Garrett stood in his living room and glared out the front window at his ex getting out of her luxury car. His housekeeper was putting on her cardigan.
“You aren’t leaving, are you?”
“Y’all agreed on pizza. You don’t need me.” She glanced behind him. “How you doin’, Noelle?”
He turned to see her standing in the doorway. She was still in a business suit. “Geneva. Garrett.”
“Rory’s in his room,” Geneva said as she left. “He’s got those earbuds in, so you’re gonna hafta holler at him.”
When it was just the two of them, Noelle looked as uncomfortable as Garrett felt. Ever since the chain of events that had caused such an uproar in Applegate, she’d been remarkably subdued. “Maybe we should take this opportunity to talk.”
“About custody? I don’t think so. Rory wants to be here for that discussion. In fact, I think he’s put together a PowerPoint presentation to support his case.”
She actually smiled. “His e-mails come close to a campaign. He doesn’t just tell me what he’s doing. He frames everything in college-course terms. Feeding the llamas is animal husbandry. Building a fence is applied trig. Managing his paycheck is finance one-o-one.”
“That’s our boy.” Suddenly, he thought of Samantha encouraging him to speak positively of Noelle because she was the other half of the equation that had contributed to the good kid Rory was. “You’ve done a great job raising him.”
She looked surprised. “Wh-why, thank you.”
“You want some of Geneva’s peach tea?”
“That would be nice.” She followed him into the kitchen. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something other than custody. I wanted to say I’m sorry I caused such trouble for your girlfriend.”
He stood with the fridge door open. “My girlfriend?”
“Yes. Ashley Lawrence. Or Samantha Weston. Anyway, I called my cousin for no reason other than I was beside myself with curiosity. It was very unprofessional.”
“Samantha’s not my girlfriend.”
“That’s not what Rory says.”
“What does Rory say?”
“He says he thinks the only thing keeping her from coming back is that you haven’t told her how you feel.”
“I don’t know how she feels.”
“Oh, I think you do.” She took the pitcher of iced tea from the refrigerator and poured three glasses. “Garrett, women don’t like to be kept guessing. We like to be told.”
“Funny, I remember I told you I wanted to stay in Applegate, and you told me to get lost.”
“That was different. This woman actually loves Applegate.”
“It’s not that easy. What would keep the media away if she came back?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe a few diehards would hang around for a while. The locals already seem to have a pretty good handle on ignoring them. But if Samantha were to, say, return to the farm, settle down, have a steady boyfriend, get married, lead an ordinary life…well, inquiring minds would eventually say, ‘Hey, that sounds an awful lot like my day-to-day,’ and turn away to find a more titillating subject—”
“Mom!” Rory burst into the room to envelope his mother in a hug that lifted her right off the floor. For the first time Garrett noticed how much their son—and his ex—had grown over the summer.
NERVOUS, SAMANTHA PACED THE hallway outside the sheriff’s office and tried to ignore the stares of the deputies. After more than four weeks away from Applegate, she had no idea what faced her. She told herself to have no expectations. Garrett hadn’t said he’d wait for her. In fact, when she’d left Rachel’s storeroom, he’d looked justifiably angry.
She chewed on a knuckle and waited for Mack to finish his business beyond Garrett’s closed office door. While he’d given her a ride from the farm, Mack had told her it was time for him to stop hiding out. Time to step up and take responsibility again. There was something stark in his eyes when he’d said it, as though resuming his duties as deputy was a penance. Or maybe she was reading too much into it. Maybe he was cautioning her to step up and take responsibility, too.
She was going to give it a shot.
The office door opened.
Mack appeared but paused, then turned to speak over his shoulder. “By the way, there’s someone I’d like you to meet. She’s new in town—”
“Not you, too!” Garrett’s voice sounded like the roar of a bear in its lair. “I’ve had it with matchmakers.”
“Don’t insult the woman before you check her out. She’s right here.” Mack pulled her into the office. “Garrett McQuire meet Samantha Weston. I believe that’s your legal name now, isn’t it?”
“Y-yes.” The word stuck in her throat as Garrett rose from behind his desk to confront her, his brow furrowed, his blue eyes almost indigo, revealing nothing.
She didn’t hear Mack leave, but when she finally came to her senses, Garrett and she were alone, the office door closed.
His stance stiff, he looked as if he didn’t have a clue what to say to her. “When did you get back?” he asked finally.
“Early this morning. Red picked me up at the airport.”
“I suppose you wanted to be here to supervise the big yard sale tomorrow.”
“Red, Rory and Mack could have handled it. But, yes, I admit I wanted to see all that stuff leave. It wasn’t me.”
“So you decided you really were Samantha Weston.”
“I am. Although it took a rather noisy family intervention—refereed by Dr. Kumar—to make my parents see I wasn’t just hiding out. Wasn’t using a temporary alias the way celebrities do when they check into our hotels.”
He came around the desk to sit on the corner. He didn’t offer her a seat. He seemed to be waiting for some kind of opening. Or a sign. “You went home, then.”
“I couldn’t go back to Virginia because the media had camped outside my parents’ estate. We all met up at the Fiji Ashley. I then used that as my base camp.”
“Good move,” he noted dryly. “A slob with a reporter’s salary probably couldn’t afford the airfare.”
She ignored the dig. “Anyway, when I’d taken care of business, I came back to Applegate. So, tell me, did you reach a new custody agreement with Noelle?”
He appeared to soften with this new tack. “Yeah. Surprisingly, we did.”
; “Why do you say surprisingly?”
“I tried to concentrate on something…a friend said. I tried to let go of my anger and frustration in dealing with Noelle—the fact that my ego had been bruised big-time when she left, when she proved she could be just as good a provider as me—and concentrate on the positive. Rory. How he loves us both.”
Her heart went out to him, and a smile just naturally curved her lips. “And how did that work out?”
“Noelle’s a good mother. She wants what’s best for Rory. So I sat back and let Rory convince her he’d love to see England—on his vacations—but that Applegate is who he is.”
“I understand exactly how he feels.”
“You do?” For the first time there was hope in Garrett’s eyes. “Then…you’re not just back in town to oversee the yard sale?”
“Gosh, no. Mack signed us up for the road bowling tournament next week. With Rory and Red making up another team, Whistling Meadows has a pretty good chance at the trophy. And the boys haven’t been on a decent trek since I left. Red has spoiled them rotten. Percy fairly lives in the bunkhouse.”
A wide grin split his handsome features. “You’re really staying?”
“I’m back. For good. But you didn’t give me a chance to tell you the biggest reason.”
“Which is?” He stood and took a step closer.
Her heart beat so fast her hands shook. “I missed trout for breakfast.”
He scooped her into his arms and spun her around. “Damn, I love you.”
“You do? You could have told me.”
Letting her gently down to the floor, he nuzzled her neck. “I was stupid. I let the past eat at me. I kept asking myself what I could offer you.”
“You, silly. Openly. Honestly. Just the way you did up at the cabin.”
“Well, then you’ve got me. And the cabin. And an occasional Motel 6 if we venture out of Applegate.”
“I draw the line there, buster,” she replied, laughing. “I may be out of the hotel business, but I think we can do better than that.”
He kissed her hard and fast and deep, and all she could think of as her head spun was, This is right where I’m supposed to be.