“They say money talks, but all mine
ever says is ‘good-bye, sucker.’”
Chloe Traeger
Earlier that morning, Sawyer had given some serious consideration to staying in bed. He was tired, and already knew his desk was nothing but a mountain of paperwork waiting for him. He hated paperwork with the same passion that he hated errands, cooking for himself, and mowing his dad’s lawn-which reminded him, he needed to go by there, as he’d been doing every few days.
For all the good it did him.
Hell, Sawyer wasn’t even sure the man was eating the food he brought. Nolan Thompson was probably tossing it out soon as Sawyer left, then ordering himself pizza.
Sawyer would’ve liked a pizza. He thought about it all day, and five minutes from going off duty and getting himself that loaded thick crust, the call came in-overly rowdy customers at the diner. He drove over there wondering what the odds were that he’d get pizza tonight after all.
Not good, he realized in the first two seconds of walking through the diner’s front door.
“Who the fuck called the pigs!” Mitch bellowed at the sight of Sawyer. Swinging out, Mitch punched his fist through the bakery display.
Glass shattered to the floor in a slow, musical wave.
He pulled back his arm for another swing, blood blooming brightly from shoulder to wrist as he snagged a surprised Amy around the neck and pressed her against him. “Who did it? Who called? You?” he demanded of Amy, giving her a shake. “You?”
“No,” Chloe said, rising from where she’d been crouched on the floor picking up fallen dishes. “I did it. I called the police. Don’t hurt her.”
“Chloe.” Without taking his eyes off Mitch, Sawyer gestured for her to sit back down. “Mitch, let her go.”
Mitch shook his head and tightened his grip on Amy.
“Amy didn’t do anything to you,” Chloe said to Mitch, not sitting down.
“Chloe, goddammit,” Sawyer said softly. “Sit.”
Mitch was glaring at Chloe, clearly wishing he had enough arms to grab her, too.
Lucille stood up next to Chloe. “Mitchell Tyson, if you hurt that girl, I’ll tell your mother. Do you hear me?”
Jesus Christ. Sawyer’s fingers itched for his gun, but he couldn’t pull it. The place was too crowded, each person being an unpredictable variable in this shitty situation.
And Chloe knew that, dammit. Anyone with any common sense would have just let him handle this. But he’d been in enough bad spots to know that common sense wouldn’t come into play, not during a time of panic.
And people were panicked, he could practically smell it. The most panicked of all was Mitch. Sawyer watched the blood run down Mitch’s arm and wrist to drip on the floor. With any luck, he’d pass out from blood loss. “Let her go, Mitch,” he said again.
“No way, man. I watch those cop shows. I know what happens to a guy like me.”
Sawyer would have liked to evacuate the diner quickly and quietly, but no one in Lucky Harbor did anything quickly or quietly. “Nothing’s going to happen to you if you let her go.” He took a few steps forward, stopping only when Mitch tightened his grip on Amy, cutting off her air supply.
Amy clawed desperately at Mitch’s bloody arm.
“Stop it,” Chloe yelled. “You’re strangling her. Stop it!”
Mitch eyed the front door, but Sawyer was blocking it. “Let her go,” Sawyer told him. “And I’ll let you walk free and clear.” He spoke the lie smoothly, without blinking an eye.
“Fine.” Mitch shoved Amy hard at Sawyer, but before he could make his escape, Chloe whirled and executed a badass roundhouse kick to Mitch’s family jewels.
Mitch let out an unholy scream but didn’t go down. He reached for Chloe, but Sawyer was already lunging forward. He vaulted the table between them, hitting Mitch in the middle of the back. They crashed into the center of Chloe’s table. The Formica table cracked and broke beneath them, sending them to the floor hard.
Sawyer pulled Mitch’s hands behind his back and cuffed him just as the front door opened.
Everyone craned their necks to see what now.
Matt Bowers walked in. Though he was wearing his forest ranger uniform and obviously armed, he was looking loose and relaxed, sipping on a Starbucks coffee. He took in the room with his sharp eyes, not missing a thing. “Aw,” he said to Sawyer, taking a slow sip of his coffee. “You get all the fun.”
Chloe, Maddie, and Tara helped Amy and Jan clean up the diner. Chloe did so with an ear half bent toward the action outside, where Sawyer had hauled Mitch.
The parking lot was cop central. Chloe could see Sawyer in profile, looking particularly badass in his uniform and various weaponry, his face the usual impassive blank as he directed Mitch toward the back of an ambulance. Odd how one man could evoke so many emotions within her. Lust? Oh yeah, much of the time. The urge to smack him upside the back of his head? Yep, that was often there, too. Affection? She’d have said no. He didn’t need her affection, everyone admired and loved Sawyer, who was just about the most composed, self-assured, capable man she’d ever met.
But there was something suspiciously close to affection filling her now, which had her shaking her head at herself.
Todd, Jamie, and their other pal were out there, seated on the curb being questioned. Inside the diner, things were nearly back to normal, but Chloe didn’t think she’d forget anytime soon the way Sawyer had looked facing Mitch. Her stoic sheriff had been steady and calm, his body at ease but ready for anything.
Willing to put his life on the line.
It’d been that willingness that had really brought home the realities of his job. He wasn’t playing at getting a thrill, the way she did when she went rock climbing or hang gliding.
His job was real. And potentially lethal.
There’d been that one horrible moment when Mitch’s arm had tightened over Amy’s throat and Amy had made that little involuntary squeak as she’d used up the last of her air. Terror. More than anyone, Chloe knew what that terror was like, and she’d never felt so helpless in her life, so she’d interfered. She’d just been so afraid that Sawyer’s help would come too late.
She’d made it worse, but Sawyer had handled it. He’d had an entire diner full of scared customers, and yet he’d resolved the situation with minimal damage.
Amy came up next to her at the window.
“You should go home,” Chloe said gently.
Clearly made of sterner stuff, Amy shook her head. “I’d rather be here and keep busy. Besides, the police said I’ll need to answer some questions for their report in a few minutes. I wanted to thank you for helping. We’ve got customers pouring in now. Lucille must have put it up on Facebook already.”
The cook’s bell dinged from the kitchen, and with a tight smile at Chloe, Amy moved off.
Chloe stayed at the window. Without looking, she knew when her sisters closed in and flanked her. A year and a half ago, they’d been complete strangers to each other. Now she could sense their presence without a single glance, just as she also knew that Tara was frowning in concern and Maddie was waiting for the right moment to hug her tight. That was Maddie’s thing, hugging. Kissing. Throwing the love around.
Chloe could appreciate that the three of them were very different, that they each had their own way of expressing their feelings, but she herself was of the show-don’t-tell school. She showed her feelings through actions, which she thought she’d done over and over again for her sisters by laying down roots here. It certainly hadn’t been for herself. At least not at first. “Close call,” she murmured.
“You’ve had a few of those in as many days now,” Tara said.
“I’m fine.”
“You always say that.”
“It’s true.”
Tara nodded. “You’re resilient,” Tara agreed. “But we still worry.”
“Not necessary.”
Together through the window they watched Sawyer, though Chloe was probably the only one whose good parts twitched at the way his uniform fit his big body.
“Let’s go home,” Maddie said after a few minutes, slipping an arm around each sister.
Tara nodded.
“I’ll meet you there,” Chloe said.
“’Kay.” Maddie squeezed them both, then kissed Chloe’s cheek. “Love you.”
“You too,” Chloe said, and though she didn’t take her eyes off Sawyer, she still felt it when Maddie rolled her eyes at Tara.
Tara didn’t hug Chloe, waiting instead until Chloe looked at her. “And you love me, too, right?”
“Sure,” Chloe said. Hello, wasn’t that implied?
“One of these days,” Tara grumbled, “you’re going to say it to me, and I’m going to be too old to hear you.”
“You’re too old now.”
Tara sighed. “See you at the inn.”
“Mm-hmm.” Chloe could see inside the ambulance. Mitch’s arm was being wrapped, with Sawyer watching closely. When Mitch shifted as if to run, Sawyer put a hand on his shoulder.
He had big hands. Capable of subduing suspects. Equally capable of taking her straight to ecstasy. He was also of the show-don’t-tell persuasion, which she appreciated.
“Hey,” Amy called out to Chloe as she strode by, her thin but toned arms straining under the weight of a heavily loaded tray. “No drooling on the glass!”
Sawyer drove himself to the ER. He’d sliced one palm and also had a cut above his left eye. Regulations required him to go for a hepatitis shot and to get checked out whenever blood was shed.
It took less than an hour. No stitches, just another boatload of paperwork. He was just walking out of the ER when a Vespa pulled up. He watched as Chloe parked illegally and walked to the entrance, stopping when she caught sight of him standing there beneath the overhang.
“Hey,” he said. “What are you-” He was deeply startled and stunned when she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed him tight.
When she’d interfered at the café, fear and fury had fought for equal space in his brain. With the fear for her safety gone, it left more room for the temper.
“I just heard you were hurt,” she said.
“I’m fine. Chloe-”
She reached up and touched the bandage over his brow.
He grabbed her wrist. “We need to talk.”
“Okay, so I butted in and I shouldn’t have.”
“Damn right you shouldn’t have.”
She glanced up at him, eyes fierce. “He was hurting her. And I was closer.” Her eyes settled on the bandage over his brow. “I’m sorry you got hurt.”
“It’s nothing. You’re the one who could have gotten hurt.”
“You had a gun.”
He gaped at her. “The diner was full. I couldn’t pull my gun. There are rules, protocols-”
“He was hurting Amy!” She looked at his cut and frowned.
“I’m fine.” If this whole thing wasn’t an example of their basic differences, he didn’t know what was. He’d never actually had to choose between his job and a woman before, and he never wanted to. He closed his eyes and found that his temper couldn’t hold up against the feeling of her warm and safe in his arms.
“I was scared,” she murmured.
“You’re safe now.”
“Not for myself! For you!” She took a breath. “But it’s your job. I get that, because your job is a part of you. No one gets that more than me.”
He’d lost his last girlfriend because of his job. And the one before that, too, now that he thought about it. He’d figured no woman could get it, but he’d forgotten.
Chloe wasn’t just any woman.
“I imagine it takes some time to learn to deal with the worry,” she said.
He felt an ironic smile twist his lips. “Want a lesson on how to deal with someone in your life who makes you worry?”
She stared at him. Then smiled. “Do you worry about me a lot?”
“Twenty-four seven.”
Her smile warmed. “We could start a club.” She found the bandage on his palm, and taking his hand in hers, turned it over to inspect it.
“Just a scratch,” he said.
Chloe nodded, then kissed the skin just above the bandage. He’d known that she enjoyed baiting him. That she’d also enjoyed driving him nuts. That she was sexually attracted to him.
All those things were mutual.
But this…this felt like more. It felt like a level of caring he hadn’t realized existed.
For either of them.
After the brief ER visit, Sawyer went back to the station to finish up the paperwork before finally dragging his sorry ass toward home.
He probably shouldn’t go so far as to call the house he’d purchased earlier in the year home. He actually wasn’t sure why he’d bought it in the first place, other than Jax had been on his ass to buy instead of rent for years now.
Sawyer had liked renting, liked not being responsible. But now that he’d gone and put his name on the dotted line of a mortgage, he was getting used to it. Plus he had to admit, owning a house gave him an air of unexpected stability, even respectability. It took him one more step away from that reckless guy he’d nearly turned out to be. Like Mitch. Like Todd. Like the thug his father had been so damn sure he’d end up being, rotting in jail somewhere.
But Sawyer hadn’t. He’d turned himself around. And he’d bought a fucking house to prove it.
The place needed work. A lot of work, actually. The house was older, built in the 1970s. The color scheme was early Partridge family. A month ago, he’d bought paint for the living room, dining room, and kitchen, and it’d been sitting in his garage ever since. His garage. Christ. At least he didn’t have a white picket fence and two-point-four kids.
When he’d first told his dad that he’d bought the house, the old man had frowned. “You gonna keep it up?”
No, he’d just spent $250,000 to let the thing rot away. Grimacing, Sawyer ignored his still pea green walls and went straight to the kitchen. The refrigerator held beer, a questionable gallon of milk, something that had maybe once upon a time been cheese, and a leftover…something.
Stomach growling, he took a beer, pulled out his cell phone, and called the diner, surprised when he heard “Eat Me” in Amy’s usual brisk cheer.
“Amy, it’s Sawyer,” he said. “You should have gone home after this evening.”
“Are you kidding? Retelling my near-miss is making me some serious bank in tips today. You need a late dinner, Sheriff?”
“Yeah. You have anyone making deliveries tonight?”
“For you, yes. Let me guess-a bacon blue burger, extra blue, side of fries, and a dinner salad with no tomatoes, because tomatoes are a vegetable and despite the fact that you’re six feet three of pure man, you eat like a little boy.”
“Hey,” he said. “Salad’s a vegetable.”
“Iceberg lettuce is a single step up from water. Doesn’t count.”
“Good, then forget the salad,” Sawyer said. “And make it two burgers and double the fries.”
While he waited for his dinner, he went into the garage and eyeballed the buckets of paint. “Fuckers,” he said to them, but picked one up and carried it into the dining room. “You ready?” he asked his walls.
They didn’t have an opinion.
He’d taken a second beer and rolled two very nice plain “ecru” stripes when the doorbell rang. He answered while reaching into his pocket for money to pay the delivery kid.
But it wasn’t a delivery kid at all.
It was Chloe, wearing a short denim skirt, emphasis on short, and a black angora sweater that was slipping off one shoulder, revealing a little black strap of something silky. And holy smoking hell, was she a sight for sore eyes.
“Hey,” she said.
Ever since their little playtime in his shower, their encounters together had vacillated between awkwardness and their usual lust-filled animosity. Right now it was a little of both. He cleared his throat. “Hey.”
“I forgot to say thanks at the hospital earlier, for getting my Vespa back to me.”
“Thanks for not dying on me in my shower.”
She snorted. “You’re just glad you didn’t have to explain that to Tara.”
He felt his brows knit together and his stomach clench.
“I’m kidding.” She flashed a smile. “Gonna have to lighten up, Sheriff, otherwise life sucks golf balls.” Looking like sin on a stick, she held up two large bags from the diner. “I went back to the diner to get dinner to go for Maddie and Tara and found Amy bagging your order. She got someone else to deliver to the inn and sent me here with enough food for two normal guys. Or for one starving sheriff.” She tried to come in, but he stopped her forward progress.
“Inhaler?” he asked.
“In my pocket, Sheriff. Sir.” She added a salute. “Can I come in now?”
This was a very bad idea, of course, but she simply pushed past him, her sweet little ass moving seductively in that skirt as she walked through his nearly empty living room and into the dining room.
She looked at the few swipes he’d taken with the roller. “Coming right along, are we?”
“Been busy.”
She’d been busy, too, he knew. Everyone and their mother in Lucky Harbor had felt free to keep him up-to-date on her every move. She’d been taking care of Lance, working at various hotel spas in the state, giving geriatric yoga classes at Matt’s studio to Lucille and her cronies, and planning a sunroom renovation at the inn for a day spa.
And if she’d trespassed, done any B &E, or anything else illegal, he hadn’t caught wind of it. Or maybe she’d laid low. No doubt she still had that rowdy untethered spirit that he was so inexplicably attracted to. But she’d changed over the last few months. Not settled down-not in any way, shape, or form, but she’d done something else, something better.
She’d found a place to belong.
He wondered if she even knew it yet. Best not to ask. Best not to keep her here one second longer than necessary, as they clearly didn’t have themselves under control around each other.
Or maybe that was just him. He didn’t have himself under control, not when his hands were shoved deep in his pockets to keep them off her. It was getting hard to remember why they were a bad idea.
Because she’s the opposite of your type. She was crazy unpredictable, spontaneous…
Okay, that was a load of bullshit. She spoke to the part of him that he kept locked down tight. And that. That was why this was a bad idea. He wasn’t ever going to be the man she wanted or needed, one who’d fly off a mountain on a hang glider simply for the thrill. One who’d open a vein and bleed out his emotions at the drop of a hat. Or crawl under a fence into private property to rescue a couple of dogs.
He wasn’t that guy. He’d committed himself to the obligations of duty and discipline. His job swallowed him whole, and that was just how it was. So he stood in the doorway of the dining room waiting for her to set down the food and leave.
Instead, she turned to him with a little smile that was disarmingly contagious. “You may not know this about me,” she said. “But I’m excellent with a paint brush.”
Oh, Christ. He was a goner.