“So when do we start calling you Sheriff Saxon?” Abby asked as Gil slid an apologetic look in Holly’s direction, then added the hint of a smile to calm the waters.
“I start next week,” Luke said with a pointed look at Holly. “And even then it’s temporary. I’ll be serving the remainder of Jake’s appointed term.”
“Well, in any case,” Abby said, “welcome home.”
“I appreciate that.” Luke deposited his change in the tip jar on the counter.
“Thanks,” Holly said, finishing up with Gil’s bill. As the two men turned to leave, she picked up the shake and the bag and followed them. “Here.” She held out the paper sack and foam cup to Luke. “Chili-cheese fries, chocolate mocha shake. For later.”
Luke blinked.
“Your usual. From back in the day.” Not at all what she’d planned to say, but at the last second, she shifted her tactics and stopped herself from letting the accusations fly full force. “Just because my father was willing to forgive you doesn’t mean I’m going to. But Grandma wouldn’t have sent you off without dinner on your first night back. So, well, there you go.” When she turned to the counter she avoided Abby’s know-it-all grin by focusing on Simon. Except his stool was empty. Her stomach dropped. “Crap. Where’s that kid gotten to now?”
* * *
“MAYBE I SHOULD have listed Holly under the hazard-pay clause of your contract.” The lines around Gil’s eyes appeared as he squinted against the early-afternoon sun. “She was borderline rude.”
“Rude would have been dumping this in my lap,” Luke said, uncertain how he should feel about the gesture. “Holly’s defending her father, Gil.” Luke stopped beside the dinged-up red pickup he’d bought from a police impound-lot auction last year. “I’m not going to fault her for it.” All these years, he couldn’t comprehend defending his own.
The bag Holly had pushed on him continued to steam as his other hand froze around the milk shake he had yet to let go of.
How much teenage time had he spent in the diner gorging on chili-cheese fries and downing mocha shakes to avoid going home because doing so usually meant his father would be passed out by the time he walked through the door? Those last couple of years before he’d left he’d done just about anything he could think of to avoid his father and the rage. At least in Sheriff Gordon’s holding cell he’d been safe.
His mouth quirked. Holly never would have supplied him with dinner if she knew doing so reminded him of one of the few good memories from his childhood. “Bonus for me. I don’t have to worry about cooking tonight.”
“Must take a lot to tick you off.” Gil gave him a quick salute. “Good thing, given your new job. Oh, hey, I had Emery do some upkeep for your folks’ house. Nothing major. Mowed the lawn, sheared the shrubs, boarded up a few windowpanes to keep the chill out. The place isn’t in great shape—”
“Thanks, Gil.” Luke’s stomach gripped his still-digesting lunch. And here he thought facing Holly or her father would be the hardest part of his return. Going back to the house he’d sworn never to step foot in again... “I’ll catch up with you next week to talk about the department budget.” By then he should have his bearings.
Luke opened the door and leaned in to stow the fries and shake in the cab, and when he stood, he found the boy from the diner right behind him, accusing eyes scrunched, arms crossed over the emblem of his Proton Patrol T-shirt.
Even if Luke hadn’t known the boy’s father growing up, there was no mistaking Grayson Campbell’s son. Gray and Holly had been tied at the hip from the time she was sixteen. She, the knockout golden child of the town sheriff, and Gray, the drama-club president and star pitcher of the baseball team. As far as Luke was concerned, he couldn’t relate.
“You’re the man taking my grandpa’s job.” The accusation cut Luke to the quick, but he had to give the kid credit for confronting him. Few adults would have the nerve to do the same.
“I suppose I am.” Luke braced his arm on the door, giving the boy a chance to purge his grievance.
“But it’s his job. Not yours.”
Luke resisted the urge to squirm. “Does your mom know you’re out here...?”
“Simon.” Simon’s chin went up, his fists tightened. “Simon Grayson Campbell. And you’re Luke Saxon. I’ve heard about you.”
“I’m sure you have.” Luke could only imagine what the little man had heard. “I went to school with your parents. Did you know that?”
“Maybe.” Simon’s eyes reflected surprise and suspicion before grief flashed like a struck match. “My dad died.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Were you friends?” Even with the hostile stare, Luke saw hope searching for a way out.
“Everyone liked your dad.” Because Gray had treated everyone equally. Even the son of the town drunk. But no, they hadn’t been friends. Luke hadn’t had friends. “He was a good guy.”
Some of Simon’s suspicion faded. “I don’t like my grandpa to be unhappy. Mom says losing his job’s made him unhappy.”
“I’m sorry for that.” But he’d given his word to Jake and Gil. The diner door banged open. “I think your mom is looking for you.”
“Simon!” Holly blasted out the door, making her son jump and Luke wince. He knew what it was like to be on the other side of that tone, but at least he didn’t have to worry about this boy’s safety. “Come inside right now.”
“But he knew Dad.” Simon looked at his mom and then did as he was told.
“Hurry. Inside, now.” She pushed him in the door before she faced Luke. “It’d be best if you stayed away from him. From all of us.”
Chills of irritation pricked his spine as his jaw tightened. Did she think he was going to get in his car and run the kid down? “He followed me, Holly.”
“That might be, but next time—”
“Keep a better eye on your son and there won’t be a next time.” When she flinched, he let out a breath and counted to ten. Anger wasn’t going to get either of them anywhere—and he’d rather die than venture into the dark place anger would take him. “I apologize. That was uncalled-for. I was sorry to hear about Gray.”
“Thank you.” She tucked her hair behind her ear and seemed to debate what to say next. She crossed her arms over her chest. When she spoke, he heard the resignation in her tight voice. “You’re really staying?”
“I really am. Better get used to it. Otherwise it’s going to be a very long year for all of us.”
THE SHARP RAP on her back patio door Sunday morning sent flour flying as Holly noted the time on the kitchen clock. Nearly ten already? Where had the time gone? She’d better get a move on. She had to be at the diner by noon to take over for Ursula.
“It’s open, Dad.” The piecrust dough on the kitchen counter screamed for attention, which Holly gladly provided courtesy of her grandmother’s ancient rolling pin.
“Rough week?” Jake