Allison Leigh - Sarah And The Sheriff

“I’m your first lover, Sarah.”

She tossed back her head, pride stiffening her resolve. “Do you really think you’ve been such a…a monument in my life, after just those few weeks we were involved? I could have had dozens of lovers since you. Ones that I tossed aside as easily as you did me.”

“There was no tossing and it sure as hell wasn’t easy.” Max’s brooding gaze met hers. “And I don’t think there have been dozens.” His voice was soft. Impossibly gentle.

“Go to hell.”

“Been there.” He looked pained and his fingers, when they touched her cheek, weren’t steady.

Or maybe that was just because she was shaking. From head to toe.

“You were the one I loved, Sarah.” His fingers smoothed down her cheek. Traced her jaw. “That was never a lie.”

He closed the last few inches between them, covering her mouth with his.

Dear Reader,

I think there is nothing better than a happy ending. The guy gets the girl, and all is right with the world. The bad guy gets caught, and justice is served. The personal struggle is overcome, and the character we’ve come to care about moves on, somehow stronger in the process.

The hard part, as a writer, is that it’s not very interesting if we just magically “arrive” at the happy ending. We can’t get to that point without having to experience all the problems beforehand, can’t fully appreciate the high moments without also having a brush with the low times.

Sarah Clay has yet to learn that those low moments are all a part of her life’s path, and to accept the fact that for her, the highest moments will only come when she opens her heart again. But, as we all know, opening one’s heart to another person can truly be one of the most difficult things to do in life. This is Sarah’s struggle with Max, and it’s also Max’s struggle with his past.

Thank you for joining Sarah and Max and me as we all, once again, visit Weaver to share in a journey to another happy ending.

Sincerely,

Allison Leigh

Allison Leigh

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For my parents, who’ve celebrated more

than forty-nine years together.

You are my inspiration.

She hadn’t thought things could get any worse.

Twenty-one years old.

Pregnant with no husband in the wings. No fiancé, of course. And a boyfriend? Oh, please.

Sarah wanted to laugh over that one, and might have if she hadn’t felt so horrible.

Laughing might have drawn attention to herself, anyway. And attention was the last thing she wanted, considering she was practically hiding in the thick of an oleander bush that was as tall as she was.

She brushed at the pink blossoms tickling her arm, shifting her position. The bride was handing off her spray of deep red roses to her attendant and Sarah nearly jumped out of her skin when a voice spoke behind her.

“I love weddings.”

She looked at the small, wizened woman who’d toddled up beside her. If she’d noticed anything odd about Sarah’s position, virtually hiding in a bush, she said nothing. “Don’t you, dear?”

Feeling stupid—nothing new there, either—Sarah managed a shrug and a noncommittal smile.

Again, the woman didn’t seem to take any notice. She just peered around the bushes of the Malibu garden in which they stood, toward the bridal couple standing about fifty yards away. “They have weddings at this spot pretty regularly. I can certainly understand why, though, with the Pacific Ocean in the background and the garden here. It’s a lovely setting.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Of course, in my day—” the woman’s voice dropped, confidentially “—choosing to get married out of doors usually meant the bride was going to be having an early baby. Premature, but not really premature.” Her face wrinkled even more as she continued her study. “Times are different nowadays. And the bride obviously has already had her baby. Looks like a tiny mite, being held like that against the daddy’s shoulder. Wonder if it is a boy or a girl?”

Sarah couldn’t manage even a shrug. “Boy.” The word felt raw against her throat. The reality of that boy baby had felt raw in her soul since she’d learned of his existence a few weeks earlier. “And not so tiny. He’s nearly nine months old already.”

“Really? You know the couple? Why aren’t you sitting with the rest of the guests?”

Sarah wished she’d kept quiet. “I didn’t expect to make the wedding,” she murmured.

“Are you a friend of the bride or the groom?”

“Groom,” she said. “Acquaintances.” Which was a lie.

One didn’t make love with acquaintances.

They didn’t fool themselves into thinking they loved an acquaintance.

The explanation was good enough for the woman, though. “Ahh. Well, that baby will probably grow up as handsome as his daddy there,” the woman mused. “My husband was tall and dark like that. Italian.” Her wrinkles deepened again with a surprisingly impish smile. “Passionate.”

Sarah forced her lips to curve.

“Bride’s gown is pretty, too. Nothing I’d want to see my granddaughter wearing, mind you, but still pretty.”

The gown was pretty. Sophisticated. Sleeveless and reaching just past her knees. It wasn’t even white, but a sort of pinkish oyster-like hue that seemed to reflect the glow of the sun as it hung on the horizon over the ocean.

“What do you do, dear?”

Sarah swallowed. “I’m an intern at the L.A. office of Frowley-Hughes.”

The woman looked blank.

“It’s a brokerage firm.”

“Ahh. Financial stuff.” Seemingly satisfied, the woman turned her focus back to the wedding party. “I taught school. Until my own children started coming along.”

Sarah managed not to press her hand against her abdomen. She knew it was still flat beneath her T-shirt and jeans, but she was painfully aware that state would end soon enough. “How many did you have?”

“Four. And now I have eleven grandchildren. They’re scattered all over, though. Don’t come out to see their old grandma here in California too often.”

Sarah felt a swift longing. “My family is mostly in Wyoming.”

“Long way from here.”

“Yes.” Her gaze settled on the groom once more. “A long way.”

“Maybe someday you’ll have a beachside wedding. You’d be a beautiful bride. Such wonderful long hair you have.”

Sarah’s throat tightened. The memory of his hands tangling in her hair taunted her. “Thank you. But I don’t have any plans to get married.”

The woman smiled and waved her hand. “Forgive me, but you’re just young. You wait. You’ll want a husband and children at some point. I can tell. Oh, look.” She nodded toward the wedding party again. “They’re doing the rings now. Such a beautiful couple,” she said again, her voice a satisfied sigh.

The bride did look beautiful.

The groom did look handsome.

And the baby—well, the baby was a baby. Sarah couldn’t blame a baby.

She couldn’t blame that lovely bride, either.

But the groom?

Oh, she could certainly blame him, all right.

But the person she blamed the most?

That would be herself.

She turned away, pushing the oleander branches out of her way, being careful not to let them snap back and hit the other woman.

“Don’t you want to watch the rest of the wedding?”

Sarah shook her head gently. “No. I’ve seen enough.”

More than enough.

Only problem was, she’d seen it all too late. Much too late.

And though Sarah had thought things couldn’t get any worse, it was only a matter of months before she learned that they could .

Chapter One

The first time Sarah saw the name on her class roster, she felt shock unlike anything she’d felt in years roll through her.

Elijah Scalise.

Not that daunting of a name, really. It surely suited the dark-haired eight-year-old boy who’d soon be joining her third-grade class. She had made a point of not looking at the boy’s picture, even though she was perfectly aware that there was one. It was framed in a plain gold frame that sat on his grandmother’s desk in the classroom right next to Sarah’s classroom. Genna Scalise often talked about her grandson, Eli.

Sarah hadn’t expected to ever be the boy’s teacher, though.

She set aside the roster on her desk and went to the window that overlooked the playground. Frost still clung to the exterior corners and she could feel the coolness of the pane radiating from it. Outside, the bell hadn’t yet rung and children were clambering over the swings and jungle gym. Winter scarves flew in the breeze and boots crunched over the crispy skiff of snow scattered across the playground.

Despite the cold, they were enjoying the last few minutes of freedom before they had to settle down into their seats. Until they broke for recess in a few hours, that was.

Nothing like feeling carefree.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt as carefree as they looked.

Which wasn’t strictly true. She could probably pick the exact date on the calendar when she’d stopped feeling carefree.

Her gaze slid to the class roster.

“So, why didn’t you tell me the news?” The chipper female voice drew her attention to the doorway of her classroom.

“Hey, Dee. What news?”

“About the new deputy.” Deirdre Crowder was the sixth-grade teacher and at five-foot-nothing, she was about as big as a minute. Her blue eyes were mischievous. “He works for your uncle, girl, but you could have shared the wealth. A new, single man suddenly in town and all that. If it were the week before Christmas rather than Thanksgiving, I’d consider him to be our very own Christmas present!”

Sarah now had years of practice under her belt at keeping her true thoughts to herself. “Go for it,” she said with a smile. “He’s my new student’s father. And you know I don’t get involved with my kids’ fathers.”

Dee’s eyebrows lifted as she sauntered into the room. Her shoulder-length blond hair seemed to crackle with the energy that kept it curled in loose ringlets. “I may have only come to Weaver a year ago, but as far as I can tell, you don’t get involved with anyone. What’s with you?” She joined Sarah at the window. “If I had your looks I’d be dating every available man in town.”

“There is nothing wrong with your looks,” Sarah countered. She’d heard Dee’s opinion plenty in the months since school had begun in August. “Deputy Tommy Potter thinks they’re about perfect.”

“Oh, Tommy.” Dee shook her head, dismissively. “Unless he was going to arrest me for something, or wants to spread a little gossip, that boy moves about as slow as molasses in winter. He has no gumption.” She pushed up the sleeves of her bright red sweater and pointed out the window. “Since it might as well be winter, with all that snow on the ground, you can just imagine the snail’s pace I’m talking about.”

Sarah’s lips curved. “You’re the one who moved to a small town, Dee. Could have stayed in Cheyenne where the pickings were more varied.”

Dee pressed her nose against the cold windowpane, looking not much older than the children playing outside. “Have you met him? The new deputy, I mean? I heard he comes from Weaver.”