Sarah And The Sheriff

“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.”

If Sarah hadn’t been prepared to see that name on her class roster, she definitely wasn’t prepared to discuss her new student’s father. “He left Weaver a long time ago.”

“Yeah, but you did know him, right? Most everyone in Weaver seems to know everyone else.”

“Maybe by sight,” Sarah allowed. Though the Clay family had its history with the Scalise family—history that had nothing to do with her experience with him. “Talk to Genna,” she suggested. “She’s his mother. She could tell you everything you ever wanted to know about Max.”

Her throat tightened.

Max.

At the mention of Genna, the most senior teacher at Weaver Elementary, Dee turned her back on the window. “How’s she healing up, anyway?”