Secretly Married

Sara eyed him a moment longer. “Samson and Delaney. Kind of funny, isn’t it? Almost like Samson and Delilah.”

His wife had once been his only weakness. “Funny.” Oh, yeah. Har-dee-har-har.

“Well.” Sara slid off the bar stool. “I’m a good listener if you want to talk.” Her tone was dry. They both knew Sam didn’t share his thoughts with much of anybody. “Don’t pour too much more of that stuff for the sheriff, here, Leo,” she said as she headed toward the door. “It’s lethal.”

Sam barely waited for the door to close behind Sara. “Leo.” He snagged his brother’s attention from the television and lifted his empty mug.

Leo grimaced, then headed back over to Sam. “She’s right, man, you’re gonna be sorry.”

“Pour.”

Leo shook his head, regretfully. But he poured, then ambled back over to watch the remainder of his black-and-white midnight screamer.

Sam lifted the mug of what was hands-down the vilest coffee he’d ever tasted.

“Y’oughta have a beer,” Leo said, not looking his way. “Or turpentine. Be easier on the stomach.”

Easier didn’t mean better. Given Sam’s current frame of mind, once he started drinking he wasn’t gonna want to stop until he couldn’t remember that Delaney was still back at his place.

“You going to Etta’s tomorrow?” Leo’s voice interrupted his grim thoughts.

Sam twisted the coffee mug back and forth, lining it up with the permanent rings on the bar. “No.”

“First time since you came back to the island that you’re going to miss her Sunday dinner.”

“She’ll live.” He wasn’t in the mood to discuss his reasons for avoiding his grandmother’s traditional Sunday meal. Leo knew the reasons well enough.

Leo shrugged. “Etta’s gonna use your tail for dog chow if you don’t show up tomorrow. With your wife in tow. Word travels fast around here. It’s a wonder she hasn’t already hunted you down about that particular bit.”

Truth was, Sam was a little surprised at that, too. “I can handle Etta.” And “towing” had never worked with Delaney.

Leo’s lips quirked. He looked back at the television. Then the clock. The bar would close at two. Not a minute before, not a minute later, whether there were patrons present or not.

“Heard she’s good-looking.”

“Etta? That’s where you get the looks, Leo,” Sam deadpanned.

His brother shot him the bird. Some described Henrietta Vega as a handsome woman. Sam considered her a tough old bird. In looks as well as personality. He loved her, but generally—aside from her fried chicken and mashed potatoes—she was a source of regular irritation.

“Did you leave her or was it the other way around?”

No respite. No need to clarify who Leo was speaking of. “Depends who you ask,” he said truthfully, and stood. “Don’t let the Haggerty boys back in here for a few days. Vern’s been aching for trouble since he got booted from the academy.”

“Their money’s good.”

“Their brains aren’t. Those two are spoiling for a fight about something and getting drunk isn’t helping. Next time they might do more damage than bust up a few bar stools.”

Leo nodded. “Yeah, whatever. Go home to your wife and stop lecturing me.” There was no heat in Leo’s voice.

Sam left.

Go home to your wife. Now there was a damned strange thing to consider.

Too strange to do just yet. Instead, he drove up and down Turnabout Road. Going slowly, looking over the sleeping town. Sara’s moonlit fields where she and Annie grew crops for their shop of lotions and herbal goops. Diego Montoya’s recently rebuilt dock where his ancient ferry rocked in the water, making soft thumps and gentle rattles. Then back up to the road to the far end of the isle where the gates of Castillo House were closed. A few windows in the big house glowed yellow in the night, but the Christmas lights from the party were all dark.

His tires crunched over gravel and crumbling black-top as he turned the vehicle around. Eight-point-seven miles straight down the only real road the island possessed and he was back at his own place.

No glowing windows welcomed him home.

He turned off the engine, leaving the key in the ignition. Nobody on the island would steal his truck. There would be no place to go with it.

He went inside, heading straight to his room. It wasn’t his imagination that caught Delaney’s scent as he walked through the dark house. It was the same custom perfume that she’d liked before.

He shook off the memory and moved to the glass door that opened onto the rear deck. But his hand paused as he glanced out.

She’d turned on the outdoor light and though it wasn’t very bright, he could plainly see Delaney sitting in one of the chairs on the narrow deck. That surprised him. Though she had pushed the chair as close to the house as it would go to put more distance between her and the rail overlooking the cliff. What didn’t surprise him was the file that she was reading, occasionally scrawling some note.

He stood there, silently, watching her for a long while, knowing she wouldn’t be able to see him standing there in the dark even if she did look his way. She was as slender as ever, her crossed legs as long and shapely as his dreams frequently reminded. Tailored, no frills and completely female with a love for shoes that made her ankles look even finer. He’d always been torn between male appreciation of her unabashedly sexy shoes and amusement that the things were hazardous. His gaze drifted down to her bare feet. Her toenails were painted red and that was new. Not at all the subtle pastel stuff she’d worn before. She’d also taken down her hair. The white-blond gleam of it drifted around her slender shoulders. From the day he’d met her, she’d confined her hair. In pins, or a ponytail. He still remembered the feel of the silky strands the first time he’d pulled the hair free. He closed his fingers against the itch in his palms.

Now, either she was playing some game that completely escaped him, or she really did believe they were divorced.

Both seemed implausible ideas when it came to Delaney.

He abruptly slid open the door and her head whipped around at the sound. “You can use the guest room,” he said before she could speak. “The bed’s not made. I’ll have to find you some sheets.”

She closed the file in her briefcase and pushed out of the padded chair to face him. The breeze lifted her hair. “I already did. Make the bed, that is.”

“Efficient of you.”

“Don’t look at me like that. It was something to do since I’ve been stuck here for the past few hours.”

He stepped closer to her, getting in her space. He’d learned a long time ago that it was one of the only ways to break through that mile-high reserve of hers. Most people would simply step away from someone invading their personal space, but not Delaney. Not when she had an even higher share of pride than reserve.

And underneath it all a boundless heart that occasionally snuck out and showed through her soft blue eyes. “I’m surprised you came out on the deck,” he murmured. “It’s pretty high up from the water.”

“Actually, it’s rather like being surrounded by the sky,” she said coolly.

Of course. Commenting on her fear of heights put that extra tone in her voice. “You have circles under your eyes.”

“Flattery always was your strong point, Sam.”

“You still don’t get enough sleep. Probably too busy reading case files in bed.”

She pressed her palm to her throat, her eyes going wide. “And here, all this time I thought you didn’t care.”

“Nice to know we still bring out the best in each other.”

She didn’t bat an eye. “Isn’t it? And I’ll take your kind offer of the guest room with my assurance that I’ll leave as soon as humanly possible. I’ll catch Mr. Montoya’s ferry first thing.”