The Hero's Sin

Twin dimples appeared on Mr. Pollock’s face, making him look boyish. “Then maybe you can persuade him to stick around for a while. Our boy here’s a world traveler. Did he tell you he just got back from Africa?”

Africa?

“I didn’t think so,” Mr. Pollock said before Sara recovered from the surprise. To Michael, he said, “Please tell me you’re staying in the States for a while.”

“Can’t do that,” Michael said. “I already applied for another assignment, probably in Ghana, but maybe in El Salvador.”

As they spoke, Sara was aware of other guests watching them. Watching Michael . But even though the reception was at least an hour old, only Mr. Pollock had approached him. She wondered why.

“If you ever decide to stay put, you know you have a job with me.” Mr. Pollock was about to say more when a willowy girl in her early teens with a mouthful of braces grabbed his hand.

“You said you’d dance with me, Uncle Nick,” she said, pulling him away as she spoke.

“Can you believe how shy this girl is,” he called to them over his shoulder, but he was laughing. “Catch you both later.”

Michael turned back around in his seat.

“Ghana? El Salvador?” Sara listed the countries. “I thought you said you were in construction.”

“ Overseas construction,” he said. “I go where the work is.”

“Isn’t all that moving around tough on you?”

“It suits me,” he said.

“Not me. My dad was a navy JAG so we never stayed in one place for long when I was growing up. I think that’s why Indigo Springs appeals to me. You can put down roots here.”

He was silent.

“How long ago did you leave?” she asked.

“Nine years.” He gave her a wry smile. “And it’s time I left again. That catering truck should be gone by now.”

“You can’t go yet!” Sara reached across the table and placed her hand over his, feeling electricity shoot right to her core. The orchestra began to play a lively tune. “Not until you teach me to polka.”

He arched one of his dark eyebrows. “What makes you think I can polka?”

“You and Johnny are friends, so you must have picked it up somewhere along the way.” Her hand still covered his, even though there was no reason for it. She withdrew it reluctantly and stood up, knocking over a half-filled glass of white wine that splashed over her dress. “Oh, no! I need to run to the restroom and blot up this mess. Don’t go anywhere, okay?”

She grabbed his arm and looked into his eyes, which were blue-gray, like the color of the river water. He nodded, but didn’t reply. She reluctantly let go and hurried to the restroom, casting a glance over her shoulder.

Despite the connection she felt when she touched him, she wasn’t sure Michael would be waiting when she returned.

M ICHAEL WATCHED the couples on the floor, deliberately not meeting anyone’s eyes. As soon as he danced one polka with Sara, he was out of here. He wouldn’t have stayed this long if not for that catering truck.

He expelled a short breath. Who was he kidding? The driver had probably moved that truck an hour ago. The reason Michael hadn’t left yet was wearing a pink and red dress.

“What the hell are you doing here, Donahue?” The words were slurred, but Michael recognized the voice before he saw the speaker.

Kenny Grieb, the ex-high-school jock Chrissy had dated before Michael. He wasn’t as lean or as muscular as he’d been in high school, but the bitterness in his expression was the same.

“I was invited,” Michael said.

“You shouldn’t have come,” Kenny drawled, moving closer as he talked. His floppy brown hair was untidy, his shirt coming loose from his dress slacks, his face flushed.

Michael had never been afraid of Kenny and wasn’t now, but put his hand up like a stop sign. “I don’t want any trouble.”

“Too late.” Kenny took another step and nearly tripped over an empty chair. It upended and clattered to the floor, drawing attention.

If Michael didn’t get out of here soon, Kenny would create a scene and cast an ugly pall over Johnny’s wedding day.

Michael glanced in the direction Sara had gone but didn’t see her. Regret seized him that he wouldn’t get a chance to say goodbye, but it couldn’t be helped.

“I was just leaving,” he said.

“That’s right,” Kenny yelled, his voice competing with the polka music. “Get out and don’t come back.”

Michael’s hands fisted at his sides, but for Johnny’s sake he said nothing. He stopped only long enough to intercept Marie Dombrowski and ask her to give Sara his apologies.

Then he left, a prospect that no longer held the same appeal now that he’d met Sara.

Dusk had settled over the town, but the temperature had dipped into what felt like the sixties, downright cool compared to Niger’s heart. He removed his suit jacket and loosened his tie, trying not to look back.

That was a problem of his. He usually couldn’t help looking back.

The catering truck was no longer double-parked behind his rental car, clearing a path for him to drive away from the reception. Away from Indigo Springs. Away from Sara, who had been a pipe dream anyway.

He took the keys out of his pocket and hit the remote. The lights of his PT Cruiser blinked on, sounding a short, shrill beep at the same time somebody called, “Not so fast, asshole.”

Great.

Kenny Grieb had followed him.

CHAPTER THREE

S ARA RUSHED BACK to the table, her dress damp from where she’d blotted up the wine. Her round trip had taken longer than expected because Johnny’s father waylaid her when she was exiting the restroom.

“Great to see you and Michael hitting it off,” Nick Pollock had said. “I get the feeling he doesn’t socialize much in the Peace Corps.”

“The Peace Corps!” Sara repeated. Why hadn’t she put that together herself when she learned of the far-flung places Michael had worked? “He never told me he was a volunteer.”

“Didn’t think he would. He’s sort of a serial volunteer. Been signing up for two-year assignments since he put himself through college. Holding down a full-time job at the time. He probably didn’t tell you that, either.”

“No,” Sara said. “But why are you telling me?”

“Because Michael’s a good man,” he’d said enigmatically, his expression suddenly serious. “Don’t let anyone tell you differently.”

“Why would anyone say differently?”