The Hero's Sin

He’d sighed and rubbed a hand over his jaw. “Michael had it tough growing up. Did a couple of things he shouldn’t have. Angered some people. But he got through it and turned himself into somebody to be proud of.”

Stop talking in circles! she wanted to yell. Instead she thanked him for enlightening her, a sixth sense urging her to hurry back to Michael. His empty chair confirmed her intuition that he’d been about to bolt.

She surveyed the smiling couples twirling around the dance floor as the polka music played, hoping she was wrong, hoping Michael was among them. Somehow she knew she wouldn’t find him.

Marie Dombrowski spotted her and separated herself from her husband, her brows pinched together in what looked like sympathy. “Michael asked me to tell you he had to go.”

Sara must not have kept the dismay from her face, because Marie squeezed her hand. “I don’t think he wanted to leave, but another man—I didn’t recognize him but I do know he was drunk—was creating a scene. It seemed to me Michael left so there wouldn’t be trouble.”

Sara thought over what Nick Pollock had told her, but she didn’t have enough information about Michael’s past to figure out why somebody would accost him.

“He’s only been gone a few minutes,” Marie added. “If you hurry, you might be able to catch him.”

“Thanks.” Sara didn’t hesitate, heading for the exit as fast as her high heels would carry her. Before Michael disappeared, maybe forever, she at least wanted to say goodbye.

It wasn’t yet fully dark, but the outside lights were on, making it easy to spot Michael in the parking lot. Relief flooding her, she hurried down the sidewalk, then stopped dead. He wasn’t alone. A man who had at least thirty pounds on Michael was charging him. The man cocked his arm, drew his shoulder back and let his fist fly.

“No!” Sara yelled, rushing forward to stop the madness.

Michael lifted a forearm, deftly blocking the punch. Then in a lightning quick motion, he grabbed the man’s arm and twisted it around his back, effectively incapacitating him.

“Leggo,” the man groaned, obviously in discomfort, obviously drunk.

“Not until you understand me.” Michael’s low, firm voice carried toward Sara. “If you cause another scene at my friend’s wedding, I’ll make you regret it.”

He released the man’s arm and shoved him. The man stumbled backward, nearly falling before catching his balance.

“Go drink some black coffee,” Michael ordered harshly.

The man’s face, slack from too much alcohol, filled with what looked like hatred. “Go back where you came from,” he muttered. “No one wants you here.”

It looked as though the man was thinking about initiating another attack, but he rejected the notion, returning to the VFW hall on unsteady feet.

“You.” He pointed at Sara as he passed her, his finger shaky. “You should watch who you ’sociate with.”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion.” Without waiting for his response, she walked to where Michael was bending down to pick up his suit jacket from the pavement.

Michael straightened, his suit jacket in hand, and gave her a wry look. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

She looked toward the hall, confirming that the troublemaker had disappeared inside the building. “What I saw was you keeping that jerk from making trouble at your friend’s wedding.”

“I won’t argue with you there. Kenny Grieb’s bad news when he’s drunk.”

“What does he have against you?” Sara asked.

“A grudge,” Michael said, “which is why I’m leaving.”

She’d half expected him to be gone already when she came looking for him, but his declaration seemed to knock the wind from her. “What if I asked you not to go yet?”

“I wish things were different.” His eyes ran over her face like a caress. “But for your sake I should have left hours ago. I’m not exactly Mr. Popular.”

She couldn’t argue with that, but not everybody inside the hall had been hostile. Excluding the Pollocks, Michael hadn’t reached out to a single person. “You’re not exactly Mr. Congeniality either.”

He stared at her for a moment, then broke into a laugh. “Are you always this blunt?”

“Not always,” she said, “but usually.”

If she completely spoke her mind, she’d ask for details about why some people had a problem with him. Because she sensed the topic was a raw spot, she could wait until he was ready to tell her.

“Do you have a problem with an outspoken woman?” she asked.

“I have a problem with a woman jeopardizing her reputation in town by hanging out with me.”

“What reputation?” she retorted. “I just moved here. I don’t have a reputation.”

“You should be building one, and a wedding’s a good place to start.” He gestured toward the hall. “It’s not too late. Go network, make some new friends.”

“I can make friends tomorrow or the next day or the day after that,” she said. “I’m not going anywhere. But you are.”

“That’s right.” He looked toward the parking lot, then at her. If she hadn’t read regret in his gaze, she might have let him go.

“You don’t have to go until tomorrow morning, right? You don’t have anything pressing you need to do tonight? Anywhere you need to be?”

He narrowed his eyes as though it was a trick question. “No,” he said slowly.

“Then you can walk me home, because I’m leaving the reception, too.” She headed through the parking lot to the sidewalk adjacent to the street, her stomach turning somersaults at the prospect he might refuse. She didn’t know why she couldn’t let him leave just yet; she just knew that she couldn’t. “Coming?” she called over her shoulder.

She reached the sidewalk before conceding that he wasn’t following her. She took a deep breath, then turned around. He stood with his jacket in hand, his face half in shadows.

This is it, she thought, a lump forming in her throat.

This is goodbye.

“I can’t leave my car here,” he said. “Kenny Grieb knows where it’s parked.”

She released the breath she’d been holding, alleviating the strain on her lungs. Without letting him in on the relief that made her legs feel weak, she strode toward him on her high-heeled shoes.

“Then let’s move your car,” she said.

M ICHAEL FELT as though he’d been transported to an alternate universe.

After Sara directed him to a parking space in a lot adjacent to a real-estate office, they’d taken a sidewalk that led through the heart of Indigo Springs. Despite architecture dating back more than a hundred years, he barely recognized the town.

“Tell me again why we didn’t park in the block where you live,” Michael said.

“I said you could walk me home, not drive me home,” she said. A woman who knew her own mind, he thought.

Restaurants, only a few of which were familiar, were doing a brisk business. Photographers, crafters, glass blowers and painters had taken over previously abandoned storefronts. A bike shop seemed to be on every block. People who looked like tourists strolled the sidewalks.