The Hero's Sin

“What happened to the sleepy town I remember?” Michael asked as they passed the red and white awning of an ice-cream shop. “This hardly seems like the same place.”

“It woke up,” Sara said. “Mostly because of the mountain-bikers and the hikers. At least, according to my real-estate agent. She said prices are low enough here for people to afford second homes.”

Even with the evidence of change all around, Michael had a tough time accepting that the heart of the town was different. Especially when they approached Abe’s General Store, a place that seemed frozen in time, right down to the red door with the hand-painted welcome sign.

Memories of his arms being roughly wrenched behind his back and the police taking him away in handcuffs came stampeding back, and he wished he was anywhere but here.

Correction: He wished they were anywhere but here.

He couldn’t regret spending time with a woman like Sara Brenneman, even though their relationship couldn’t go any further than her front door.

“Are you a mountain-biker? Is that why you moved here?” He kept his gaze straight ahead as they passed the general store, unwilling to resurrect any more bad memories.

“I moved here because I fell in love.”

Jealousy hit him hard, a ridiculous reaction, especially because he should have known a woman like her was spoken for. “You have a boyfriend?”

“I meant I fell in love with the town,” she said, laughing, and he could breathe again. “At first sight, too. I stopped to visit Penelope on the way back to Washington, D.C., from another friend’s wedding. That’s all it took.”

He waited for a car to pass before they crossed a side street to the quiet of the next block, mostly consisting of businesses that were closed for the day. “Didn’t you like living in Washington?”

“It’s the fast track I didn’t like. I lived in this great neighborhood near Capitol Hill, but spent most of my time at work. The more hours I billed, the more money the law firm made and the more chance I had of making partner.”

“Was that important to you?”

“I used to think so. I told you my dad was a navy JAG, right? Now he’s a partner at the firm where I worked. My mom’s a pediatrician. I’ve got a sister in law school and a brother in med school. Everybody’s a high achiever.”

“So what happened?”

“I woke up one night to a pounding on my door.” Her steps had slowed and he matched her more leisurely pace. “I saw a bloody, wild-eyed man through the peephole so I called 911 but didn’t open it.”

“Smart move.”

“Not really. Turned out he lived two doors down and he’d just been mugged. That’s when it hit me that I worked so many hours I couldn’t even recognize my own neighbor.”

“Not necessarily a bad thing.”

She shook her head. “For me, it was. I was so busy doing what was expected of me I didn’t think about what would make me happy. That’s having a social life and feeling like I’m part of a community.”

Once upon a time, Michael would have said he wanted to belong somewhere. But then Murray had booted him out of his great-aunt’s house and he’d learned how dangerous it was to want.

“Sounds like you’re in the right place.” He kept his voice determinedly noncommittal.

“I think so, but nobody else in my family does. They keep saying I’ll come back to my senses.” She cast him a sidelong glance. “Enough about me. How about you? You keep saying you’re leaving tomorrow, but where will you go?”

“To decompress,” he said.

A muscle in her jaw twitched, hinting she wasn’t satisfied with his short answer. It couldn’t be helped. She wouldn’t understand that the destination didn’t matter as long as it was away from here.

“There it is!” she suddenly exclaimed, clapping her hands like an excited child. “My law office.”

She indicated one of the stone row houses that lined the block. It was sandwiched between an insurance office and a dentist, across the street from a small city park that was in shadows.

“I thought I was walking you home.”

“I live on the two upper floors. It’s the coolest thing. The place is built on a hillside so the office is at street level, but the back of my second floor opens onto a private deck that has a catwalk leading to the woods.”

He glanced upward and saw a light shining in a second-floor window.

“Isn’t it perfect? Here, I’ll show you.” She took a key from her little pink evening purse, opened the heavy wood door and flipped on a light.

The setup was typical for a small office. A reception area in front with a pair of offices and a small supply room in the rear. Wood floors and crown molding ran throughout the first floor.

“I need to get it painted and buy some lamps and carpets and artwork. Oh, and get the phone company over here because the phones aren’t working. And hire an office manager. I’ve almost got it covered. I’m going shopping in Allentown tomorrow and I have a couple of job candidates coming in for interviews on Monday.”

Her words tripped over each other, and he tried to remember the last time he’d been that excited. He couldn’t. She grabbed his hand, leading him to an unusual oak receptionist’s desk shaped like a comma.

“Isn’t this great?” she asked. “The office furniture came with the place, but I was sure the previous owner would exclude this piece. It’s an antique, probably custom-made, too.”

“Beautiful,” he said, but he was referring to Sara instead of the desk. A light seemed to have switched on inside her as she showed him her office, transforming her from attractive to dazzling.

She turned to him, a sunny smile curving her lips. He tried to mask his attraction, but she must have seen it because the smile changed, its innocence fading. She looked down at their still-linked hands, then up at him. Her hand was silky and warm, the way he imagined the rest of her would feel. The air around them suddenly seemed charged.

“I don’t normally do this.” She rolled her eyes. “Okay, I never do this, but would you like to come upstairs?”

His body hardened, his mind leaping ahead to the two of them naked, entwined in her bed. He dropped her hand and stuffed both of his in his pockets. “This isn’t smart, Sara. We just met. You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know you risked your life to save a child you’d never seen before. I know you stopped a drunk from ruining your friend’s wedding.” She raised a hand when he would have protested. “And I know you’re in the Peace Corps.”

“Who told you that?”

“Mr. Pollock.”

Tension gripped Michael’s shoulders. “What else did he say?”

“He said you went through a rough patch as a kid, but you’d rebounded. He said you were a good man.”

“He didn’t give you any details about my past?”

“Not really.” She laid a hand against his cheek, her eyes asking him to trust her. “Why don’t you tell me?”

Here was his chance to do the right thing. If he admitted responsibility for Chrissy’s death, she’d never look at him with respect and admiration again. She thought he was a hero. A hero! It was almost laughable.

He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. All he managed to say was, “I’m not the man you think I am.”

“Then you don’t think highly enough of yourself,” she said and kissed him.

He had plenty of time to draw back, but he remained in place. Her breath was sweet, her lips soft, her hands at his nape electrifying. His pulse quickened, the passion he’d been keeping carefully in check soaring to the surface.