A Tender Touch

“Why did you move here?”

Again, he had to know.

She stared out at her child running in the surf, the big dog standing by, barking encouragement. “I had to get away…from the life we’d had. I needed to start over.”

Clay nodded, glanced out at Samson. “Me, too.” At her curious look, he added, “I guess that’s why I came home. I usually take a vacation at the end of the summer, but this year, I asked for more time off, because I needed it. My captain agreed. Samson needed it, too. I wanted to be here at home, for some reason.”

He watched her face, saw the play of emotions moving through her eyes like soft, rippling water, thought he saw a light opening up, as if she really wanted to get to know him. “Samson is healing. What about you?”

“You’re direct,” he responded by way of an answer.

“Well, so are you.”

“Not usually,” he admitted. “I kinda tend to dance my way around things—unless I feel it’s important.”

“I’m always direct,” she replied, her grin wry and full of regret. “That got me in a lot of trouble with my husband and his overbearing family.”

Clay took in that bit of information, telling himself he’d try not to be overbearing with her. “Is that why you had to get away?”

“Yes.” She got up, determination masking whatever else she might have said. “We have to go.”

Clay stood, brushing sand off his hands and the back of his shorts, wishing he hadn’t been so direct after all. “You don’t like me, do you?”

Her eyes lifted to his. “What makes you think that?”

“You just don’t seem to want to be around me.”

She looked down at the print of Van Gogh sunflowers on her beach bag. “It’s not that, Clay—”

“You don’t want to be around another cop right now?”

She looked back up at him, her eyes holding no secrets this time. “No, I don’t. I hope you’ll understand. I mean, I’m more than willing to help you heal Samson, but…I’m not in the market for dealing with another police officer right now. It was a tough life. I loved my husband, tried to be a good wife, but it was very hard. It’s all too fresh, too raw. I’m not ready—”

“I do understand,” he said, not really understanding at all, but then, he had a lot he had to work through, too. Before he could think about it, he added, “My mother will be so disappointed.”

“So will Ana,” she said, then she brought a hand to her mouth. “I’m sorry. Forget I said that.”

Clay put a hand on her arm. “Ana? What’s she got to do with this?”

“Nothing.” She turned toward Ryan, calling out to the boy. “C’mon, honey, time to go home.”

“Hey,” he said, pulling her back around, the soft touch of her skin making his backbone tingle. “Tell me.”

Freddie tossed her braid over her shoulder, then looked over at him. “Ana is playing matchmaker.”

He let out a sigh. “Well, so is my mother.”

She shook her head. “We have to ignore them.”

“Yeah, right. Two of the most determined women on the island think we ought to get together, and we’re just going to ignore them.”

“We have to,” she said again, a soft plea in the words.

“Why? Why do we have to ignore them?”

“Because, I told you—”

“I know, you don’t want to get involved with another cop, right?”

“Right.”

“Well, what if I told you I might not be a cop much longer?”

He had her attention now. She let out a breath. “What do you mean?”

Clay ruffled a hand through his hair, then called out to Samson to come. “It’s a long story, but I’m thinking of leaving the force. I’m thinking of giving up on being a police officer.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

He didn’t want to tell her his reasons. He hadn’t even spoken the words out loud until now. But something told Clay that Freddie Hayes would understand.

“It’s just…things can get so intense, you know. And that night when Samson got injured, I got hurt, too.”

“You did? Oh, you didn’t mention that.”

“Yes,” he said, seeing the fear and pain in her eyes. She was probably reliving her husband’s death. “I got stabbed, but…no one in my family knows much about it, except my mother, and she thinks it was only a flesh wound.”

He saw her intake of breath, saw her gaze scanning his body for signs of an injury. “I’m okay now. I’m fine. We killed the bad guy.” And I didn’t want to remember that right now, either.

“And when were you planning on telling your family the truth?”

“Never,” Clay replied. “They don’t need to know.”

“Then why did you tell me?”

He shrugged, sent a command for Samson to sit. “Maybe…because you did need to know.”

Chapter Five

“Why would I need to know that?” Freddie asked, completely confused by his blunt statement.

Clay tossed a stick for Samson to chase after, watching as the dog obediently brought it back to him. He tossed it again. “You’ve been there, Freddie. You know what a cop’s life is like—”

“More than I care to remember,” she interrupted, holding up a hand. “I know what my life was like, what my son’s life was like. I can’t put him through that again, Clay.”

“Exactly,” he said, his turquoise eyes holding hers. “So maybe you can understand that I’ve reached some sort of burnout.”

Freddie nodded, compassion filling her heart. “I can understand that, yes. Gary…never reached burnout. It was more like burn through. His rage consumed him.” She stopped, careful to keep her voice low so Ryan wouldn’t hear. “It made him turn ugly, very ugly.”