The Sheriff's Second Chance

Nate never knew how much he wanted to be a father until he watched his son being born, held him for the very first time. He had been totally unplanned, and three weeks premature. And so tiny and fragile Nate had been terrified he might drop him. Cody had gazed up at Nate with the wisdom and patience of a very old soul, as if to say, Don’t worry, you’ll do just fine. I have faith in you.

Nate fell instantly in love and from that day forward, his boy was all that mattered. Nate knew the first time he held his son that he was destined for great things. And now, at six years old, Cody had an innate patience and a deep understanding of people that left adults scratching their heads. Sometimes he would get this look, as if he knew something no one else did. And though his reading difficulties set him apart from other kids his age, he took it all in stride.

“Are you still in love with her?” Mel asked, her voice muffled against Nate’s shirt.

The question was so out of the blue, so ridiculous, he snapped his head back hard enough to give himself whiplash. “I can’t believe you asked me that.”

She looked up at him, her eyes—which could never decide if they wanted to be blue or green—swimming with tears. “Is it really that unusual a question? You loved her before.”

“Without trust, there can be no love.”

“You never got closure. Neither of us have.” Her arms tightened around him. “Now I’m so confused. This morning, when Regina told me Caitie was back, my first instinct was to run down to the diner, throw my arms around her and hug her. I was actually excited at the idea of seeing her, and for a split second I desperately wanted my best friend back.”

Mel’s first instinct involved hugs and reconciliation. The only thing Nate had wanted to do was hurl. That had to mean something, didn’t it? “If that’s how you feel, maybe you should talk to her.”

“I’m not sure what I feel. I never imagined that her coming back could be so—”

“Disruptive,” he finished for her.

“Yes! It’s all I can think about. I’m so preoccupied I nearly used the wrong color dye on Mrs. Newburg.”

“For what it’s worth, seeing her for the short amount of time that I did made me realize that we’re two completely different people now. She’s changed.” It had seemed that way to him at least. Or maybe that was what he preferred to believe. He resented her coming back and disrupting the quiet, orderly life that he had spent the past seven years building. She had no right.

“No matter what happens with Caitie, you and Cody will always be the most important people in the world to me.”

“I know.”

He held his ex-wife close, wishing there was something he could say, a way he could assure her everything would be okay and nothing would change.

Only problem was, things had begun to change already.

Chapter Four

“Let her die with dignity,” Jake—of Jake’s Garage—told Caitie later that evening after supper.

“The front end is pretty smashed up,” she said, surprised that so much damage had been done at such a low speed.

“That’s not even the worst of it.” He lifted the hood. “Your block is cracked.”

She didn’t really know what that meant, but it didn’t sound good. “So what you’re saying is, it’s definitely not worth fixing.”

“I wouldn’t waste my money.”

She trusted his judgment. It wasn’t the first time her car had been to that garage. Jake had worked on it years ago when his dad owned the business. Jake Senior retired and of course Jake Junior took over. That was the way it worked in Paradise. When the parent retired, the oldest child took over. And in Jake’s case, they didn’t even have to change the sign.

“What should I do with it now?” she asked him.

He slammed the hood and wiped his hands on the greasy rag hanging from the pocket of his pants. “I know a guy who owns a junkyard. He’d take it off your hands, give you a hundred bucks cash for it.”

Someone would actually pay her cash for this pile of junk? “That would be awesome. What do I owe you for looking at it?”

“It was fifty bucks for the tow. No charge to look at it.”

So she would actually make money on the deal? Go figure. Granted not much money, but these days every penny counted.

“Do you take Visa?” she asked Jake.

“Sure do. Let’s go in the office.”

Back in high school Caitie’s car hadn’t been the most reliable thing on four wheels, so she had seen the inside of the garage office enough times to know that virtually nothing had changed. He had the same grimy cash register that had gone out of date sometime in the past century, printed ads on the walls for car products that dated back to before she was born, and the entire office was covered in a fine coat of greasy dust. Even the floor felt sticky under her flip-flops. And though she wasn’t sure what color the walls were originally, now they were a filthy grayish-yellow.

She watched Jake fill out the paperwork. His hands were dry and calloused with painful-looking cracks on his knuckles and grease caked under his nails.

“Fifty bucks even,” he said, and she handed him her credit card.

“When did your dad retire?” she asked as he ran the charge.

“Three years ago.” He gave her the slip to sign, then handed over her receipt, leaving a greasy fingerprint on the edge. “You’ll need to sign the title over.”

“I’ll have to find it.” She was sure her mom had it filed away somewhere safe. “So, do you like owning the business?”

Leaning with one hip propped against the counter, he shrugged. “It is what it is. What else am I gonna do?”

She wanted to say, Hey, I got out, and you can, too. But she would probably just insult him, or come off as uppity. Besides, she wasn’t exactly the poster child for making it in the big city. What Jake did with his life—or didn’t do—was none of her business.

They chatted for a few more minutes, mostly about superficial things. He’d been four years ahead of her in school, so they didn’t have many friends in common. She was a little relieved when she finally said goodbye and left the garage.

Many of the businesses in town closed their doors at five, but the thrift store stayed open until nine on weekdays. Needing several personal items to get her through the next few weeks, Cait parked her mom’s car in the street and walked the two blocks. She encountered a few familiar faces, but with a baseball cap hiding her hair and dark sunglasses shading her eyes, no one seemed to recognize her.

As she stepped through the automatic door, a wall of cool air enveloped her. The thrift store, as with the rest of town, hadn’t changed much, and it was practically deserted.

She took a quick look around to get her bearings, then located the personal care aisle exactly where it had been the last time she’d visited.

She walked briskly to the aisle and grabbed a cheap bottle of both shampoo and conditioner and a package of disposable razors. Next she headed to the toy/gardening aisle, hoping to find some sort of book on landscaping.

About halfway down the aisle, an adorable, towheaded little boy with curly hair stood intently studying a display of Legos, most of which were on a high shelf just out of his reach.

“Do you need help reaching something?” Caitie asked, and he turned to look at her with bright green inquisitive eyes. Eyes that narrowed suspiciously as he gave her the once-over. She put him at seven or eight years old, and something about him seemed distinctly familiar, though she was almost positive she had never met him.

“I’m not a’sposed to talk to strangers,” he said, so matter-of-factly it made her smile. Smart kid.

“I’m Caitie,” she said, taking off her sunglasses, thinking it would make her look less intimidating.

Like a lightbulb switching on, recognition lit his face. “You’re the lady in the pictures,” he said.

“Pictures?” Feeling suddenly self-conscious, she shoved her sunglasses back on. “What pictures?”

“In the box in Daddy’s closet.”