The Sheriff's Second Chance

The old man shrugged. “I just thought maybe we could try someplace different for a change.”

Someplace different? Was his dad forgetting where they lived? With a population of 1,633, Paradise, Colorado, didn’t exactly have a huge selection when it came to dining establishments. There was Joe’s Place, but that didn’t open until lunch, and there was Lou’s Diner. Aside from those, and the Howard Johnson’s on the highway several miles east of town, there wasn’t anywhere else within twenty miles to get a decent breakfast. Or any breakfast for that matter.

Something was definitely up. “What’s going on, Dad?”

His dad sighed and rubbed a hand across a jawline beginning to sag with age. “Son, she’s back.”

Nate wasn’t sure what was more pathetic: that he knew exactly who “she” was, or that he still gave a damn after all these years.

He steeled himself against the residual sting of rejection, the burn of betrayal that still seared his heart like acid.

“Was bound to happen eventually, I s’pose,” his dad said. “She couldn’t stay away forever.”

Not forever. Just seven years.

Seven years with no explanation of why, after two years together, she’d packed her bags and left town. Nothing but that pathetic excuse for an apology she’d sent him weeks later.

Dear Nate, I’m so, so sorry...

Nate shook away the memory.

“We could skip breakfast today, son. We don’t have to go in there.”

Nate blinked. “She’s here, at the diner?”

His dad nodded.

Everyone in the restaurant had seen him pull up. He had no choice but to go in. And it wasn’t just a matter of his pride, although that was part of it. As a deputy sheriff, he had a reputation to uphold. If people began to see him as a coward, his credibility as peacekeeper in town would be compromised. And what could be more cowardly than turning tail and running from an estranged girlfriend seven years after the breakup?

“Let’s go.” He marched up the walk and shouldered his way through the door. The second his shoe hit the black-and-white-checked linoleum floor, twenty or so pairs of eyes snapped in his direction and bore into him like an auger biting through steel. In a town the size of Paradise, where everyone’s nose was in everyone else’s business, good news traveled fast.

And bad news traveled even faster.

This reunion would be stressful enough without an audience, but it was too late to turn back now. A swift survey of the interior revealed many familiar and curious faces, but not the one he was anticipating. And dreading.

The short walk to the counter felt like a mile. He slid onto his usual stool beside George Simmons, owner of Simmons Hardware, and his dad sat beside him.

“Mornin’, Deputy,” George said, then nodded to Nate’s dad. “Mornin’, P.J.”

“Mornin’, George,” P.J. returned. “How are things down at the hardware store?”

George shrugged. “Can’t complain. How’s the house coming along?” he asked, referring to the Victorian-era home Nate’s parents had been renovating.

“It’s comin’.”

“Got that tile laid in the downstairs bathroom?”

P.J. nodded. “Just about.”

They had a similar conversation every morning, yet today it felt stilted and awkward. To add to the tension, Nate could feel the gaze of the entire restaurant pinned against his back.

Their waitress, Delores Freeburg, who had worked at the diner as long as Nate could remember, appeared with a decanter of coffee and poured them each a cup. “Morning, Nate, P.J. Will you have the usual?”

“Just coffee for me,” Nate said. His belly was too tied in knots to choke down eggs and bacon.

P.J. patted the paunch that had begun to creep over his belt and said, “I’m starving. The usual for me.”

Delores winked and left to put in the order, but not before shooting Nate a glance rife with curiosity.

There was a brief, awkward silence, then George said, “So, Nate, I guess you’ve heard the news.”

“I heard.” And he didn’t care to talk about it.

“Been a long time,” George persisted.

Nate poured cream and sugar in his cup. The idea of drinking it made his stomach turn, but he forced himself to take a sip, burning the hell out of his tongue in the process.

“Seven years,” his dad answered for him, and Nate shot him a look that said, Don’t encourage him.

But George needed no encouragement. He was a worse gossip than most of the women at Shear Genius, the salon Nate’s ex-wife owned.

Nate pulled out his phone and pretended to check his messages, but that didn’t stop George.

“Guess she got herself into a fix up there in New York.” George shook his head, as though he could relate, even though he’d never lived a day outside of their small town. “Some sort of federal investigation into her financial firm.”

“I hope you also heard that I’m not personally under any suspicion,” a female voice stated from behind them. A voice that after seven years was still so familiar, Nate’s heart climbed up his throat and lodged there. Caitlyn Cavanaugh walked around the counter, facing them now, but Nate kept his eyes on his phone screen.

“Welcome back, Caitie,” his dad said.

“Hi, P.J. Long time no see.”

“When did you get home?”

“Just last night.”

“And your parents have you back to work already?”

“I offered. Deb called in sick. But I’ll warn you, I may be a bit rusty. I haven’t waited tables in almost five years.”

“Well,” P.J. said with a shrug. “You know that nothing much ever changes around here.”

“I guess not.”

Nate could feel her eyes on him, but he couldn’t make himself lift his gaze. Maybe if he ignored her, it wouldn’t be real.

“Hello, Nate,” she said, her voice quiet.

He had no choice but to look at her now, and when he lifted his head and his eyes snagged on hers, every bit of pain and rejection he’d felt when she left slammed him in the gut like a fist.