Читать книгу Reunited With The Sheriff - Lynne Marshall - Страница 10

Prologue

Conor Delaney and Shelby Brookes strolled Sandpiper Beach at sunset while still euphoric from making love. Earlier that month, on a Fourth of July hike, they’d found an abandoned house on the cliffs with a spectacular view to watch fireworks. The Beacham House, the sign hanging lopsided from one chain link out front had said. Since that day, they’d met there just about every afternoon. Sex with a distant ocean view, well, there was nothing quite like it. On brisk evenings, like tonight, they’d even used the fireplace with the functioning chimney.

“What if we hadn’t run into each other?” He brought up something that had been on his mind since that first day.

Shelby glanced up at Conor, the mischievous sparkle in her eyes he’d come to live for, her long hair lifting with the breeze and riling up his insides all over again. “It’s an awfully small town, I think we were bound to.”

Without a doubt, he believed her. But even once they reunited, with him staying at The Drumcliffe Hotel under the ever-vigilant eyes of his grandfather, mother and father, and Shelby’s mother just back from a two-week Canadian Rockies trip, they’d needed a place to meet—alone. Then they took that hike and, well, the Fourth of July fireworks took on a whole new meaning. He tugged her closer to his side as she snuggled in, their steps in near-perfect unison thanks to him measuring his strides.

“Do you think it was meant to be?” she continued.

Now she’d started to sound like his grandfather, the man who thought everything happened for a reason. Like finding that house. But there was some merit to what she’d implied. Four years since they’d last seen each other after high school graduation, they’d both come home unplanned to Sandpiper Beach at the same time. He’d recently graduated with a criminal justice degree and had already completed the basic training for peace officers in California at the Police Academy. He’d come home to wait out the summer for results from background checks from the sheriff departments he’d applied to in three nearby counties. She’d come home because she’d lost her job, without further prospects back east.

“I did give you a promise ring before you left.” He’d carefully chosen a Claddagh ring when he’d found out her plans to go to culinary school in NYC. She was the first girl he’d fallen in love with way back in tenth grade. Maybe even since fourth grade, when they met playing tetherball.

“You haven’t exactly been courting me since then, though.”

True, they’d fallen far out of touch in four years.

“That’s a little hard when you’re in New York and I’m in California.” It was a defensive and lame response, because he also wondered why he hadn’t tried harder with her, kept in touch, let her know he still thought about her. Often.

“In fact, you’re the one who sent me away!”

Yes, he’d encouraged her to go, trying to be wise about waiting until they were older, and never wanting to give Shelby a reason to resent him for holding her back. That was the distinct sense he’d secretly held about his mother with his father, and her painting. His parents had gotten married right out of high school, then had a kid, and she never had the chance to study her craft. Her passion. Unlike his father, he’d never want to do that to someone he loved.

“You wanted to go, it was your dream.”

“I know, but still.” Was it hurt he saw in her questioning eyes?

After high school, Shelby had gone east and he’d begun his studies in San Diego. They both needed to find their way in the world before they could commit to more. Ever Mr. Practical, that was what he’d told himself back then. Do the right thing. Wait until you have something to offer her. “I didn’t want to be the reason you couldn’t go after what you wanted.”

She looked down, kicked some sand with her toes. “We both had dreams.”

“And look what we’ve achieved at twenty-three? Maybe running into each other was our reward.”

“That’s what I’m saying,” she said. “What are the odds that we’d both wind up home at the same time?”

They stopped for the moment, gazing into each other’s eyes. Their meeting up out of the blue was extraordinary when he thought about it. Or had Grandda planted a little thought in his head about “the word” being a certain someone was coming home? Padraig, Sandpiper’s own gadabout, always kept his hands on the pulse of their hometown.

For whatever reason, they’d found paradise at their secret hideaway for nearly four weeks. Like nothing he’d ever experienced with a woman before. As far as he was concerned, she was “the one” and he was so glad to find her again. The only way he knew how to show how he felt was to kiss her again, so he did.

* * *

Shelby welcomed Conor’s kiss.

They’d spent every day together for the past month, and everything had been wonderful.

After graduating high school, instead of going to college, Shelby had enrolled in culinary school and headed off to lower Manhattan. Completing the course in two years, she held a series of so-so jobs before getting her first challenge at one of NYC’s trendy new restaurants, but the business had gone under in less than two years. She wasn’t proud of giving up and coming home, so she called it “taking a breather.”

Finding Conor again, her first love and most trusted friend, had been nothing short of amazing. Especially after enduring the loneliness from being in NYC for so long, chasing her dreams, getting knocked down, refusing to give up. They’d picked right up like they’d never been apart. Friends. Lovers. Now it was their last night, and Conor’s kiss tasted bittersweet.

“This was a perfect summer,” he said, breaking away from her lips.

Though smiling demurely, she was totally aware of how much she’d opened his world. They’d both obviously been with other people, learned more about making love since their early, sometimes awkward times together. He’d delivered her first hickey in middle school. Later, in high school, they’d been virgins together. Though their natural chemistry had always been strong, something explosive had happened between them this summer. A quick flash of what they’d been doing a few short minutes earlier made her need to kiss him again.

Perfect summer, yes. But nothing stayed perfect for long. Just yesterday she’d gotten word that a forgotten job application as a sous-chef in an established and respected restaurant in New York City, had finally opened up. The job was hers for the taking, but she had to leave ASAP. Just when things were really heating up with Conor. The problem was, when she’d first applied for that job and several others, so desperate to work and prove herself as a chef, she would have given anything for the position. Now Conor, without trying, interfered with that perspective. Was she still bound and determined to prove herself? Or could a sexy distraction like Conor change her mind?

She couldn’t let all the training and work she’d put in for the past four years go to waste. It was still her dream, on her terms. But did he have to be so understanding about it?

It was bad timing. And definitely not part of their “meant to be” summer. Still, Conor refused to stand in the way. He’d used some corny explanation, “The Grandda” view, he’d called it. In other words, this, too, was probably meant to offer them more time to grow. After all, they were only a few years out of high school and he was just starting out on his law enforcement career. But one day they’d be ready and nothing would stop them, even if she had to beg him to move back east.

Thinking while kissing was never a good idea. Doubt tumbled over her: Why was he always so supportive of her leaving to pursue her dreams? Especially now, after their beautiful summer? Would he move if she asked him? Insecurity, like a tight net, held her stiff and still.

And Conor had noticed.

* * *

Midkiss, with the tumbling ocean as the backdrop, a crazy idea flew into Conor’s mind. He ended the kiss, sensing she’d tensed up.

“This was the best summer of my life,” Conor said, cupping Shelby’s face, confident about love, true love, and overlooking her questioning gaze. “Let’s make a promise.”

Normally practical-minded to a fault, tonight anything but, he’d stopped her under the second lifeguard station from The Drumcliffe Hotel. At dusk, with the low tide tickling the shore, the brisk summer breeze seeming to encircle them in their own world, Conor held Shelby’s shoulders, brushing her lips with his, working up the confidence to suggest more.

Letting Shelby go after he’d found her again was the last thing he wanted to do, but he couldn’t keep her from her dream to run her own top-notch kitchen. In her mind, New York was the best and only place in the States to get experience. Yet he couldn’t let her go without a promise, a real promise this time, not some corny Claddagh ring.

How long was he willing to wait for Shelby to build her career? How long could they be true to each other long distance? Only the test of time would tell...with the help of a promise.

“A promise?” Shelby’s deep brown eyes gazed into his, seeming to buy into any wild plan he concocted.

“Yes, let’s promise, no matter what—you do your thing, I’ll do mine—but let’s meet right here at sunset in four years.” He pulled out his phone and checked a future calendar for the date and day and repeated it to her. “Will you promise?”

Her gaze widened, the newly rising moon reflecting in her fawn-colored irises.

“I’ll have a question for you then,” he said, lifting a brow, teasing out the promise, “and we’ll see.” If our love is meant to be forever.

Her quivery smile, and the chill bumps appearing across her shoulders and chest gave him hope.

“Yes, I promise,” she said on a breath, sending his spirits soaring.

“Shelby Lyn Brookes, I love you,” he said.

“I love you,” she repeated, dreamy-looking and beautiful as the setting sun.

They sealed their plans with the kind of kiss they’d gotten especially good at that summer. Deep, drawn-out and filled with need. And this time, heated with a promise. Then they headed back to the Beacham House for their last night together in Sandpiper Beach.