Snowbound with the Sheriff Page 7

  “Don’t hold babies often?” Marisol asked, mouth twitching.

  Stella jiggled her niece. She stared into the baby’s hazel eyes. She and Ryan both had blue eyes. Their own baby probably would have—

  She shook the thought from her head and smiled at her niece. “Honestly can’t remember the last time I did,” she admitted. “Not many of my friends back home have kids, and the few who do keep their work lives pretty separate from their families.”

  She waited, expecting a challenging comment from Marisol.

  But the other woman nodded. “I find that at work, too.”

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s academia. Probably similar to your field when it comes to expectations for work-life balance. I’ve had to be clear about my boundaries since Laura was born.”

  “Boundaries at work. Ha,” Stella said lightly, glancing around the room. Baby paraphernalia and outdoor equipment and psychology-themed texts covered every flat surface. The shag carpet of her youth was long gone, but she could still feel what it had been like to snuggle on the floor with Ryan, watching cheesy horror movies...

  “You should try some,” Marisol told her.

  Some snuggles on the floor? Sure, but...no. That had been in her head, not part of whatever Marisol was talking about. “Huh?”

  “Boundaries. They’re good for you. Both in having enough at the office, but letting down your guard at home.”

  Stella blinked at her brother’s fiancée. She sure didn’t hold back. “Point taken.”

  “I hope so.”

  Good thing point taken and point followed were two different things. Stella was planning on working at mending the hurt she’d caused, but letting down her guard entirely felt like a stretch.

  Hours later, around the dinner table, the closeness between Maggie and Lachlan and their partners drove home her inability to open up. She picked at the Thai takeout Maggie had brought, trying to participate in the conversation as her family recounted their days and spoke over each other. The mark of a group used to dining together. Even Asher and Ruth, who seemed lovely and kind, were more relaxed than Stella despite being new to the group.

  So, relax.

  That sounded like either Marisol or Maggie had infiltrated her conscience. Neither was welcome, not with useless advice like that.

  She took another bite of her green curry and listened to her grandfather’s rundown of the surgery he’d done over his lunch hour. Thankfully, beyond yet again twisting the truth about her quick exit from New York for Asher and Marisol’s benefit, Stella hadn’t been expected to share much.

  She could handle people, but within the framework of numbers and investments. Without that structure, she was being asked to be emotionally naked, and she hadn’t allowed herself to be that way in eons.

  Close to the last time I sat in this room, in fact.

  Except that time, she’d been picking at her dinner, trying to hide her queasiness from both Ryan and Gertie.

  At least her indigestion tonight was solidly nerves, not pregnancy-related. Though cuddling Laura earlier... She could see why Marisol was happy to make room for parenthood and academia in her life.

  Laura was in the living room on the floor with Ruth, who’d wolfed down her dinner for the chance to play with the baby.

  The combination of baby giggles, little-girl laughs and Gramps’s chuckle made Stella’s heart pang. Lachlan and Marisol’s fingers were casually linked on the table; they were eating one-handed. And Maggie only had eyes for her librarian. Not hard, given how handsome Asher was, with dark eyes and thick, near-black hair and one of the best pairs of glasses Stella had seen on a guy in ages. The navy plastic coordinated with his checked shirt. The orange paisley lining of his upturned cuffs had been catching her eye all evening, because he’d had his arm around Maggie for the majority of the meal.

  Stella shook her head. “The domestic contentment going on here is hitting saccharine levels.”

  “You should try it,” Maggie said. She smiled one of those insider-trading couple smiles at Asher.

  Stella wasn’t built for that kind of relationship. “Haven’t managed to overcome the roadblocks with anyone.”

  “Like a business fire? Or unexpected parenthood? Anyone can overcome roadblocks, Stella. With some work,” Lachlan said. He squeezed Marisol’s hand, then glanced over at Laura, who was showing off her newly acquired rolling-over skills for Ruth.

  Stella bristled. “I’ve done nothing but work since the moment I escaped this place.”

  Both her siblings stilled. Marisol glanced down, chewing her lower lip. Asher rubbed Maggie’s back in a slow circle.

  Gramps cleared his throat. “Not the kind of work that matters if you’re wanting romance, honey.”

  She pressed her lips together, fighting the urge to retort that people looking for romance were asking to have their hopes dashed. She didn’t want to rain on Maggie and Lachlan’s lovey-dovey parades, nor did she have a hope of winning an argument about relationship longevity with Gramps, who’d kept a marriage alive for almost fifty years.

  Hell, with the way her family members had handled the fire and Maggie’s injuries, they’d probably be persevering with a fraud investigation at work, too. It was only Stella who wasn’t holding it together. She was supposed to be the oldest, the role model, setting goals and achieving them. What was missing? Why were her siblings landing on their feet and she wasn’t?

  They have support.

  Nah. It couldn’t be so simple as lacking someone in her corner.

  “I need to concentrate on fixing my messes, not on romance,” she said to her grandfather.

  “Seems one of your messes involves a past love,” Gramps replied mildly.

  “Has your breakup come up at all?” Lachlan asked.

  Stella rested her chopsticks on her plate. “The sheriff was too busy giving me a ticket for us to get into the nitty-gritty about our history.”

  “You saw him again this morning, though,” her brother pressed.

  “And? Would you like me to text you every time I run into him?” She polished off her glass of wine and poured herself another, then took a long sip. “Don’t forget that you brought him over to Maggie’s today. Though at least you were present for that—you heard everything we said.”

  “You need to come clean,” Lachlan said.

  She felt the blood drain from her cheeks. The only thing she wanted to discuss less than her work troubles was her miscarriage. “Excuse me. I’m going to start cleaning up.”

  She jolted to her feet, grabbed her wineglass and plate and hurried into the kitchen.

  Lachlan followed her, with Marisol close on his heels.

  “There’s nothing to clean up, Stell. What’s the real problem?”

  “‘You need to come clean?’ Not exactly dinner table conversation.”

  He shrugged. “You said you wanted to deal with your messes. And the fact Ryan doesn’t know about your miscarriage is a pretty big mess.”

  Marisol drew in a sharp breath and covered her mouth with a hand.

  A male throat cleared from behind Lachlan. “Seems I’m interrupting something confidential,” their grandfather said, holding a squalling Laura out to Marisol. “Someone wanted her mama.” He fixed a sorrowful look on Stella.

  Heat blazed on her cheeks. “Gramps, I...” Not even knowing where to begin, she tossed back the rest of her wine and glared at her brother. “It’s not confidential anymore.”

  “Lachlan,” Marisol scolded, settling the baby against her chest. “That’s really the kind of thing you should get permission to share.”

  Being the center of attention reminded Stella of the time she’d stepped on an ant nest as a kid—burning needles on her skin. The urge rose to grab her coat and purse and drive straight to the airport.

  No. Face this head-on.

&nbs
p; “Ryan was the one who cut off all contact, Lach,” she stated quietly. “And sharing my personal business without explaining the context is a crappy thing to do.”

  “Sorry,” Lachlan said. “I’m so used to Mari being family that I forgot you might not consider her part of your inner circle.”

  “Gramps didn’t know, either,” she reminded her brother. She shifted her gaze to her grandfather, who wore his typical expression of thoughtful compassion. “I’m sorry.”

  “No need to apologize for biology, honey,” Gramps said, shuffling farther into the kitchen. He gave Stella a firm hug.

  Wow. She’d gone from no comforting hugs for months to many in one day.

  I could get used to this.

  “Some of what went on the summer you graduated makes a bunch more sense, now,” Gramps continued.

  Lachlan looked at his fiancée, who shot him a warning look. When he turned back to Stella, his expression screamed “brace yourself to be psychoanalyzed.” “It’s not something you need to be ashamed of or anything.”

  “Stop making assumptions. I’m not ashamed.” But it still hurts. And it’s been way too long for it to still hurt. The backs of her eyes stung. She rubbed them with her fingertips. “I’m sorry, Marisol. You’re getting a great first impression of me. Me not telling Ryan—it’s a long story.”

  Marisol tilted her head, her expression soft. “My ex-husband walked out on me right after I had a second-trimester miscarriage. I’m the last person who would judge, or assume a person’s safe to tell another about something so intimate.”

  Oof, there was more than one thing to process there. “It’s not a safety issue with Ryan, I promise.”

  Lachlan’s eyes snapped with an unspoken challenge: then what is it?

  She met her brother’s questioning gaze. “I’ve always figured it’s better to leave the past in the past. We’ve both moved on.”

  “At the risk of sticking my nose in where it doesn’t belong,” Marisol said, jiggling the baby in her one-armed embrace, “that’s not always realistic. Because if you’re hurting, the past isn’t in the past. It’s affecting your present.”

  Stella couldn’t deny that, so she nodded. But running off to Ryan and applying said advice wasn’t the way to go. Dredging up their history would only cause more pain. Better to live with the hurt she knew rather than create new ones.

  “That’s a good point,” she conceded, not wanting to alienate Marisol, who was clearly just trying to help. But being the focus of the conversation was not working, not while her eyes were threatening to leak and she couldn’t force a smile. “Excuse me for a sec.”

  A quick trip to the bathroom wasn’t going to cut it. She escaped out the front door.

  She sat on one of the middle steps. The cold from the concrete stairs seeped through the seat of her jeans and the soles of her thick socks. Right. She’d left her boots inside. And her cashmere sweater was cozy, but not when facing the January chill.

  At least she was alone, though. She buried her face in her palms and tried to breathe away the threat of tears. Damn it. It was as if when she’d crossed the state line, her eyes became determined to prove her wrong about never crying.

  The roar of a truck engine approached and stopped nearby. Measured boot steps rang in her ears, coming up the path. She dropped her hands from her face, stiffening when she recognized the visitor. “Ryan. Hey. I forgot you were planning to come by.”

  It was the first time since she arrived that she’d seen him in civilian’s garb. Jeans, winter boots and a thick, plaid jacket. A thin beanie covered his dark hair. He filled out his casual clothes even better than he had his uniform. An athlete would covet those thighs and shoulders. No doubt he’d be able to beat a suspect in a foot race. And with all he’d bulked up, his hoodies would be even bigger and cozier than the one she’d habitually stolen in high school.

  He eased onto the step next to her. “You okay, Stella? You look upset.”

  The stair was wide, but not wide enough to fit both of them and their emotional baggage. She inched away from him and crossed her arms. “I’m fine.”

  “I’d offer you my jacket, but I figure you’d burn it before accepting it from me,” he said.

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” she muttered.

  “We ready to relax around each other yet?”

  “Even if I was, dinner with my family is the opposite of relaxing.”

  “Oh?” he said. “Entertaining meal? Is that why you’re out in the cold?”

  Her pulse picked up. As if she’d admit that they’d been talking about him. “Needed fresh air.”

  He glanced up at the sky. “Going to get some snow, too, if you wait a few more minutes. As well as a frozen ass. Probably better you face whatever drove you outside rather than hiding on the front stoop in your socks.”

  She let out a grumble. Restraint, really, when she wanted to tell him to piss off. Or worse. “Thanks for the pro tip.”

  “What is it you’re avoiding?” He stretched his legs out in front of him and rested his elbows on one of the stairs behind him.

  “Make yourself comfortable, why don’t you,” she snapped.

  He shook his head. “You’re so damn prickly. And I know that’s partly to do with our past, but I’d hoped we could move on.”

  “Not everything is about you,” she said, way shriller than she’d have liked.

  “Family didn’t accept your apology for staying away for so long?” he speculated.

  “They were fine!” The damn tears she’d been trying to fight managed to slip out.

  He slowly straightened, his posture now alert. “There’s a but there, Stella.” He shucked off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. It was lined with faux-shearling fleece, and smelled delicious. Like sunny days and a hint of citrus. Not his high-school, department-store-cologne scent. But it was something new she wouldn’t mind learning. Jolting at the realization, she mumbled a thank-you and gripped the sides tight in front of her. The intimacy inherent in wearing his coat made her stomach wobble. But without the warmth and his silent support, she might dissolve even worse.

  He wiped the tears away from her cheeks with his thumbs. His skin was even warmer than the jacket lining, leaving a trail of heat along her chilly face. Some misguided, lonely part of her came to life, urging her to scoot closer. The rest of him would be toasty and solid, too, which sounded—

  Wrong. It sounds wrong.

  She shifted away from him a few more inches.

  He frowned, and dropped his hand. “It takes guts, coming back here and trying to make amends.”

  Guts. Ha. If she was actually brave, she’d take Lachlan’s advice and come clean. Tell Ryan why it had been so devastating when he’d turned her away, which had been compounded by the loss soon after. That pain had only faded, never disappeared. And being in Sutter Creek meant that loss was coming back into focus, regaining some of the sharp edges that had softened over time.

  “It’s hard right now, but give it time. You’ll be glad you came home.” He squeezed her knee before walking back to his truck. “Get some shoes on and come help me unload this stuff.”

  She settled a shaking hand on her leg, which tingled with the echo of his touch. Damn it.

  But she did as he suggested, retrieving her boots and running a couple of loads of construction supplies into Lachlan’s basement. After, she and Ryan both entered the main floor. Her grandfather was holding the baby and chatting with Marisol in the living room. Ruth and Asher were clearing the table. Everyone greeted Ryan with friendly grins or hellos, except for her grandfather, whose mouth firmed in a hard line.

  “Problem, Gramps?” she asked.

  He shook his head quickly, as if trying to clear it. “It’s been a while since I saw the two of you enter a room together.”

  “Nothing to see here,” Stella said. “R
yan was just dropping off the donations for the work bee.” She went into the kitchen. Ryan followed. “Sorry I left for so long,” she said to Lachlan and Maggie, who were loading the dishwasher and murmuring about something. “I was getting too warm. All that spicy food.”

  Doubt crossed Lachlan’s face. And Maggie’s expression turned downright incredulous.

  “What?” Stella said.

  “Nice jacket,” her sister said, mouth twitching.

  She whipped off the garment and shoved it at Ryan before grabbing the wineglass on which Marisol had written Stella in gold pen. She poured herself another glass and drank a third of it. “I got cold.”

  Maggie and Lachlan traded knowing smiles.

  “But you were too hot,” her sister pointed out. “All that spicy food.”

  “It was hot in here. Not out there,” she said, taking another sip. “It’s been a long day. I think I’ll head back to the hotel.”

  “How many glasses of wine have you had?” Ryan asked.

  “Two plus this,” she said before wincing. “Shoot, I wasn’t thinking. I barely drive my car in Manhattan—I’m not used to counting at dinner.” And she really wanted to get out of here before everyone started in on the questions about what she and Ryan had been discussing outside.

  “Need a chauffeur?” he offered.

  Stella glanced at him. He looked genuine in his offer—unless he wanted to use the time to prod her about her feelings some more. And Lach and Maggie looked exceedingly interested by the invitation. What was better, sibling interrogation about borrowing his coat now, or about accepting a ride later?

  Definitely later.

  “Yeah, I’ll take you up on that,” she told Ryan.

  He was waiting in the truck by the time she retrieved her coat and said her goodbyes. She climbed in.

  Stella put on her seat belt, tension squeezing her shoulders and neck. We ready to relax around each other yet? he’d asked earlier.

  Easy answer to that one. Nope.

  He’d draped the jacket she’d borrowed across the console. The truck was by no means tidy, but it wasn’t a pigsty, either. Just lived-in, with a few things scattered in the back seat—a dog leash, snowboarding boots, a gym bag. Aside from the sheriff’s-department sticker on the back window, the late-model Ford wasn’t recognizable as belonging to law enforcement.