They promised to meet in four years...

He was there. Where was she?

Conor Delaney believed he and Shelby Brookes shared something special. Until the girl he’d loved since fourth grade was a no-show for what should have been the most romantic reunion of their lives. Two years and one shattered heart later, Shelby’s back in their California town—as the new chef at Conor’s family restaurant. The single mom has a reason for what she did...and a plan for winning back the guarded California lawman.

LYNNE MARSHALL used to worry she had a serious problem with daydreaming, and then she discovered she was supposed to write those stories down! A late bloomer, she came to fiction writing after her children were nearly grown. Now she battles the empty nest by writing romantic stories about life, love and happy endings. She’s a proud mother and grandmother who loves babies, dogs, books, music and traveling.

Also by Lynne Marshall

Soldier, Handyman, Family Man

Forever a Father

Her Perfect Proposal

A Doctor for Keeps

The Medic’s Homecoming

Courting His Favorite Nurse

Miracle for the Neurosurgeon

A Mother for His Adopted Son

200 Harley Street: American Surgeon in London

Her Baby’s Secret Father

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Reunited with the Sheriff

Lynne Marshall

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07766-8

REUNITED WITH THE SHERIFF

© 2018 Janet Maarschalk

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is dedicated to the

loyal Special Edition readers, and

everyone who believes in second-chance love.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Epilogue

Extract

About the Publisher

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.

Chapter One

Six years, seven months and nearly three weeks later...

Conor Delaney pulled his used muscle car into his designated parking spot at the family hotel, revved the engine, then turned the key. He liked old stuff, like this beat-up Camaro painted mostly with primer. And the old Beacham House, empty and begging for someone to buy it and bring it to life again, sitting far back on the cliffs above the Sandpiper beach dunes. That was a whole other story. He liked The Drumcliffe, too—the vintage hotel he’d grown up in and around, just footsteps from the beach. Thanks, Grandda, for thinking about the future way back in the 1960s and buying the land. Though Conor wasn’t exactly proud that at twenty-nine he still lived in the family hotel.

Tonight, he was especially glad he had the hotel restaurant at his fingertips. It had been a long Saturday, with several drunk and disorderly arrests at a local sports bar, no time for a lunch break, and, after the end of his shift, he was hungry. Really hungry. He thought about ordering room service so he could strip out of his deputy sheriff uniform and eat in his boxers and undershirt in front of the TV, but something nudged him to be sociable. A guy could only dodge his mother for so long before she came knocking on his hotel suite door—that was a major drawback of living at home at his age even if it was a noble cause to save money for that dream fixer-upper.

Again, another story.

Opening the car door, he stretched out his left leg, and thanks to the low-to-the-ground chassis, took his sweet time standing all the way up. They didn’t make cars like this with guys six foot three in mind. He straightened his shoulders, eyes on the prize—dinner!—no worries about needing reservations on a Saturday night because, well, this was The Drumcliffe Hotel Restaurant. The chef, Rita, was like a hundred or something, and the regulars were mostly senior citizens.

Conor’s brother Mark was taking over more and more responsibility with the hotel, now that Mom and Dad were on their countdown to retirement, and he had big plans, too. Or so it seemed. But since Mark had moved in with Laurel in the B&B across the street, and Conor had lost his last brother/roommate, he hadn’t caught up with all of Mark’s latest plans. He kind of missed their late-night catch-up talks, too. Now that he roomed with his first cousin from Ireland, Brian, the late-night conversations all centered around getting to know each other. A whole different thing.

Walking into the dark dining room, he saw more heads above the leather booths than usual, and something smelled great. Man, he was hungry.

The local high school girl playing hostess for the weekend smiled. “Hi, Mr. Delaney. Dining alone?”

He nodded.

Looking a little doe-eyed in the dim lighting, the long-haired brunette led the way to the family booth back in the far corner, then handed him the menu. Not the usual one, but a new narrow one-pager, in fuchsia. He perused the column of Today’s Specials written in a fancy font, and was surprised to see Rita had changed things up. Where was the pot roast, the meat loaf, the poached salmon?

Instead, he found a list of meals he’d never seen before, including beef tenderloin steaks on potato galettes with mustard sauce. What the hell was a potato galette? Organic farm-raised chicken breasts with fresh garlic and rosemary, sweet potato mash and kale. Who ate kale on purpose? Pan-seared tuna? Had Rita started smoking something besides her Virginia Slims?

When Abby, the long-term waitress, arrived to take his order, he lifted his brows and held out the menu. “What’s up?”

“New chef.”

“Rita retired and I didn’t hear about a party?”

“It’s next week.”

Maybe his crazy work schedule had finally caught up to him. “Okay, then.” He glanced at the menu again. “Well, what do you recommend?”

“I’m hearing great things about the beef tenderloins tonight. You’ll love those potatoes. Tried ’em myself earlier.”

Too hungry to think about heading up the street to the Bee Bop Diner for a burger, he ordered a beer from his grandfather’s adjacent pub and agreed to the beef dish. “Can a guy still get a green salad?”

“Of course, fresh baby greens—organic, of course,” Abby said before listing a series of weird new dressings.

With his hungry mind thoroughly boggled he shrugged. “Just... I’ll take the white wine and shallot one. Whatever.” What was going on?

He seriously worried about the fate of his family’s hotel if the restaurant went under. People in this small beach community didn’t like change, and many had been coming here for decades for inexpensive, traditional meals. That was another thing he’d noticed, a price hike for dinners. Not huge, but there nevertheless. He didn’t care because he didn’t have to pay, but what about the locals?

While he waited for food and drink, he thumbed through his phone wondering what a shallot was. Read a few lame tweets, checked his text messages and got sidetracked with an attached article in an email. His beer came, and shortly after, his salad arrived, which tasted better than any he’d ever had from Rita. Changing up the dressings turned out to be a great idea. Or maybe the improvement had something to do with using fresh spring greens other than iceberg and romaine?

When his main course arrived, plated like nothing he’d ever seen at The Drumcliffe before—the perfectly medium rare tenderloin was sliced and balanced on an oval mound of brown and crisp sliced potatoes, and topped with mustard sauce and fresh parsley—where had they found the new chef?

Half-starved, he dug right in, deciding to leave the questions for after dinner. Wow, was his mouth happy about that decision. Several times he sat straight, purposely slowing down his chewing to savor the flavors and tenderness of the meat. And Abby was right about the potatoes. They tasted like a little piece of starch-and-butter heaven, with a hint of cheese. They were so good they had to be bad for him.

“What do you think?” His mother appeared at his booth. She seemed to be primped up more than usual for the Saturday night crowd, her natural red hair cut just below her earlobes, parted on the side in a classic style, her green eyes sparkling like she had a big secret. Wearing beige slacks and a top nearly the same color as her eyes, Maureen Delaney slid into the booth across from him.

He shook his head, smiled with sealed lips because his cheeks were crammed full of the delicious food. He swallowed half of it. “Best meal I’ve ever had here. Ever had anywhere.”

Maureen grinned, seeming to enjoy watching him eat as if she’d cooked it herself. When his plate was scraped clean, he pushed it away.

“My compliments to the chef. That was, hands down, the best meal I’ve ever tasted.”

“Ever?” Obviously surprised, she gave a relieved smile.

“Ever. And you can tell whoever replaced Rita, I said so.”

Maureen sat still, weighing her thoughts. “Why don’t you tell her, yourself?”

He had thoroughly enjoyed his meal, and they’d obviously hired someone who knew what she was doing. With him being out of the loop and chronically busy with work, just like he’d missed Rita’s last day, he’d probably missed the new employee newsflash, too. Who read hotel memos, when he had to read hundreds a day at work?

He understood the value of a good chef and a compliment for a new and nervous cook would probably go far, so he agreed. “Okay.”

Conor finished his beer and headed for the hotel kitchen, aware his mother stayed behind at the booth. Grinning, and ready to do his good deed for the day, he barreled through the door to the busy and hectic kitchen. “That was the best dinner I’ve ever had. My compliments to the chef!”

He scanned the activity and zeroed in on the area of the stove, to a petite female in a double-breasted pink chef jacket with gray cuffs and a matching slate chef beret, her short light brown hair barely sticking out from beneath. At the sight, a sudden ball of emotion wound tight and rolled from his chest to his overly stuffed stomach, then dropped to his knees, locking them, and he came to a dead stop.

Shelby. Lyn. Brookes. Turned out the new chef was the woman who’d not only broken, but ripped out, stepped on and chucked his heart into the ocean exactly two years, seven months and three weeks ago. Not that he was counting.

She looked as stunned as he was. Busy juggling various dishes at the eight-burner stove, obviously flustered, her hand slipped, spilling a bottle of something that looked like whiskey over a thick and quickly grilling steak, and onto the gas flames. A fire flashed, like a magic trick going awry, and she jumped back, her previous rattled expression turning to pure fear. She squealed as a blanket of smoke covered her, and he sprung to action.

Being in a job like his, one filled with surprises and challenges, and having grown up in and around the hotel kitchen, he wasn’t dealing with his first fire. Conor had the presence of mind to locate, rip from the wall and use the extinguisher over the flaming steak and burners, putting out the fire in record time...at the expense of a prime cut of meat and a few other meats grilling nearby. At least he’d avoided the blare of a fire alarm. He kept the most unexpected and unwelcomed meeting with the new hotel chef between him and her, and, oh, the startled restaurant crew...who all stood around with mouths agape and eyes wide.

* * *

Shelby couldn’t believe what’d just happened, or the fact Conor Delaney had put out the fire she’d started. Because of him!

She knew she’d have to face him at some point when she’d applied for and accepted the job offer from Mark Delaney. Her choices were nil back east and she needed to regroup before moving on. Now here she was facing down the guy she’d left behind. The guy she’d betrayed. The guy she used to love like no other.

And setting a fire.

Why did he have to come for dinner on her very first night at The Drumcliffe?

Seeing Conor, the sweetest person she’d ever known, all grown up and devastatingly good-looking in that deputy sheriff’s uniform, she’d lost control of her hands. It didn’t help that she was overcome with a huge surge of guilt. Good thing he’d had the sense to grab the fire extinguisher.

Conor set the empty extinguisher on the stainless-steel counter, leveled her with a haunting stare, reminding her how careless she’d been with their promise, then left without a word.

Maureen showed up. “You okay? Everyone okay?”

Shaken, Shelby gave a nod. Her sous-chef began tossing the fried meat and ruined food into the trash. The kitchen cleanup crew—one mature woman from housekeeping looking for extra shifts—took over from there.

Maureen draped her arm over Shelby’s shoulders. “No burns? You sure you’re okay?”

“I just need a minute. I’ll make up for this.” She couldn’t lose her job, not on her first night. She had dinners to cook, people to feed. A reputation to save.

“I know you can,” Maureen said with a sympathetic gaze.

Rather than stand there shaking, Shelby jumped back to work, and while she did, her mind worked overtime.

Slapped-down by life, and now a devout realist, she knew the only way to make her dreams of becoming a great chef come true was to start small, to prove herself, work her way up from there, then one day run her own first-rate NYC kitchen. Not to depend on anyone but herself. Maybe, if she worked hard enough, she could put The Drumcliffe Restaurant on the map in Central Coast California. But not if she burned the place down first!

Grabbing a fresh pan, she chose another prize cut of beef, seasoned and buttered it before placing it on the cleaned grill. “Abby?” She called over the waitress who’d ordered the steak. “Please give a complimentary appetizer to your table for the wait, but let them know their meal will be right out, okay?”

The waitress gave a smiling agreement, grabbed a large prong shrimp appetizer from the iced waiting bin and left.

Sure Shelby knew her new job almost certainly guaranteed she’d see Conor. Mark had warned her Conor still lived at the hotel when he’d hired her, and realizing it would be inevitable, she’d been prepared. But man-oh-man, she was anything but when Conor had walked into her kitchen.

Instead of quitting on the spot, she was determined to prove that after all those years in New York, she hadn’t wasted her training in culinary school. She belonged in this kitchen. But seeing Conor immediately reminded her how much she used to care for him, and the fact he was a living, breathing heartthrob hadn’t helped a bit. He seemed to have just kept on growing, looking larger than life. And handsome, oh, momma, was he handsome.

Here she was at twenty-nine, still trying to hit her stride, find her place in the world, and he was obviously a grown-up, dependable, responsible man in uniform. The polar opposite of all the other men in her life since leaving Sandpiper Beach.

She flipped the steak, doused it in seasoned butter and in another pan started searing a tuna order.

This was it, her time to finally realize her potential. To prove herself. Nothing would stop her. It wasn’t solely for her sake anymore, but for the sake of her son, too. She couldn’t fail. She was a single mom with a baby boy to take care of.

“Order up!”

* * *

The rest of the evening, Shelby managed to keep up with the incoming orders, though still totally thrown by seeing Conor. While she cooked, her mind went over how she’d wound up here, back home in Sandpiper Beach, living with her mother, working at The Drumcliffe Hotel’s restaurant.

They’d made a promise their last weekend together, and she’d planned to honor it, too...until her life had imploded.

By Conor’s reaction earlier, it was clear he hadn’t forgiven her for standing him up. Could she blame him?

“Order up!”

She’d had a chance to study in France three years ago. Hadn’t he always told her to go after her dreams? Stuck in another lateral-movement sous-chef job, she’d felt Paris was an opportunity to break out, to finally focus on becoming a renowned chef. While there, she’d met the most talented chef she’d ever worked for. He was très européen and sweet and sexy and... How many more adjectives could she use for him? He’d deserved them all.

Of course, she was young and still dumb and she’d let herself get swept away by his amazing charm, his culinary greatness, his everything. Most important, he’d made her feel special, like she’d felt no other time in her life.

Wait, check that, there was that July in Sandpiper Beach when she’d felt the same. Loved, cherished, adored. By Conor.

But things soon changed with Laurent. The shine to their romance wore off. The veil slowly lifted from her eyes, and after several months of having her as his chef groupie, he’d gotten bored. She sensed it before he’d told her so. Though brokenhearted at first, she’d tried one last time to make things right between them. Laurent welcomed her back, too. That last night hadn’t changed a thing between them. Yet it had changed every-single-thing else.

It had taken moving back to New York, and several weeks, to finally figure out she’d never loved him, that she’d only been infatuated. By the time she’d come to her senses, she remembered the one person she’d loved since high school, Conor Delaney, and how they’d made a promise to meet again. She’d checked the calendar and bought her ticket, deciding not to let anything keep her from the one true love she’d ever known. She’d go home tomorrow, stay with her mother and surprise him on the day. Just like they’d planned, she’d meet him on Sandpiper Beach at the second lifeguard tower. Their lifeguard tower. At sunset.

She’d been packed and ready to go, but something troubled her: her period, or lack thereof, and she couldn’t ignore it another day. So she’d taken the test. Then fallen on her bed and cried until her eyes burned and face hurt.

There was no way she could fly to California to face Conor as they’d planned. She was pregnant.

* * *

By the end of the first evening as head chef of The Drumcliffe, Shelby had cooked and plated nearly a hundred meals. Not bad for a newbie who’d started a stove fire only a couple hours earlier.

There was something else she’d realized. Earlier, when she’d looked into Conor Delaney’s eyes, she’d known without a doubt she’d hurt him to the core. That drove home the point how unworthy she was for a good guy like him, when she’d so easily been seduced by a player’s charm.

But she still owed Conor an apology, and the truth. Hell, she’d owed him that for over two years, when she should have used her ticket and flown home anyway. It would’ve been the right thing to do. But she’d been too messed up to face him then, had felt too guilty. Couldn’t bear the thought of owning up to one more mistake while feeling so raw and vulnerable. Now he’d find out soon enough anyway. Who knew? Maybe Mark had already told him.

After cleanup and shutting down the kitchen and restaurant for the night, Maureen came in.

“I just wanted to congratulate you,” Maureen said. “I’ve heard so many raves about your food. I’m positive word will get out.”

“That’s great.” Normally, she’d be thrilled to hear it, but Shelby’s mind was elsewhere, and she couldn’t lay her head down on the pillow that night without confronting Conor.

Shelby and Maureen walked together out of the kitchen. “Can you tell me where Conor lives? I need to talk to him,” Shelby asked, just before they turned out the lights.

Maureen looked puzzled. Surely, she knew how Shelby had hurt her son.

“He still lives here in one of the family suites at the back. I just saw him at the hotel pub. But now might not be a good time to talk to him. I’m a little embarrassed to say he’s been drinking.”

* * *

Conor finished his second beer and ordered a chaser. “Whiskey, please.” His second cousin, Brian Delaney, grandson of Grandda’s baby brother, Néall, and the new bartender straight from Ireland, raised a dark brow above intense blue eyes.

A bony ancient hand, cold like ice cubes, came out of nowhere and patted his forearm resting on the bar. From the feel of it, Conor wondered if his eighty-five-year-old grandfather was still alive.

“Are ya sure, lad?”

“I’ve only had a couple of Guinnesses,” Conor answered defensively.

“And you have a whiskey, you’ll be skuttered. What might be botherin’ you?”

Conor resented his grandfather stepping in and telling him to slow it down. If he did that to all his customers, Padraig’s Pub would go broke. But he also knew the old man cared about him. Truth was, he had to work tomorrow, and having a hangover wasn’t something he needed. Or wanted. “Brian, make that a glass of water.” He remembered he’d also had a beer with dinner, so he’d already gone over his personal limit.

Why did he have to remind himself about dinner—the best meal he’d ever had—and seeing her?

“Have something on your mind?”

“Nah, Grandda. Just had a surprise earlier, that’s all.” A surprise that nearly knocked him on his ass—seeing the girl he’d known since fourth grade and loved since the tenth.

Padraig Delaney wedged himself between the guy sitting on the stool next to Conor and his grandson. Far too close for Conor’s comfort. “A little birdie told me about the new chef.”

Conor had never told a single person how Shelby had stood him up the night he’d intended to ask her to marry him. The man lived in blissful ignorance where his grandsons were concerned, and seemed to like it that way. Grandda couldn’t possibly be heading in that direction. “What about it?”

“That Mark hired Shelby Brookes to help our restaurant compete in town.”

“Well, from the meal I had tonight, I’d say he made a good choice.” He’d do his best not to give himself away. Even though he intended to personally ring Mark’s neck for hiring the one person he never wanted to see again. If Grandda had a clue how messed up seeing Shelby had made him feel, he’d start spouting Irish jibber-jabber about the fates and fairies and how life always worked itself out, often in mysterious ways. The Irish version of fortune cookie sayings.

“It’s your turn, you know.”

Conor almost spilled the water Brian had just delivered. Grandda wasn’t really going there, was he? Tonight of all nights? He held up his free hand. “Don’t say it. Please.”

“We can’t deny fate.”

There it was. Give me strength. Was it too late to reorder the whiskey? But there was no arguing with the man from Ireland with a head full of fanciful thoughts, as his father called them.

“You boys saved that seal. How much proof do you need that it was a selkie? Both your brothers have found their ladies.”

Last year, worried about Mark moping around for so long after being discharged from the army, Conor and Daniel had rented a boat for some deep-sea fishing in an attempt to cheer him up. They’d wound up coming upon a pod of orca giving a lesson to an orca calf on how to catch a meal.

The pod had singled out a seal and were wearing it down, giving the calf ample opportunity to do the final deed. Nature was cruel, and the sight disturbed the three brothers. They pulled their boat closer and revved the engine, disrupting the pod’s attention. Probably the dumbest thing they could ever do, considering a small fishing boat wouldn’t be able to withstand the wrath of a ten-thousand-pound killer whale. But they’d done it, and amazingly, it had worked. They’d distracted the pod long enough for the seal to make a break. As they’d made a wide circle around the pod in the boat, they’d even cheered on the seal.

The next night, when they’d told the family the story over Sunday night dinner Grandda got weird. He’d sworn they’d saved a selkie and according to Irish folklore she—how his grandfather knew the sex was beyond Conor, but nevertheless—she owed them all a favor. Grandda swore each of the Delaney brothers would find their mate, as though he had a direct line to the little people in magic land.

Because Padraig was old, and they all loved him, the family put up with his occasional fantastical stories, but this one had gone beyond the pale. Until Daniel met a woman and fell in love three months later, a woman who was now pregnant and ready to give birth. Mark had done the same a couple months after that, met someone right across the street, coincidental as it was. Eerily so?

Nothing like flaming a fairy fire!

Speaking of fire, he remembered the reason he was sulking at the bar—seeing Shelby in the hotel kitchen. She’d been as upset at seeing him as he was with her, and her hand had slipped and she’d started the fire.

As she should be, out of guilt for standing him up!

From the corner of his eye, he saw the pub door open and a woman in a chef smock step into the bar. His palms felt on fire and anxious waves licked upward toward his neck. Seeing Shelby once today had been enough. “Well, I’ve got an early day, Grandda. I’ll be going now.” He worked to sound normal, feeling anything but. “Oh, add this to my tab, okay?” He stood and, moving as quickly as possible through a crowded pub without drawing attention to himself, he headed for the back exit.

* * *

Shelby swallowed the anxiety that twisted her stomach and threatened to make her turn and run back to the hotel lobby, but resisted and stood in the pub entrance waiting for her vision to adjust. Her heart battered against her chest. Conor hated her. She’d seen it in his eyes. Could she blame him? She’d given him a damn good reason. But he needed to know the whole story.

Still dressed in her chef smock, but without the hat, she stood for a few seconds, back against the pub doors, fighting for balance. It was loud with conversations and laughter, and over the speaker system, classic Irish music played, but by current, popular US groups.

She scanned the pub, checking out the long bar first. Movement at the far end caught her attention. The tall man stood and headed the other way. It was Conor. Had he seen her? Did he hate her so much he’d skip out of the bar to avoid her?

Too bad; she had to talk to him.

Shelby followed, sidestepping couples and groups of people to navigate the crowd and find that back exit. Spying the door, she rushed through it and after Conor, who, thanks to his long legs, was halfway across the hotel parking lot already. She didn’t stand a chance of catching him, being a full foot shorter, but she wouldn’t give up. “Conor! Conor! Wait up!”

She sidestepped a small group smoking by a car.

Conor stopped, but didn’t turn. If she thought her pulse had gone haywire before, that was nothing as it rattled her rib cage now, threatening to break out. Nearly breathless, her lungs irritated by the cigarette smoke, she bolted closer.

“You need to know something,” she said, fighting back a cough.

Now he stopped and turned, the parking lot light distorting his scowl into something scary. If she hadn’t known him most of her life, she might have run the other way, but she kept closing the gap between them. “I had a damn good reason not to meet you that day.” She prayed her knees wouldn’t give out as she barreled closer.

“And you couldn’t tell me then?”

Closer now, it seemed like a wall of frozen brick separated them.

“Not on the phone. No.”

“It was more important to make me feel like a complete fool?” He leveled his voice, aware of the group of smokers.

Still, his cold blast sent chills across her shoulders as she took another step closer so they wouldn’t have to talk so loud. “I was the fool, Conor. I’d gotten pregnant.” She couldn’t help the swell of emotion and the water filling her eyes. “How could I face you?” She hated how her face contorted with the words.

His scowl changed. Had there been a hint of empathy in the expression? Or was it disbelief, and justified betrayal that torqued his brows? On a mission, she blinked away the blurry vision, dug into her smock pocket and pulled out her cell phone. “I swear I’d just found out the day before my scheduled flight home. I was in shock, couldn’t think straight. I was falling apart, my life had suddenly changed completely. There was no way I could come home.” She brought up a picture, took a deep breath and, with her hand shaking, turned the phone his way so he could see the screen. “This is my son, Benjamin. He’s two years old.”

Conor studied the picture of her pudgy blond-headed toddler, then slowly stared at her.

Speechless.

Chapter Two

Two years, seven months and three weeks ago, on the beach at sunset by the second lifeguard station, Conor had waited for Shelby. And waited. He’d honored the special date he and Shelby had promised to meet on, and felt like a fool as the last rays of light dimmed and the threads of hope unraveled.

She’d forgotten.

Twenty minutes later, Shelby called him, her voice quivery. She’d explained she’d had every intention of coming, swore she had, even had the plane ticket to prove it.

“So why aren’t you here?” he asked, mystified by her absence, and furious. So, so furious.

She broke into tears, soon crying hysterically.

His anger quickly turned to concern. “Are you all right? Shelby, what’s wrong?”

She worked to recover, sniffing, gasping air, and finally, on a ragged breath, pushed out the words. “I can’t talk about it. It’s too hard.”

“Just tell me that you’re okay. Are you in danger?”

“I’m not in danger, but I’m not okay.” She started crying again. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t come. I hope you can forgive me.” Then she hung up.

Worried sick, he’d sat staring at the ocean, then the phone, then the engagement ring in his hand he’d been ready to give her. She’d bought a plane ticket. Hurt to the marrow, as deep as the love he had for her, he would hold off on passing judgment until he’d gotten the facts.

Conor had planned to ask Shelby to be his wife. He tried to brush off the pain, but her not showing up stung like a demon wasp. His stomach tightened to the point of backfiring. He doubled over, heaved and threw up onto the sand, grateful that it was dark and no one could see him. After what seemed like forever, brokenhearted and thoroughly confused, he’d stood and walked home. Vowing to never let anyone make him feel that way again.

But concern wouldn’t let up and, ready to interrogate Shelby, he’d called her the next day. She was at work and said she couldn’t talk to him. He’d heard the racket in the background, the voices shouting out food orders. She wasn’t lying—nevertheless, her avoiding him cut deeper still.

The next day, when he dialed before he figured she’d be at work, the call went straight to voice mail. I can’t take your call right now.

He finally got the point. She’d dumped him and didn’t want anything more to do with him. But why? And why buy a plane ticket if she hadn’t planned to come?

What had changed?

After all the years they’d known each other, he’d thought he’d meant something to her. He’d given her the Claddagh ring, a promise ring, in high school. She’d worn it when she’d left for New York the first time. They may have slipped out of touch in the interim but the promise had always been in the back of his mind. Then six years ago, they’d had the most amazing July together in Sandpiper Beach, falling in love. For real.

Sure they hadn’t kept in touch as much as they should have since that summer, but life was busy and complicated for both of them. And he’d never made it back east for a visit. But they’d made a promise to meet again. Didn’t a guy deserve to know why he’d been forgotten?

Since that day, he’d thrown himself into his job, dated lots of women to help him forget her, and moved on. Or so he kept telling himself.

Now here he was in a dark parking lot, looking at a digital picture of a toddler, while Shelby expectantly waited for him to say something. As if this situation was normal. In any way, shape or form.

“Cute kid.”

That was the best he could offer under the circumstances. An avalanche of pain, confusion and forgotten love crashed over him. And burned. Anguish and aching had been so deep he’d lost himself for a time back then. It’d taken months to feel semi-normal again.

Back in that hotel kitchen, she’d successfully reopened his wounds simply by showing up. Over two years late.

Finally, as painful as it was, he looked at her. The girl he’d known since fourth grade, with the same brown eyes—the eyes he used to get lost in—and light brown hair—though it was shorter and big city stylish now—the same girl, yet so different. She was a career woman now. A mother.

Tonight, face-to-face in a parking lot, thousands of miles still stretched between them. He was a deputy sheriff, he knew how to add things up. She’d said she’d bought her plane ticket, then didn’t meet him, and by the picture of her son, the timing seemed about right.

“Thanks.” Her reply was nearly inaudible.

His wasn’t the response she’d expected from the reaction on her face, a mix between fading hope, agony and facing cold hard facts—there was no fixing what’d gone down between them. Surely she understood that.

Looking resigned, she took back the phone, her fingers cold and trembling. No doubt it’d been hard for her to run after him and show him the reason she’d stood him up. She’d been with someone else and had forgotten to clue him in.

Yet she’d bought a plane ticket. And she wasn’t a liar. He had no reason to doubt that at some point she’d intended to meet him.

“I’m sorry, I really am.” The mouth he used to dream of kissing again quivered as she spoke.

He could only imagine what’d been going on in her world for the last two years. What had happened couldn’t be changed, a little pudgy boy proved it. She’d moved on, hadn’t honored their promise like he had. That was the risk of encouraging someone you loved to follow their dreams. Those aspirations had led her away for good. Maybe his father was wiser than he’d thought when it’d come to interfering with his mother’s dreams.

He couldn’t make his throat work. Didn’t try to speak. So he nodded a silent truce, and she nodded back, then he headed for his room, leaving the new chef like a statue in the parking lot watching him go.

Great new menu or not, he’d be eating elsewhere from here on out.

* * *

A week later, Shelby was still getting familiar with her routine as the new chef at The Drumcliffe Hotel. Though she’d never get used to that haunted and angry flare in Conor’s eyes when he’d appeared in the kitchen her first night. And later in the parking lot, when he’d given her that icy cold stare. She hadn’t seen a hint of him since then. He’d been her friend since fourth grade, she’d never get used to the fact that he hated her.

At least she had a job.

Hitting the farmers’ market early, in the park just off Main Street, pushing the umbrella stroller with Benjamin happily jabbering to himself, Shelby walked the booths, purchasing fresh herbs and vegetables, putting the items in tote bags hanging over the stroller handles. She wanted The Drumcliffe to serve free-range, local and sustainable meat and fowl products, too, and had to rush back to the kitchen for the latest delivery.

A sheriff’s car drove by, prompting a memory of a certain sweet and sexy deputy sheriff—Conor.

“This was the best summer of my life,” Conor said, cupping Shelby’s face.

“I wish it didn’t have to end.”

She wanted to cry at the thought of walking away from him again. The last time she’d only been seventeen and she’d had a dream of going to culinary school in New York. He’d given her a Claddagh ring, and foolish as she was, wearing that promise ring, she knew they’d be together one day. Now she was twenty-three, with a new job lined up back east, still on her quest to work her way up to running her own kitchen in a big city. Catching a break in the Big Apple was far harder than she’d imagined, and she was just starting out. She couldn’t stay in Sandpiper Beach. No matter how tempting Conor Delaney was.

“Don’t let anything keep you from your dreams.” His penetrating blue eyes seemed so sincere at the airport. He was sending her away again. Why didn’t he want her to stay?

“I’ll call every week,” she said.

And she had for the first few months.

“Sure, and once I find a job and get a vacation, I’ll fly back to see you.”

I’ll stay if you ask me. Just say the word.

She stared at her feet, hopeful he might say something. Instead of asking her to stay, he lifted her chin, gazed deeply at her, with something sparking in his baby blues. “Remember our promise. Even if we fall out of touch. Let’s meet at sunset in four years.” The second lifeguard station on Sandpiper Beach. He’d even verified the day and date on his cell phone again.

They’d spent much of the summer—in between making love every chance they had—pretending to be well-adjusted adults with plans and responsibilities. Look how we’ve grown up, they’d silently bragged through their actions and carefree days. Though love simmered just below the surface, the way Conor vehemently insisted she go back to New York, Shelby had been confused. He’d said he loved her, but didn’t ask her to stay. At least he’d asked her to meet him in four years.

If she believed in dreams, and she did with all her heart, then their love affair would survive, and they’d have a fairy tale meeting in four years.

She’d promised to meet him, then they’d shared the most romantic kiss of her life.

Too bad he hated her now. She could never hate him, they’d been friends since elementary school. But she’d have one heck of a job if she wanted to win back his trust. Was it even possible?

Benjamin squealed. He’d seen a parrot in a cage. “Birdie.” She pushed the stroller closer so he could see the bird, then checked her watch to see how long before they needed to get back to the kitchen, wishing she had more time to play with him.

At the end of her super busy days caring for Benjamin and since taking on her role as head chef of the small kitchen at The Drumcliffe, she barely had energy left over for anything beyond brushing her teeth and crawling into bed.

Finished with her shopping, she put Benjamin in his car seat and drove through her hometown, struck with how quiet it seemed. There was no traffic noise, no honking or verbal abuse on the streets. So different from New York City. Here, she could hear her own thoughts, and memories of good times in the friendly beach community and the cozy, quiet little town she’d always taken for granted kept returning. Now she longed to fit back in and have a routine, something she’d never achieved back east. I used to run along the beach every morning. Maybe if she got up early enough, before her mother left for school, Mom could watch Benjamin and she could take a run? Like the old days. She was too young to think in terms of old days and new days, but being a single mom had straightened her out about her prior carefree life. It didn’t exist anymore.

Neither did dreams. She’d lost one too many jobs in New York, and was back home in small-town Sandpiper Beach to regroup. Not exactly the path to culinary greatness.

Reality was a real snotwad. She sighed and turned her thoughts determinedly to the next chore on her agenda, meeting the chicken delivery man for tonight’s menu.

When she parked in the hotel lot, she saw Conor’s car. The guy who’d taken her to the airport and kissed her goodbye, reminding her about their promise before he’d sent her away. The promise she’d broken. The hair stood on her arms. What if it was his day off and she saw him today? Would it be as horrible as last Saturday night? Nothing could top that out-of-control reaction. She’d nearly set the kitchen on fire!

Whatever pain or sadness she’d caused him, not to mention herself, was history. She was all grown up now with her boy on her hip to prove it. Using her keys, she opened the hotel kitchen—her kitchen—and forced a smile. She was head chef somewhere. Then Benjamin kicked his sturdy legs to get down, but no way would she let him run around her kitchen grabbing anything at his eye level. Soon he quit squirming and pointed through the glass door.

“Truck, I know,” she said.

He had a funny way of pronouncing f’s instead of t’s and she didn’t want to encourage him to say fruck in public.

The delivery man had arrived with chicken breasts, thighs and legs for today’s special, fresh from a local farm.

As she signed off on the delivery from the back steps of the kitchen, Conor left his hotel room, looking dressed for the gym. The pen nearly slid across the page. He looked nothing short of a superhero in shorts and a tight T-shirt. Gorgeous. And to think he used to only have eyes for her.

A memory of their summer together—their bodies tangled tight, with him inside her—made her cheeks heat up. That had been one hot summer. Dream on. He hates you, remember?

The man would never want to get involved with her again, especially now that she had a son. So why was he in her thoughts at random moments like this?

Because she’d never realized how much she’d loved him until she’d lost him.

* * *

Conor worked out like a madman at the gym, doing double the usual sets on free weights. He’d just seen Shelby again, with her son in her arms, on the back porch of the hotel kitchen, and he needed to get her out of his mind. Sweat ran down his forehead and made his eyes burn. He started in again with a one-armed preacher curl.

He’d been twenty-seven the day she’d forgotten to show up, and he thought he’d never get over her. He’d seriously thought his life had ended for a while there. What a chump. But he’d finally moved on, had even thought about getting engaged early last year.

He transferred the dumbbell to the other arm and started the same routine.

The experience with Shelby had turned his formerly outgoing self inward, and the couple of relationships he’d ventured into since she’d dumped him had failed. No woman wanted a guy who never communicated. Elena had been the unlucky person who’d paid for Shelby’s carelessness.

He dropped the weight and stood, pacing the mat while his arms burned and fingers tingled.

He couldn’t let Shelby hold him back another day, especially since she’d clearly moved on, being a mother and all.

He glanced around the gym. Maybe he’d ask out the first girl out who showed any interest. With great effort, he remembered his smile and plastered one on while catching the eye of a tall, fit redhead. She smiled back.

Ten minutes later, failing at casual conversation with a willing woman, and having zero interest in asking her on a date, he headed home to shower. It really ticked him off that now that Shelby was back, he couldn’t get his mind off her. Dude, you have a serious problem.

Once back at the hotel, when he got out of the shower, he found Mark in the hotel suite. His brother spent most nights with Laurel these days, and it had been ages since Conor had seen him alone. Now that he worked the front desk, Mark dressed in navy pants and a pale blue shirt. The combination made his already deep blue eyes borderline electric. Right now, those eyes watched him. Conor and Mark were overdue for this talk.

“Why’d you hire her?”

“Shelby?”

“Who else.” Conor threw the used bath towel on the corner of his bed and stepped into his boxer-length briefs.

“I needed a chef, she applied, she had the best credentials.” Defensive as hell. “Aren’t you over her? You almost got engaged to what’s her name last year.”

“Elena. Her name was Elena.” Conor pulled on a T-shirt, his back still wet.

“Maybe if you’d brought her around more, I’d remember.”

He let that slight roll off, though it was true. “It would have been nice to have a heads-up. That’s all I’m saying.”

Blue eyes nailed him with a challenging stare. “So I’m supposed to consult you on all things ‘hotel’ even though you personally told me you didn’t want anything to do with running the place.”

“It’s Shelby, man.” On went the jeans. Zip.

“So you are still hung up on her.”

Conor got in his brother’s face. “I can’t exactly avoid her since I live where she works. She probably thinks I’m a total loser.” He lived there to save for the Beacham House up the coast that’d been sitting empty for years. Like his heart.

He used to want The Beacham for Shelby, now he wanted it for himself. Only himself. A place where he could brood without his family watching his every move. But even a run-down, never-finished house had to be saved for.

Mark took a step back. “Okay, so you’re definitely not over her.”

When Conor saw her that morning, it verified his hunch from the other night—she was thin. Too thin. Like maybe she’d been sick or something.

Why should he care? “Beside the point. She doesn’t give a rip about me.” Hell, she’d obviously been involved with someone else, while knowing about their promise and the plan to meet. On the other hand, being fair, which he really didn’t feel like being, he hadn’t asked her to be a monk, just to show up in four years. And she’d bought a plane ticket. “Did you know she has a kid?” It must be hard being a single mother with a kid to support. Maybe that was the reason for the physical change. Stress.

“Yeah, that’s why she came home. Whoever knocked her up didn’t stick around.”

“Hey, show some respect.” Like Conor should care how Mark referred to his chef.

“I’m just stating the facts. She and the baby are living with her mother.”

Again, why should he care? Maybe because long before they were lovers, they’d been friends. She’d also been the first girl he’d ever trusted. And loved.

Now, he’d never be able to trust her again.

Mark snapped his fingers near Conor’s face, getting his attention again. “So you do still care. Right?”

Conor gave a frustrated headshake over the density of his brother’s brain.

* * *

Sunday morning, Conor borrowed Daniel’s Labrador retriever, Daisy, for an early-morning run on the beach. Saturday night, he’d broken routine and had gone to The Bee Bop Diner to grab a hamburger on his way home from work. No way did he want to see her again at the hotel.

He needed to clear his head before work, had lost far too much sleep all week and was still completely thrown by Shelby Lyn Brookes turning up back home. On Friday when Mark had come by his hotel room, he’d said she was living with her mother.

Obviously, she needed a place to live. And Mark had given her a job. What happened in New York?

Again, why should he care? Hadn’t she slid into the “girl he used to know” category?

The ocean sent angry waves crashing on the rocks, and the sun already promised to heat up the day, even though it was late March. He inhaled the scent of seaweed and briny sea spray to help rejuvenate his confused mind.

By the end of high school, Shelby had been as much a part of his life as his family. During their senior year, they’d spent as many hours as they could steal in a week together. She’d even joined the Delaneys for dinner every Sunday night. He’d cared about her aspirations as much as she’d cared about his. They’d been each other’s own private cheerleading team. Now they were just a couple of people who lived in the same town.

Daisy shot up the beach, where further ahead some scrawny kid jogged. Keeping up with Daisy’s breakneck pace, he cut the distance between him and the jogger, then realized who it was: Shelby. There went that jolt through his chest again, like sticking his finger in a socket. He thought about turning around and heading the other way, but couldn’t take his eyes off her. She might call that gaunt look big-city chic, but to him, Shelby had changed.

What had happened to her? Well, he knew about the pregnant part now, and the kid, but what else?

She’d broken his heart and thrown so much away the day she hadn’t shown up. Yet after all the anger settled down at seeing her last Saturday night, he’d come to face the fact they’d also shared a lifetime of friendship, and, keeping it real, he’d missed that. Heaven help him, he still did.

He kept running, growing closer by the stride. Soon he’d overtake her, and how weird would that be for him to buzz by and blow her off?

The day she’d called instead of showing up, she’d fallen apart on their short phone conversation because she’d just found out.

He slowed his pace. Hell, she worked for his family. He couldn’t go on avoiding her forever.

As he jogged and drew closer, another memory from their good old times slipped around him and, without thinking, he cupped hands around his mouth. “Hey! Wait up, Slim!”

Her head pivoted, her body turned. Even from ten feet away he saw the flash of insecurity in her eyes at the sound of his voice and their inevitable meet-up. Did she still care?

She let him catch up. “Hey” was all she said. He nodded.

They ran slowly, side by side toward the dunes. Their breathing aligned and her legs worked extra hard to match his long strides. This was probably the dumbest thing he’d ever done...besides making a promise to meet someone years later and actually expecting things to work out.

“I’ve gotten into a rut,” she began out of the blue, capturing his full attention, because until then, the silence had been killing him.

“And this has to do with?”

“Slim. You called me Slim.” She slowed to nearly a walk. “And I’m saying I got in a rut somewhere along the way of feeding everyone else before me.” Catching her breath, she glanced at him tentatively. “Goes with the territory of being a chef.”

He gestured to keep running, then nodded for her to keep talking, too, but she didn’t, so he picked up the conversation “So stop that.”

She tossed him a confused glance. “Feeding people? It’s what I do.”

“Leaving yourself for last.”

Now she was the one to pick up speed. “Sometimes in the restaurant business, that isn’t an option.”

“The Drumcliffe isn’t exactly a high-end restaurant. Maybe you’ll catch a break now that you’re home.” Oops, from her reaction, he’d ruffled her feathers.

“Running a kitchen is a big job, no matter where.” Defensive as hell. “It’s just a tough pace to keep up.”

“I get that.” And speaking of pace, he slowed and motioned for her to turn around with him, heading back toward the hotel. “I’m merely suggesting you feed yourself first, then everybody else. If you pass out no one can get fed, right?”

“I haven’t so far.”

“My mom wouldn’t appreciate you testing out that theory in her kitchen, either.”

“I know, I already tried to set it on fire.”

Finally, she gave up the defensive act, even cracked a self-deprecating joke. They laughed briefly and ironically as they jogged along. Daisy decided to check out Shelby, sniffing in all the usual spots, presumably checking to see if she was female, even while they ran. Shelby shooed her away after patting the dog’s head.

He’d started off on a random topic and somehow managed to rattle her cage. A knack.

But things didn’t feel nearly as awkward as Conor thought they might. In a way, they’d managed to pick up where they’d left off on the old-friend scale. But the rest, the ex-lovers part, would be a topic for another day. After running a long time in companionable silence, they approached the path back to the hotel and something crazy popped into his head because he’d called her Slim. Being around Shelby had always set off nutty ideas.

“Let me buy you breakfast.”

Out of breath, she looked surprised, like she needed a reason. Like she was the last person on earth he should ask out to eat. “I should go home and shower. Get ready for the brunch.”

“Come on, let me buy you breakfast.” His inept way of offering an olive branch. “It’s still really early.”

She stared at him for a few breaths, while he worked on getting used to being around her again. She still rattled him.

“But you hate me,” she said.

“I don’t hate you. I’m mad as hell at you, and don’t know if I can ever forgive you—” he lifted his finger “—but, I don’t hate you.”

“Well, that clears things up.” She glanced out toward the ocean, at her jogging shoes covered in beach sand, then at her watch.

His crazy idea wouldn’t let go, and Shelby had just run several miles, she needed to eat. “Remember the place we used to get burgers at? The Bee Bop Diner?”

“That crazy little place that can’t decide whether to be a fifties diner or a fast-food joint? If The Drumcliffe job hadn’t come through I planned to apply there.”

“Seriously? Then you probably already know they serve a mean all-you-can-eat breakfast. Cheap, too. Come on—my treat.” He didn’t touch her, couldn’t. Not yet. But he started up the pavement, then turned back. “You coming?”

“Okay,” she said, looking like she’d just witnessed the apocalypse.

Over pancakes and eggs, his guard came down just a bit. Surprisingly they were both hungry and didn’t let old emotion get in the way of enjoying a good meal.

They’d been friends long before they’d fallen in love and messed everything up. To clarify, he’d fallen in love and she’d messed everything up. But they still managed to have a civil meal together. Because they were adults now, right? Right.

“So you’ve got a kid.”

“I do. And regardless of how that came about, he’s a joy.” She smiled, her face softening with the mention of her son. “Hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life, but I wouldn’t trade him for anything.”

That certainly set things straight. The boy was first in her life...as he should be. Still, he had a million more questions on that topic that should wait for another day. “He is cute. He’s got your eyes.”

“Thanks.” Her expression spoke a thousand feelings—relief, appreciation and sweetness being the first to pop in his mind.

He might be mad as hell at her, but old habits died hard. “Let’s hope he doesn’t inherit your height, too.”

“Hey.” She knew well how to pretend offense at his chronic teasing.

Their eyes met briefly, and a reminder of what they used to have, how they used to behave around each other, stood out. He looked at his last pancake, suddenly full. But he needed to keep the conversation going, even if he was afraid of what he’d hear. “So what’s it like to work in a big New York kitchen?”

She sighed, pushing the last of her scrambled eggs around her plate. “How do I describe ordered chaos?” She put her fork down, her eyes sparking with enthusiasm. “It’s like a group dance, semi-choreographed, but with pots and pans, and noise, oh, so much noise.” She found the straw wrapper on the table and rolled and unrolled it. “Being part of a kitchen crew is always an accident waiting to happen, tempers ready to flare, insults waiting to get flung.” She glanced at him, and as she sensed his interest, her eyes latched onto his. There went another jolt straight down his chest. “And at the end, a miracle, the food gets plated like a work of art, and everyone loves each other again.” She lifted the straw wrapper to her mouth and blew to make it unfurl, then laughed lightly. “In other words, it’s crazy. Completely nuts. But I love it.”

“The meal you served me was incredible.”

She dipped her head. “Thanks.” After popping a bite of pancake into her mouth, she drank some coffee. “It’s got to be nuts being a deputy sheriff, too. Right?”

“Some days. Yeah.”

The waiter refilled their coffee cups and removed a few of the finished plates from their table.

“These days with those tragic stories around the country, it’s got to be extra hard on you.” She looked sincerely concerned.

“It’s all in the training, I think. We’re into community policing around here, and for a small town like Sandpiper, that works.”

“Didn’t you work in San Diego for a while?”

“Yeah, right out of college, I got in their peace officer training program.”

“I bet you’ve seen it all.” Did she look awestruck?

“I’ve been in some tough situations, that’s for sure.”

“Wow. I think you must have the hardest job in the world.”

“Hardly, but it keeps me on my toes.” For an instant, he let himself feel all that. Why not, she was laying on the compliments like extra mayo on a club sandwich. He puffed up his chest just a tiny bit. Pride went darn well with pancakes. It also came before the fall. “Do you remember how we met?”

Her eyes popped open like she’d just been asked the million-dollar question on a game show, or a security question for a forgotten password. “Grade school?”

“Fourth grade, when you were a pipsqueak.” It was his turn to play with the straw wrapper. “And you know why I liked you right off?”

“I thought you couldn’t stand me.”

“That’s because you were the only girl who could beat me at tetherball.” Suddenly thirsty, he drank from his ice water. “You had the heart of a lion. That’s what I noticed.”

From her expression, he knew he’d impressed her, but the big question was why did he want to? Maybe it was carb overload madness from all the pancakes and syrup. Nevertheless, he went on. “You bothered the heck out of me, but you fascinated me, too.”

“Then why’d you treat me so mean?” she said with an incredulous stare.

Something about her brought out the tease in him. “Maybe it was your Pippi Longstocking braids.”

She covered her face, doing her best not to blush. He could still embarrass her.

Her coffee-with-cream eyes drifted to her runner’s watch, then went ultrawide. She looked at him, panicked.

“Oh, my God. Forget the shower. I need to get to the kitchen to start brunch!”

Chapter Three

Shelby and Conor rushed through The Drumcliffe kitchen doors smack into a kitchen crew rushing around, setting up food stations, and Maureen Delaney, with an obviously anxious expression on her face.

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Delaney!”

“It was my fault, Mom.”

Maureen’s concern shifted to quizzical, with one curled brow. “I was getting worried.”

“I forced her to have breakfast with me,” Conor continued. Shelby ignored him, instead focusing on everything she needed to prepare in less than an hour.

Grabbing a chef coat from a hook in her cubbyhole, she shifted into gear. “Did everyone see the menu I posted yesterday for today’s brunch?”

Mumbles and affirmations sifted through the small group. “Who’s assigned to eggs and making omelets?” Martha raised her hand. “Do you need help getting your veggies chopped and diced?”

“I’m good,” Martha said, dicing bell peppers as she answered, a stainless-steel bowl of chopped onions beside her.

“Conor, can you help her plate all of the options? The avocados are over there, and don’t forget grated cheese, sour cream and salsa.”

“Sure.” He stepped to the basin and washed his hands, impressing her with not having to be told.

“Fred, you’re the meats guy, right?”

“Already started the pork chops, sausage, bacon and ham.” Of course he had, she could smell the rich, hunger-inducing aroma before she’d crossed the kitchen threshold, even though she’d just stuffed herself with Bee Bop Diner pancakes, bacon and eggs.

“Great, thank you.” Relief swept over Shelby as the buffet shaped up. They could do this. Maybe brunch wouldn’t turn into a calamity after all, and the teamwork would save her from getting another strike on her record. She needed her job!

“Can someone put together the fruit salad? Oh, and squeeze the orange juice?”

“I can do that,” Maureen chimed in.

“Oh, you shouldn’t...”

“I enjoy getting my hands dirty. Always have. Don’t worry.”

“I can help, too,” Abby, the head server, looked enthusiastic about pitching in.

That left Shelby to prepare today’s special, the peach-stuffed French toast. She bolted to the pantry and pulled out the extra thick bread, threw it on her station counter near the large, long grill, then strode to the double-door refrigerator for a couple cartons of eggs and some cream. On a second trip, she grabbed the extra-large stainless-steel bowl of fresh peach slices she’d had the foresight to leave overnight infusing in her special mix of spices and natural juice. The preparation smelled great.

The next hour whizzed by as everyone focused on their jobs, and five minutes before ten, when The Drumcliffe Sunday Buffet was set to open, every food station was ready to go. Several times during that hour, Shelby glanced up to Conor’s reassuring smile. He knew his way around the kitchen, probably from growing up at the hotel. Even Maureen seemed content with the fare and how the well-orchestrated disorder had all turned out. “I’ve got to try that French toast,” Maureen said.

“You’ve earned it!” Shelby plated two half slices oozing with the lightly stewed peach sections, and ladled warm maple syrup over the top. “Let me know what you think.”

After one bite, Maureen let out a sigh of ecstasy. “Oh, my God, this is delicious.”

Shelby grinned and glanced to the right in time to see Conor’s proud expression. They’d all worked as a team, focused on one thing and one thing only, to make a damn fine brunch buffet for the hotel guests and locals looking for a change of pace on a Sunday morning. What could have turned into a catastrophe had become triumph.

The action was nonstop for the next two hours. Along with great reviews on the French toast that totally boosted her pride, a few mishaps were averted, and meals kept rolling out the whole time, until the last guest was served and cleanup began.

“I think that’s a new record for Sunday brunch,” Maureen said, tallying up the server receipts. “Wow.”

“Fantastic.” Conor offered a high five, and she obliged.

After a brief smile, she got down to business, taking back full responsibility for running the show. “Conor and Maureen, please don’t stick around for cleanup. We’ve got it covered,” Shelby said, glancing at each of her staff.

“Are you sure, dear?” Maureen said, sounding more like a mother than a boss.

“Absolutely. It’s a beautiful day, go out and enjoy it.”

“Yeah, Mom, go set up your easel and paint somewhere.”

“Well, you don’t have to ask me twice to do that.” Maureen’s Mona Lisa smile reassured Shelby that, thanks to Conor taking the blame and sticking around to help, she’d saved her job. Inwardly, she let out a huge appreciative sigh.

Nothing could hide the completely satisfied smile she flashed at Conor, who stood across the room, ready to tackle loading the industrial-sized dishwasher. Was he staying on to help anyway?

The hero points kept adding up, but he’d always been that kind of guy, as far as Shelby was concerned.

A pang of guilt twisted her smile into a near pout. She’d really screwed up where he was concerned. If she could only find a way to make up for that.

If Conor kept staring at the small but mighty chef, her brown eyes flashing with victory, he might do something stupid. Like pick her up and swing her around. So he forced a look at the mile-high stack of plates and the job at hand. They’d been serving too fast and furious to attempt keeping up with washing the dishes during the actual brunch hours.

Something had changed since that moment this morning when he’d considered turning around and running the other way when he’d first seen her jogging on the beach. Over breakfast, things had gotten familiar, like old times, when he could trust her with his life.

The problem was, he’d also trusted her with his heart, and she’d put it through the food processor. Bottom line, he couldn’t get sucked in by her contagious never-say-die attitude, and that great grin. Nope. Too much had changed. Right before his eyes, her smile quickly changed into a lemon-sucking pucker, as if she’d read his mind. She turned and scraped her grill as though removing barnacles from a boat.

She was a mother now, the sole breadwinner for her and her son, who, because of him asking her to have breakfast with him, could have put her job in jeopardy. He was positive, after talking to her earlier, that she still had plans for making it big in the culinary world. Something that was theoretically impossible here in Sandpiper Beach.

Rinsing used to be his favorite job when he’d been coerced into helping in the kitchen during summers. Now, he got a little overaggressive with the hand sprayer on the stack of dishes he rinsed, and soaked his shirt.

She’d only stick around long enough to get back on her feet, then head off to set the culinary world on fire. No way would Sandpiper Beach ever hold on to her. Hell, that was all she’d ever wanted to do since her mother used to barter tutoring for after-school cooking classes for Shelby. She’d told him time and again how that first Little Chefs class had changed her life. From fifth grade on she’d found her calling. He’d been the lucky recipient of hundreds of gourmet lunches throughout high school, too. Back then he’d been her biggest encourager.

Right out of his life.

He stacked another rack of plates on the conveyor heading for the high-temp sanitizing dishwasher, then shifted to the other end. The first batch passed through the splash guards and hit him like a sauna square in the face and chest. He remembered to put on thick, elbow-length rubber gloves before removing the cleaned, and extremely hot, dishes.

They’d had a good run earlier, followed by a great morning and breakfast together, before jumping into save-the-brunch mode. With the extra help from him and his mother, they’d made up some time, too. It’d been fun to be part of her team, and she handled things skillfully, like a trouper. She was a natural on her turf in their restaurant kitchen.

It was the personal level he couldn’t handle. Or trust, trust for the girl he’d once promised his heart to. Yet something seemed to have changed between them today. His anger had dialed back a notch. If he didn’t watch out, he might get stupid again.

And for that reason, he’d avoid her. It wasn’t because he was a coward, he was just being practical. Things had changed, and what they’d shared would never be the same. Once all the dishes had been washed and put away, while Shelby was distracted with her staff discussing Sunday night dinner, he took off.

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