She found her hand was slightly damp as she reached for the door handle. She’d grown up hearing Harley rail against the police—how corrupt and useless they were, how they targeted the poor and the people who needed their help the most. And then he’d told her if she ever said anything to Sheriff Rafferty about the beatings, Rafferty would come straight to him because they were friends. And she’d get twice the punishment.
She’d never heard any gossip around town that Sheriff Rafferty had actually been corrupt. Mostly people called him inept and lazy, more interested in his coffee and crossword puzzles than actual law enforcement. But she’d never been sure if her daddy was telling the truth about them being friends, so she’d made it her policy to steer clear of the police whenever she saw them.
Old habits died hard.
The sheriff’s office was pretty much what she’d expected. It smelled of Pine-Sol trying to mask the smell of burned coffee and the particular mustiness of old files. A wooden desk sat to the right of the door, and a slightly plump woman with fresh highlights in her blond hair sat behind it, her long acrylic nails clicking against the keyboard as she typed. Her desk was stacked with papers and file folders, and behind her was a dispatch board where she took emergency calls.
There was another desk directly across from hers, but this one was empty except for a couple of framed photographs. Two holding cells lined the back wall of the room, stark and empty except for cots with plastic-covered mattresses.
It took Marnie a few seconds to place the woman’s face. And then it hit her and dread settled in her stomach like a lead weight.
Lila Rose.
The girl everyone had loved to hate but never had the guts to say so to her face because they were afraid of what she’d say about them in return.
There hadn’t been a moment from kindergarten through her junior year that Lila hadn’t made fun of her for wearing the same worn-out clothes or only having a boiled egg to eat for lunch some days. It had always irked Lila that Marnie could come and go as she pleased at the O’Haras’ place. In Lila’s mind, it was she and Sloane who should’ve been the best of friends—the two daughters of wealthy ranching families. But Sloane couldn’t stand Lila and had told her so to her face in first grade. So in turn, Lila had set out to make Marnie as miserable as possible in payment.
“Can I help you?” Lila said, looking up from her computer.
She was still pretty, and it was easy for Marnie to see the homecoming queen she’d once been now that she’d recognized her. She must’ve married well, because the rock on her finger had to be a good two carats and the diamond tennis bracelet she wore strained against the thickness of her wrist.
Marnie didn’t have to look into Lila’s mind to see what she was thinking. It was written all over her face. She sized Marnie up quickly and dismissed her as unimportant, though she was clearly curious about what a stranger was doing in the sheriff’s office. But she smiled a fake smile and welcomed her anyway.
“I’m here to see Blaze. I think he’s expecting me.”
“Oh, sure. He mentioned something about that, though he didn’t tell me your name. You must be the new tenant over at the river house. I’d heard him mention to someone the other day that it had been rented.”
“That’s me,” Marnie said, forcing a smile. After all, Lila and her family were potential customers. “Is he in?”
“Oh, sure, but I think he’s on a phone call. Let me check.”
Marnie could tell she was irritated that she hadn’t introduced herself, but she wasn’t quite ready for that yet. Some things required a running start.
Lila got up and knocked lightly on the closed door behind her desk. She stuck her head in and said a few words, then closed the door again.
“He’ll be right out,” she said, taking her place behind the desk again and smoothing her skirt over her thighs. “Where are you moving here from? Do I detect a little bit of the south in your voice?”
“I’m coming from Savannah. I’ve actually rented the vacant shop next door to open a photography studio.”
Lila squealed and clapped her hands together once, and Marnie wondered how it was some people never changed. She was still the same vapid popular girl, just trapped inside a thirty-something body. And she’d probably still be that same girl at eighty.
“Oh, that’s perfect! We have to drive almost an hour to get family photos done, and that’s such a hassle with three kids. And a good friend of mine had her wedding here and she brought in a fancy photographer all the way from Sun Valley.” Lila lowered her voice conspiratorially. “It was the sheriff’s sister that did that, but they can afford it. Sloane always did have expensive taste. Must’ve cost a fortune.”
Marnie raised her eyebrows at that, both at the gossip and the casual mention of Sloane. She wondered how long it took Lila to spread police business all over town. She probably had her phone to her ear the minute a 911 call came into the switchboard.
“I’ve done weddings big and small all over the country,” Marnie said evenly. “Hopefully people will start coming to Laurel Valley instead of leaving it for their portraits.”
Lila’s lips pinched and her eyes widened slightly, but she continued to smile. “You must be quite the photographer if you think people will come all the way here for photos.”
Marnie kept her smile in place. “I guess I’ll have to wait and see. I had a six-month waiting list when I was in Savannah.”
Thankfully, Blaze’s office door opened and he stepped out before Lila could respond.
Her first thought was that he hadn’t changed much. The O’Haras had all been blessed with good looks, but only a few of them possessed the black hair and piercing blue eyes that had been passed down from their great-grandfather. Blaze, Sloane, Jax, and a few of the younger generation all shared those striking attributes. When it came to those particular O’Haras, it wasn’t just good looks. They were stunning.
Her last impression of Blaze was of a young man in his early twenties who’d finished his term in the military and was trying to figure out what he should do with his life. He looked rougher around the edges than he had back then. She could see the sleeve of tattoos peeking out beneath his rolled-up shirtsleeves and the growth of stubble she had to imagine was intentional rather than forgotten.
He was tall, like all the O’Haras were, but Blaze was just a little taller than the others. Broad through the shoulders and chest, he wore the weapon in his holster like he’d been born to it. And she supposed he had been, in a way. She’d known from the time he was young that he was destined to protect and serve. The gold wedding band on his left hand caught the light, and she could see the contentment in his face. He’d made a good life.
