The question hit home with surprising force. Trying to prevent what happened to her town and her family’s livelihood was exactly why Natalie had gone to Washington. What was that old movie...Mr. Smith Goes to Washington? That was her. A naive, idealistic Jimmy Stewart, millennial style.
She’d accepted the internship with their local representative to fight from the inside for farming communities and after working in Washington awhile had wondered if maybe law school might be for her.
Instead she’d caught the attention of Mick Evans and the powerful men in Russia that he’d worked for. If she’d stayed in Minnesota and hadn’t accepted that internship, maybe none of this would have happened.
“I think my father would have disowned me,” she saidwith a laugh, although it was true. “A legal assistant”—or in her case a politician, which was just as bad in his eyes—“is close enough to the enemy. You can’t imagine how many times I heard that adage about lying down with dogs and waking up with fleas.”
Becky laughed. “I take it your father didn’t care much for lawyers.”
“That is putting it mildly,” Natalie said dryly. “He thinks they are all lying, untrustworthy snakes who use the law to make money for rich people and trick honest, hardworking folk who didn’t go to college and learn how to talk fast.”
“A not completely inaccurate portrayal of some lawyers I know.” Becky smiled. “I should like to meet your father. He sounds like he would get along great with mine.”
Natalie immediately sobered, a wave of sadness pouring over her. She missed her family desperately. One of the hardest things she’d ever done was letting them think she had been killed. But she knew it was the only way to keep them safe. She hadn’t been able to save Scott, but she wasn’t going to let them take her family from her, too.
Instead of answering directly, she said, “I’m looking forward to meeting your father soon. There’s a leaky pipe in the upstairs tub and replacing it is above my pay grade. I have it turned off for now, but when I get around to it, I’ll be calling.”
Becky grinned. “You may get back in his good graces yet.”
The two women were walking out of the municipal building together when Natalie saw the man heading up the stairs toward them and nearly stumbled. She bit back a curse, recognizing the sheriff.
Unfortunately it was too late to turn around or run and hide as he’d already seen them. Although from the look of annoyance that crossed his face, he might have beenconsidering the same thing. His mouth tightened as his gaze lingered on Becky for an instant before shifting to Natalie, where it lightened considerably.
She didn’t need to be a detective to figure out that the sheriff didn’t much like the town’s manager-cum-ballet-teacher.
“Miz Wilson,” he drawled, with a tip of his flat brown sheriff’s hat that was only a brim-adjustment away from making the image of cowboy complete. His voice was considerably sharper when he turned to her new friend. “Ms. Randall.”
“Sheriff Brouchard,” Natalie said.
Becky rolled her eyes a little before adding an amused, “Brock.” He didn’t seem to appreciate the lack of formality, which Becky explained to Natalie. “We went to high school together. Brock played football with my older brother—although Brock went on to play at college as well.”
Natalie nodded, not surprised. The sheriff was built like an athlete. “Nice to see you again,” she said to the sheriff. “I’ll see you on Thursday, Becky.”
She tried to move off, but the sheriff stopped her. “I’m glad to run into you again. It seems I owe you my thanks. Rebecca told me you saved Sammie from a nasty spill. Those were the scrapes I saw on your knees and arms.”
It wasn’t a question, but Natalie nodded. “It was nothing. I should get going—”
He didn’t let her finish. “Sammie said she didn’t get a chance to really thank you. She was late to class.” He shot a sharp glare in Becky’s direction, which Natalie suspected explained his current attitude toward her teacher. Becky must have given him an earful. “We’re going to pizza on Friday. Why don’t you join us?”
Was he asking her out? Natalie wasn’t sure, and neither apparently was Becky. But even if she hadn’t just noticed the slight flicker of hurt in her new friend’s gazebefore she started studying the ground, the last thing Natalie wanted to do was go on a maybe-a-date with the county sheriff. “I’m afraid I can’t,” she said. “I already have plans.”
She glanced across the street, hoping to make a quick getaway to where her car was parked when she suddenly froze—and gasped as she caught a glimpse of a man staring at her from behind the wheel of a black sedan stopped at the light. But it was only for an instant. The light turned, and he drove off before she could react.
But it was as if she’d seen a ghost.
She swayed from the force of the shock. Her knees buckled. She gave a strangled cry of “Scott!” right before everything went black.
• • •
Imust be dreaming.
It had seemed like a dream the night Scott Taylor walked into Natalie’s life.
She hadn’t felt that kind of excitement—that kind of teenage lust—since she was, well, a teenager.
Maybe not even then.
She hadn’t been the one to see him first. Her friend Hannah, whose engagement they were celebrating, had noticed him the moment he walked into the Capitol Hill bar with two also nice-looking and clean-cut companions.
