Author: Jill Shalvis

“Sawyer—”

“Save your breath.” They were on the move down the hallway. He snatched up her purse in the entryway and kept moving, right into the kitchen. Flipping on the lights, he set her on the countertop.

It was icy cold on her bare ass, and she squealed. He merely held her there with one hand and rifled through her purse with the other. Yanking out her inhaler, he thrust it into her hands. She took a puff and held it in, watching him.

He’d gone from her lover to the cop in a blink, cool and calm and completely in charge. “Impressive,” she murmured when she exhaled. “You’re good in an emergency. But you do realize that I’m not having an emergency, right? I was just…” She let out a low laugh. “You’re pretty potent, Sheriff. You sent me out of the stratosphere. I’m still coming down, that’s all.”

“I thought—” He shook his head. “I thought you were having an asthma attack because I pushed too hard, rushing you—”

“No.” She ran her hands up and down his tense arms. “I’m sorry I scared you, but I’m fine.”

He stared at her, then backed into a chair, minus some of his usual grace, given that he was naked, too. “I thought you were in trouble,” he said.

Oh, God. How was she going to give him up? Don’t go there, not now. Tomorrow…She hopped down off the counter, walked over, and straddled him, sliding her fingers into his hair.

His hands went to her ass and squeezed.

With a smile, she bent over him, lightly brushing her lips with his. “I actually forgot I had asthma,” she murmured. “You know that’s only happened with you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You must be special to make me forget such a thing.”

Between them, he stirred, and he tightened his grip on her ass, palming her possessively. Still holding her, he rose and turned to eye the kitchen table speculatively.

“Sawyer,” she said on a laugh. There were a few things on the table—a stack of mail, an empty paper plate, his wallet and keys—but with one swipe of his hand it all hit the floor.

A ridiculous flutter went through her belly.

He laid her down on the surface of the table and towered over her, planting his hands on either side of her head. “Let’s see what else I can make you forget.”

Chapter 23

“Just when you think you have

a handle on life, it breaks.”

Chloe Traeger

The next day, Sawyer had just finished reading a kid the riot act for shoplifting his lunch at the convenience store when his phone vibrated. Chloe, he thought, his chest squeezing with the painful reminder of how she’d slipped out of his bed at some point in the middle of the night.

But it wasn’t Chloe. It was Josh calling to tell him that his father had been admitted into the ER for chest pains.

“It’s not a heart attack,” Josh said when he’d met Sawyer in the hallway outside Nolan’s room.

Sawyer took his first breath in the twenty minutes since he’d gotten the phone call. “So what is it?”

“He said he was trying to mow his lawn early this morning when the chest pains came on. He waited until now to come in because he’s Nolan Thompson.”

Sawyer gritted his teeth. “He said he’d hired someone to do that for him,” he muttered, though why he felt inclined to defend himself he couldn’t guess. Nearly everyone in town knew about his rocky relationship with his dad, including Josh.

Josh shrugged. He was looking like it’d been a long day already in wrinkled blue scrubs, a stethoscope hanging around his neck, his dark hair ruffled and dark eyes lined with exhaustion. “It’s anxiety. I’m going to prescribe some mild anti-anxiety meds, but he needs to go low stress.”

“You tell him that?”

Josh gave a tired smile. “Yeah.” He clapped a hand on Sawyer’s shoulder. “Try to take it easy on him.”

Sawyer walked into the room. His father was prone on his back, hooked up to an IV and oxygen, looking frail, small, and old, and yet he still managed to make a sound that perfectly conveyed what he thought at the sight of Sawyer. “Gee, Dad,” he said. “I’m happy to see you, too.”

Nolan closed his eyes. “You’d be sarcastic to your dying father?”

“You’re not dying. You’re going to outlive me out of sheer orneriness.”

His father’s eyes opened and narrowed.

“It’s anxiety, not your heart,” Sawyer told him, standing at the foot of the hospital bed.

“The fuck it is. I was mowing the lawn. No stress in that.”

“And why were you mowing the lawn, Dad?”

“Because I…” Nolan clammed up.

Sawyer was trying his damnedest to ignore The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air rerun blaring on the TV behind him. He had no idea how to proceed here without further infuriating his father. “Dad, I know there’s no kid.”

“He got busy.”

“There’s no kid,” Sawyer repeated.

Nolan frowned. “You’re standing in front of the TV.”

“I’m trying to talk to you.”

“Move.”

Sawyer felt the helplessness reach up and choke him. It was a new feeling, but it’d become his best friend since Chloe had sneaked out of his bed, and, he suspected, out of his life. What was it she’d once told him—life was too short? She’d been right on. “What do you want from me, Dad?”

“Nothing. Take your fucking bad attitude and get the hell out of here.”

He could have no idea how much Sawyer wanted to do just that. But no more putting this kind of shit off. “Look, I know I disappointed you as a kid. I get that. I disappointed me as a kid.”

For the first time since Sawyer had walked into the room, Nolan met his gaze.

“And I know,” Sawyer went on, “that you did the best you could with me.”

There was a long, painful silence during which Sawyer kicked a chair closer to the side of the bed and sat.

Getting the message that Sawyer wasn’t leaving, Nolan finally cleared his throat. “Maybe I could have done better with you.”

“I don’t know how,” Sawyer admitted. “I was a complete shit. We both know that. In fact, raising me probably put you in here.” He reached for his father’s hand. It was the first time they’d touched in years. “But I’m trying to make up for it. It’d be great if you let me.”

“How?” Nolan asked warily.

“By eating some pride and letting your sorry-ass son help you out once in a while.”

“You’re busy,” Nolan said.

“Not that busy.”

His father said nothing to this. His gaze drifted to the TV again.

Sawyer stood up. “But it can’t be one-sided. You’re going to have to meet me halfway.”

Nolan shrugged noncommittally.

“Do you know how many times you’ve called me, Dad?” Sawyer asked.

Nolan hunched over the remote, squinting at it since he didn’t have his glasses. “Fucking remote needs new batteries. Get the nurse for me, will you?”

“Never. You’ve called me never,” Sawyer said. “I don’t even know if you have my phone number.”

Nolan aimed the remote and gave it another try.

Sawyer sighed. Maybe he deserved this. He’d been so busy preserving his own pride and playing super sheriff to make up for the past that he hadn’t recognized his father’s pride. The man was getting old, and Sawyer was starting to get how much it sucked when the world you worked so hard to build fell down around you like a house of cards. He took the damn remote and walked out of the room to find some batteries. He was halfway down the hallway when his phone rang. Sawyer looked at the screen with disbelief. It was his father.

“I have your number because when you bought me the phone last year, you put your number in it,” Nolan said. “I never called you before because I had nothing to say.”

Sawyer walked back into his father’s hospital room and stared at his father, the both of them still holding their cell phones to their ears. “You have something to say now?” Sawyer asked.

“Yeah. Except we have to hang up first because I’m not supposed to have this cell phone on in here.” His father lowered his arm.

Sawyer reached up and manually turned off the TV because a new episode was starting, and if The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air theme song got stuck in his head, he was going to have to kill himself.

Nolan cleared his throat, his eyes going to the now dark screen of the TV. He looked uncomfortable and embarrassed, but he still spoke. “I saw you in the paper. You caught that guy trying to hurt that pretty waitress at the diner.”

“Amy,” Sawyer said. “She’s okay.”

“I know.” His father cleared his throat. “Because of you.”

Sawyer waited, but he said nothing else. Apparently that was as big an atta boy as he was ever going to get, but it was so much more than he’d expected that he found himself speechless. “So you’re saying?”

His father scowled, the lines etched deep in his jowls. “That you didn’t totally fuck it up.”

Sawyer had to laugh. “Wow. That’s going to go straight to my head, Dad.”

“Watch it. I can still kick your ass.” But there was a small smile around the corners of Nolan’s mouth when he said it. “Now get out so I can get some sleep.” In fact, his eyes were already closed.

But Sawyer knew it was going to be okay. Not great, maybe never great, but at least they could do something they’d never quite managed before—peacefully coexist.

“You look different, Clo.”

Chloe glanced at Lance and then quickly averted her gaze, afraid he’d see her misery. She needed sleep. Even more, she needed to understand what had happened at Sawyer’s last night.

Or maybe it was best if she didn’t.