Secretly Married Read online

  “I asked if you needed toothpaste.”

  What she needed was her own head examined. “What?”

  “Toothpaste. To go with that little toothbrush with its own case that you still carry around.”

  Her face heated. “What are we doing now, Sam? Having a perfectly inconsequential exchange over my toiletries?”

  “Do you need some damn toothpaste or not?”

  “No.” The little case also had room for its own tiny tube.

  “Ever tidy.”

  “Prepared.” Only that wasn’t really true. If she’d been prepared, she’d never have gotten into this situation in the first place. “Is that it? Or do you have some other bombshell you’d like to drop on me just for kicks.”

  His eyes narrowed. “No.”

  Her stomach tightened. The bed behind her loomed large in her mind, even though she knew better than to think Sam would ever use force. He’d never needed to.

  “Here.” He shoved a bundle into her arms. “So you don’t get cold.” Then he turned and crossed the hall, disappearing into his own room. The door closed with a soft click.

  She looked down at the items. Thick white socks. A large, faded blue sweatshirt with the collar cut out.

  Her cold bare toes curled.

  She eyed the panel of his bedroom door for a long while.

  Still married.

  The reality of it plunged over her and with a shaking hand, she closed her door again and stumbled to the bed, clutching the sweatshirt and socks like some sort of life preserver that had no hope of saving her.

  Chapter 5

  The voices Delaney heard coming from the kitchen the next morning nearly sent her back to the quasi sanctuary of the guest bedroom. To hide out. To indulge her own cowardice.

  She smoothed back her hair. Her narrow black slacks and white tunic were made for traveling and were presentable, but her feet were bare thanks to the broken heel on her shoe. Hardly the optimum conditions in which to face Sam and his morning visitors.

  It was her own stupidity, of course, that led to this. She should have been better prepared for Sam.

  As if anyone could ever be prepared for him.

  She entered the kitchen, stopping just inside the entryway. Sam stood at the stove, his back to her.

  He was cooking.

  A newly acquired skill, or just one he’d never exercised when they’d been married?

  You are still married.

  She mentally told the voice in her head to put a sock in it and thanked her stars that none of her patients could see her now. She’d lose all credibility.

  Janie sat at the granite countertop alongside a young girl with a mop of blond curls who was watching Sam’s actions at the stove with evident glee. “Come on, Sam,” Janie was saying. “You can’t disappoint Etta any more than you could disappoint April wanting your French toast.”

  “Not now, Janie.” Sam turned to the counter, sliding a plate in front of the little girl. Then he looked over his shoulder, clearly unsurprised to see her standing there. “Want coffee?”

  “Yes.” Mindful of his visitors, she made herself walk forward and add a thank-you.

  He flipped a mug off a hook and filled it, then handed it to her. They could have been strangers, as if the previous day had never occurred.

  She lifted the mug and rounded the countertop, aiming for the third of the four bar stools. The coffee was good. No surprise. Sam’s coffee had always been better than hers. It was the only thing he’d ever done in the kitchen.

  Besides you.

  Shut up, voice.

  She slid onto the stool and smiled at the little girl who was watching her curiously. “I’m Delaney,” she finally said when it seemed apparent nobody was taking charge of introductions.

  “I’m April. My grandma is Maisy Fielding.” Vivid green eyes behind thick glasses stared up at her.

  “She has the inn I’ve heard about.”

  April nodded, then forked a bite of French toast and sliced banana into her little bow mouth. She’d barely swallowed before she spoke. “She lets me come with Janie every weekend for Sheriff Sam’s French toast. Are you going to live here now with him?”

  Delaney nearly choked on her sip of coffee. She carefully set down the mug. She didn’t dare look at Sam. “I have a home, actually. In New York.”

  April continued watching her for a moment. Her gaze seemed peculiarly intense. Then she looked back at her plate without comment and continued eating.

  “Here.” Sam pushed a plate in front of her. French toast. No bananas. He’d remembered she was allergic to them.

  Still, there was enough to feed a lumberjack. “The coffee’s plenty,” she protested.

  “Eat.” His voice was flat.

  “Good grief, Sam,” Janie chided. “Single-syllable commands are for dogs.”

  “You’re too skinny, so eat.” Sam’s eyebrow rose. “Better?”

  Delaney knew her face was flushed when Janie and April looked her way. “Such a way with words,” she murmured.

  April giggled. Janie rolled her eyes. Sam ignored her.

  Once her coffee reached half-mast, she picked up her fork to defend against the hollow rumbling in her stomach. Certainly not because of Sam’s order. She’d never been good at following orders. Not her father’s. Not Sam’s. The only one in her life smart enough not to try was Chad.

  And he’d told Sam that they were engaged.

  She set down her fork. “I need to get a new pair of shoes.” And to get off the island.

  “The store’s closed on Sundays,” April said. She was pushing a last bedraggled slice of banana around her plate, soaking up every drop of maple syrup.

  Great. “Does someone other than Mr. Montoya have a boat that could take me across?”

  “No.”

  Her mouth closed. She eyed Sam. He was loading the dishwasher. The picture of domesticity. Except for the badge on his leather belt and the unwelcoming glint in his dark eyes.

  “Turnabout’s a little old-fashioned that way,” Janie provided. She carried her plate to the sink and rinsed it before handing it to Sam. Delaney felt the speculation in the young woman’s eyes as she looked from Sam back to her again. “Diego’s livelihood is the ferry. Nobody encroaches on that.”

  “What if there’s an emergency?”

  Sam spoke. “Replacing your broken-heeled shoe isn’t one.”

  She felt her jaw tighten. “I wasn’t suggesting that it was.”

  His lips twisted. He knew why she was anxious to leave.

  Janie had rounded the counter again. “We’re about the same size. I’m sure we can find something to work for you until tomorrow.”

  “Her feet are as skinny as the rest of her. I’ll drive her into town,” Sam countered abruptly. “Get Sophie Sheffield to open the store. See if she’s got anything narrow enough.”

  “The store. As in there’s only one?”

  “Carries everything from apples to zippers.” Sam looked at her. “Maybe not imported Italian shoes, but we make do.”

  If he was waiting for a derogatory comment, he’d wait a long while. And even though she realized going with Janie probably meant going to his grandmother’s house—more family—she was less disturbed by that idea than by remaining with Sam. “Thanks for the offer of a loan, Janie. I’ll take you up on it, if you don’t mind.” She cast Sam a small smile.

  “Janie,” he said, his expression not changing one whit, “don’t you need to get April back to her grandmother’s?”

  Janie’s dark gaze bounced from her brother to Delaney. She looked distinctly uncomfortable.

  Delaney pushed her fingers inside her pockets rather than wring Sam’s neck. “Maybe later,” she suggested.

  Janie started to nod.

  “There won’t be any need later,” he countered flatly. “Sophie will open the store for me.”

  Delaney’s jaw ached. “Fine.”

  “Well, okay then.” Janie’s voice was deliberately cheerful. “Apr
il, let’s get going.”

  April slid off the bar stool. Only then did Delaney realize how badly the girl’s vision was impaired. She moved comfortably, as if she were familiar with the layout of Sam’s house. But there was no mistaking the way she counted steps, brushed her knuckles against objects, keeping her bearing.

  Blind. Or nearly so.

  “It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Sam.” April held out her hand, clearly waiting for Delaney to take it.

  She did, her heart squeezing a little. The child’s expression was cheerful. “Call me Delaney,” she said.

  April’s fingers tightened around hers for a second. “I like Mrs. Sam better.” Then she gave a sunny smile and left with Janie.

  “I hope you’re satisfied,” Delaney said the moment they heard the soft thump of the front door shutting. “Your sister was embarrassed.”

  “She’s a big girl. I think she can handle it.”

  “You want to keep me away from your family, don’t you? You never told them we were married in the first place, and you still don’t want me having anything to do with them. What are you afraid of? That I’ll contaminate the Vega family with the Townsend germs?”

  “Do you want a fresh pair of socks? You might as well have something on your feet when we go to see Sophie and I doubt you want me to cut off the heel of your other shoe to match the broken one.”

  So much for communicating. “I’ll go barefoot,” she said tightly. Better that than to put on something that belonged to him. It was bad enough that she’d slipped into his socks and sweatshirt sometime around dawn.

  After which she’d finally found a brief measure of peaceful sleep.

  “Fine.” He headed from the kitchen. “I’m not bringing the shoes to you, Delaney.”

  She made a face at his back and hurried after him. If he didn’t want to give her time to get her wallet, then he could just pay for what she needed himself. It was his fault her heel had broken in the first place, after all.

  The stone walk was rough under her feet and she was glad to climb into his SUV even if it did mean being confined in a small space with him.

  She kept as close to the door as possible without being obvious about it, but figured by the sidelong look he gave her that he knew what she was doing. Fortunately, the drive to town took only minutes. He pulled in front of a smallish cottage in a row of them and got out. “Wait here.”

  She mentally snapped a salute, but kept her comments to herself. She watched him stride up the narrow, short walk to the front door. It was opened almost immediately, and a round woman stepped out on the porch. Not two seconds passed before she was looking around Sam toward the vehicle.

  Delaney pushed her lips into a smile. If she wasn’t mistaken, she saw curtains twitching in the windows all down the row of cottages.

  She suddenly felt like a fish in a fishbowl.

  Sam was heading back to the SUV. He opened the passenger door. “Move over.”

  She slid to the center of the bench seat as he helped Sophie up inside, then rounded the truck to get behind the wheel.

  “I appreciate this,” Delaney told the woman after Sam’s short introduction.

  Sophie just nodded, her bright eyes studying Delaney as if she were some foreign object.

  With the other woman’s considerable self, the confined space in the front seat was even more so. What she should have done was climb into the rear seat rather than obey Sam’s command. Thank heavens the island was as small as it was. From her shoulder to her knee, she felt every move Sam made as he turned the truck on the bumpy, narrow road and drove down the main road of the island to the end of the shops and buildings where Sophie’s place was located.

  It was marked ingeniously. The sign said The Store.

  Sam helped Sophie from the truck and as the woman went to unlock, he looked at Delaney. “I don’t need assistance getting out of this truck,” she assured for his ears only. “So keep your hands to yourself.”

  The corner of his mouth kicked up. “Your desperation is showing, Delaney.”

  She slid to the ground. The sidewalk was cracked and rough, but she sailed past him, anyway, and entered the store behind Sophie.

  “Shoes are in the back,” the woman said, her voice huffing a little. “Clothes, too.”

  Delaney nodded and headed down the closest narrow aisle. It was jammed with toiletries. The store was larger than it appeared from the outside. After the jam-packed aisles in the front, it widened toward the rear. Hardware and tools on one side. Clothing in the center. Sporting goods on the other side.

  She headed past an enormous fishing net to the rack of shoes. There wasn’t a large selection, but she settled on a pair of rubber flip-flops in a virulent shade of pink. No fashion awards, but they stayed on her feet, at least.

  She wore them to the front where Sophie and Sam waited.

  “New look for you,” he said blandly. “You need anything else? No?” He pulled out his wallet and handed Sophie a few bills then headed for the door. Sophie stayed put on her stool behind the cash register.

  “You’re not taking Sophie home?”

  Sophie waved her hand. “Now that I’m here, I’ll stay and work awhile. You two go on now. You don’t need a third wheel.” She smiled a little, as if she knew just how two married people who’ve been apart a long while would prefer to spend their Sunday.

  Dandy. “Well. Thank you, again.”

  Sam was waiting at the door. As she went through, he dropped his arm over her shoulder. Delaney caught a glimpse of Sophie’s satisfied expression as the door closed behind them.

  She shrugged off his arm. “What are you doing?”

  “Making Sophie’s day.” He rounded the truck. “She’ll forgive me for not dating her daughter now that she knows I’ve got such a loving wife even if she is from off-island.”

  “Oh, very funny.” She climbed up on the seat and tugged at the slipping neckline of her shirt. For all she knew, Sam had been treated to a constant parade of eligible women since he’d returned to Turnabout. Lord knew his looks were appealing enough. “Considering the way you were dancing with Sara Drake last night, I’d have thought you wouldn’t need to provide any reason other than her.”

  “Jealous?”

  “Hardly.”

  He shook his head slightly then drove a short distance before parking again, this time in front of a modest brick building. The sheriff’s office.

  “Duty calls even on a Sunday?”

  He hung his wrist over the steering wheel and eyed her. “Do you really want to know how many hours I put in on the job?”

  She’d stepped right into that one. No one to blame but herself. “No.”

  His lips tightened. “Didn’t think so.”

  Annoyance rippled through her, but it was the guilt and grief that never fully left her that overcame her reserve. “I had patients who needed me, Sam.”

  Sam pushed open his door and stepped out. He wasn’t up for that particular trip down memory lane. “You can come in or wait. Up to you.”

  “How long is the wait going to be?”

  As long as he could make it. He shrugged.

  Her soft lips compressed. “I need to use a phone.”

  “Worried about what Do-Wright’s going to think when you tell him the news? You can use the station’s phone.”

  “With you standing by listening in? I don’t think so.”

  “Walk down to the community center, then.” He pointed. “The big building over there. There’s a pay phone.” Which didn’t work just as often as it did.

  “I don’t have my calling card with me. Someone rushed me out without giving me a chance to get my wallet.”

  “Life stinks, doesn’t it?”

  He closed the door and headed around the truck to unlock the station. The blinds covering the window on the top half of the door swayed when he went inside. He flipped on a light, dispelling the gloom of the cloudy morning and went over to his desk. The fact was, unless the Haggerty boys got rowd
y or something unusual happened, there was little for him to do.

  But, on the off chance that Delaney did come inside, he flipped open a folder of items that needed to be filed and set to it.

  It wasn’t long before his door rattled, the blinds swayed, and Delaney stood there. “The phone doesn’t work.” Her expression implied that it was somehow his fault.

  “I’ll put in a repair order,” he said. “Usually takes the phone company about a week and a half to get over here.”

  “Don’t trouble yourself on my account.” Her smile was as smooth as her liquid voice. “I’ll use a phone at Castillo House.”

  He stuffed the last letter in the filing cabinet and pushed it shut, then sat back in his chair, lifting one leg to the corner of his desk and linking his hands behind his head. She’d taken a few steps inside, her gaze moving around the square office.

  “Seems a little…Andy Griffith.”

  “The whole world doesn’t operate like your dad’s precinct did.”

  Her lashes swept down, hiding her expression. He didn’t want to wonder what her eyes contained. Whitecaps at his mention of her dad, or pools of quiet despair?

  He wondered, anyway.

  Her fingers slid along the length of the wood surface of the empty desk near the door.

  He lowered his leg and sat forward. Picked up a paper clip lying inside the empty file folder and proceeded to mangle it. Hell. “How is your dad, anyway?” He’d never had much argument with Randall, except when it came to the man’s stilted relationship with Delaney.

  She didn’t answer immediately. She folded her hands together in front of her, studied the inexpert seascape hanging on the wall. “He’s in a care center now, actually.”

  Hell and damnation. He bent the paper clip so hard it snapped in two. He knew better than to offer any other kind of concern. She would rebuff it. He’d get mad.