coffee they made at the station was about as thick as boiled tar, but it was also concentrated caffeine, which the officers took strange pride in gulping down. Chance, however, appreciated a fine cup of coffee, and over the years he’d gotten more particular about how he liked it. He brewed his own at home and brought it in a thermos that no one was allowed to touch upon pain of traffic detail. He was sipping his own brew Monday morning as he headed through the bull pen toward his office.
“Chief, could I get a signature?”
Bryce Camden was their newest recruit to the Comfort Creek police force. He was newly married, his wedding ring still shiny, and he fiddled with it when his hands were free.
“How’s Piglet?” Chance asked. Piglet was the nickname Bryce gave his adopted daughter—now eight months old—because of her dedication to finishing a bottle. They were all attached to that baby since she’d been dumped on the station doorstep as a newborn.
“Growing like a weed,” Bryce said with a grin. “She’s trying to say ‘Dada’—I’m sure of it.”
“Yeah?” Chance scanned the forms that Bryce handed him, and he jotted down his initials where required and signed the bottom, then handed them back. “Isn’t it kind of early for that?”
“She’s a genius, what can I say?” Bryce spread his hands and grinned. “I’ve got video proof on my cell phone, if you don’t believe me.”
“Later,” Chance chuckled. “I’ve got a meeting to prepare for.”
“Much later, then,” Bryce said. “I’m just leaving on patrol.”
Bryce had certainly settled into family life, and Chance felt a pang of envy. That was the goal, wasn’t it? Beautiful wife, a couple of kids, a home with a woman’s touch around the place... Somehow he’d managed to avoid the comfortable life all this time, and he was pushing forty. Part of it was that he hadn’t met a woman who intrigued him enough to get married, and living in a town this small, there weren’t a lot of fresh options. The other part of it was guilt. He and his brother hadn’t had a lot in common—except their taste in women. The one woman to make him sit up and take notice had been his own brother’s fiancée. There was a whole lot wrong with that.
Chance headed into his office and paused for a sip of coffee, then slid into his chair and turned on the computer. He had a fair amount of paperwork to get through today, plus there was the meeting with Sadie. He’d asked her to come by early so that he could get it out of the way and stop worrying about it. Sadie might have been the one woman to catch his attention over the years, but she was also at the root of his deepest grief, and his unresolved guilt. If she’d just stayed in the city...
There was a tap on his door.
“Come in.” His tone was gruff, and he looked up as the door eased open to reveal Sadie. He glanced at his watch. Was it nine already? Almost. She was five minutes early.
“Good morning, Chance.”
They weren’t going to be hung up on formalities, apparently. She wore a pair of jeans this time, and a white turtleneck under a puffy red jacket. She had a tablet in one hand, a purse over her shoulder. He nodded her in, and she closed the door behind herself without being asked. She was right, though—the last thing they needed right now was an audience. This was awkward enough, already.
“Have a seat,” Chance said, clicking his emails shut once more. “So how are you?”
“Do you really care?” Her tone was quiet, but her gaze met his in challenge. “I’m not used to being left at a table on my own.”
Ouch. Yeah, he’d regretted that as he’d walked out, and he’d had the weekend to kick himself for it. He’d been frustrated and eager to get some breathing space, but he’d known it was the wrong call.
“I’m sorry about that,” he said. “I thought I’d dealt with Noah’s death, and it’s all coming back on me again. I’m not at my best.”
“Okay.” She nodded. “I get it. I’m probably a reminder of the old days.”
“Yeah, you could say that.” She was reminder of a whole lot of frustration that he’d kept hammering down into the pit of his stomach over the years.
“So let’s just get the work part over with—”
“So how much did the mayor tell you about my feelings toward this ceremony?” Chance planted his elbows on his desk.
“He mentioned you weren’t keen on the idea.” She licked her lips. “Personality conflict, maybe?”
“We’ve never really gotten along. We grate on each other.” He sighed. “I’ll level with you—Mayor Scott wants this big personal ceremony, and I don’t. My brother isn’t a bit of sentimental propaganda. And I don’t like private grief being offered up for public consumption.”
“You aren’t the only one who loved Noah,” she countered.
“Including yourself in that?” he asked coolly.
Color rose in her cheeks. “I did love him, Chance. I wasn’t some monster who took advantage of Noah. I loved him.”
If she’d loved Noah like she claimed, she could have been kinder in her rejection of him.
“And you want this ceremony?” he demanded.
“I’m not talking about myself!” she snapped. “I’m talking about his friends, his cousins, his extended family. People in Comfort Creek loved him. You aren’t the only one who lost him, you know.”
“And they got to grieve for him—at his funeral. We’ve done the public display. It’s enough already.”
“What about the other families?”
Chance shook his head. “You see the stories online—some heart-wrenching news spot that features the grieving family left behind from a soldier killed in the war. People love it—they gobble it up. They shed a tear in sympathy, post it on social media, feel like they’ve done the patriotic thing. It’s entertainment.”
“And you’re afraid this ceremony is going to be used the same way.”
“You think it won’t?” he asked. “This isn’t for the community. This is for the mayor. It’s that simple.”
Sadie ran her free hand through her hair, tugging it away from her face. She still had that smattering of freckles over her nose that made her look younger than she really was, and combined with her green-flecked eyes...he pulled his attention away from those details.
“I’ve been hired to put together a commemorative ceremony for the town,” she said slowly. “I report to Mayor Scott—as do you, I believe. This isn’t about what I want, or what you want, this is about my client. I don’t have much choice.”
“Yeah, I got that.” He leaned back in his chair. This had been what Sadie had always been like—strong, focused. “This isn’t personal to you, is it?”
“I can’t give you an answer you’d like,” she retorted. “If I say yes, it is personal, you’ll tell me I have no right to personal feelings after what I did to Noah. If I say no, it’s just business, then I’m the heartless wretch.”
She had a point, and he smiled wryly. He didn’t want to be friends with Sadie again. Friends had to be able to trust each other, and he didn’t trust Sadie as far as he could throw her.
“Yesterday, you said we needed to be able to work together,” she went on. “Do you still believe that?”
“Like I said, we don’t have much choice.”
“I won’t take up more of your time than I have to.” She pulled a business card out of her purse and slid it across his desk. “This is my cell phone number if you need to get in touch later on.”
“Great.” He