to ignore the quick pull of awareness that pulsed through her. Darn good thing Julia had sworn off men. Even better that big, strong alpha men were so not her type.
Julia gave herself a mental headshake. “What do you want, Sam? I’m sort of busy here.”
She could have sworn his eye twitched under his aviator sunglasses. He jabbed one arm toward the top of the hill. “What I want is to know what the hell you’re doing off the side of the road. Again.”
Right. She’d forgotten that the last time Sam had found her, she’d been eight months pregnant and had wrapped her ancient Honda around a tree trunk. He’d taken her to the hospital where her son, Charlie, had been born.
That day a year and a half ago had been the start of a new life for her. One she’d protect at any cost.
Sam had been new to Brevia and the role of police chief then. He’d also been a whole lot nicer. At least, to Julia. He’d made the rounds of the single ladies in town, but ever since Charlie’s birth Sam had avoided her as though he thought he might be the first man in history to catch a pregnancy. Which was fine, especially given some of the details she’d heard about his history with women.
“Julia.”
At the sound of her name, she focused on his words.
“There are skid marks where your car pulled off.”
“I was in a hurry,” she said and swiped at her still-moist cheeks.
His hands bunched at his sides as he eyed her bag. “Do I smell smoke?”
“I lit a match. Lots of them.” Her chin hitched. “Wanna call Smokey Bear for backup?”
He muttered something under his breath at the same time a semi roared by on the road above.
“I didn’t quite catch that.”
Sam removed his sunglasses and tucked them into the front pocket of his shirt. He was almost too good-looking, his blond hair short but a little messy, as if he needed a trim. The effect softened his classically handsome features and a square jaw that fell just short of comic-book chiseled. His gaze slammed into hers, and Julia knew if ice could turn molten, it would be the exact color of Sam’s blue eyes.
“You were on your knees,” he said slowly.
Julia swallowed. “I lost a contact.”
“You don’t wear contacts.”
“How do you...? Never mind.” She bent to retrieve the bag of worthless matches.
His finger brushed the back of her arm. “What are you doing out here, Jules?”
Something about the sound of her name soft as a whisper broke through her defenses. She straightened and waved the letter at him. “I have a meeting in town and needed some fresh air to collect my thoughts.”
“At the salon?”
She shook her head. “No. Hair dye doesn’t require much mental fortitude. I have a real meeting, with an attorney.”
He didn’t ask for details but continued to watch her.
“It’s about Charlie,” she offered after a minute. “About my custody.” To add to her humiliation, she choked on the last word.
“You’re his mother. Of course you have custody.”
“I know.” She lifted the letter. “But Jeff and his parents think—”
“Who’s Jeff?”
“My ex-boyfriend.” She sighed. “Charlie’s father.”
Sam’s eyes narrowed. “The one who’s never set eyes on him?”
“He’s a college professor and travels the world doing research. His dad runs an investment firm in Columbus, Ohio, and his mom is a retired cardiologist. They’re rich, powerful and very intellectual. The whole family is off-the-charts smart. I guess they have...concerns. For Charlie’s future and my ability to provide the right environment. Jeff wants a new custody arrangement.”
“Have Jeff’s parents met Charlie?”
“No. They called a couple of times after he was born. They didn’t approve of me when I was with Jeff, and since he didn’t want anything to do with the baby...” She paused then added, “I let my mom deal with them.”
That made him smile. “In my opinion, Vera is also off-the-charts smart.”
Julia ignored the shiver in her legs at his slow grin. Her mother, Vera Morgan, was a pit bull. But also keenly intelligent. Everyone in her family was smart. Everyone but her.
“Jeff’s mother is here with their family attorney to meet me. To make sure everything’s okay—that Charlie is in good hands.”
“Of course he’s in good hands.” Sam’s voice gentled as he repeated, “You’re his mother.”
“I’ve done a lot of stupid things in my life, made a lot of mistakes. Jeff knows the sordid details and I’m sure his parents do, too.” Emotion clogged her throat.
Sam was not the man she wanted to have see her like this. She made a show of checking her watch. “What I could use is some damage control for my reputation. White picket fence, doting husband, pillar of the community stuff. It’s a little late for me to join the Junior League.” She shook her head. “Anyway, thanks for your concern today, but as you can see, I’m peachy keen.”
“You shouldn’t talk to anyone until you get an attorney of your own.”
“Frank Davis said he would help me, but I hope it won’t come to that. I’m sure the Johnsons want what’s best for Charlie. I should at least hear them out. That boy deserves everything this world has to offer.” She gave a humorless laugh and started back toward the road. “What he’s got is me.”
As she moved past Sam, his hand reached out, but she jerked away. If he touched her right now she’d be a goner, and she needed to keep it together. For Charlie.
“You’re more than enough,” he called after her.
“From your lips to God’s ears, Chief,” she whispered and climbed up to her car.
* * *
“Who are you and what have you done with my father?”
Sam shifted in his chair at Carl’s, Brevia’s most popular restaurant, still reeling from his unbelievable afternoon. From the bizarre encounter with Julia he’d been called to a domestic disturbance that ended up being a chicken loose in Bobby Royall’s kitchen. It had made him almost thirty minutes late to dinner with his dad. Now he wished the bird hadn’t been so easy to catch.
Joe Callahan adjusted his Patriots baseball cap and chuckled. “It’s me, son. Only better.”
Said who?
His father had been a police officer in Boston for almost forty years, most of which had been spent working homicide. Joe Callahan had dedicated his life to his career, and his family had suffered from the on-the-job stress and risks he took daily. Although it wasn’t intentional, Sam had modeled his own life after his father’s. Sam had put his job before everything and everyone in his life—just like Joe.
Recently, though, Joe had begun conducting programs for police departments on emotional awareness. Sam had resisted his father’s repeated attempts to help him “get in touch” with his feelings. But now Joe was here and impossible to ignore.
“The boys down at the precinct loved my seminar. At least four of ’em were in tears by the end. I got thank-you notes from a half-dozen wives.”
“That’s great, Dad.” Sam took a long drink of iced tea, wishing he wasn’t on duty. A cold one would be mighty helpful tonight. “I don’t see what that has to do with me or your unexpected visit to Brevia.”
His