“No kidding. I think I’d better escort you to the station to make a report.”
“For a purse snatching? I’d really rather not.” Especially since I don’t intend to involve Bobby Joe until I’ve made sure he won’t be hurt worse because of my statement, she added to herself, considering that decision totally rational under these circumstances.
“Why not?” John was scowling.
“Hey, don’t look at me like I’m some kind of criminal. I just don’t relish visiting Sheriff Allgood or Chief Kelso, okay? We don’t exactly see eye to eye.”
John still didn’t touch her but he did hover closer, making Samantha feel safer and more secure than she had in a long, long time. “Explain.”
She leaned against the side of her car because she was still unsteady on her feet and didn’t want him to suspect. “It’s not complicated. I see it as my duty to report suspicions of child abuse and the authorities don’t often take me seriously. It was bad enough before I became a CASA volunteer but it’s even worse now. You know what that is, right?”
“Court Appointed Special Advocates for children? Sure. What’s the problem? The people you report are guilty, aren’t they?”
“Sometimes. Like Bobby Joe was today.”
“And sometimes not?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s okay, Sam. I understand. You’re smart enough to catch clues that others miss.”
“Do you really believe that or are you just trying to get back into my good graces?”
“Maybe both. I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said earlier. It pains me to hear you dropped out of church because of me. Is that actually true?”
“In a manner of speaking. People were so used to seeing us as a couple and expecting us to get…married…that they kept nagging me about it long after you’d left. I finally decided it was easier to stay home than to go through interrogation every Sunday.”
“That’s a shame.”
Samantha knew she’d already revealed too much for her own good so she changed the subject. “If you want me to make a police report I suppose it would be better to get it over with now, while your office is quiet.”
She jingled her keys. “I’ll take my car. You can follow if you want.”
When he smiled tenderly and said, “You couldn’t get rid of me tonight if you tried,” she was so touched by his evident concern she had to turn away to hide her emotions.
Don’t do it, Samantha, she warned herself. Don’t soften. Don’t start imagining that you can go back and pick up where you left off. It’s far too late for that. The romance is over. Period.
A basic truth struck her as she was climbing into her car. She and John had had more than a romance. They had shared a special friendship for years. And that, more than anything, was what she missed. What she grieved for.
Looking into the side mirror she watched him striding to his truck. There was a time when she’d believed that he was everything she’d ever wanted; that he completed her in a way no one else could.
The lump in her throat and rapid, thrumming pulse told her that she’d never changed her mind. But John had changed his. He had chosen his career over a life with her and the only way she could hope to protect herself from a repeat of the same pain was to guard her heart—no matter what.
TWO
“We could run by Hickory Station for a cup of coffee. They’re open all night,” John suggested as they left the police station after filing the report.
“It’s one o’clock in the morning. I don’t need coffee, I need rest.” Samantha blew a noisy sigh. “I just want to take my shoes off, put my feet up and veg out.”
“Okay. Maybe some other time.” His hopes were dashed when he saw the determined expression on her face and the shake of her head.
“I don’t think so. Thanks for your help tonight, though.”
She offered her hand in parting and he shook it. Her skin was soft as ever although a bit chilly. That wasn’t surprising given the outdoor temperature and the incessant autumn wind.
He covered their clasped hands with his free one. “If you ever need anything—anything—just call me. Promise?”
“No. But it’s sweet of you to offer.” She pulled free, leaving him feeling strangely bereft.
“Do you still live out at the old Prescott place?”
“Yes. I inherited it.”
“Good night, then.” John raised his arm and waved as she slammed her car door and prepared to drive away. He was going to follow, of course, just to make sure she arrived home safely. Beyond that, there was little he could do other than pray that nothing else happened to endanger her when he didn’t happen to be close by.
He wasn’t surprised that she’d chosen to stay on at the Prescott farm. The late Elvina Prescott had provided a safe haven and Samantha had loved the elderly lady more than her own kin. When you grew up with a mother who was so emotionally unstable that she abandoned her family, and a father who spent most of his waking hours drunk, it was natural to seek solace elsewhere.
Hanging back, John kept his eyes on the taillights of Samantha’s blue compact. As she turned south on Highway 62, he found himself wishing she lived inside the small, close-knit town rather than farther out in the country.
Maybe he could talk her into… No. He was the last person Samantha would listen to no matter how much danger she might be in. That was what bothered him the most. Neither of them had recognized her assailant and he’d failed to spot a getaway car, so there was no way to figure out why Sam had been targeted.
John wished he’d thought to ask her if she’d had any other recent run-ins with criminals in the course of her nursing job or as a CASA volunteer. The way she’d described her penchant for reporting possible child abuse she could have made more than one enemy. Matter of fact, she might be the target of multiple irate citizens.
His mind considered various scenarios while he continued to shadow his old friend and marvel at her strong ethics. That was Samantha for you. She had an overblown sense of right and wrong that had gotten her into plenty of trouble as a kid—and apparently she hadn’t outgrown it. Like the time she’d stolen a puppy because she’d seen its master beating it.
The memory made him smile. That black-and-brown pup was the ugliest cur he’d ever laid eyes on and maturity hadn’t made it any prettier—just a lot bigger. It had scars on its back and a jaw that didn’t line up, undoubtedly due to its previous abuse. One eyelid hung perpetually half shut and its odd expression made it look as if it would gladly tear a guy’s arm off. With Samantha, however, the dog had remained as friendly as a puppy and as gentle as a lamb.
Wondering if old Brutus was still alive and kicking, he pictured her playing with the enormous pet while
