17

At a glance, Charlotte surveyed the bathroom. It was small but spotless, equipped with the essentials. However, the Elvis Presley shower curtain and matching decorative soap dish on the vanity made it clear—John’s mother was an Elvis fan. Could this town get any stranger? Not that she cared. She’d be gone in a few hours.

She opened a cabinet, pulling out a plush blue towel, relieved it wasn’t Elvis-themed. As the tub filled, she shed her filthy clothes and eased into the warm water, letting it envelop her tired body. Pure bliss.

There was shampoo in a caddy hanging from the showerhead. Not her usual brand, but it would do. She scrubbed her hair and her body, trying to erase the remnants of this awful night. Then she lay in the tub, just enjoying the luxury. The dirt under her nails seemed permanent, much like the gardener's who tended their lawn in Naperville. She gave up trying to remove it. A manicure was at the top of her list when she returned to the comfort of her own home.

Once the sheriff returned her belongings, she’d call Henry to ensure he was on his way, then phone her mother to apologize. Still, she had no idea how she’d accept her mother’s new husband—that would take time. The first step was moving into her own place, a decision long overdue. She had been condo hunting before her father fell ill. After that, leaving wasn’t an option. He had needed her.

Her eyelids grew heavy, a clear sign of exhaustion. She straightened, knowing dozing off in the tub wasn’t wise. Grabbing the towel, she stepped out and dried herself, wincing at the mosquito bites and scratches covering her skin. The sheriff owed her for this.

A bubble of laughter rippled from her throat. She was sure he was quaking in his cowboy boots. How many threats could she hurl at him in one day? She was sure his broad shoulders could take anything she dished out. Opening the medicine cabinet above the sink, she searched for something to apply to the bites. Benadryl cream— just what she needed.

Sitting on the cool linoleum floor, she applied the cream to her bites, relief spreading instantly. As she treated the rope burns, thoughts of the handsome sheriff drifted into her mind, unshakable. He was like an itch she couldn’t stop scratching. He seemed to be in his mid-thirties—why was a man his age still living with his mother? Did he have a wife? He hadn’t mentioned one.

Leaning against the wall, she recalled him saying he "didn’t have a lot." What did that mean? Financial trouble? And why did she even care? Soon, she’d be gone, filing this town under “lessons learned.”

'When will you start accepting accountability for your deeds?'

Charlotte heaved a sigh. Today, her brother would be present. Henry would set the sheriff straight, and she eagerly anticipated it.

Henry was like a pit bull in a courtroom, fighting for his client's innocence. For her, he would fight even harder. John was in for a major shock.

But somewhere in the region of her functioning brain she knew the sheriff could stand toe to toe with anyone, including her brother.

When John returned, his mother was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee. He'd brought Becky with him, wanting Ms. Lily to have medical attention.

"Hi, Becky," his mom said. "How about a cup of coffee?"

"Thanks, Hae. I'd love one."

John’s attention snapped to the quietness of the house. “Where is she?”

Hae casually pointed toward the bathroom. “Still in there.”

“What? What could she possibly be doing for this long?”

He strode toward the bathroom, half-expecting her to have slipped out the front door. Though he doubted she’d try, he couldn’t be sure.

Knocking lightly, he spoke through the door, “Ms. Lily, I have your things.”

Silence. Then movement. Relief coursed through him, unexpectedly so. He was glad she’d kept her word.

The door opened a crack and she stood there in nothing but a blue towel that made her eyes appear even bluer. Her hair was wet and hung in strands around her face. Silky-looking skin dotted with cream peeped above the towel. Sleepy blue eyes gazed back at him. Raw, primitive and all-male emotions roused his lower abdomen and below. Even the bites on her face and neck didn't diminish her appeal.

Or his reaction to her.

Charlotte Lily was like the pinups he used to hang in his locker in high school— before Sarah had made him take them down. At the thought of his wife, all those raw emotions eased into exactly what they were–- an appreciation of the female form.

He handed her the case. "Here are your things. Your wallet is in the safe at the office, just thought I'd remove temptation."

Frowning, she held the towel with one hand while taking the case with the other. Her fingers brushed across his and he felt as if he'd been baptized by fire. Baptized like a teenager who'd been touched by an attractive, sexy woman for the first time.

He turned away and went to get a cup of coffee in the kitchen. However, something more powerful might be preferable. He kept telling himself that all he was was sleep deprived.

And he missed Sarah.

When they'd first married, she'd worn nothing but a towel after her bath and he'd chase her to remove it. They would fall into bed while laughing. Those were amazing, lovely recollections that would live on in his thoughts forever.

And his heart.