The Hero’s Sin Read online

  Not that there was a chance in hell of that happening.

  Then she smiled.

  He checked behind him, but the parking lot and front sidewalk were deserted except for him. It wasn’t yet dusk so he’d clearly seen her welcoming expression.

  He expected her to keep on walking, for her smile to vanish. But it widened, reaching large eyes the same light brown as the cream soda Aunt Felicia used to buy when he was a teenager.

  When she stopped before him, there could be no mistaking it—the smile was for him.

  “You’re my hero,” she said.

  He felt the corners of his mouth drop. Was she someone from his past playing a sick joke? She was about his age. About the age Chrissy would have been had she lived. But, no. He didn’t know her. This was a woman he wouldn’t have forgotten.

  “Excuse me?” he asked.

  Admiration gleamed in her eyes, as easy to read as the red block letters on the white sign in front of the VFW hall. The members of the Veterans of Foreign Wars were heroes, not him.

  “I saw you,” she said. “At the river. When you saved that boy.”

  She didn’t know him. Didn’t know about the sin in his past. The tension slowly left him as he put together the pieces. She must have been along on the raft trip when the boy had fallen overboard into the white water.

  “You were wonderful,” she added.

  He frowned. “I didn’t do anything anyone else wouldn’t have done.”

  “Are you joking?” Her cream-soda eyes widened, disbelief touching her lips. “You rode that rapid without a raft. You could have drowned along with that boy.”

  He shifted from one foot to the other, uncomfortable with her exaggeration. He knew enough about the Lehigh to go feet-first down a rapid, which had substantially lessened the danger. “Yeah, well, both of us made it through okay.”

  She reached up and traced her fingers lightly against his temple, the gesture kindling a warmth inside him even though her touch was as soft as the brush of a feather. “Except for this nasty bump.”

  “It’s nothing,” he mumbled.

  Her fingers fell away from his temple, and he squashed a crazy desire to capture her hand and press it against his heart.

  “The boy’s parents were asking about you. They wanted to know your name so they could thank you.” Her smile grew. “I’d like to know it, too, but I should introduce myself first.” She stuck out a slim hand. Like her other, it was ringless. “Sara Brenneman. I’m new in town. Haven’t been here a week yet.”

  He folded her hand in his and again felt the warmth. The confidence he’d glimpsed in her walk was also evident in her grip. “Michael Donahue.”

  He might not have picked up on the way her body tensed if he hadn’t been shaking her hand. Modulating the pitch of his voice to disguise his disappointment, he let go of her hand. “I take it you’ve heard of me.”

  She didn’t avoid the question, which heightened his opinion of her. “I overheard some people talking about how you were back in town.”

  She didn’t recoil, so that was probably all she’d heard. For now. She’d get the rest of the story soon enough.

  The silence between them stretched a few beats, then she said, “I hope you’re back for good.”

  That would be unthinkable.

  “I’m leaving first thing tomorrow.” He didn’t tell her where he was going, but then his plan was hazy. He figured he’d head north on Highway 80 until he felt like stopping, possibly somewhere he could rent a place on a lake with access to a boat. The paperwork for his next assignment should come through any day, telling him which exotic nation he was headed to next.

  He swore disappointment descended over her features before she brightened. “Then let’s make the most of tonight. Will you sit with me at dinner?”

  He hesitated, surprised he wanted to say yes.

  She grimaced. “Please tell me I didn’t make a faux pas and proposition a married man.”

  Proposition? She’d used the word in a nonsexual context but his body stirred. “Not married, but I’m leaving as soon as I get the caterer to move the van. My car’s blocked in.”

  “The caterer will be too busy to do anything until after dinner,” she said. “Besides, you have to eat, right?”

  He’d intended to grab a burger at the fast-food restaurant near his hotel. That plan seemed even less appealing with Sara Brenneman waiting for his answer.

  “If you say no,” Sara said, “I’ll have to spend the reception hiding out in the restroom because every matchmaker in the hall is eyeing me.”

  He chuckled. “You’re making that up.”

  “Am not. Even the bride has me in her sights.”

  “In that case,” he said, going with his gut, “how can I refuse?”

  “Good.” Her smile reached her eyes, which struck him as sexy as hell. “I want to know all about you.”

  He braced himself for questions as they walked back inside the building, but she provided answers, telling him about the solo general practice law firm she was set to open and ticking off her specialties: real estate, foreclosures, wills, probates, small business matters.

  The best man, a friend of Johnny’s who’d moved to town after Michael left, was just finishing the toast when they entered the crowded hall. Panic flashed through Michael as he felt the eyes of the curious bore into them.

  Sara had claimed a desire to get to know him better. More than a few people in the reception hall could tell her she wouldn’t like what she learned.

  THE HERO was uncomfortable.

  Sara sensed it in the taut set of Michael’s shoulders while she led him to the table where the Dombrowskis waited. Marie waved, flashing the same sweet grin as when she’d invited Sara to sit with them.

  Michael’s step faltered. “I thought you were here alone.”

  “I came alone but they invited me to sit with them.” She smiled at him. It seemed she couldn’t stop smiling at him. And why not? He was as modest as he was heroic. He smelled good, too. Like fresh air and warm skin. “You’ll like Marie and Frank. They’re new in town, like me. Retirees who like to kayak. And read. Marie wants to get me involved with Friends of the Library.”

  His steps were still slow, causing her to stop dead. She knew nothing about him except he’d lived in Indigo Springs sometime in the past. She’d gotten the vague impression some residents didn’t welcome his return, but other guests had nodded at him in acknowledgement when they reentered the hall.

  “I’ll understand if you’d rather sit with somebody else.” She grimaced. “Be disappointed, yes. But I will understand.”

  He touched her bare arm, sending pleasure shooting through her. “There’s no one I’d rather sit with than you.”

  Their eyes met, and she felt a connection that was tangible. Marie Dombrowski must have picked up on it, too, because she patted Michael on the hand after Sara performed the introductions. Once done making a fuss over the bruise on his forehead, she said, “Shame on Sara for not telling us she had a date. But where were you when she was boo-hoo-ing through the wedding?”

  “I didn’t boo-hoo, I sniffled,” Sara protested. At this rate, she’d be known as the weeping lawyer before she opened her practice. “Weddings do that to me. And Michael isn’t my date. We just met outside.”

  Marie’s mouth and eyes rounded comically. “You mean you left the hall and found a man?”

  “Don’t knock it, Marie,” Frank Dombrowski interjected. “Some women know what they want when they see it.”

  Sara laughed, even though Frank’s observation wasn’t far off the mark. “Michael’s not a complete stranger. I saw him res—”

  “Our paths crossed yesterday.” Michael shifted in his chair, his broad shoulders rolling under his suit jacket. He had a naturally soft voice that made everything he said carry more importance. “Sara was nice enough to invite me to join her for dinner.”

  “So you came alone, too?” Marie addressed Michael. “Don’t you live here in to
wn?”

  “Not anymore. I’m an old friend of the groom’s. How about you, Mrs. Dombrowski? Bride or groom?”

  Sara got the distinct impression Michael didn’t want to talk about himself, but Marie seemed not to notice. “Groom. Frank and I contracted with Pollock Construction to redo our bathrooms, and we hit it off with Johnny. We just love him.”

  Marie chattered happily on, taking a break only to fill her plate with kielbasa, pierogis and other Polish foods from the buffet table. The subject of home improvement was obviously a favorite topic. By dinner’s end, Sara knew a lot about the Dombrowskis but no more about Michael Donahue than she had when it began.

  Sara was trying to figure out how to get Michael alone when the polka band struck its first chords.

  Marie jumped up and extended a hand to her husband, who got obligingly to his feet. “I hope you two don’t mind if we desert you. Frank and I love to dance.”

  “Have fun,” Sara said, then waited until the couple was gone to remark to Michael. “You don’t say much about yourself, do you?”

  “When somebody likes to talk as much as Marie,” he said, “there’s no point in denying her the pleasure.”

  She suspected there was more to it than that, but she played along. “I told you all about my law practice, but I don’t even know what you do for a living.”

  “I’m in construction.”

  She was about to ask him to elaborate when the groom’s father approached him from behind and clapped him on the shoulders. Smiling, Michael turned.

  “I’m glad you’re still here.” Mr. Pollock was an older, stockier version of his son with an open, engaging manner that was extremely likeable. His twinkling gaze drifted to Sara. “Do I have you to thank for that, Sara?”

  Impressed he’d remembered her name after the brief meeting in the reception line, she joked, “You know what they say about lawyers and our powers of persuasion.”

  Twin dimples appeared on Mr. Pollock’s face, making him look boyish. “Then maybe you can persuade him to stick around for a while. Our boy here’s a world traveler. Did he tell you he just got back from Africa?”

  Africa?

  “I didn’t think so,” Mr. Pollock said before Sara recovered from the surprise. To Michael, he said, “Please tell me you’re staying in the States for a while.”

  “Can’t do that,” Michael said. “I already applied for another assignment, probably in Ghana, but maybe in El Salvador.”

  As they spoke, Sara was aware of other guests watching them. Watching Michael. But even though the reception was at least an hour old, only Mr. Pollock had approached him. She wondered why.

  “If you ever decide to stay put, you know you have a job with me.” Mr. Pollock was about to say more when a willowy girl in her early teens with a mouthful of braces grabbed his hand.

  “You said you’d dance with me, Uncle Nick,” she said, pulling him away as she spoke.

  “Can you believe how shy this girl is,” he called to them over his shoulder, but he was laughing. “Catch you both later.”

  Michael turned back around in his seat.

  “Ghana? El Salvador?” Sara listed the countries. “I thought you said you were in construction.”

  “Overseas construction,” he said. “I go where the work is.”

  “Isn’t all that moving around tough on you?”

  “It suits me,” he said.

  “Not me. My dad was a navy JAG so we never stayed in one place for long when I was growing up. I think that’s why Indigo Springs appeals to me. You can put down roots here.”

  He was silent.

  “How long ago did you leave?” she asked.

  “Nine years.” He gave her a wry smile. “And it’s time I left again. That catering truck should be gone by now.”

  “You can’t go yet!” Sara reached across the table and placed her hand over his, feeling electricity shoot right to her core. The orchestra began to play a lively tune. “Not until you teach me to polka.”

  He arched one of his dark eyebrows. “What makes you think I can polka?”

  “You and Johnny are friends, so you must have picked it up somewhere along the way.” Her hand still covered his, even though there was no reason for it. She withdrew it reluctantly and stood up, knocking over a half-filled glass of white wine that splashed over her dress. “Oh, no! I need to run to the restroom and blot up this mess. Don’t go anywhere, okay?”

  She grabbed his arm and looked into his eyes, which were blue-gray, like the color of the river water. He nodded, but didn’t reply. She reluctantly let go and hurried to the restroom, casting a glance over her shoulder.

  Despite the connection she felt when she touched him, she wasn’t sure Michael would be waiting when she returned.

  MICHAEL WATCHED the couples on the floor, deliberately not meeting anyone’s eyes. As soon as he danced one polka with Sara, he was out of here. He wouldn’t have stayed this long if not for that catering truck.

  He expelled a short breath. Who was he kidding? The driver had probably moved that truck an hour ago. The reason Michael hadn’t left yet was wearing a pink and red dress.

  “What the hell are you doing here, Donahue?” The words were slurred, but Michael recognized the voice before he saw the speaker.

  Kenny Grieb, the ex-high-school jock Chrissy had dated before Michael. He wasn’t as lean or as muscular as he’d been in high school, but the bitterness in his expression was the same.

  “I was invited,” Michael said.

  “You shouldn’t have come,” Kenny drawled, moving closer as he talked. His floppy brown hair was untidy, his shirt coming loose from his dress slacks, his face flushed.

  Michael had never been afraid of Kenny and wasn’t now, but put his hand up like a stop sign. “I don’t want any trouble.”

  “Too late.” Kenny took another step and nearly tripped over an empty chair. It upended and clattered to the floor, drawing attention.

  If Michael didn’t get out of here soon, Kenny would create a scene and cast an ugly pall over Johnny’s wedding day.

  Michael glanced in the direction Sara had gone but didn’t see her. Regret seized him that he wouldn’t get a chance to say goodbye, but it couldn’t be helped.

  “I was just leaving,” he said.

  “That’s right,” Kenny yelled, his voice competing with the polka music. “Get out and don’t come back.”

  Michael’s hands fisted at his sides, but for Johnny’s sake he said nothing. He stopped only long enough to intercept Marie Dombrowski and ask her to give Sara his apologies.

  Then he left, a prospect that no longer held the same appeal now that he’d met Sara.

  Dusk had settled over the town, but the temperature had dipped into what felt like the sixties, downright cool compared to Niger’s heart. He removed his suit jacket and loosened his tie, trying not to look back.

  That was a problem of his. He usually couldn’t help looking back.

  The catering truck was no longer double-parked behind his rental car, clearing a path for him to drive away from the reception. Away from Indigo Springs. Away from Sara, who had been a pipe dream anyway.

  He took the keys out of his pocket and hit the remote. The lights of his PT Cruiser blinked on, sounding a short, shrill beep at the same time somebody called, “Not so fast, asshole.”

  Great.

  Kenny Grieb had followed him.

  CHAPTER THREE

  SARA RUSHED BACK to the table, her dress damp from where she’d blotted up the wine. Her round trip had taken longer than expected because Johnny’s father waylaid her when she was exiting the restroom.

  “Great to see you and Michael hitting it off,” Nick Pollock had said. “I get the feeling he doesn’t socialize much in the Peace Corps.”

  “The Peace Corps!” Sara repeated. Why hadn’t she put that together herself when she learned of the far-flung places Michael had worked? “He never told me he was a volunteer.”

  “Didn’t think he woul
d. He’s sort of a serial volunteer. Been signing up for two-year assignments since he put himself through college. Holding down a full-time job at the time. He probably didn’t tell you that, either.”

  “No,” Sara said. “But why are you telling me?”

  “Because Michael’s a good man,” he’d said enigmatically, his expression suddenly serious. “Don’t let anyone tell you differently.”

  “Why would anyone say differently?”

  He’d sighed and rubbed a hand over his jaw. “Michael had it tough growing up. Did a couple of things he shouldn’t have. Angered some people. But he got through it and turned himself into somebody to be proud of.”

  Stop talking in circles! she wanted to yell. Instead she thanked him for enlightening her, a sixth sense urging her to hurry back to Michael. His empty chair confirmed her intuition that he’d been about to bolt.

  She surveyed the smiling couples twirling around the dance floor as the polka music played, hoping she was wrong, hoping Michael was among them. Somehow she knew she wouldn’t find him.

  Marie Dombrowski spotted her and separated herself from her husband, her brows pinched together in what looked like sympathy. “Michael asked me to tell you he had to go.”

  Sara must not have kept the dismay from her face, because Marie squeezed her hand. “I don’t think he wanted to leave, but another man—I didn’t recognize him but I do know he was drunk—was creating a scene. It seemed to me Michael left so there wouldn’t be trouble.”

  Sara thought over what Nick Pollock had told her, but she didn’t have enough information about Michael’s past to figure out why somebody would accost him.

  “He’s only been gone a few minutes,” Marie added. “If you hurry, you might be able to catch him.”

  “Thanks.” Sara didn’t hesitate, heading for the exit as fast as her high heels would carry her. Before Michael disappeared, maybe forever, she at least wanted to say goodbye.

  It wasn’t yet fully dark, but the outside lights were on, making it easy to spot Michael in the parking lot. Relief flooding her, she hurried down the sidewalk, then stopped dead. He wasn’t alone. A man who had at least thirty pounds on Michael was charging him. The man cocked his arm, drew his shoulder back and let his fist fly.