Someone Like You

“You don’t like children,” she reminded her aunt. “That’s why you gave up teaching.”

Bev handed her a glass of milk. “I don’t like them in groups,” she corrected. “Maybe I read Lord of the Flies too many times—I’ve always felt children could turn rabid at any moment. But individually they’re fine.” She smiled at Mac. “I’m sure Emily’s an angel.”

Mac looked startled by Bev’s theory on children and their potential. “What?” He shook his head. “No, she’s just a regular kid.”

There was something in his voice, Jill thought, as she grabbed a cookie and took a bite. Something…wistful. Or was that her liquor-laced brain doing the talking?

She sipped her milk, swallowed and nearly gagged. “I can’t,” she said, thrusting the glass at her aunt. “After the brandy, my stomach won’t like this at all.”

“Of course it will. Just pretend you’re having a Brandy Alexander. In two courses.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Mac looked at her. “You’ve been drinking?”

Faint disapproval sharpened his gaze and tightened his mouth. A quick glance at the clock told her it was a little past three in the afternoon.

“It’s after five in New York and I’ve had a bad day.”

Make that a bad week, possibly a bad life.

“Don’t worry. Jill’s not a wild woman,” Bev said with a comforting smile. “She’s just a little out of sorts. When does Emily arrive?”

“Around five. I’ll bring her by in the morning. I didn’t want to work on her first day, but I have to appear in court.”

“Don’t think a thing about it,” Bev told him. “I’m excited at the thought of the two of us spending the summer together. We’ll have fun.”

Jill thought about warning Mac about her aunt’s “gift” and how she sometimes passed from normal to just plain odd. But what was the point in worrying him? Besides, Bev had a way of making a person feel special and loved and maybe that was something every eight-year-old little girl needed.

Mac rose and murmured something about heading home. Jill wanted to rouse herself enough to ask where exactly that was. His house. Not that she planned any more midnight intrusions. One humiliating moment like that was enough for anyone’s life. Nope, she would avoid Mac as much as she could while trapped in the hell that was Los Lobos. She would practice whatever form of law they expected here, handling their petty problems while sending out her buffed-up résumé to large law firms all over the state.

And in her free time, she would plot revenge. Mean, hard-hearted, satisfying revenge that would reduce her rat-bastard ex-husband to a quivering mass. She smiled at the thought and felt something cold and wet drip onto her leg.

“Oh dear.”

Her aunt sounded concerned, which made Jill want to ask her what was wrong, but she couldn’t seem to open her eyes or speak. Something was taken from her hand.

“How much brandy did she have?” a man asked.

Mac, Jill thought hazily. Yummy, sexy Mac. She’d had a crush on him since she was thirteen years old. But he’d never noticed her. Not really. He’d been nice and friendly, but in a distant, big-brother kind of way.

It was because she hadn’t gotten breasts. Not real ones like her best friend Gracie. Nope, Jill had what Gracie’s mom had referred to as “discreet curves.” Jill didn’t want discreet. She wanted blatant, sexy, in-your-face boobs.

She felt herself slipping down in the chair, then suddenly she was high up in the air. It was like floating or flying or both.

“On the sofa?”

“Yes. I’ll get a blanket. I’m sure she just needs to rest.”

“Or drink less,” a man said with a chuckle. “She’s going to feel like crap in a few hours.”

That won’t be anything new, Jill thought as she burrowed into the pillow that found its way under her head. She’d been feeling like crap for two days. Only this was better. It was warm and cozy and she felt safe again. She let herself drift off and vowed that when she woke up, everything would be different.

MAC GAVE UP the pretense of not watching the clock somewhere around four forty-five. He had the thought that the waiting would be a whole lot easier with a beer in his hand, but he wasn’t going there. Not with Emily on the line. Not with it all being his fault.

He wanted to blame someone else, to point the finger and say he wasn’t responsible, but he couldn’t. Not when he’d taken every step himself. He couldn’t even blame Carly. His ex-wife had been more understanding and forgiving than he deserved.

Because she was organized and didn’t see the value in making him sweat, she arrived five minutes early. He watched the Volvo pull up into his driveway and was outside before either of the occupants had a chance to open their doors.

“Hey, kiddo,” he said as Emily stepped out.

His daughter was slight and blond, with big blue eyes and a smile that could light up the heavens. Only she wasn’t smiling now. Instead her mouth quivered at the corners and she wouldn’t look him in the eye. She clutched Elvis, her tattered, stuffed rhino, to her chest and stared at the ground.

He hadn’t seen her in nearly two months and it was all he could do not to grab her and hug her forever. He wanted to tell her he loved her, that she’d grown and gotten more beautiful, that he’d thought about her every day. Instead he tucked his hands into his jeans pockets and wished he could go back in time and make things different.

“Hello, Mac.”

He turned his attention to Carly. Petite, well dressed, with her gold-blond hair cut to her jawline, she walked around the car and moved toward him.

“You look good,” he said, bending down to kiss her cheek.

She squeezed his upper arm. “You, too. Cute little town. So this is where you grew up?”

“This is it.”

“How does it feel to be back?”

He’d spent the past two weeks torn between hope and impending disaster. Too much was on the line.

“Good,” he said with a casual confidence he didn’t feel. “Let’s get the luggage and go inside.” He turned to Emily. “Your bedroom is upstairs, kiddo. Want to go check it out?”

She glanced at her mom as if asking for permission. When Carly nodded, Emily darted inside.

“She hates me,” he said flatly.

“She loves you, but she’s scared. She hasn’t seen you in weeks, Mac. You didn’t show up the two weekends like you promised. You broke her heart.”

He nodded and swallowed the rising guilt. “I know. I’m sorry.”

He crossed to the trunk and waited for her to unlock it.

“Apologies don’t work on an eight-year-old,” Carly told him. “You disappeared from her life without a word and now you’re going to have to prove yourself to her.”

He already knew that. The question was how? How did a father go about regaining the trust of his daughter? Was it possible? Had he crossed the line and was it already too late?

He wanted to ask Carly her opinion, but he figured he’d already used up all his currency with her.

“You didn’t have to do this,” he said as he lifted out two suitcases.

Carly grabbed a cooler. “I know. Part of me wanted to turn my back on you, but you’ve always loved her more than anything.” She closed the trunk and stared at him. “I want to believe you, Mac. I want you to have this chance. But make no mistake. If you screw up even one time, I’ll haul your ass back into court and make sure you never see your daughter again.”

Chapter Two

JILL WOKE in darkness to the sound of the grandfather clock in the hall. She counted ten chimes, then shoved back the blanket and gingerly pushed into a sitting position.

Her memory blurred as she tried to figure out where she was and why she’d fallen asleep on a sofa. Bits and pieces returned as she recalled arriving at Aunt Bev’s place and the liberal consumption of brandy.

The quiet of the house told her that her aunt had already headed upstairs. Not a surprise—those who liked to be awake and perky for the sunrise usually had to go to bed fairly early. Jill was more of a sunset kind of gal, although she’d missed it today, what with sleeping off her stupor.

“There’ll be another sunset tomorrow,” she reminded herself as she stood and tensed in anticipation of a blinding headache or double vision. Neither occurred. Actually, she felt pretty good.

“That’s a plus.”

She made her way to the guest room and smiled when she saw the folded-back covers and fluffed pillows. Her aunt had even left a tray with water, a glass and a package of Alka-Seltzer.

“An amazing woman.”

Jill ignored the bed and walked to her suitcase. After collecting toiletries, she hit the bathroom and turned on the shower.

Twenty minutes, one shampoo and an application of sweet-pea-scented body lotion later, she felt practically normal. She debated between PJs and sweats before settling on the latter. With her hair still in a towel and a wide-tooth comb in her hand, she walked downstairs and out onto the back porch.

The wooden structure was nearly as wide as the front porch and just as furnished. There was an old swing, a rattan table and chair set along with a bench, a few bug-zapper lamps and a trellis covered with bougainvillea.

Jill ignored it all and sat on the rear steps leading down to the grass. The night was cool and pleasant. A clear sky twinkled with a thousand stars she couldn’t see when she was in the city. She supposed there were those who thought small-town life was made perfect by things like stars and unlocked doors. They were, of course, hideously wrong.

She pulled off the towel and reached for the comb. Just then the back door of the house on the left opened and someone stepped out.

Jill froze, her arm raised, the comb barely touching her hair. Even in the dim light of the porch she recognized the tall, broad-shouldered man. Mac.

She figured the odds of him visiting a neighbor at this hour were slim, which meant he probably lived next door to her aunt. Wasn’t that just how her life was going? No doubt he’d moved in with his wife and…

Hazy memories clicked into place. Something about a child. A daughter maybe? But no wife. Or at least not the kid’s mother. Or had that been wishful thinking on her part? Horror swept through her as she thought she remembered passing out in his presence.

She shifted to stand and creep back inside, but a board creaked, Mac turned, then started toward her. Jill glanced down at the T-shirt she’d pulled on over sweatpants. Oh, yeah, a fabulous “aren’t I sexy” look. She supposed her lack of bra could be considered provocative, if she had actual breasts larger than fried eggs.

“How are you feeling?” he asked as he approached.

His voice rumbled into the quiet of the night. The sound seemed to rub against her skin like velvet on silk. Her insides clenched and her mind emptied of all rational thought.

“Ah, better,” she managed. “I needed that.”

“The nap, the brandy or passing out?”

“Maybe all three.”

He paused in front of her and leaned against the railing. One corner of his mouth curved up.

“Do you remember anything that happened this afternoon?”

She had a feeling that he wasn’t talking about the drive from San Francisco. The question made her uneasy.

“Why? Did I do anything memorable before, um, passing out?” Had she thrown up, or worse? Was there worse than throwing up?

“Nope. You got very quiet, spilled your milk and passed out.”

Inwardly she winced. “Sounds charming.” She recalled waking up. “So how did I get to the sofa?”

Mac’s half smile widened into a full grin. “You’re welcome.”

He’d carried her? She’d actually been in Mac’s arms and she hadn’t been conscious for the moment? Could her life get any more unfair?

“Ah, thanks. That was really nice of you.”

What she wanted to know was had he enjoyed the experience? Had he thought of it as anything more than a chore? Had she even once crossed his mind in the past ten years?

He moved to the foot of the stairs and sat down. His thigh was amazingly close to her bare toes. If she moved her foot a scant inch, they would be touching. Jill jerked the comb through her still-wet hair and swallowed a sigh of frustration. One would think she would be more grown-up and mature by now, but one would be wrong.

“So you’re back in town,” she said when no wittier bit of conversation occurred to her.

He pointed to the house on the left. The one she’d seen him walk out of. “Right next door.”

“With your daughter?” she asked, hoping her wisps of memory were accurate.

The humor fled his face, leaving behind only tightness and something that might have been pain.

“Emily.”

“I’m sure she’ll enjoy Los Lobos. It’s a great place for kids. Especially in the summer.” Jill hadn’t started to chafe at the restrictions of small-town life until she’d entered college.

“I hope so. I haven’t seen her in a while. After the divorce…” He shrugged, which didn’t explain much.

“Was her mother difficult about things?” she asked.

“No. Carly was great. It was my fault. I wasn’t around for a while. That hurt Emily. She’s just a kid, I should have realized. I want joint custody, but I need to earn the privilege. That’s what this summer is about.”

His words left her with more questions than answers, but she decided not to push.

“I hope things work out,” she said.

“Me, too. Em means the world to me.” The smile returned. “Your aunt agreed to help me with day care. Should I be rethinking that?”

“Because of what I said about her not liking children?”

He nodded.

Jill shook her head. “She didn’t like teaching very much, but she was always great when I was growing up.” There was the whole psychic gift thing, but maybe it was better to let Mac find out about that on his own.

“Good to know,” he said.

“Your daughter arrived earlier, right? Did everything go okay?”

He glanced toward the house. “It was fine. Carly drove her up from L.A. and stayed through bedtime. All I had to do was hang around in the background. The real test will be in the morning.”

“You love her,” Jill told him. “That counts for a lot.”

“I hope so.”

She was about to expand on the point when she remembered she had absolutely zero experience in the kid department. Not that she hadn’t wanted them. But the lying weasel rat bastard had thought they should wait and, for reasons not clear to her, they had. Of course now she was glad—children would have complicated the divorce.

“So what are you doing back in town?” Mac asked. “Vacation? Last I heard you were practicing corporate law in San Francisco.”

Jill felt her eyes widen. He knew about her life? Had he been asking? Had he thought about her? Was there—

She quickly slammed a mental door on those thoughts. No doubt Mac had simply picked up small-town gossip. Nothing worth getting excited about.

“I was, until recently,” she said. “I worked for a corporate law firm in San Francisco. I was about to make junior partner.” She resumed combing her damp hair.

“Past tense?”

“Yup. My soon-to-be ex-husband managed to get me fired. He also got my promotion, my window office and our condo.” She tugged through a knotted strand. “Not that he’ll get to keep the condo. It’s community property. He cheated on me, too. I saw him, and let me tell you, there’s a visual I want erased from my brain.”

“That’s a lot for one day. How’d he get you fired?”

“I’m still working on that one. I brought a lot of business into the firm. More than any other associate. But when they fired me, I wasn’t allowed to speak to any of the senior partners to find out what was going on. I sent a couple of e-mails and letters, so we’ll see. In the meantime, I’m temporarily back in Los Lobos to take over the law practice of Dixon and Son.”

“And you’re not happy about it.”

“Not even a little.” She tried to tell herself at least she was still practicing law, but she didn’t actually believe herself.

“I take it Mr. Dixon didn’t have a son.”

“Apparently not. Or he wasn’t interested in taking over the family firm. So that’s me.” She set down the comb and forced herself to smile. “I’m a small-time litigator. In my free time I’ll be planning revenge on Lyle.”

“The ex?”

“Uh-huh.”

“If the revenge involves breaking the law, I don’t want to know.”

“Fair enough. I probably won’t do anything illegal, though. I don’t want to be disbarred.” Which cut into the possibilities. Not a problem, though. She could rise to the occasion by being more creative.

“Have the summer softball leagues started yet?” she asked.

Mac nodded. “Sure. Games every weekend.”

“Good. I think I’ll park the car by the practice fields. There should be plenty of fly balls zipping around.”

He winced. “Is that 545 Lyle’s car?”

“Technically it’s community property. He bought it with joint assets.”

“If I were you, I’d make a note of that to tell the judge.”

“I will.”

He chuckled.

Jill pulled her knees to her chest and sighed. This was nice—fun. If she’d been sixteen, talking to Mac in the dark would have been the answer to her prayers. At twenty-eight, it wasn’t half-bad, either.

“Why here?” he asked. “You could have gotten a job anywhere.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. This gig is temporary. Actually it was my father’s idea.”

Mac stared at her. “He suggested it?”

“Oh, yeah. When I told him what had happened, he told me about the vacant practice here. You’d think that moving clear to the other side of the country would make him less of a meddler in town affairs, but no. It’s as if he’s still around the corner instead of in Florida.”

“He does keep a hand in,” Mac said. “Judge Strath-ern told me about the vacancy in the sheriff’s office.”

Jill didn’t know which surprised her more—that her father kept in contact with Mac or that Mac referred to him so formally. They’d known each other for years. Mac had practically grown up in her father’s house. Of course Mac being the housekeeper’s son probably put their relationship on a different level. Not that she’d cared about things like that. When she’d been a teenager all she’d cared about was how gorgeous Mac had been and how her heart had beat like hummingbird wings every time he smiled at her.

“So my dad’s to blame for both of us being here,” she said. “Although you like it.”

“Maybe the town will grow on you.”

“Like a wart? No thanks.”

She fingered her hair and realized it had started to dry. In a matter of minutes it would be a wild and wooly mess. She reached up and began to weave it into a loose braid.

“I don’t remember your hair being that curly,” he said as he watched.

Jill thought about how she’d looked earlier that day—a stained, drunk, frizzy mess. “It has a mind of its own. I tame it with a combination of iron will and hair products. Blow dryer, flatiron and an assortment of bottles and jars. Give me electricity, my tools and an hour and you’ll see sleek, perfect hair.”

“Why go to all that trouble?”

Spoken like a true man. “To keep it controlled and borderline normal.”

“Curly hair is sexy.”

Four simple words that made her stomach clench and her mouth go dry. She wanted to shake her head and flaunt her curls. She wanted to dance on the lawn and announce to the heavens that Mac thought she had sexy hair.

“Especially when it’s long, like yours.”

The world just got better and better.

“Thanks.”

Ooh, she sounded so cool and casual. Good thing he couldn’t see the chorus line of hormones doing the happy dance.

Mac stood. “This has been nice, Jill, but I need to get back and check on Emily. I wouldn’t want her to wake up and find the house empty.”

“Good point.”

She held in the regretful sigh and managed not to say how she wished they could talk about her sexy hair a little bit longer. Maybe next time.

She waved as Mac walked toward his house, then turned toward her own back door. Just as her fingers touched the door handle, she froze.

Maybe next time? Had she really thought that? No, no, no, no, no. There was no this time or next time or anytime. Mac was here—small-town sheriff makes good with kid. She was there—big-city corporate law shark. That was her—swimming for freedom. She did not want to get trapped here in Los Lobos. She wanted big bucks and bigger revenge on the rat fink lying weasel dog. Hunky guys next door were not part of her plan. And in case she was tempted, she needed to remember what had happened the last time she’d thrown herself at the guy in question.

He’d taken one look at her naked body and vomited. There was a lesson there—one she would do well to remember.

EMILY KENDRICK SQUEEZED her eyes as tightly closed as she could. She squeezed until her whole face hurt and she thought she might squish her eyeballs. She clenched her teeth, raised her shoulders and held her breath until the burning went away. Then she relaxed.

Okay. Better. She wasn’t going to cry. Not here. She wasn’t sure why she thought she shouldn’t give in to tears. It wasn’t as if someone had told her not to cry. The message came from inside her—that scary dark place that got bigger when she thought about the summer with her dad and her mom going away and how nothing had been right for a long, long time.

She could hear noises from downstairs. Something clanged onto the stove. Before, she would have giggled at the thought of her dad cooking. He’d done it sometimes, on Sunday morning or when she’d been sick and he’d stayed home with her. Then he’d made fun stuff, like grilled-cheese sandwiches cut up into the shape of a boat, or caramel corn they’d baked in the oven. He’d always let her help. He’d—

The burning came back. Emily sucked in a breath and willed it away. She wouldn’t think about before. About when things had been good and her dad had tossed her in the air and told her he loved her and her mom had laughed all the time. She wouldn’t think about that, or how one day she and her mom had gone away and her dad had never, ever found them.

She walked to the bed she’d made so carefully and picked up Elvis. The worn rhino fit into her arms the way he always had and that made her feel better.

“Mommy left us,” she murmured into the bare spot behind his ear—the place she always whispered her secrets. “She left last night after she tucked me in bed and I’m mad at her.”

Emily didn’t want to be mad at her mom, but mad was safe. She liked being mad right now because when she was mad she didn’t care so much.

“We have to stay the whole summer and be with some lady because my dad has to work. He’s the sheriff.”

She didn’t know what being the sheriff meant. He’d been a policeman before. She’d liked how he looked in his uniform—big and brave and she’d known he would always keep her safe. But then he’d let her go away and daddies weren’t supposed to do that. They were supposed to be with their little girls always.

She didn’t want to be here, Emily thought as she stared at the door to her room. She’d begged her mother to let her stay home. She’d promised to be good and clean her room and not watch too much TV, but it hadn’t mattered. Her mother had brought her here and had left her.

Emily’s stomach growled. She was hungry because she hadn’t eaten much dinner the night before.

Slowly, carefully, she opened the door and stepped into the hallway. The house was old, but nice. Big, with a second floor and lots of big trees. Her mom had told her that the ocean was real close and that her dad would take her to play on the beach. Emily had liked that but hadn’t said anything.

The stairs creaked as she walked downstairs. She could still hear her dad in the kitchen. She smelled bacon and maybe pancakes and her mouth began to water. Her grip on Elvis tightened until she was afraid she would pop him like a balloon. Finally she hovered at the entrance to the kitchen.