The Hero's Sin

So much for creating a first impression of toughness, a quality most people sought in a lawyer.

Sara couldn’t even console herself with the fiction that few of the wedding guests had noticed her tears. Three women had offered her tissues. This woman—she’d introduced herself as Marie Dombrowski—hadn’t been sitting anywhere near her.

“Weddings do that to me,” Sara said as they passed through an arch of silk flowers interspersed with white netting and approached the receiving line. “I can’t seem to help myself.”

Marie patted Sara on the arm, sympathy practically oozing from her. “Don’t worry, dear. Someday it’ll be your turn.”

“You’ve got it wrong. That’s not why—” Sara began.

“Being a romantic is nothing to be ashamed of,” Marie interrupted. “But of course you know that. Only a romantic would wear an adorable dress like that.”

Sara smoothed a hand down the skirt of the paisley-print, triple-flounced sleeveless dress she wore with matching pink-and-red-satin sandals. She’d bought the dress on a whim while shopping for a new work wardrobe that wasn’t so stuffy. The look was ultra-feminine, a drastic change of pace from the structured suits she used to wear no matter the occasion.

“Thank you,” Sara said, “but nobody’s ever called me a romantic before. Especially not the men I’ve dated.”

“Then none of them must’ve been right for you,” Marie declared. She herself was wearing a pink knee-length dress with tiny appliquéd hearts on the bodice.

“I wasn’t right for them, either. Lawyers don’t generally make good girlfriends.”

“Now I know who you are!” Marie exclaimed, looking delighted with herself. “You bought that empty storefront on Main Street. Aren’t you an old friend of the bride’s from high school?”

“That’s right. But how did you know that?”

“Oh, honey. Indigo Springs may be turning into a tourist town, but among the locals nothing’s a mystery. Isn’t that right, Frank?” She nudged the stout, silent man at her elbow she’d introduced as her husband. He startled as though he’d been awakened from a nap even though they were among the last guests to arrive and the decibel level in the hall grew louder by the second.

“Oh, yes.” His smile included both Sara and his wife. “Whatever you say, dear.”

“In this case,” Sara said, “I’m hoping the story about me crying at the wedding doesn’t get around.”

“Are you kidding?” Marie exclaimed. “That’s the only thing people would be talking about if it wasn’t for Michael Donahue.”

Marie and her husband reached the front of the receiving line before Sara could ask who Michael Donahue was. This wasn’t the first time she’d heard the name. While she’d waited outside the church for the newly married couple to emerge, two elderly men had been discussing him.

“You’re sure it was Donahue?” one of the men had asked in a loud voice.

“’Course I am. Came in late and sat in the last pew. Slipped out before the ceremony ended, too.”

The loud man had whistled. “Wonder what Quincy Coleman will do when he finds out he’s back.”

Who was Michael Donahue? And who, for that matter, was Quincy Coleman?

Sara put her curiosity on hold as she approached the parents of the bride, who were first in the receiving line and whom Sara had met once before. But the question was still tapping at the back of her mind as she reintroduced herself to Penelope’s mother and father and greeted the groom’s parents.

Penelope could surely enlighten her about Michael Donahue, but it became apparent now wasn’t the time to question her when the bride squealed.

“I’m so glad you’re here!” Penelope threw her arms around Sara, crinkling the bodice of her white gown against Sara’s chest and enveloping her in the scent of perfume. Penelope drew back and asked, “Is it true you cried through the ceremony?”

Sara laughed. “True. But it was your fault for looking so happy.”

“I am happy.” With her light-brown hair in an updo and eye makeup playing up her huge dark eyes, Penelope looked lovely. She beamed at her new husband, formally attired in a gray pin-striped tuxedo. “I’m the luckiest woman in the world.”

“And don’t you forget it.” Johnny Pollock winked at his bride. He was neither tall nor short, his features neither ugly nor handsome, his hair color neither blond nor brown. He was average in every way—until he smiled, transforming him into something special. “Nice to see you again, Sara.”

Sara had barely returned Johnny’s greeting when Penelope captured both of Sara’s hands in hers. “I never thought you’d leave that big law firm, but I’m so glad you did. I hope you love it here as much as I do.”

Love was the reason Penelope had relocated to Indigo Springs. Weeks after she’d made a sales call to Johnny’s construction company peddling industrial piping, he’d asked her to marry him. She’d dumped the job and gained a husband.

“I’m already starting to,” Sara said.

“Now go circulate.” Penelope beckoned her close and whispered in her ear. “I’m trying to figure out who the eligible men are, but forget about Johnny’s best man. Chase is hot, but his girlfriend and her little boy are living with him and they have a baby on the way.”

Sara rolled her eyes. Weddings, like no other events, seemed to bring out the matchmakers. “I’m starting a career, not looking for a man.”

Penelope grinned. “Then I’ll look for you. Only not today. I’m a little busy.”

Sara moved down the receiving line, but before she got to the best man, who was indeed handsome, a redhead in a tight green dress pulled him aside. The redhead complained loudly that he wasn’t paying her enough attention.

The poor guy was trying so hard to get her to lower her voice that Sara pretended not to notice and stepped into the reception hall.

She was used to elegant weddings with sit-down dinners and soft music, perhaps from a classically trained pianist or a string ensemble. A quartet of middle-aged men, including a saxophonist and an accordionist, were setting up what Sara guessed was a polka band near a spacious dance floor. Waitstaff arranged steaming platters of food on a bountiful buffet table.

The VFW hall was loud and crowded, with wedding guests filling up long, skinny tables. Artificial flower arrangements added color to the tables, which were covered in white cloth like the chairs. As a finishing touch, oversized pastel bows had been tied to the backs of each seat. Sara skirted the periphery of the room, searching for a place to sit.

“Over here, Sara!” Marie Dombrowski beckoned her to a nearby spot, where she sat with her silent husband. “Come join me and Frank.”

Sara smiled, grateful for the invitation. Before she took a step, something made her look in the direction of the receiving line, which had started to break up as the wedding party made its way to the bridal table. Only Penelope, Johnny and his father remained.

Johnny grinned hugely before embracing a tall man with short dark hair who seemed vaguely familiar. Johnny held on to the other man for long seconds, patting him repeatedly and enthusiastically on the back.

“Are you coming, Sara?” Marie Dombrowski called.

“In a minute.” Sara held up a finger, her attention still riveted by the groom and the stranger.

The two men drew apart. Sara had judged Johnny to be five ten or eleven when she’d stood next to him. The stranger topped him by a good three or four inches. His posture was proud, almost defiant, and he wore a gray suit a few shades lighter than Johnny’s tuxedo that looked good on his athletic frame.

Johnny’s father came forward, embracing the stranger just as enthusiastically as his son had before somebody called him away. Then Johnny grabbed Penelope’s hand and pulled her close, no doubt to introduce her. The angle of the stranger’s head changed, and Sara got a good look at his hard, handsome face.

She inhaled sharply. If she hadn’t been sure of the man’s identity, the bruise on his forehead would have been a dead giveaway.

It was the hero from the river.

“Y OU’RE AS pretty as Johnny said you were.” Michael extended a hand to Johnny’s bride, a slender brunette with her hair piled high on her head, wisps of it falling charmingly about her face.

“Thank you.” Her eyes flew to his forehead, and she winced. “I see why you didn’t come to the rehearsal dinner. What happened?”

“Nothing worth repeating,” Michael said. Until she mentioned it, he’d almost forgotten he’d used the injury as an excuse. “Just glad I could be here to see my old buddy get married.”

“That’s right. You grew up with Johnny. He told me all about you.” Her smile seemed genuine, which meant Johnny hadn’t told her everything about him. “Will you be in town long?”

“I’m just here for the wedding.”

“That’s too bad. I don’t understand why anybody would ever want to leave Indigo Springs. I absolutely adore it here.”

Michael felt the muscles holding up his smile tighten. That confirmed it. Johnny hadn’t filled Penelope in on the whole story. “I hope you’ll be happy here.”

“I’ll make sure of that,” Johnny hugged her to his side.

“Okay, lovebirds, you’re needed at the main table.” A woman in a flowing floral-print dress called as she bustled toward them. She stopped short, gaping at Michael as though his suit jacket was stained with blood. He mentally subtracted the woman’s pounds and the gray in her hair and recognized Johnny’s aunt Ida. Before Michael could greet her, she looked past him to Johnny and Penelope. “Everybody’s waiting on you so the best man can give the toast and people can eat.”

She turned away without acknowledging Michael, not that he expected her to, not when he remembered her as one of Chrissy’s mother’s closest friends. Ida had pledged her allegiance years ago, and it hadn’t been to him.

A warm hand clasped his shoulder. “Don’t worry about Aunt Ida,” Johnny reassured him. “I’m glad you’re here. Maybe we can catch up later.”

Michael nodded, although there was little chance of that happening at a reception of more than a hundred people. Johnny knew it, too. He slapped Michael on the shoulder. “Good seeing you, man.”

“Always,” Michael said.

Dropping his hand, Johnny escorted his bride into the main part of the hall to a bridal table decorated with tall candles, fresh flowers and draped garlands.

Michael surveyed the wedding guests chatting happily to one another and knew what it felt like to be alone in a crowd. Most were strangers, but he recognized some of them, none of whom he felt comfortable approaching.

He waited a few beats, then headed for the exit and the parking lot, pretending he wasn’t in a hurry. He’d considered himself lucky to find a parking space, but a now a white van blocked his escape route. The scripted red letters on the side of the vehicle read Catering Solutions: We cook so you don’t have to. The driver’s seat was empty.

“Damn.” There was no getting around it. He needed to re-enter the hall and locate the caterers, no matter how much it might send tongues wagging.

Even as he lectured himself on the cold reality of his situation, he wished things were different. Wished, for instance, that the woman with the red highlights in her long brown hair was headed for him instead of the parking lot.

He’d noticed her at the church, partly because she wore a ridiculously feminine dress with high-heeled sandals that added inches to her tall frame and showed off a killer set of legs. With a slightly long nose and a wide mouth, she wasn’t classically beautiful as much as she was damn attractive. But it wasn’t only her looks that captured his attention. It was the poise with which she moved, the intelligence in her expression that told him he’d enjoy getting to know her.

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.

T HE 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 town?”

“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.