Head Over Heels

She wasn’t mad at him anymore. She’d tried to hold on to it, but it was just too hard to stay mad at a guy who stopped to change a woman’s tire, not to mention rescued another woman from turning into a mud popsicle. “Tell me the truth,” she finally said. “You can’t drive and talk at the same time, right?”

He didn’t say anything, but his mouth quirked slightly, and she sighed. The ability he had to keep everything to himself drove her nuts. But only because she wanted to be able to do the same. It was another big reason to stay away from him. He wasn’t the yin to her yang; he was the Batman to her Joker.

And Batman was fully in his zone right now, complete with the dark reflective sunglasses and the blank face. “So…Lucille says you’re sweet.”

“She wears rose-colored glasses for everyone.”

This made her take a second look at him. “You don’t think you’re sweet?”

He grimaced and didn’t answer.

“It’s a compliment,” she said, amused. “Sweet is a positive quality.”

“Yeah,” he said. “In puppies.”

Chloe laughed, a little disconcerted by how easily and effectively he disarmed her, every single time. “Don’t worry, Sheriff. I won’t tell anyone.”

His concentration was on the road. Apparently he’d exhausted his word usage for the day. “So does this happen to you a lot?” she asked, perversely determined to make him talk. “The rescue thing?”

He shrugged. “It’s my job.”

Maybe. But he wasn’t on the job at the moment. “Tell me about the calls yesterday, the ones Lucille brought up.”

“They were nothing.”

“Fine. I’ll just go read Facebook. Probably it’s not too overly embellished.”

He glanced over at her. “Do you ever use your powers for good?”

“Not if I can help it. Tell me.”

He blew out a breath. “I got called out to Mrs. Perez’s house because she was shining a light in her neighbor’s windows. Apparently the neighbor—Mrs. Cooper—had cheated at bunco earlier in the week and pissed Mrs. Perez off, so Mrs. Perez was retaliating by scaring Mrs. Cooper.”

“What did you do?”

“I took the batteries out of Mrs. Perez’s high-powered flashlight.”

“Fast thinking,” Chloe said, impressed. “What else happened?”

“I got called to the Sorenson house.”

“Bill and Joanne, with the eight daughters?” she asked.

“Yes. Bill had plowed a pile of mulch in front of his neighbor’s driveway.”

“Why, had the guy been cheating at bunco too?”

“No,” Sawyer said. “The neighbor’s son got caught…in a compromising position.”

“Compromising position?”

“Pants at his ankles, in the company of one of Bill’s daughters.”

“Uh-oh. In that case, you’re lucky there weren’t gunshots.”

“No luck involved,” he said. “I took Bill’s rifle from him two weeks back when I heard the two teens were dating.”

She laughed. “You took his rifle? Are you allowed to do that?”

“Borrowed. And then accidentally disposed of it.”

“How do you accidentally dispose of a rifle?”

Sawyer turned and flashed her a heart-stopping grin, full-wattage. “You go sailing with Ford and dump it three miles out at twelve knots.”

Ford had been a world-class sailor, with an Olympic medal and many other awards for his efforts. He didn’t go out on the racing circuit so much anymore, but he did sail with Jax and Sawyer on their mutual days off. Chloe had seen them on the docks at the marina. Hell, she had a permanent kink in her neck from all the times she’d stared out the marina building window at the three of them wearing board shorts and nothing else.

The truck’s heater was decadently warm on her chilled skin, but the dried mud was still a huge irritant and she squirmed some more.

“What’s the matter?”

“You ever go na**d on the beach and get sand in places that no sand should go?” she asked.

“Ah. I take it the same applies for mud.”

“Little bit.” Plus, she’d never worn jeans without underwear before, and it wasn’t nearly as fun as she’d thought it might be. The center seam kept riding up, and the zipper was cutting into her. She looked out the side window to distract herself, but all she could see was Sawyer’s reflection next to her. He wasn’t fidgeting. Of course, that was because he didn’t have mud in his cracks and crevices. But even if he had, she doubted that he’d fidget. He never wasted a single ounce of energy. He was driving, relaxed—maybe a little too amused at her dilemma—all his carefully controlled energy at rest.

Though he hadn’t been so relaxed when Lucille had been recounting the story about how he’d helped Suzie because she was a single mom. Chloe turned to look at him in profile. His hair was windblown, his face tanned. He hadn’t shaved that morning, and his square jaw was scruffy. She liked it. But there were lines of tension along the outside corners of his eyes.

He wasn’t as relaxed as he appeared to be.

He worked hard. He always did. From what she knew of him, he’d gotten that from his father, a hard worker himself, and a single dad. And it hit her. “How old were you?”

“When?”

“When your mom gave up being a mom.”

For a brief beat, he took his gaze off the road and looked at her before turning back. “Eight.”

Her heart squeezed. “You were eight when your parents divorced?”

“They were never married. Or together, for that matter. I went back and forth between them until I was around eight.” His hesitation was brief. “That’s when she left town.” He lifted a shoulder, like life happens, no big deal.

But it was a big deal. Chloe knew all too well what it was like to have only one parent, a parent who wasn’t always so keen on being one in the first place. It had left its mark on her, and the older she got, the more she was beginning to understand how deep the wounds went. Or maybe being here in Lucky Harbor with her sisters was what had stirred the pot, but all her relationships seemed to be affected by her childhood. Not only that but also her search for stability, for a home, and the ironic fear of those very same things.

Which left her to wonder what the loss of his mother had done to Sawyer. “You ever hear from her?”

“No.”

He said it easily enough, but something made her throat tighten a little. Maybe it was the thought of him at eight years old being utterly abandoned by the one woman in his life who he should have been able to count on. She knew what it felt like to be without a parent, too. It was possible, she supposed, that her own father hadn’t known about her at all, but she thought it far more likely that he’d known and simply hadn’t wanted her. “Are you close to your dad?”

He let out a low laugh.

“I’ll take that as a no.”

“There’s bad history. I haven’t exactly been a model son.”

“You were a motherless little boy,” she said in his defense.

“I was a complete shit,” he corrected. “A holy f**king terror. My father did what he could.” He gave a slight shrug. “At least you and Phoebe were of like minds. She was the original wild child.” A small but fond smile crossed his lips, taking any of the possible sting out of his words.

“You liked her,” she said in surprise.

He glanced at her. “Is that so odd?”

“Well, yeah. You’re not always so fond of me, so…”

“Says who?”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again.

“Wow. I just made you speechless. That’s new. I like it.” He paused. “And yeah, I liked Phoebe, too. She did as she pleased, lived the life she wanted to live.”

“Sometimes,” she said, staring at him, “you surprise me.”

He shot her a rare smile. “So what about your dad?” he asked after a minute. “I’ve never heard anything about him.”

“No? Me either.”

“You don’t know him?”

“I don’t even know who he is.”

Again he glanced at her, and she once again turned to the window, annoyed at herself. She never told people that. First of all, it was embarrassing, and second…

Second, it brought out something she hated.

Pity.

She didn’t want pity. Most of the time, she didn’t give a damn about her father. He was a nonentity. It was only since coming here and being around Tara and Maddie that she’d realized his absence had had such an impact on her. She shifted yet again and sucked in a breath of discomfort.

Beside her, Sawyer made a sound of his own, but when she looked at him, he was watching the road, calm as can be. “Still cold?” he asked.

Fair question. Her ni**les were two tight pebbles, so visible that she might as well have been na**d. “Yes.” She shifted around some more.

“Jesus, Chloe. Stop doing that.” He shoved his sunglasses to the top of his head and sent her a look so heated that she nearly went up in smoke. “Get the blanket back on you,” he said, reaching behind him, where she’d tossed it to get out of the truck earlier. He threw it over her, including her face.

“Oh for God’s sake, they’re just nipples,” she said, tugging the blanket down so she could breathe. She leaned as close to the vents as her seat belt allowed. “Just let me off in town at Lance’s.”

“What’s with your place?”

“My sisters are going to give me shit about this. We had a fight this morning.” A stab of remembered hurt hit her low and deep, but she ignored it. “Among other things, I told them I was all grown up. Which obviously,” she said with a mirthless laugh and a gesture at her ensemble, “was a complete lie. Seeing me like this isn’t going to help my cause. If you drop me at Lance’s, I can check on him and also borrow his shower. And maybe get Tucker to help me fix the Vespa.”

“Lance’s mother was with him when I talked to him. In your condition, you’ll give her heart failure. Hell, I’m nearly in heart failure.” He pulled off the highway just before her exit.

“So where are we going, then?” she asked.

He drove up a steep street, then turned a couple of times, and pulled into a driveway. The house was the last on the block, a midsized ranch on a bluff overlooking the ocean. Chloe had never been up here, but she knew Sawyer had bought the place earlier in the year.

He turned off the engine and faced her, laying his arm along the back of her seat. “It wasn’t a lie, what you told your sisters,” he said. “About growing up. You’ve changed a lot since you moved here.”

“Yeah? Then why am I still making stupid moves? Look at me, Sawyer.”

He did just that, appearing to like what he saw in spite of the mud. “Just because you’re unconventional doesn’t mean you’re not a grown woman.”

It was possibly the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her. “So…is ‘unconventional’ the new ‘sweet’?”

He laughed, and she liked the sound, very much. “Why do we always fight?” she whispered.

“You know why.”

Yeah, she did. “It’s science.”

“Combustible chemistry,” he agreed. “Dangerous.” His voice was pitched so low as to be nearly inaudible and sent tingles down her spine. Clearly mistaking that for a chill instead of desire, he got out of the truck and came around for her. He held out his hand, but she just stared at it while the fresh fall air slid into her taxed lungs.

“Scared?” he asked.

“Of course not.” And she wasn’t. Scared. Nope, she was something else entirely, and it was making her breathless, and her chest was tight. She slid out of the truck, and since Sawyer didn’t move out of her way, she bumped directly into him, her body pressing close to his.

Given that she could feel him hard against her, she was guessing he wasn’t scared of a little combustible chemistry either. “What are we doing?”

“Come on. I’ll show you.” He pulled her toward the house.

“But I’ll get your house as dirty as your truck.”

“No, you won’t,” he said, and that’s when she realized that they weren’t moving toward his front door but around to the side of the house. Then they were in his backyard, which was nothing more than an open patch of wild grass. Stairs cut into the cliff that led down to the beach about a hundred feet below.

“I run along the beach sometimes,” he said. “Or climb the rocks. Clears my head.”

She walked to the edge and looked over. The cliff was rocky, jutting out in spots, creating little pockets where trees stuck out like porcupine quills. An entire elemental world of rock, trees, and water that made her itch to explore. “Does it work?” she asked. “The clearing of your head part?”

“Yeah.”

She could imagine him climbing to one of the alcoves there on the cliff, staring out at the churning ocean, inhaling the salty air, the wind in his face as the waves crashed on the rocks. “It’s a good place,” she said.

“It is. And after a run, I come up here.” He walked her to the very far corner of his house. “Maybe I’m not muddy, but definitely sandy and sweaty.” He gestured to the wall. There was an outdoor shower there, like the ones at the public beaches. But this one wasn’t grimy and gross. Instead, it was clean and tiled, and, as she discovered when he leaned in and flicked the handle, equipped with hot water.