GIVEN THE OPPORTUNITY, Rafe could sleep for twelve hours straight. As sheriff, those opportunities were rare. Sunday morning the alarm sounded at just after six, and with ease born of practice—after only six hours of sleep—Rafe rolled out of bed.
Before working out, something he’d not been doing faithfully for the last month, or even eating breakfast, he called Jeff for a status report. He reported that while Scorpion Ridge didn’t have a clean bill of health for last night, the wounds were all superficial.
Except for Rafe’s.
He headed for the spare bedroom and started his regimen. Push-ups came first. With each crunch, he felt pain. Not from the hard floor under his mat or from the pull of his gut. He was suffering from an acute case of regret.
Had he put the brakes on a bit too hastily with Janie? She’d been the perfect date, especially for one who attended the function not as a guest but pretty much as a prisoner. For the entire evening, she’d charmed his men.
Charmed Rafe.
Then, at the end of the evening, when he’d handed her over to Jeff Summerside, she’d not only acted as if she understood but as if she didn’t care.
Rafe grabbed his jump rope and headed to the backyard.
So Rafe Salazar apparently was attracted to a woman who was not attracted to him. That was a first. He’d never had any trouble with women. It was discouraging them that often proved difficult.
Somebody should tell Janie.
After hitting a hundred jumps, Rafe went back inside and switched to some resistance weights. Up, down. Up, down. Of course, when Rafe reassigned Jeff and reinstated himself as the lead on the case, there’d be talk. Down.
He could take it.
Just before he hit the shower, he realized he’d broken out in a sweat, and somehow didn’t think the workout was to blame.
He hadn’t minded Janie’s I’m-not-interested act back when her sister and his mother were doing the matchmaking. He minded now, and agonizing over Janie almost made him late for church.
Great, not only was she distracting him at work but now she was affecting his faith.
After dressing, eating breakfast and taking a quick drive through his town, Rafe pulled into the church’s parking lot, choosing a spot that would allow him to exit quickly if he had to, and headed for the door.
He was blessed with three families: his mother, the police force and the church.
Based on the looks that followed the “good mornings” he received, most of the congregation were interested in his date last night. They considered it their right to pry into his personal business—small-town justice.
Miles Pynchon, the minister, stood by the door. He somberly clasped Rafe’s hand. “I hear my son gave you some new information last night.”
Rafe was somewhat surprised. Miles knew better than to bring up an ongoing investigation during church. Still, Samuel was Miles’s oldest boy, and this might be the first time one of his sons—he had four—was in a bit over his head.
“Were you aware that Samuel and Brittney were interested in each other?” Rafe asked.
“It didn’t occur to me to mention it,” Miles said. “All the young men were enamored with her.”