Not that Sanchez wasn’t incapable of being used, bribed, set up and discarded. Just that he hadn’t shot anyone.

Nate sighed. He shouldn’t have kissed Sarah earlier. He should have resisted. They both had too much on their minds.

“Sarah…”

“I held up on the plane to New York.” Her voice was quiet, steady, her accent hardly detectable. “I held up in the hospital. I held up more or less in Central Park when I recognized the man from the Rijksmuseum. Even when I got that note-I didn’t go completely to pieces.”

“It’s okay to go to pieces.”

“You don’t.”

“I almost did last fall when my sisters got themselves into messes. It’s different when it’s people you care about who are hurting, when it’s not just the job.”

She kicked her feet up out of the water and stared at her toes, painted a pretty lavender. “Is being here just ‘the job’ for you?”

He felt awkward, out of his element, but she had a way of cutting to the heart of matters, a directness he seldom encountered in the women he dated. “No, actually, I’m probably the last person who should be here, seeing how I was with your brother when he was shot.”

“You were shot, too.”

“Barely.”

“Barely counts.” She glanced up at him again, the fading light catching the shine of tears on her cheeks, in her eyes. “It was an awful day for you, too. More so than for me.”

“It’s not a competition.”

He kicked off his running shoes and pulled off his socks, hoping his damn feet didn’t stink. He rolled up his pant legs and sat next to her. “Water cold?”

She managed a smile. “Not by New Hampshire standards.”

Indeed, the coppery river was refreshing, not nearly as cold as a midsummer New Hampshire stream. “We’re lucky the water ever gets this warm at home.”

“I’ve never been to the White Mountains.” Strands of hair had caught in her tears and matted to her cheeks, but she didn’t seem to notice. “I understand they’re beautiful. Or aren’t they beautiful to you because of your parents?”

That natural directness again. Nate shook his head. “No, they’re still beautiful. And still dangerous. It can be hard to predict conditions these days. Thirty years ago-there was no way my parents could have known they’d fall and get stuck in freezing rain.”

“So it wasn’t their fault-not that fault matters to a child.”

“It was an accident. It was traumatic, but they weren’t murdered. They didn’t have any enemies.”

“Is that why you became a marshal? Because you could make sense of going after fugitives?”

He smiled at her. “I became a marshal because they gave me a job.”

She took an audible breath. “I’m sorry. I’m being too intense-”

“My parents led the lives they wanted to lead. They didn’t mean to leave my sisters and me orphans. It just happened. My uncle did a good job raising us. We had happy childhoods. We’ll always feel the loss and wonder what might have been, but it worked out okay.” He let his feet drop deeper into the murky water. Unlike Sarah, he thought about snakes. “A part of you must be ticked off at Rob for getting shot.”

She jerked around at him. “How could you say such a thing? That’s absurd. It’s not as if he got shot just to upset me.”

“But he has a dangerous profession. He wants the tough assignments. He’s known for it. That’s why he’s in New York.” Nate didn’t let her off the hook. “You’ve only been home for a week-”

“I’m not angry with my brother for putting me in this position.”

She jumped up, splashing him with water. She scooped up her shoes and stomped off the dock, leaving wet footprints behind her and walking barefoot through the grass.

Nate lifted his feet out of the water. He should have had a second piece of prune cake and let her have her cry. He’d never been good at any kind of debriefing.

She spun around at him. It was almost dark now, her slim figure a silhouette against the background of her home. “Anyway, you think Rob was shot because he’s a Dunnemore, not because he’s a marshal.”

“Maybe both. And it doesn’t matter what I think.”

“That’s right,” she snapped, “it doesn’t.”

Her emotions were raw, and she was on edge. Don’t let things fester, Gus used to tell him and his sisters as kids. You need to cry, cry. You need to throw something, throw something. Just don’t hurt anyone.

Nate had seldom cried, and he’d never thrown anything.

He pulled his feet out of the water, stuffed his socks into his shoes and followed Sarah onto the cool grass. “When I was a kid,” he said, “I’d see my sisters crying for my parents, and I’d want to fix it. I held back my own grief and anger because I didn’t want to upset them.” He sighed, wincing at his lame words. “Christ, this is stupid. I’m sorry. I never could do a damn thing to make Antonia and Carine feel better, either.”

“You don’t have to make me feel better.” There was no sting in her words. “Some things no one can fix. You just have to go through them. I’ll get through this mess. So will you.” Her sudden smile took him by surprise, lit up her eyes. “More prune cake?”

“I won’t make myself sick?”

“No one’s ever made themselves sick on Granny Dunnemore’s prune cake.”

She practically ran up to the house.

Nate watched her in amazement, then warned himself to be careful. To go slow, to remember his own raw state. But as he followed her in the house, all he could think of was the feel of her mouth on his, her soft skin under his hands, her body pressed up against him.

Fortunately, Conroy Fontaine was at the back door.

Twenty

Sarah went straight to the sink, turned on the faucet and got out the dented aluminum dishpan, squirting in detergent as she tried to pull herself together. “Come on in,” she called to Conroy. “The door’s open.”

“I’m sorry to bother you.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m just doing dishes. My parents have never seen fit to invest in a dishwasher.” She manufactured a smile. “But Dad has a state-of-the-art computer upstairs. He loves computers.”

She wondered if her cheerfulness sounded phony, if Conroy would excuse or even notice that she’d been crying. She had no idea how she’d get through the night alone with Nate in the house. She was convinced he was half the reason she’d lost it. Being around him had a way of bringing her emotions to the surface-even ones she wanted to hold at bay. She was usually more reserved around men, always believing she was destined for quiet, civilized relationships.

“I suppose our not having a dishwasher is a tidbit you can use in your book,” she added as Conroy stepped inside.

He stayed close to the back door, not sitting down. Sarah detected a strain in his normally easy manner. “Where’s your deputy?” he asked.

“He was just down on the dock. I imagine he’s right behind me.”

“Sarah-” Conroy narrowed his gaze on her, wincing. “Oh, dear. I see I’ve come at a bad time. Is it Rob? He hasn’t take a turn for the worse, has he?”

“No, no, it’s nothing like that. He’s okay. Doing much better, in fact.” She dumped dishes into the hot, soapy water. She had to look like a wreck. “And I’m okay. The stress of the past few days just got to me, that’s all.”

“I understand.” He seemed awkward, shoved his hands into the pockets of his loose-fitting khakis. He wore a button-down blue oxford cloth shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a sports watch on his wrist. He looked as if he’d been at his book all day. “Look, I know my timing couldn’t be worse, but I need to talk to you about your property manager.”

“Ethan? Why, what’s up?” She decided to let the dishes soak and grabbed a knife out of a drawer. “Here, sit down. I’ll cut you a piece of prune cake.”

“I can’t stay.” He smiled nervously. “But I’ll take a piece with me.”

Nate materialized in the hall doorway, leaning against it.