“Yeah, I just cut myself.”

The sheriff put down the can opener and took her shoulders in his hands. Her breath caught. His touch managed to be both gentle and sure. He led her to the sink, holding the phone so she could wash her cut.

“Is it bad?” asked Damien. “Can’t your sister help?”

“It’s no biggie.” She rummaged in the junk drawer for the little zippered kit she kept there. Billy took it from her, and she gave him a weak smile as he applied a glop of antiseptic cream and a couple of Band-Aids. His hands were gentle, and deft, too.

She cleared her throat, back at the cutting board. “So, you coming over for dinner then?”

“You know, it sounds like it’s crazy for you over there. And honestly, it’s crazy for me here. I’m buried. Can we take a rain check? I think I’ll just work late. Let you have your moment in the sun. Save me some leftovers, though, okay?”

She hung up with Damien, feeling a weird mix of disappointed, unsurprised, and relieved. Now that she had it in her head that they needed to talk, she needed to just do it and get it over with. Otherwise, it felt like an ax poised to fall.

That was the last real conversation she had all night, as she was quickly swept up in kitchen insanity. Somehow word had spread through Sierra Falls that Sorrow was cooking, and more folks than usual came by for dinner.

She’d salvaged beets, goat cheese, and some candied walnuts from her own pantry to pull together a beet salad. Some random veggies, a couple of cans of white beans, and chicken stock had made up a nice soup. And for a finishing touch, Billy had cored over a dozen apples, and she’d made baked apple for dessert. That she’d had to serve all of it in tiny portions had impressed the customers all the more; they thought it was some sort of fancy citified preparation.

Her mom carried in the last of the plates. “Have you had a chance to eat anything?”

Sorrow ignored the question, her eyes only on the teetering stack of white dishes. “I don’t have to do the dishes, too, do I?”

Billy walked through the swinging door, taking the stack from her mother’s hands and putting them in the giant stainless steel sink. “Don’t think you can sneak away from me, Edith. I got these.”

“Hey, Sheriff.” Sorrow said his title playfully, and rather than something formal it’d felt intimate. She didn’t care—she was in a giddy mood, going on adrenaline, and was genuinely pleased that someone who wasn’t family was there to witness her triumph. “I didn’t know you were still around. It must be midnight.”

Her mom checked her watch. There were digital clocks all over the place, but her mom had been relying on the same Timex for twenty years—tan face, frayed brown band. “It’s 10:30, and Sheriff Preston has been helping us shoulder the load. You’d think the town had run out of food.”

Sorrow watched as he poured a big glass of wine. “Were you here all night?” Though thinking about it, she could picture Billy at various points in the evening, getting glimpses of him opening bottles of wine, clearing dishes. Yup, he’d been there all night.

He handed her the glass. “And miss your grand debut?”

The man really was thoughtful, and she gave him a grateful smile. She sipped and exhaled a blissful sigh. “Thank you. I’m ready to drop on my feet.”

Her mom scraped the last of the pasta from the big pot. “There’s a bit left, honey. You better eat up before the Jessup boys come in for fourths.” She handed her the plate. “Now I best get back out there. I think your dad is trying to muster up a poker game, and I’m sure it breaks all kinds of gambling laws.” She gave Billy a panicked look, realizing she was speaking in front of the sheriff.

Billy winked. “Did you say something, Mrs. Bailey? I’m afraid I didn’t hear you.”

As her mom bustled from the room, Sorrow hopped onto the counter and dove into her pasta. “I didn’t realize how starved I was.”

Billy peeked under lids, scrounging for leftovers. He salvaged a cup of soup and half a baked apple. “I’m afraid there’s not much left.”

He dished it out for her, then started on the dirty plates, making quick work loading them into the industrial dishwasher.

“No, it’s perfect.” All that’d been left in the pot was a small serving of pasta and the dregs of the sauce. It’d cooked down to thick, tangy glops of capers and olives. She held up her fork. “This bit is my favorite.”

A memory sideswiped her, and she swallowed back the sudden ache in her throat.

It didn’t escape Billy. “You all right?” he asked, concerned.

“Yeah, just thinking about my brother. BJ loves my puttanesca.” She laughed. “Though he always drives me batty. Even though I buy these awesome Italian reds, he insists on washing down whatever I cook with a Budweiser.”

Billy shook his head. “An abomination.”

“Totally.”

“Everyone knows Miller goes best with Italian.”

She hopped down and nudged him with her shoulder as

she slid her plate into the dishwasher rack. “Heathens. All of you.”

Her voice had come out sounding distracted, and Billy caught it at once.

He wiped his hands on a rag, and pinched her chin in his fingers, tipping it up to face him. “Uh-oh. I see cogs turning.”

That touch sent an electric charge from his fingertips straight to her belly. The intense night left her feeling drained and emotional, and a powerful urge swept her—the desire to lean into Billy and let him take care of her like she’d been taking care of everyone else.

But there was Damien to consider. Until she broke up with her boyfriend, she couldn’t allow herself to sink into this other man, as much as she wanted to. She stepped back. “I’m just tired.”

He put soap in the tray and turned on the dishwasher. He faced her, looking deadly serious. “This is more than just you being tired.”

“Jeez, Sheriff. Remind me not to get pulled over by you.”

“Hey, don’t make me break out the tough-guy act.” His voice had taken on a pretend stern tone, and yet something dark glinted in his eyes. Something that made her think of things like getting pulled over, frisked, and patted down by the likes of Billy Preston.

She felt her cheeks blush. What was wrong with her? She couldn’t help but compare him to Damien. She’d been very attracted to her boyfriend—physically, they clicked. They’d had some great times. But he didn’t make her feel this way. This sensation of her skin tightening around her body, her breath catching with the need to step closer. To ask more. To tell him everything. To feel his skin against hers. To know Billy, and be known by him.

She had to break up with Damien, like, yesterday.

“You’re not going to distract me,” he said, “so you might as well spill it.”

“What?” Her eyes widened. Had he somehow read her thoughts?

“Your eyes give everything away,” he said gently.

Something about his tone, about being alone in the kitchen with him after a long day on her feet, intensified the growing intimacy between them. She wanted to know Billy, and he wanted to listen.

She’d been feeling so isolated—surrounded by loved ones and yet still alone. Nobody seemed to notice how she was frantically paddling to stay afloat. How close she felt to breaking sometimes. How often she dreamed of different places and different things.

But in walked Billy, and somehow he’d seen. He’d listened and heard. It was a simple connection, but it did so much to make her feel better. Getting to know him, she’d begun to sense how happiness was there for her to find, she just craved a partner to share it with. Not a man to hold her up like Damien tried so desperately to do, but someone to stand with her, by her side.

“Tell me,” he whispered.

She heard the care in his voice and knew she couldn’t stop herself from sharing with this man if she tried. She missed her brother—was racked with worry for him. Sometimes she hated her sister, and got so angry with Dad, so frustrated with Mom. But here was Billy, waiting, wanting to know what she was thinking. Wanting to know her.

She let out a long sigh, letting it all go. “I told you about my brother. The thing is, he always knows how to handle Dad.” She had to stifle a stab of guilt. “He’s a good man. Dad, I mean. His stroke…it was hard for him. But still, he drives me nuts. He’s so old school. Take the whole ‘Ladies’ Night’ thing. I mean, should I be offended? That I can only cook if it’s Ladies’ Night?”

She risked a glance into his eyes, half expecting him to brush it off. Damien would have brushed it off. But instead, Billy’s brow was furrowed in thought.

“Don’t let the man offend you,” he said. “He’s from a different generation. It’s a chance for you to cook, and you should take it. Let me guess, it’s been Bear’s way or the highway all these years. Am I right?”

“I suppose you don’t need to be a rocket scientist to figure that one out.”

“And his dad ran the lodge and tavern before him?”

Sorrow sighed. “I see where you’re going with this.”

“Do you?” he asked gently. “Think about it from your father’s perspective. I’ll bet the things he’s able to do—hell, the things your mom lets him do—have changed since his stroke. Changed a lot. He was once the master of his universe, and now I bet your mom doesn’t even let him out of her sight without a cell phone in his pocket.”

It was true, and it gutted her. “Yeah, that’s pretty much the whole of it.” She’d only been thinking about her own perspective. She stared at the floor, ashamed of her selfishness. Dad’s stroke. It’d changed him, but the changes had come about so slowly, it was something she hadn’t considered, not like that. “He worked timber when he was younger—he was once a pretty physical guy.”

“I know his type. Change is hard for a guy like him. But aging is something that happens to every man—if they’re lucky.” Billy tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and the sweep of his finger sent her blood pounding. “Besides, he’s in for a big awakening. Wait till Bear realizes that Ladies’ Night draws every male in Sierra Falls just for a taste of your cooking. He’ll see. As it is, I think he’s floored by how much business you did tonight. More people jammed into that tavern for dinner than I ever saw on Sully’s watch.”