Page 5 of One Night Years Ago

She wanted to scream. He’d ruined her life and all his expression held was shock.

You pushed him off and you got away. Remember that, Natalie. Always remember that.

She sobbed, placing her fist in front of her mouth to keep the sound contained. She didn’t think she could keep reliving this at random moments in the day, not if she wanted to hold on to her sanity. At that moment, she hated Hunter Fowler more than she had ever hated anyone before.

She splashed some water on her face, glad she’d decided not to wear makeup.

She sat at her desk again. Rob Hope, her chief deputy, was quiet for once. He looked at her from deep-set eyes. He had blond hair which was always a bit too long at the front and a Roman nose that had been broken several times during his college athlete days. Susan Lopes, their youngest officer, pretended to fill in a report. Alma, their office assistant and dispatcher, made photocopy upon photocopy. Natalie didn’t want to ask her what she was making photocopies of; she knew they were all worried about her. Sharp Cove’s sheriff department might be small, but they were a family.

At quarter to three Natalie picked up her hat and headed outside. Rob followed her. He’d been a young trainee working with her dad when everything happened. He didn’t need to say anything. Together, they walked silently towards the town hall square, at the other end of Main Street. Rob’s longer legs easily kept pace with her.

At five minutes to three, they stopped by the fisherman’s statue, waiting for the bus to arrive. Natalie looked around. Her father was there, along with a lot of other Sharp’s Cove citizens. Roy, from the hardware store, had even brought a baseball bat with him; she didn’t think he had baseball practice in mind. She gave them a hard stare. She didn’t want to start a scene by asking them to leave, but she wasn’t going to allow any lynching to happen. Not on her watch.

At exactly three p.m. the bus appeared on the horizon. They all knew it. It was the same bus that arrived twice a day, like clockwork, and connected their little community with the outside world. Bringing with it all those things that Sharp’s Cove didn’t have. Like felons.

#

Hunter

Hunter reclined against his seat in the back row, his long legs taking up half the corridor. There were only two other people on the bus, and both of them were sitting up front, as close to the driver—or as far away from him—as possible.

He kept his eyes closed as he pretended to nap. In reality, his brain was going a hundred miles a minute. His cheek throbbed as he thought back to the conversation he’d had with Natalie Bowmann’s father, if conversation was the right way to phrase it. He still had eighty-six dollars in his pocket. Maybe he should stay on the bus and head back to the city. He could go anywhere in the state as long as he informed his parole officer. He didn’t have to be back here.

Then he thought of his mother and the letter tucked in his pocket. She knew what being back here would do to him. She wouldn’t have written if she didn’t really need help with the farm and with his brother. He couldn’t let her down, not after everything she’d been through.

He opened his eyes briefly as the bus made it down Main Street. He saw coffee shops, clothing stores, new stores selling tourist knickknacks. Most buildings looked freshly painted, sidewalks looked new, and the lamplights lining the street were those expensive ancient replicas. It looked like the town was thriving.

The bus drove by the movie theater, which was boarded up. Memories of time spent there with friends—of different, easier times—assaulted him. He’d been happy here once. Maybe things would work out.

Then he saw the small crowd, large by Sharp’s Cove standards, gathering at the base of the sculpture. There was going to be trouble. He steeled his heart against it. He’d spent twelve years in Hell. He could take anything these small-town folk dished out.

As the bus stopped, he unfolded his large frame from the seat and stood up, careful not to bang his head against the roof of the bus.

“Sharp’s Cove,” the bus driver said. His voice sounded bored as he repeated the same words he said every day, but his eyes in the mirror showed worry as he made eye contact with Hunter.

He’s scared of me.

Hunter knew it was something he was going to have to get used to. He stepped off the bus and onto firm ground. The afternoon was warm, and the sun shone on his face. He raised his hand, if only to confirm he wasn’t wearing handcuffs anymore. He was free.

He let his eyes roam the crowd. He recognized maybe half the people there. Roy from the hardware store and the café owner Diane’s husband. He couldn’t remember the man’s name. Some people in the crowd looked at him with open hostility. Others had that look people wore to a boxing fight. They wanted to see blood.

Hunter took a step forward and watched the crowd shrink back. He allowed himself a small wolfish smile. The crowd gasped.

Then he noticed her, and everybody else seemed to disappear. Natalie Bowmann.

Hunter inhaled once then again quickly after his lungs refused to fill with air first time around. She was wearing a uniform, which wasn’t a surprise, of course. He knew she’d become sheriff of Sharp’s Cove after her father retired, was probably the youngest person ever to hold the job.

He let the air out his lungs slowly, trying not to think of the last time he’d seen her … at the trial. She’d only come in one day to identify his tattoo. He’d felt her fear from across the room.

He hadn’t expected her to grow up quite so beautiful. Her eyes were blue like the proverbial summer sky, but it wasn’t just the color that drew him in. Something about her eyes inspired trust. Her lips, currently pursed in mistrust, were a beautiful, natural pink color.

Hunter froze as she took a step closer, instinctively knowing that the next few seconds would determine everything for him. He was almost a head taller than her and probably double her weight, but she didn’t seem intimidated by him.

“What happened to your face, Fowler?” she asked, her voice hard as steel. She looked at the bus driver, who raised his hands and muttered something unintelligible, eager to get out of there.

For an instant he had no idea what she was talking about. Then his hand went up to his cheekbone, and he felt the swelling there.

“I walked into a door,” Hunter said, his voice low.