Page 10 of Love Over Easy

“No problem. Why don’t you go have a seat in the living room while I clean this up?”

I jump up too fast and let out a yelp when a sharp pain in my ribs doubles me over. I suck in air and release it slowly to work through the pain. It’s a practice I well know.

“Here,” the sheriff says.

I open my eyes and have to look up to see his face. I didn’t realize how tall he is either. He’s a lot taller than my father or my brothers, so he must be at least six-three.

He opens his hand. “Take these. The doctor left them for you to take for the pain.”

He holds out two tiny white pills and a glass of water. I shake my head. “No thanks. I’m good.”

“There’s no need for you to be in pain. Take the pills. They’re only a stronger ibuprofen.”

Our eyes clash, but I am in pain. I hold out my hand and he drops the pills on my palm. I wash them down with the water and drag my arm over my mouth to wipe any leftover moisture. “Let me clean up. You cooked.”

He spits out a frustrated sigh. “You are one impossibly stubborn woman; do you know that? You should be in bed resting after what you’ve been through.”

I don’t like being seen as weak. That’s dangerous. “I am what I have to be,” I say with an edge to my voice. I certainly wouldn’t be lounging around.

He nods and breathes heavily. “Yeah, I know, and I’m very sorry about that. Let’s go sit down, though. We need to talk.”

There’s a troubled look in his eyes and I know I’m not going to like our little talk. He’s going to ask questions that I can’t answer.

I follow him into a bright sunny room. The L-shaped couch is covered in white cotton fabric and filled with all shapes and sizes of pillows, all with a beachy theme.

I can’t see the sheriff picking out the coral and blue-green shell pillows. Or the pastel fish pillows. The room is decorated with a feminine taste which leads me to believe there is a woman in the sheriff’s life. Where is she? A basket full of shells sits atop a square driftwood coffee table. Probably shells he and his wife or girlfriend found while walking hand in hand on the beach.

I press my lips together. That’s not an image I particularly like. Which is ridiculous. I glance to the wall of windows and my eyes widen. Without a thought of how rude it may seem, I can’t stop my feet from taking me through the French doors and onto the deck overlooking the ocean. Filling my lungs with fresh sea air is very relaxing. I could sit out here watching the ocean for hours.

I stop at the railing and feel like a kid. Something I haven’t felt like since I was ten years old and my Gram died. Footsteps stop behind me. From the tingles running like a slight current over my skin, I can tell he’s close.

“It’s beautiful,” I say, keeping my eyes on the horizon.

“Yes, it is. I know how lucky I am to have a front row seat to this every day,” he replies with appreciation in his voice.

“It’s very peaceful here.” I want a place by the beach. To wake up to this sight every morning would soothe my soul. Someday.

He steps closer and I can feel the heat from his body and catch a brief scent of citrus. I glance his way with a timid smile and he says again, “We need to talk.”

I have to squint from the glare of the sun. “I know. I just…I’ll tell you what I can.”

He nods and his face takes on a determined expression. “You broke into the Randall’s house to stay out of sight.”

“I didn’t know it belonged to the Randalls, but yes, I did break in,” I reply and nibble on my thumbnail.

“You have a professional lock pick. Care to explain?” he asks point blank.

I swallow down my guilt for breaking into someone’s home. “Not really, but I will. I had a security guard teach me when I was sixteen. He gave me the kit for my birthday. This was the first time I’ve used it. Well, illegally that is.” That isn’t quite accurate. Dean isn’t a security guard. He’s one of my body guards and took pity on a bored teenager years ago. After a lot of begging and pleading he taught me many things I shouldn’t know how to do.

“Where did you grow up?” he asks, confusing me with his change of topic. I twist my view back to the gentle cresting waves.

I suck my bottom lip between my teeth. I can’t tell him. It would be too easy to discover my identity if he searches. “Midwest. Far away from anything like this.”

He quickly shoots another question at me. “What’s your name?”

“Shyanne.” Fuck! How could I be so stupid to give him my real name? My head drops and I scramble to come up with a way to fix this, but then I see my duffle bag at his feet and my heart stops.

He places the bag on the railing beside me and says, “Shyanne, explain to me why you have so much cash with you.”

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