Hazel swung open one of the glass doors and settled the issue for her. “Sheriff Taber said to come on back.”
Hope’s stomach got a bit queasy as she moved toward Hazel and followed her past her desk and down the short hallway. The closer she got, the worse she felt. And then there he was, standing as she entered his office, looking better than she remembered. Tall and handsome, his hair rumpled as if he’d combed it with his fingers. Her footsteps faltered and she stopped just inside the doorway.
“Shall I hold your calls, Sheriff?” Hazel asked.
/>
“Yes,” he said, and the sound of his voice after so many days without it poured through Hope like warm sunshine on a December day. “Unless it’s the prosecutor’s office.”
Hazel shifted her gaze to Hope as if she were a scanner, trying to detect the true nature behind Hope’s visit. “I’ll be at my desk if you need me, Sheriff,” she said, then left, and Hope was alone with the man she loved, her broken heart, and her queasy stomach.
“Why don’t you sit?” Dylan offered.
“No, really. I know you’re busy, and I don’t want to disturb you. I just have a quick question that I thought one of the deputies could answer for me. I guess no one knew the answer and just assumed you’d want to see me. I know that you don’t, and I wouldn’t have come if I’d known-”
“What’s your question?” he asked, interrupting her.
She placed a hand on her abdomen and took a deep breath. “Is a restraining order obtained in California enforceable in Idaho?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” She let out her breath and took a step backward. “Thanks.”
“Why?”
She stood close enough to see his green eyes, close enough to see him looking back at her as if she were just any ordinary citizen stopping by to fill out a complaint. As if he’d never shown her Sawtooth Lake and Cassiopeia spinning around on her head.
In his gaze, there was no spark of hunger nor even the interest that had been there from the first moment she’d met him. There was nothing, and she hadn’t realized until it was gone how much she’d delighted in it and how desired he’d made her feel. The backs of her eyes stung and she slid her palm over her stomach as if she could hold in the pain of seeing him.
“Why?” he asked again.
Looking at him made it hard to think of anything beyond how much she still loved him and how little he felt for her now. She lowered her gaze to the clutter of paper on his desk.
“A few months ago I was granted a restraining order against a man named Myron Lambardo.” She paused and her fingers nervously rubbed the smooth leather of her belt as she told herself not to cry. “He was part of the reason I came to Gospel. I needed to get away from the whole mess and stress of the court hearing.” She glanced up. “I saw him when I was coming out of the M and S.”
“Today?”
“Just a few minutes ago.”
“What did he say?”
“I think he called my name.”
“What else?”
“He held a big sign that said, ‘Make Micky a Stud Muffin.’ ”
“Are you sure it was him?”
“Who else could it be?” Dylan was so professional. So impersonal, and although she wouldn’t have thought it possible, he broke her heart just a little bit more.
“How close was he to you?” he asked.
“A parking lot away.”
He pointed to the chair opposite his desk. “Have a seat, Hope.”
Finally he said her name, and she wished he hadn’t. It made everything so much worse, reminding her of all the other times he’d said it, or whispered it against her neck or into her mouth.