Stepping into the reception area, now behind a wall of safety glass which he hated and simultaneously appreciated, he halted, seeing the faces of four women glaring at each other. Well, three glaring and one with a greenish, nervous appearance.
A vision hit him of his grandmother standing in her kitchen when he and his brothers, with dirt on their shoes, ran through after she’d scrubbed the floor. She’d throw her hands into the air and cry, “Lord, give me strength.” Grandma… I get it now. I really do.
Moving to the glass barricade after deciding to not go around to the visitor side, he nodded at the oldest woman first, making sure to follow the southern decorum. “Mrs. Traynor.”
“Why, Sheriff Sullivan, I know the rain is coming, so I wanted to make sure you had something to eat. This is my niece, Charlene, and we made you this chicken noodle casserole. Well, mostly she made it but used my family recipe. She’s visitin’, and I thought you should have a chance to meet her in case you see her out and about.”
He nodded to the pale young woman being pushed forward by her aunt, looking about as uncomfortable as he felt. “Welcome to the county, Miss Charlene.”
Mrs. Mack plopped her heavy pie dish onto the counter, elbowing Charlene to the side. “Sheriff, while Lucinda offers you her old-fashioned recipe, I brought an apple pie ‘cause I know how much you like it. And to invite you to church on Sunday. If you can’t make the service, stop by for the potluck lunch afterward. My daughter has moved back into the area, and she’ll be there. You remember Priscilla? I’m sure you do.”
Before he had a chance to speak, the next woman stepped forward, her tall frame dwarfing the others out of the way. “Sheriff.” The sultry voice came from a woman closer to Charlene’s age but with a worldly huskiness that was the result of practice, along with the lowering of her head as she glanced up at him through her thick, false lashes.
“Rachel,” he acknowledged. He and Rachel went way back—in years but not in anything else. Attending Baytown High School at the same time, she’d been known as a flirt and a tease, flaunting her daddy’s money. She’d cast her net toward the jocks. That included some of his friends, but back then, he’d been too busy to date, much less even try to hook up under the bleachers. She’d gone off to college, married early, and divorced. At last count, she’d gotten rid of husband number two when he was caught with his assistant, and she’d been discovered having long sessions with her personal trainer. Not that he cared, but Margaret kept him up on all gossip whether he wanted to know it or not.
And now, looking for husband number three, she’d turned her sights to him, or rather, any halfway decent-looking man with a steady job. Forcing a polite-but-not-encouraging smile onto his face, he glanced down at the obviously store-bought pie in her hand.
She tucked a strand of salon-perfected blonde hair behind her ear before tapping a long, red fingernail on top of the wrapped dessert. “I thought I’d bring something for you. I’m sure my pie is much better than any you’ve been offered.”
Refusing to rise to her adolescent bait regardless of the snicker coming from behind him and the double “harrumphs” from Mrs. Traynor and Mrs. Mack, he swallowed his sigh.
“The Sheriff’s Department thanks you for your culinary offerings, and they’ll be taken back to the break room for everyone to enjoy. In the future, you may leave them here with the duty officer.” With a practiced smile and nod, he turned and walked toward his office, his shoes tapping smartly along the tile. On his way, he shot Ron a glare with a lifted brow, indicating that he did not expect to be disturbed again. Turning the corner, he flipped off a few of his Lieutenants as they continued to grin as he passed by their open office doors.
Slumping into his chair, the familiar creak of the leather as well as the scent of lemon oil the cleaning crew used on the wooden furniture settled over him, easing his irritation. He dropped his chin to his chest, breathed in deeply, then lifted his head as he twirled in his chair and looked out the window.
The view wasn’t much, but he’d take any window that gave him a chance to look outside. Located on the back corner of the L-shaped building, he was able to have a partial view of the historic courthouse, which drew visitors since it was no longer used. The much larger modern courthouse was located on the other side of the Sheriff’s Department building.
He remembered his high school history class taking a field trip to several of the historic sites on the Eastern Shore. They’d entered the courthouse after being admonished to stay very quiet. While his friends with their adolescent eagerness to get back outside hurried through, he’d been drawn to the photographs that lined the wall of the many sheriffs and deputies that had served throughout the years. Uniforms with perfect creases. Hats worn low on their forehead. Gun belts banded about their waists. For a poor boy growing up in a poor area, he couldn’t imagine a better job.
He’d aspired to become a deputy, never believing that he would eventually be sworn in as Sheriff. But the view out his window was a daily reminder. It was strange that some of his closest friends in high school had returned to the area, several of them also in law enforcement. Mitch Evans, the Police Chief of Baytown. Grant Wilder, an officer for the Baytown Police. Colt Hudson, his counterpart as Sheriff of North Heron County. And Wyatt Newman as Chief of Manteague.
Turning his head to the side, he could see trees in the background, another part of his view that he loved. Looking upward, he spied the clouds forming, darker in the distance, and prayed the hurricane would stay out to sea.
Releasing a cleansing breath, he pushed all thoughts of the casserole committee out of his mind, turned his chair back around to his desk, and continued to complete his end-of-month report. It wasn’t a task he relished, but he could hardly ask his staff to stay on top of their paperwork if he wasn’t willing to do the same.
By the end of the day, he’d said his goodbyes, making sure to speak to each deputy he met on the way out of the building. Camaraderie and loyalty were built on mutual respect, something he emphasized to the members of the department. Climbing into his SUV, he pulled out onto the road and turned toward the south.
When he came back from the Army and was hired as a deputy, he’d moved into the family home as a way to help his mom as well as save money. When he finally decided to buy his own house, he could have chosen anywhere in the county, from the northern tip near Chincoteague to the middle near the county seat, or further south. While he looked at many houses, the combination of wanting to stay close to his family while loving the familiarity of the southern end of the county caused him to choose a house only five miles away from the Acawmacke-North Heron line.
As though she knew he was thinking of her, his phone rang, and he glanced down to see it was his mother. “Hey, Mom. How are you?”
“Just the question I was going to ask you, Liam. I’m sure you’ve kept your eye on the weather today.”
“Yeah. Don’t mind telling you that I’m glad it’s turning south. Hopefully, we’ll just get rain.”
“I remember a storm when you were just a baby that came tearing through. I thought the roof was going to blow off the house, and your daddy kept telling me it wasn’t. It was only later that he told me he was afraid of the same thing but didn’t want me to worry. Course, I told him that I was smart enough to know wind that strong could blow the roof off the house!”