At Last

yanked it free. Screw being calm. “None of you know what you’re talking about. There’s no proof it was her. It could have been anyone.”

“Honey,” Mallory started.

Amy shook her head. “No. Riley’s doing her damn best to make a life for herself. She’s working hard at changing-” Horrifying herself, her breath hitched. She sucked in some air and met Matt’s warm gaze.

They both knew she was talking about herself. Dammit. “Move,” she said, shoving at him, needing the hell out of the booth.

He slid out in his usual unhurried manner, and she barely resisted shoving him again to make him move faster. When his big, stupid, perfect body was out of the way, she jerked to her feet and went to pull out her ordering pad because she needed something to do. She planned on insisting that everyone order a damn meal just to keep herself busy, except she pulled out her pocket sketchpad instead.

Before she could replace it, Lucille gasped in delight and yanked it from her hands, flipping through the small sketches, making little noises of approval as she went through. Finally, she looked up at Amy, eyes sharp. “You’re not a waitress.”

“Actually, I am.”

“Girl, you’re an artist.”

“Well, I…”

“A damn artist,” she repeated, almost accusingly. “And you’ve been right under my nose this whole time?” She looked around the group, thrusting the book at them of each in turn. “Seriously? I keep track of every single one of you and your needs, and no one bothers to tell me that I have the next hottest thing serving me coffee?” She snatched the book close and hugged it as she turned back to Amy. “I want to see all of it.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your portfolio. Your drawings. Your pads. All of them. Bring them to me.”

“I don’t-”

“Whatever you have,” Lucille said, waving a bony finger in her face. Then she sent Jan a calculating, shrewd look. “She won’t be a waitress for long. You should know that right now. Look at this.” She opened the pad to a colored-pencil sketch of Lucky Harbor at night, drawn from the end of the pier looking back at the town, with the brightly lit Ferris wheel in the foreground. “This one should be on all the town’s marketing efforts and on the website, at the very least. It’s a work of art and a pot of gold waiting to happen.”

Amy stared down at it. “Is it?”

Lucille smacked Matt upside the back of the head. “How could you not have told her this already? How could you have kept such a secret?”

“Jesus, Lucille.” Matt rubbed the back of his head. “And I did tell her they were amazing. But her head is even harder than mine.”

Lucille turned back to Amy. “You listen to me. People love local art. Especially Pacific Northwest art.” She waved a dramatic hand in the air. “I’m seeing a series of hand-drawn postcards, detailing all the popular trails.” She smiled. “You’re going to hit it out of the ballpark, honey. Out of the ballpark, I tell you.”

Amy shook her head, her brain too full to deal with this right now. Sawyer stood up and gestured to Matt.

“Where are you going?” Jan asked. “I’m a crime victim here.”

“We’re going to talk to Riley.” Sawyer looked at Amy. “She’s at your place, right?”

“Uh…” Unexpectedly cornered, Amy went still. “Actually, no.”

“No?” Matt asked.

“No.” Suddenly uncomfortably aware of everyone’s attention on her, she met Matt’s gaze pleadingly, not even sure what she wanted from him. Here she’d thought her biggest problem today would be keeping her mind out of the gutter after what she and Matt had done back at his place. No such luck. “She’s not staying with me.”

“Since when?” Matt asked.

She managed to hold his gaze, knowing there was no way to keep this from him now. “Since that first night. Well, she was around this morning, but I think that was only to make sure her stepbrother didn’t come after me for saving her.”

There was a very heavy beat of silence at this. Sawyer looked at Matt, but Matt didn’t take his eyes off Amy. “Where has she been staying?”

This wasn’t the guy who’d cuddled her after she’d fallen down a ravine. Or the one who’d slid his body down hers and put his mouth on her until she’d come, crying out his name. This wasn’t that easygoing, sexy guy at all. He was the law now, distant and cool.

“In the woods,” she said quietly. “Camping.”

More weighted silence. And a muscle ticked in Matt’s jaw. “Illegally camping, you mean?”

She gave a mental cringe. “Yes.”

Oh, he was good, an utter professional, not allowing his shock and anger to show, but Amy felt the blast of it just the same. And something else, too, something far more devastating.

Hurt.

“Riley’s innocent,” she said. And knowing she had no right, she turned and appealed directly to Matt. “Completely innocent.”

His gaze roamed her features but didn’t soften like they usually did, and she tried again. “She’s been through hell…” Her throat tightened. He knew this, goddammit, he did. “And I know you might not understand it, but you have to believe me. She wouldn’t do this. She’s just a scared, lost runaway, and she needs us. She needs to be trusted, to believe someone cares.”

“Honey.” Lucille took her hand and gently squeezed, her rheumy eyes surprisingly shiny. “You know we all love and trust and care about you, right?”

Her own past was biting her in the ass, all those times she’d screwed up, lied, pushed people away… until no one had believed her. She’d hated that. She’d felt so helpless. Just like she felt now. “Then believe me about this.”

Lucille squeezed her hand again. “Love and trust are earned, Amy.”

No one knew this better than she. Unfortunately, she’d just blown any hope of either of those things with Matt, which made her sick to her stomach. She knew that, in his eyes, she’d chosen Riley over him, and that sort of thing couldn’t be undone.

Sawyer turned to leave, and Matt was right on his heels. Amy excused herself and ran after them, stopping Matt just outside the diner with a hand on his arm.

Sawyer looked at them both, then met Matt’s gaze.

“Two minutes,” Matt said to him.

Sawyer nodded and gave Amy what might have been the briefest glance of sympathy. “I’ll be in the truck,” he said.

When they were alone, Matt just looked at her.

“I’m sorry,” she said in a low voice. “I couldn’t break my word to Riley.”

“But you could break your word to me.”

“I never gave you my word.”

“No,” he said in a voice that sounded terrifyingly final. “You sure as hell were careful not to do that.”

She felt like he’d slapped her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” He took a step back. “Nothing at all.”

“Look, I said I was sorry, but I had to do this for her. She needed me.”

“I understand,” he said. “After all, all you and I ever had was sex, right?” And with that, he turned and walked to Sawyer’s truck.

Chapter 22

Love’s a fad. Chocolate’s the real thing.