“Can I get you something to drink?” he asked.
“I believe you said something about a beer.”
“That I did. Got a preference?”
“Whatever you’re having is fine.”
“Be right back.”
He went behind the bar and poured two tall glasses from the tap. While there, he spoke with several of those seated at the bar, who turned and shot curious looks her way.
“Do they let anyone behind the bar, or does your badge afford you special privileges?” she teased when he returned to the table.
He gave her a lopsided smile. “Special privilege. I help out sometimes.”
“A police officer and a bartender. A man of many talents.”
He raised his glass, his cheeks turning a ruddy hue. “Comes with the territory when your father’s the fire chief. I practically grew up at the station.”
“And yet you became a policeman, not a fireman.”
“I’m on the volunteer squad,” he admitted.
“Hmm,” she hummed. “The ladies were just telling me about a terrible fire at the Winston resort. Were you on the squad then?”
A dark cloud passed over his features as he dropped his gaze toward his meal. “Yes. It was one of my first official calls. Wasn’t much we could do by the time we got there though.”
“Did you know the Winstons?”
“Everyone knew the Winstons,” he said evenly. “Sumneyville is a small town.”
“What about Matt? Were you friends? Go to school together?”
“Not particularly. He was a few years ahead of me.” He shifted uncomfortably and glanced toward the door.
His friendly manner had cooled considerably, and Bree decided to change gears.
“So, do I have to keep calling you Officer Petraski, or are you going to tell me what the L stands for?”
“Lenny.”
“So, Officer Lenny, tell me more about you.”
“Me? There’s not much to tell,” he said, shaking his head.
Her instincts told her otherwise. From his short hair and clean-shaven jaw to the light smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose, Officer Petraski might present like the boy next door, but she sensed something simmering beneath that wholesome facade. It could just be a case of small-town wariness of outsiders, or it could be something more.
“I doubt that. In fact, I find that the people who don’t think they have anything to tell usually turn out to have the most interesting stories. Especially people who devote so much of their lives to helping others.”
She leaned forward slightly and gave him her full attention. Her strategy paid off. His cheeks flushed, as if he was embarrassed, and some of the hardness left his features.
Over a delicious meal of grilled sausage, cucumber-onion salad with a sweet and tangy vinegar dressing, and heavily buttered dough nuggets he called spaetzle, Bree kept the conversation focused solely on him. She learned that he’d been born and raised in Sumneyville—no surprise there. In addition to being a police officer and a volunteer firefighter, he was also an avid fisherman and hunter and played second base for the Sumneyville Bearcats in the regional softball league.
“Okay, I have to ask,” she said after swiping a napkin over her buttered lips. “Why is your team called the Bearcats?”
“A compromise.” He laughed, relaxed once again, and sat back, having finished his dinner long before she did.
“Do tell.”
“It was before my time, but everyone knows the story. Half the town wanted to be called the Sumneyville Bears, on account of the large black bear population in the area. The other half disagreed, saying that Wildcats was a better name because big cats were more ferocious than lumbering bears. It polarized the community.”
She laughed. “You’re kidding.”
“Not even a little,” he told her, his eyes dancing with amusement. “People displayed signs in their yards and taped them to their windows. Bears supporters wouldn’t patronize Wildcats businesses, and vice versa. Things got ugly.”
“So, what happened?”
Lenny grinned and took a drink of his beer. “Eventually, the Ladies Auxiliary had had enough and decided something had to be done. So, one night, they got together and marched through town. They ripped down all the Bears and Wildcats signs and replaced them with Bearcats signs. We’ve been the Bearcats ever since.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but some of the ladies in the Auxiliary are pretty fierce.”
Bree laughed again, able to picture it easily. Sumneyville was exactly the kind of place where men, even grown men, were willing to battle each other but not willing to face the combined wrath of their wives, mothers, and grandmothers.
“You do know that bearcats are a real thing, right?”
“No, they’re not.”
“Yes, they are. Though they’re neither bears nor cats. They’re binturongs. They live in the rain forest and smell like popcorn.
He laughed, his disbelief apparent. “You’re joking.”
“Not even a little.” She did a quick search on her phone and showed him the results.
“I’ll be damned.”
“I like the history behind the team name though It’ll make a great story for my article.”
Lenny’s smile remained, but it lessened somewhat. “I thought you were here to do a story on Sanctuary,” he said carefully.
“I am, but I’d like to include some local history as well. Sumneyville is a slice of pure Americana, and when the rest of the world is going to hell in a handbasket, people need that. They need to know that places like this still exist.”
He nodded but said nothing as he reached for her empty box, stacking it atop his.
She stopped him by laying her hand on his forearm. “Lenny, can I ask you something? Off the record?”
“Sure,” he said, but his eyes were once again wary.
“I get the impression that not everyone around here is thrilled with Sanctuary.”
He neither acknowledged nor denied the statement. “That’s not a question.”
“You’re right; it isn’t. My question is, why? I mean, I see picture banners hanging from light posts up and down Main Street, honoring local men and women who have served this country over the past century, so I know it’s not a matter of patriotism.”
The seconds ticked by in silence before he said, “You’re right, on both counts.” He looked
