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"I'm sorry you're back," she said and escaped onto the boardwalk. "That's what you wanted to hear, isn't it? You wanted me to be sorry. I am. I truly am." With that, she slammed the door shut behind her.
He thought about going after her, then shook his head. It was too late. He made a fist and hit the wall beside the door. The sharp pain wasn't enough to distract him. Megan was right. He wasn't nice anymore. He sure as hell hadn't been nice to her.
"I'm sorry," he said, staring out the window at her retreating back. She walked quickly, not greeting the people on the street. He saw her hand rise toward her face and wondered if she was wiping away the tears.
"Come back to Landing and set the past right," he muttered. "You just made a hell of a start."
He owed her an apology. Whatever had gone on between them seven years ago had nothing to do with the fact that he was the new sheriff. He had no right to treat one of his citizens so rudely. Williams would be damned disappointed.
Of course, it was Williams's fault he was here in the first place. "Meddling old goat," he said affectionately. His friend and former employer had been the one to come up with the idea that Justin needed to make peace with the past. He'd been the one to find the notice soliciting applications for a sheriff in Landing. Then he'd bullied Justin into applying. And here he was.
He turned away from the window and stared at his small office. Maybe this had been a mistake. It would have been better to take another job. After all, small-town sheriffs weren't that easy to come by. Especially in Kansas. He could have gone further west, or maybe south to Texas. But no. He had to come back to Landing and prove them all wrong. It was a great plan with only one flaw.
What if they hadn't been wrong? What if he was the one who was wrong? Maybe he wasn't better than a born trou-
blemaker. He picked up the signed contract and stared at it. He had a whole year to find out the truth.
An hour later, he grabbed his coat and hat from a hook on the wall and left. Suddenly, the office had seemed too confining. He crossed the street, jogging to avoid an oncoming wagon pulled by six horses.
It was late afternoon. The sun was already sinking behind the buildings, leaving half the street in shade. A stiff breeze tugged at his open jacket and hat. If it rained, there could be snow, but the skies were clear in all directions.
He stopped and stared at the livery stable. Someone had told him it had burned down three years ago. The new building was larger. He'd worked there from the time he was thirteen, until he'd left Landing at twenty. He liked being a deputy and he was fairly sure he was going to enjoy being sheriff, but he missed working with horses. Maybe when he left here, he would find a bit of land and raise them. He shrugged, then kept walking. Any plans for the future were a waste of time. He still had to get through his year here.
Next to the livery stable stood a small brick building. The bottom floor belonged to the town doctor, the top to a lawyer. As he walked by, the front door opened and an older woman stepped out, wrestling with an oversize basket. Her mud-caked shoes slipped on the stone steps. She spun to regain her balance and cried out.
Justin ran up the steps, and grabbed the basket with one hand and the woman with the other. He held on to her arm until she was steady. She clutched at him, her small black straw-and-feather hat shaking in the late-afternoon breeze.
"Thank you, sir. I just about tumbled down those stairs. At my age, that would be enough to send me to meet my maker/' She straightened and looked up at him. Small green eyes focused on his face. She let out her breath with an audible whoosh. "Well, well. If it isn't Justin Kincaid."
Justin stared down at Widow Dobson and groaned silently. Of all the people to run into. He gave her a forced smile. "Afternoon, ma'am. If you're steady on your feet, I'd best be-"
"You just stand there and let me look you over, young man." Her tone said she wasn't willing to be argued with. "I'd heard it was you, but I couldn't believe you'd come back to town."
Mrs. Dobson had never had any trouble speaking her mind. Looks as if that hadn't changed. She'd also been the only person in town who had cared when his mother had taken sick. She'd brought soup and home remedies to their small, dark room, and sat up with his mother until she died. Justin wanted to hand her back her basket and walk away. He couldn't. The widow had never wanted to hear a word of thanks, nor had she accepted the money he'd tried to give her. Listening to her berate him was a small price to pay for such a large debt.
