Sam had teased Libby as he’d tossed the potatoes to her, scoring her efforts to get them into storage boxes before he tossed another. It had been a really nice afternoon.
Libby looked down at her ice cream, embarrassed. “Gas,” she said. “I’m a little low on funds.”
“Well, come on. We’re going to go see an old acquaintance.”
“Who?”
He winked. “You’ll see. And the other one is a mechanic,” Sam said. “I bet he could help you with your car.”
That certainly caught her interest. Libby looked at her junk car—she needed more than help, she needed a new car and the money to buy it. “Is he cheap?”
“I’d bet so. He could use the work, too.”
Libby shifted her gaze to Sam, prepared to give him a vague answer. He wasn’t smiling, exactly, but looking at her in a way that made her stomach do that strange little fluttery-buttery flip again. Before she could figure out what the look was, Sam stood up.
“Come on, it will be good for you,” he said. “You can take some notes about how law-abiding citizens live.”
“Can I bring my ice cream?” she asked, and extended her hand for him to help her up.
Sam pulled her up, and she landed so close that she could see how clean-shaven he was, and how square his chin was, and how his hair was not really brown, but more coffee-colored. When she stood this close, she didn’t see the badge at all.
His gaze slipped to her mouth for a splintered moment, but long enough for her to feel that woozy electric charge run through her again. He said, “You can bring anything but a golf club.”
A corner of her mouth turned up in a half smile. “You’re just a laugh riot today, Deputy Dog. Give me back my Caramel Crunch.”
Sam smiled and handed her the container, then opened the door to his Dodge Ram patrol truck for her.
SIX
On the way out of town, they drove past the old county coliseum where the Rotary Club held the annual Halloween Carnival. About a year ago, Sam had ended up working the carnival, filling in for his old friend Dirk, a fellow deputy. Dirk was the only one of Sam’s acquaintances prior to rehab with whom he’d kept in touch. Sam was embarrassed by what had happened for one thing—the upward trajectory of his career at the sheriff’s office had ended in flames—and besides, he’d always made sure to buddy up to the guys who drank too much. Dirk wasn’t much of a drinker, and as far as Sam knew, he didn’t judge Sam for being a recovering alcoholic.
Dirk had signed on to work off-duty at the carnival to make a little extra money, but the afternoon of Halloween, his sister had gone in for an emergency appendectomy in Montrose.
Sam had been happy to step in for Dirk. He’d had nothing better to do, and he liked seeing the little kids in their Halloween costumes. All he had to do was keep watch, make sure no one got out of hand, and if they did, play bouncer.
For kids who lived up in the mountains, who didn’t have subdivisions to trick or treat in, the carnival was the best candy haul around. And because that was true for the children, the carnival had evolved—now it offered something for everyone: games and candy for children, petting zoos, and a best-costume contest. For the adults, there was beer, dancing, and carnival food.
For most of the evening, Sam had stood around watching children in store-bought and homemade costumes fill buckets shaped like pumpkins with candy. He could remember watching families and thinking how he’d always imagined taking his own kids trick or treating. He’d always wanted a big, close family—the opposite of what he’d had growing up. He and his sister had lived with his mother after his parents’ divorce. He rarely saw his father, and what he remembered of him was that he always had a drink in his hand.
Sam had lived like most middle-class kids. He’d had his own Batman costume. He’d played sports, as many as he could. He’d turned into an adolescent, when every waking moment had been filled with thoughts of girls. He’d gone to college, gotten married, let alcohol get the best of him . . .
But one of Sam’s fondest childhood memories was his friendship with Brian Campinelli. Brian had four brothers and two sisters. The Campinelli house was always loud, always a mess, and always fun. Brian’s mother was always hugging and kissing her children, even if they didn’t want it. She would even wrap Sam in her thick arms and hug him tight. He felt wanted in that house.
Sam had envied the chaos and the affection in the Campinelli house. It made him want that very thing for himself when he grew up—a big, rambunctious family, and every member assured of how much they were loved. But given that he was practically starting over with his life, he didn’t think that was in the cards any longer.
Libby leaned over to check the speedometer. “You drive like a grandpa.”
“I drive safely. You could use some tips in that department.”