Run Wild With Me by Sandra Chastain Page B

that he was moving on, she hadn’t wanted to destroy his memory of his grandmother’s house. She hadn’t thought of it as a lie, but Sam did. And his silence was all the more ominous.
    For the last week Buck had checked in often but had left Andrea mostly on her own, a change from his past interference that didn’t ring true. What was even more peculiar was that he’d avoided any mention of Sam.
    In Buck’s absence she’d finished every piece of office work to be done, watered the plants, caught up on the filing. She’d even swept out and mopped the jail. The only thing she hadn’t done was paint the outside of the building. And she’d have done that if she could have figured out how to keep paint off her uniform.
    Andrea fanned herself with one of Buck’s paper fans and closed her eyes wearily. The thermometer on the outside window registered ninety-two degrees, and it was in the shade. She was short-tempered and restless. It was the heat, she’d told Buck. She just hadn’t admitted to herself that it was Sam Farley who generated her misery.
    At the rate she was going, getting paint on her, uniform wouldn’t matter. The only two police-related calls she’d had since Otis drove through the corner of the house were a report from the state police saying they’d had a tip that the stolen heavy equipment was being sold in South America as part of a national ring of thefts and a domestic disturbance when Brad Dixon’s wife threw him out without his pants.
    “I’m going stir-crazy,” she explained when Madge finally called to ask if she’d heard from Ed. “Ed’s a nice guy, but he and I are through. Honestly, I can’t believe that he’s really that broken up about me. I think it’s just that I was part of his master plan for success, and you know how important his future plans are.”
    “Yeah, but who wants a ‘nice’ guy? Give me a guy like your stranger anytime.” Madge added, “I like the wicked kind.”
    It wasn’t until lunchtime that Andrea gave in and asked Agnes where everybody was.
    “Brad, Otis, and Buck are out at Sam’s place, helping repair the damage Otis did” was the surprising answer. ‘Sam’s place,’ not ‘Mamie’s.’ Andrea noted without comment the change of ownership. She also noted Agnes’s coolness, which only added to her misery.
    “I’ll ring Sam for you.” Agnes was saying. It took Andrea a minute to understand what she’d said.
    “Sam has a phone?”
    “Sure. Got it last week. Needed it to organize the work on his house. He just called in an order of supplies to the hardware store. He’s probably still by the phone, if you want to talk to him.”
    Before Andrea could say no, the phone was ringing.
    “Sam Farley here.”
    “Oh, Sam, I’m sorry about not telling you.” She hadn’t known what she’d say. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
    There was a long silence.
    “Maybe we ought to talk about that, darlin’. Why don’t you come by tonight, and we’ll have some discreet conversation.”
    “Tonight?” Andrea couldn’t keep the breathlessness from her voice. “I don’t know, Sam. It isn’t—I don’t—I mean, you already know that I do. It’s …”
    “It’s been seven days, Andrea, and that’s sixand a half too long for me. I could come into town if you’d rather.”
    “Ah, no. Maybe I’ll just drive out and see what you’ve done to the house.”
    A visit to see the progress on the house, that’s all it will be, she promised herself as she hung up the phone and went to the car. Nothing more. So he was repairing the house, becoming accepted in Arcadia, making friends. What did that mean?
    It meant that the hurt would be even greater when he left.
    Then why was she going to him?
    Because she wanted to see him again.
    Buck was ensconced in a chair under the plum tree, supervising. Otis and Brad Dixon were nailing Sheetrock on the new inside walls. A fresh coat of paint covered the rest of the house. On the roof Sam was standing