Grimacing, he looks away, uses his free hand to rub the stubble on his jaw. “Damn. I hate it when it’s the little kids.”

I start to turn, but he strides to me and sets his hand on my arm. “Kate, you know it wasn’t your fault, right?”

The nurse’s words churn in my brain. Possible spinal cord injury. “She was only four months old. So tiny. Why her? It’s so incredibly unfair.”

“I know.” He motions to the kitchen. “Come sit with me for a moment.”

I muster a smile. “I’m not very good company right now.”

His eyes soften. “I think I can handle it.”

I follow him into the kitchen. We sit across from each other at the table. I wait while he pours two fingers of bourbon into glasses that are slightly dusty. “I hate bourbon,” I tell him.

“Yeah, but it’ll do in a pinch.” He shoves the glass at me.

I pick it up and take two big swallows. The alcohol burns all the way down; the taste makes me shudder. Setting the glass on the table, I twirl it and stare into the amber liquid. “In all the years you’ve been in law enforcement, do you ever wonder if you’re cut out for it?”

“No,” he tells me. “But only because I’m too old and set in my ways to start a new career.”

“Stop making me smile. If it’s not too much to ask, I’d like to feel sorry for myself in peace for a few minutes.”

He picks up his own glass and sips, watching me over the rim. “Are you having second thoughts?”

“Yeah,” I say, injecting a little attitude into the word. “I mean, being a cop is all I’ve know. It’s my identity. Most of the time I love what I do.” I shake my head. “Then something like this happens, and I wonder if there’s something better out there that doesn’t hurt as much.”

He looks down at his glass, swirls the liquid inside. “I don’t know if you’ve realized this, Kate, but it’s the cops who care that have it the worst. The cops that feel something. The ones that feel too much sometimes and can’t turn it off. I don’t know if you realize this about yourself, but you fall into that category. You have an inherent inability to disconnect emotionally. Maybe you care a little too much.” His gaze lands on mine. “In case you’re wondering, that’s not a criticism but an observation.”

“I’m glad you clarified that,” I say dryly.

“Look, it’s tough not to get involved. We wouldn’t be human if we didn’t feel that way. Some cases get under your skin. You get pissed off. You get your heart torn to bits. It’s happened to all of us at some point, and it doesn’t mean you’re not a good cop.” He tilts his head, makes eye contact with me. “But it’s a tough row to hoe, Kate. You’re the chief of police in a small town. You have family here. Friends. You care about these people. That’s a lot of responsibility, and you don’t take any of it lightly. Good for the town. Hard as hell for you.”