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“He?”
“I don’t know. It might have been a woman. I couldn’t tell. I just saw this dark shape take off down the driveway. Did you see anything?”
He shook his head and she saw a few raindrops that still clung to the dark strands of his hair, gleaming in her foyer light. “Visibility is pretty poor out because of the storm. I didn’t see anything except your lights flashing, but I can look around for you. Lock the door behind me and wait right here with Chester.”
Did he really think she wanted to be anywhere else? She wasn’t a complete idiot. “Thank you, Riley. I’ll feel really silly when you don’t find anything. I’m sorry to bother you.”
“You’re not bothering me. This is my job, remember?”
He didn’t give her a chance to answer before he headed back outside, closing the door firmly behind him. He waited on the other side until she clicked the dead bolt shut, then he began sweeping the lawn with his flashlight. She watched him through the window beside the door as he methodically crisscrossed her yard and then disappeared around the side of the house to check the back door.
What a relief to have Riley there. Not that she necessarily needed a man to protect her, but she couldn’t deny she found comfort from knowing she had an armed officer of the law watching her back.
An unaccustomed comfort, she had to admit. Even when she was married, Jeff wasn’t the sort to handle this sort of crisis. Once when Jeff was doing his residency, a neighbor in their condo complex had come home drunk in the middle of the night and mistaken their door for his. When his key didn’t work, he’d tried to break in through a window.
Jeff had been at the hospital and Claire had been alone with the children. She remembered how terrified she’d been, until she recognized the man and went out to talk him down and help him find his way home.
That seemed a long time ago, but she could still remember calling Jeff at work afterward, needing reassurance or comfort or something, even just the sound of his voice.
“Sounds like you handled it just fine,” he’d said, dismissing the whole incident.
That was her. She’d been handling every complication since she was twelve years old.
She petted a puzzled but tolerant Chester for another few minutes until Riley rapped on the front door again. Her hands fumbled with the lock and it took her a minute to undo the lock.
“Did you see anything?”
“No murdering psychos. At least as far as I can find.”
“You think I was seeing things, then?”
“Nope. You definitely saw someone out there.”
“How can you tell?”
He pulled a bundle from behind his back and carried it into the house. “I found this in a corner of your porch, back in the shadows. I probably would have noticed it when I came up to the door if I hadn’t been so worried about you.”
She stared at the huge basket. “What on earth?”
“Any idea who might have dropped it off for you in the middle of the night?”
“No. That’s crazy. Why wouldn’t whoever delivered it ring the doorbell?”
“Good question.”
He was wearing evidence gloves, she realized. As if this was a crime scene or something.
“You think it’s…something weird?”
“I’m sure it’s only from one of your many well-wishers. But just to be safe, why don’t I take a look since I’m here and all?”
“This is Hope’s Crossing, not Oakland, Riley. I highly doubt somebody’s left me a pipe bomb in a basket of…of magazines.”
His look was wry. “You didn’t expect anybody to break into your store and vandalize it, did you?”
She had no answer to that, so she merely pushed her chair out of the way. Riley set the basket on the console table in the entryway and began sorting through the contents.
“Looks like we’ve got something in a package that says Sugar Rush. What’s that?”
“Gourmet sweet shop down on Pine Street, opened about a year ago. They have the best ice cream in town.”
“This says blackberry fudge.”
“Ooh. Yum. My favorite.”
He gave her a sidelong look that made her toes tingle like she’d missed a step. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Though I’m not picky,” she confessed. “I like all their fudge. And the ice cream, too. Oh, and their caramel drops. Which is probably why I stay away from Sugar Rush.”
He smiled a little and reached into the basket again. “What else do we have here? Looks like lotion.”
He opened the lid and sniffed. “Nice. Smells like flowers.”
“Christy Powell makes soap and lotion. Maybe the basket is from her.”
“I haven’t seen a note yet.”
He pulled out a thick stack of new magazines, what looked like one issue of just about every offering from the rack at Maura’s bookstore, including several beading magazines, she was touched to see.
Usually Claire didn’t read many magazines. She preferred a good novel as a general rule, but when she was stressed, sometimes leafing through a magazine that didn’t require a major commitment in energy or attention was the perfect thing.
Riley wasn’t done yet. He pulled out about a half dozen of the romantic suspense novels she preferred and then a bag of gourmet hard candy, also from Sugar Rush.
“Wow. Somebody knows what I like. I bet it was Alex.”
Riley didn’t appear convinced. “Why would she bother skulking around your porch and leaving secret baskets instead of what she usually does—barging in and sticking her nose wherever she wants?”
“Good point.” She smiled a little. For all his grousing about his sister, she knew Riley and Alex usually had a great relationship. Alex adored her only brother, as did all the McKnight sisters.
“You’re right. Alex has a key anyway. If it had been her, she would have dropped off the basket on the kitchen table and then started rearranging my spice cupboard and nagging me about why I haven’t replaced the saffron I bought six years ago or something.”
He smiled. “Note to self, keep Alex out of my kitchen.”
“Wise decision,” she answered.
He reached into the basket again. “Check this out. I wonder if it came from Maura’s store.”
He pulled out a small flowered bookmark with a dangly angel charm.
Claire gazed at it for an instant and then gasped as all the pieces clicked into place. “The angel! Oh, my word!”
“Angel?”
“I must have had a visit from the Angel of Hope. Darn! Now I really wish I had been able to see more than just a dark shape out there.”
Riley carefully set the bookmark back into the basket, his wary gaze trained on her like he expected her to start speaking in tongues any minute now. “You think you’ve had an angelic visitation? You haven’t been mixing that pain medication with anything, have you? Like bourbon? Or, I don’t know, maybe peyote?”
She laughed. “Really? Hasn’t anybody in town told you about our angel?”
Riley shook his head and for the first time she realized how tired he looked. His features were drawn and his eyes wore dark smudges underneath.
Between Layla’s funeral, the accident and settling into a new job, he must be exhausted and here she was dragging him out on a rainy night for the most ridiculous reason when he probably only wanted to find his bed.
“What angel?” he asked.
“It’s not important. Remind me to tell you about it sometime when you’re not so worn-out.”
“What’s wrong with now?”
“Nothing, but you look like you’re going to fall over if you don’t get some rest. This obviously isn’t a bomb or hate mail or anything. I think your work here is done, Chief. Thank you.”
“I want to hear about the Angel of Hope. How can I not? If I’ve got heavenly visitors in my town, I’d like to know.”
“I’ll tell you, but do you mind if I find a more comfortable spot first?” The chair was convenient but keeping her leg down like this was invariably painful.
He instantly looked contrite. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. Need a push?”
“No, I’ve got a system.”
Using her cane and her right leg, she pushed herself back into the family room, grateful for the wood floors in her old house. In the family room, she went through the laborious process of transferring to the sofa with the aid of the crutches propped beside it, feeling about a hundred years old again.
“Need help?” he asked again.
“I’ve got it.”
“Of course you do.” Somewhat to her surprise, Riley took off his coat and draped it over the back of a chair, looking as if he planned to settle in at least for a while.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He shook his head, an exasperated sort of look in his eyes. “It’s freezing in here. You need a fire.”
“It’s a little tough to start one when I can’t quite muck around on the hearth,” she admitted. “I can nudge up the furnace, though.”
“The furnace won’t do you much good if the wind knocks out the power, which it probably will.”
Because she knew he was right, she didn’t complain when he headed to the lovely old mantel and grabbed kindling out of the basket on the hearth. With efficient movements, he had a little fire blazing merrily in just a few moments. Chester barely waited for Riley to stand up again before he replaced him on the hearth rug, circling his sturdy little body three or four times before settling into his ultimate comfort spot.
“Thank you,” she said when the welcome warmth began to seep into the room. “You’re right, that’s much better.”
“Just the thing on a rainy, stormy night.”
She had to agree. She had been thinking she needed to replace the drafty old fireplace with a gas insert for convenience’s sake, but there was something uniquely comforting about a wood fire.
Riley took the easy chair adjacent to the sofa. He gave a barely audible sigh and leaned back in the chair and she wondered if he’d had time to sit down all day long.
“Perfect. Okay. Now I’m ready. Tell me about the Angel of Hope’s Crossing.” He smiled slightly, that sexy little dimple in his cheek flashing at her. Her stomach dipped and fluttered and she drew in a steadying breath and told herself to stop being ridiculous.
“Here, have some fudge.”
“It’s for you,” he protested, but when she handed him a piece, he took it and popped it into his mouth. “Mmm. Okay, you’re right. Delicious. Now about the angel.”
She nibbled the edge of her own piece, letting the sweet, rich taste melt on her tongue. “Well, it all started with Caroline Bybee’s car.”
“Widow Bybee? Wow. Is she still alive?”
“Hush. She’s not that old. And she’s got the energy of a woman half her age. Haven’t you seen her garden around the corner on Blue Sage?”
“What happened to her car?”
“Well, you know she’s on a fixed income. Her husband has been gone a long time and even though she works part-time at the library, I can guess that making ends meet can sometimes be a struggle for the poor dear, especially the way property taxes keep going up.”
That was one of the problems with living in a town that had taken off as a tourist destination. People who had lived for years in their family homes often couldn’t afford to stay, not when they could make outrageous sums of money by selling their property to be turned into condos or vacation homes.
Many longtime residents had seized their golden ticket and left already, but those who considered Hope’s Crossing home and didn’t want to uproot their lives were stuck trying to find their place in the new economic reality of high taxes and tourist prices on groceries.
Add to that the fact that most of the jobs in town were relatively low-paying service-oriented positions at the resort or the other hotels that had sprung up—and the restaurants and bars that had followed—and Claire supposed it was no wonder some of the youth in town didn’t see a future for themselves here and had turned to crime.
“Caroline had that old sky-blue Plymouth she drove for years, remember?” she said. “It finally died last fall and even though she was much too proud to admit it, I don’t think she could afford to replace it. She made do for a few weeks catching rides from friends to church and the library or just walking if she had to do errands in town, but then the cold hit early.”
He said nothing for a long moment and when she glanced over, she saw his eyes were closed. He looked loose and relaxed in her recliner, more at ease than she’d seen him since he came back to town. Was he asleep? Was her story that boring or was the La-Z-Boy just too comfortable?
He opened one eye. “Go on. I’m still listening.”
Color climbed her cheeks. “Right. Sorry. Um, well, the morning of the first snow, Caroline woke up to find a strange car in the driveway. A Honda Accord only a few years old, complete with snow tires. Of course she called the police right away. Dean Coleman showed up and discovered two sets of keys inside the vehicle, along with a gift title made over to her and a note that said ‘Drive Carefully’ and that was it.”
He opened both eyes and she was astonished all over again at the vibrant green of them, like the foothills in May, lush with new grasses.
Alex had the same color eyes, but they somehow looked more startling amid Riley’s masculine features.
She shifted the throw off her a little, too warm now.
“Somebody gave Widow Bybee a car anonymously?”
“Crazy, right?”
“And she has no idea who did it?”
“None at all. You know Caroline. She’s not one to take things at face value. She tracked the purchase to a dealership outside Denver, but that’s as far as she could go with her digging. She hit solid bedrock and nobody would tell her anything.”
