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“Me? I am.” She’d nodded vigorously, as if being emphatic would turn her lie into the truth. She hadn’t been “okay” in two years. But that had nothing to do with him.
Now, this morning, he transferred his gaze from her to the pastry case. “Got anything to tempt me?”
The words didn’t sound utterly innocent, but his tone did, so she took them at face value. Reaching into the case, she withdrew a large flaky golden rectangle.
“Our signature cheese Danish,” she said.
He squinted at the glazed pastry. “Where’s the cheese?”
“Inside. It’s filled with a blend of ricotta, cream cheese and honey. And a touch of orange zest and cinnamon.”
“A Danish with hidden charms.” He nodded. “Okay, I’ll try it. And a large black coffee.” Withdrawing his wallet, he pulled out a few bills. “I’m going to need the caffeine to stay extra alert now that I know Mrs. W’s plans.” He looked at Willa with a straight face, but roguish eyes so darkly brown they appeared black. “Mr. Wittenberg is ten years older than his wife, you know. If that babka really is an aphrodisiac, he may not survive the morning. I hope I don’t have to bring you in for aiding and abetting an aggravated manslaughter.”
The comment made Willa smile, and she remembered that he’d made her smile quite a lot, actually, that night in the tavern. “It isn’t my recipe,” she countered, “so I don’t think I should be held responsible.” She shrugged. “On the other hand, forewarned is forearmed, so thanks. I’ll go home at lunch and pack a duffle bag in case I have to run from the law.” She turned, the curve of his lips an enjoyable image to hold on to as she got him a large coffee to go and slid the Danish into a bag.
Derek paid her, the expression in his eyes that mesmerizing combo of sincere and humorous. “I hope you won’t run from the law. I’m here to help.” He gave her a quick nod. “Morning.”
She watched him go, sharing a few words with an older gentleman who walked in as he walked out.
“Good morning, Mr. Stroud,” Willa greeted the new arrival as he approached the counter. “Toasted bialy and cream cheese?” She named the savory round roll he had every morning. Soon, Jerry Ellison, who owned First Strike Realty up the block, arrived and sat with Charlie Stroud at one of the six small tables in the bakery. Business picked up the closer they got to 7:00 a.m., and Willa stayed busy throughout the morning.
“I’m here to help.”
A couple of hours after Derek left, his parting words continued to play through her mind. She’d heard those words, or a variation of them, before.
“Don’t try to do this on your own.”
“You’ve been through so much. Let us help.”
Didn’t people know that their help was sometimes the cruelest of gifts? What they really wanted was to help her “move on,” to “let go,” to be happy again the way she used to be. To forget. And she couldn’t let that happen.
“I don’t want help. I don’t need help,” she muttered to herself as she slid a fresh tray of oatmeal chocolate-chip cookies into the oven. Kim Appel, a mother of young children who worked from nine to three or seven at the bakery, depending on whether her husband was available to pick the kids up from school, was now behind the counter while Willa toiled in the kitchen. That gave Willa plenty of time alone to obsess.
Her mind raced, her heart pumped too hard, her stomach churned. What was the matter with her?
“You’re tired and you need some sleep, that’s what.” Wiping her perspiring palms on her apron, she gathered up bowls and utensils to stack them in the dishwasher. Maybe she should go home for a couple of hours. Kim could handle it; she was a capable worker. Willa could come back after a nap and close up shop.
Yeah, except whom was she kidding? She wasn’t going to sleep. She was going to hear Derek’s words over and over, see his sincere face, imagine his strong arms.
“I’m here to help.”
For nearly a year now she’d caught him watching her and had sensed all along that he was interested. Interested in a way that, in a vulnerable moment, could make her skin tingle and her veins flood with heat.
He’d been unfailingly polite, courteous, gentle—never pushy—almost as if he sensed he would have to move softly if he hoped to get anywhere with her at all. And that agonizing yearning to lose herself in his arms, to forget for a night, for an hour...that yearning would sometimes overtake her like it had in the tavern. Her heart would race, and she would imagine surrendering to his arms and to his smile, to the unbridled laughter of lovers.
She would sometimes dream of really moving on.
Willa set the timer on the oven so she wouldn’t burn the cookies while she cleaned the marble countertop. She hadn’t moved to Thunder Ridge, eight hundred miles from family, friends and a brilliant career as a chef and culinary arts instructor so that she could forget everything. No. She’d moved so that she could live the way she wanted to—quietly, privately. She’d moved so she could hang on to the one thing that still held her broken heart together: her memories.
So far, she saw no reason to change.
* * *
When Derek walked through the door to the sheriff’s office at seven-twenty, the sun was still trying to make its first appearance of the morning. The lights inside the large boxy room, however, were burning and emitted a warm, welcoming glow completely at odds with the rubber band that whizzed past his head with such force it could surely be classified a lethal weapon. Rearing back, Derek tightened his hold on the coffee cup, popping open the plastic lid and sloshing hot coffee over his hand and onto the linoleum floor.
“Russell,” he growled.
“Sorry!”
Derek’s deputy, Russell Annen, whipped his feet off the wide desk in front of him and stood. “I was aiming for Bat Masterson.” He jerked his thumb at a poster of Old West sheriffs on the wall opposite him as he ran to fetch paper towels and sop up the spill.
“I hope you aim a gun better than you shoot rubber bands.” Derek had almost had his eye put out on several occasions by Russell’s wayward shots. “Slow night?”
“Yup.” Russell bent to clean the mess. “Slow morning, too.”
“You might as well take off then.”
“I have another forty-five minutes.”
“That’s okay. You can get an early start.” Heading for his desk, Derek noted the remains of Russell’s breakfast littering the blotter: a liter bottle of soda and an open, half-eaten box of chocolate-covered donut holes. “Get a blood panel, would ya, Russell?” he suggested. “Check your sugar and cholesterol levels.”
His deputy grinned. “Hey, I have to get my fix somewhere. LeeAnn watched some video about diet and heart disease, and now all she makes when I come over is vegetables and beans.”
“Smart woman. You should marry her.”
“I hate beans. Before that video, we used to look for the best burger-and-brew pubs. Now when we go to Portland, she wants to find vegan restaurants. Do I look like I’m meant to be vegan?”
Derek eyed his six-foot-tall, two-hundred-pound deputy. “You do not.”
Russell began to wander toward their work area instead of toward the door, and Derek felt his shoulders tense. Seating himself behind the big oak desk, he pretended to become engrossed in his computer screen. Every morning after seeing Willa at the bakery, he required a few minutes alone to debrief himself. Willa took up residence in his thoughts more than anyone or, lately, anything else. It took some effort to refocus, and he liked to do that in private. His love life—or current lack of one—was his business, no one else’s.
On that note, he said pointedly before Russell could sit down, “Enjoy your time off.”
“I was planning to.” Russell sighed heavily. “Before.”
Do not, I repeat, do not take the bait. But Russell looked like a giant puppy whose favorite chew toy was stolen. Give me patience. “Okay.” Derek crossed his forearms on the desk. “Before what?”
Closing the distance between himself and the desk, Russell dropped into the chair opposite Derek’s. “See, it’s this way. I made reservations for dinner up at Summit Lodge. Tonight. Their special is prime rib.” He practically moaned the end of the sentence. “Eleven o’clock last night, LeeAnn tells me her cousin is in town today through the end of the week.”
“So?”
“So, LeeAnn is refusing to go anywhere unless Penelope has something to do, too. And, someone to do it with.”
“Can’t she find something to do on her own?”
Russell slapped his palm on the desktop. “Dude, right? That’s what I said. But Penelope and LeeAnn are females, see? They don’t think like us.”
Derek waited for more. “Okay. And?”
“So the only way I can go out with LeeAnn this week is if we double date.”
It took a couple of seconds—only a couple—to understand. “No.” Laughing humorlessly, Derek shook his head. “No way.”
“It would just be for a couple of dates.”
Picking up what was left of the coffee he’d brought over from the bakery, Derek leaned back so that his chair tilted on two legs. “No.”
“Three dates, tops.”
The front chair legs landed on the floor again with a thud. “Maybe you don’t know this about me, Russell. I don’t go on blind dates. Ever.” He took a sip of coffee. “Good luck. I’m sure you’ll find someone.”
“LeeAnn thinks you and Penelope—”
“Someone else.”
Blowing his breath out in frustration, Russell stood. “Fine.” He turned and took several steps toward the door. Derek began to relax, but obviously everything was not fine, because Russell turned back. “It’s not that you turn down blind dates. You don’t date at all.”
Narrowing his eyes, Derek warned, “Russell—”
“Not since that night at The White Lightning when you left with the woman who works at the bakery—”
“—you should go now.”
“I saw how you looked when you left with her. Everyone saw it. LeeAnn gave me holy hell for a week after that, wanting to know why I didn’t look at her that way.”
Derek was on his feet before he realized it. He didn’t even remember putting down his coffee. Laugh it off, he advised himself, but he didn’t feel very humorous. Covering his eyes, he took a deep breath and dragged his hand over his face. “What is your point?”
“I expected you to tell me you went to Vegas that night and got married by Elvis. But ever since then, you act like a monk. You wouldn’t talk about what happened with her, but it obviously didn’t work out, so why not go out with someone else? Why not Penelope? LeeAnn says she’s fun, and she’s not even vegan. I asked.”
Derek looked down at the desk. His feelings for Willa baffled even him; the last thing he wanted to do this morning was attempt to explain them to somebody else. “I’m going to make a pot of coffee now, while you get going.” He glanced up again. “If you don’t, I may decide to take a few days off and put you on extra shifts.”
The phone rang before either of them could say anything more, and Derek snatched it up. He listened for a bit, said, “Don’t do anything. I’ll be there in ten minutes,” and hung up. “Jerry Ellison’s potbellied pig knocked down Ron Raybold’s fence again,” he told Russell, “and Ron is threatening to shoot it and have a luau. I’m heading out.”
Resignedly following his boss to the door, Russell asked, “Jerry is single, isn’t he?”
“Yeah.”
“When you talk to him, ask if he wants to go out with Penelope.”
While Russell headed to his car, Derek put the “On a call... Back later” sign on the front door and went to forestall a neighborhood feud. Being the sheriff of Thunder Ridge was nine parts relationship mediation and one part active police duties. Truth was, most of the time he wouldn’t have it any other way. He might not have been born here, but he’d found a home for the first time in this place where, rogue pot-bellied pigs aside, people cared about each other’s business mostly because they cared about each other.
His life was good, and he hadn’t thought much was missing until Willa Holmes had moved to town.
While Derek drove to Ron’s place, he thought about the woman who had made him break one of his cardinal rules: no high-speed chases where women were concerned. If a woman didn’t want to be caught, MOVE ON.
Like any lesson that made a lasting impression, he’d learned that one the hard way. Maybe it was the curse of having raised himself until he was nineteen, but for a while he’d pursued unavailable women. An attempt, he supposed, to prove to himself that he could make someone stay. He’d sworn off that kind of bull a long time ago.
Until Willa.
When he was near her, his heart revved like a car with the accelerator pressed to the floor. She’d turned away after what had to be some of the best kissing he’d ever experienced. No, the best. And he knew she’d felt it, too, because when he let himself think about it, he could still feel her fingers clinging tightly to his shoulders...then moving like smoke up the back of his neck...threading through his hair... The longer they’d kissed, the more her body had melted into his, and the more his had felt as if it were about to burst into flame.
Just when he’d been certain he was experiencing the best moment of his life, Willa had cut and run. No real explanation given. Ever since then, he’d been on a high-speed chase all right, one with no end in sight.
But something in those mesmerizing eyes of hers, eyes with all the storminess and all the sunshine of a spring day in Oregon, told him to keep chasing. That she needed him to catch up even if she didn’t know it yet.
Was he nuts? Behaving exactly as he’d sworn he wouldn’t? Yeah. And he figured there were only two logical outcomes. Either he was someday going to become the luckiest man on earth, or he would realize he’d been the jackass of the century. He only hoped he could handle the fallout if the latter turned out to be the truth.
Chapter Two (#u5c0aa684-b2a7-5121-9d37-16948672bda5)
“You sure you want to stay and close by yourself?” Kim looked at her manager with worried brown eyes yet not a line or a pucker on her silken brow, which reminded Willa how young her assistant was.
“I’m sure,” she said. “Go home to your kiddos. The sun’s actually out. If you hurry, you might have an hour left to get them outside before the stir-crazies set in.”
“You’re right.” Kim laughed. “Three and six are probably the worst ages when you have to stay inside because of the weather and dark nights. They fight like crazy.”
“Go on then.” Willa shooed her employee toward the door. “Put on their mittens and let ’em duke it out at the park. Play structures are a mother’s best friend.”
As Kim left, Willa returned to work. She hadn’t gone home after all, though she had taken a long lunch and had driven to Long River to go for a walk with other lunch-timers taking advantage of the unseasonably sunny winter day. Now, at 4:00 p.m., she was tired, but the more exhausted she was, the better her chances of sleeping tonight.
She began the process of wrapping up the leftover goodies in the pastry case so she could take them next door to the deli. Izzy would sell what she could tonight at half price, and tomorrow Willa would take the rest to Thunder Ridge Long-term Care for the staff and residents to enjoy.
The after-school crowd had already come in and cleaned her out of the most popular cookie selections, but there were still apricot rugelach, buttery shortbread and chocolate chip mandelbrot. The folks who would come in before closing would be interested mostly in bread, rolls and cakes for the evening meal, so she started packaging the cookies first. As Willa worked she flicked on the radio, opting for an oldies station, and didn’t see her next customer come in until he was standing directly in front of the counter.
“Oh!” Using her upper arm to brush a stray hair from her eyes, she smiled. “Hello. You’re here at a good time. All the cookies, bagels and rolls are two for the price of one.”
The boy—ten or eleven, she guessed—pressed his lips together in a sort of smile and nodded. He wore a dark blue coat, pilling on the body and sleeves, and a knit hat that had also seen better days. His skin was a beautiful caramel color, his eyes as dark as onyx. He looked shy, and she couldn’t recall seeing him before, either in the bakery or the deli.
“Do you like chocolate?” she asked.
He nodded, and she handed him a brownie. “Try that. On the house. Then you can look around and see if you want another one of those or something else.”
He stared at her without moving. She nodded encouragingly. “Go ahead, take it. It’s good. I like to think of it as a cross between a truffle and a brownie. Maybe I should call it a bruffle. Or trownie.” He didn’t smile.
“Free?” His only word to her was soft, a little suspicious.
“Yep. Bakeries give out samples all the time.” Gingerly, he accepted the treat. “I’ll be over there—” Willa pointed to the counter behind her “—working. If you decide to get something else, just holler. We have hot cocoa and cider, too, on the house in the evening.” Beverages weren’t really on the house, but what the heck? She’d drop a dollar fifty into the till. Sensing that her observation was making the boy nervous, she turned her back, slipping more cookies into the plastic bags she would deliver next door.
Something Sweet’s grand opening had been in September, and Izzy had already orchestrated Dough for Dollars and other promotions with the local schools, plus there had been a back-to-school special the first two weeks the bakery had been operational. Now, every afternoon they had several kids from the local K-8 and high school stopping by for snacks, but she’d never seen this kiddo before. She’d have remembered him. His shy, almost distrusting demeanor stood in stark contrast to a face that was exotically beautiful.
Everyone, children included, had a story. What was his? As her curiosity grew, Willa shook her head. His story wasn’t her business; she was just here to provide sticky sweets that temporarily soothed the soul and gave people a reason to brush their teeth. That’s what she’d wanted when she had first come to Thunder Ridge—a simple job with work she could leave at the “office.”
Several minutes had gone by when Willa realized she hadn’t heard a sound from her young customer. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw him hovering near a large plastic canister she kept on the low counter near the cash register. There was a slit cut into the top of the lid and a big picture glued to the front and covered with tape to protect the photo. “Help Gia.” Gia was fifteen and had lived at the Thunder Ridge Long-Term Care facility for the past ten months, after an auto accident that had taken her mother’s life and left her father with ever-mounting medical bills and lost workdays. Thankfully, the canister was stuffed with bills and coins. Every Friday, Willa deposited the contents into a bank account set up for Gia and her family.
The boy had eaten his brownie and was frowning at the jar. He looked anxious, conflicted. Was he thinking about donating his money instead of buying something?
A sweet, sharp pang squeezed Willa’s chest. Wow. People his age rarely gave the jar more than a passing glance. She understood that. It was so much easier to pretend bad things didn’t happen to average kids. But maybe this boy was one of the unusually empathetic ones. She was going to give this cool kid a box of cookies and a hot chocolate if he dropped even a penny in that canister.
When he looked up and caught her watching him, she smiled. He appeared startled. Completely self-conscious. You know what? She was going to give him a box of cookies and a hot cocoa just for thinking about—
