Kiss Me, Sheriff!. Wendy WarrenЧитать онлайн книгу.
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.
“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—
“Hey!”
Like a lightning strike, his hands were around the canister, pulling it beneath his coat. He turned and ran for the door with such speed, Willa was still standing in shock when the door harp pinged behind him.
For a second, she merely stared. Then outrage, pure and robust, rose inside her like a geyser. Gia’s family needed that money. They needed the support it represented. They needed to know they were not forgotten, that Gia was not forgotten as she lay in a hospital bed in a long-term