The Lawman's Christmas Wish (11 page)

“C
ookie cutters in that bottom drawer.”

Amy followed the no-nonsense jerk of Granny Crisp's chin and came up with a plastic baggie filled with various Christmas shapes. She'd never imagined Granny as the Christmas cookie type, but apparently the gruff grandmother was a lot like her grandson—tough on the outside, melted caramel inside.

She put the cutters on the table next to Sammy and Dexter, who were making a mess with a roller and sugar cookie dough.

Serious Dexter carefully peeled bits of dough from the roller and patted them back into the pile. Sammy stuck a glob in his mouth. More globs adorned his shirtfront.

Dexter took up a tree cutter. “This one is just like Herbie. I'll make it for Chief Reed. Can we put sprinkles?”

“Sprinkles are up there.” Hands deep in dough, Granny offered another chin hitch, this one toward the upper cabinet.

“You'll need frosting, too.”

She said it as though the notion irritated her, but Amy took her cue from the boys. Granny was just being Granny, gruff and kind all in one feisty package.

“We'll make gingerbread boys for your class at school. You know the story, don't you?”

“What is it, Granny?”

“‘Run, run as fast as you can. You can't catch me, I'm the Gingerbread Man!'” Hands aloft and covered with flour, the scrawny woman made a quick dive toward the boys, laughing with glee. Sammy and Dexter giggled and ducked.

Though she'd had her doubts about moving out here until after Christmas, Amy was now glad she had. Mostly. Sammy and Dexter were thriving on the extra attention from Granny and Reed. And she enjoyed the older woman's company. Reed's, too, if she'd admit it. Christmas had taken on a new exuberance, a new radiance since the move. She'd lost the deep dread of facing Christmas without Ben.

“When I was a little girl we made gingerbread men and fancy cookies for all the neighbors and the retirement home,” Amy said. “Mom would take me around and let me do the giving. I felt so important.”

“Can we do that, Mama?”

“If you don't eat them all first.” She pecked a kiss on Dexter's forehead. He smelled like a mixture of sugar, ginger and little boy.

“Reed never had that.”

Granny's out-of-context statement turned Amy around.

“Never had what? Cookies?”

Granny snorted. “Among other things. His daddy was a hard man. After Shawna died—”

“Reed's mother?”

Granny nodded. “My daughter. She died when Reed was just a pup. Brain tumor. Diagnosed in February, died in May. Just like that, she was gone.”

Amy paused, hands on a star-shaped cookie cutter. “How awful for all of you.”

“Bad time, that's for sure. If not for the Lord's promise
that she wasn't in pain anymore…” The old woman stopped, cleared her throat and started again. The moisture in her eyes gave away her inner sorrow. “Wes made it worse by whisking my only grandchild off to the Aleutian Islands.”

“I can't imagine.” And it was true. Losing Ben was hard enough, but if she'd lost her sons as well, the pain would have been too great to bear.

She took Sammy's pudgy hand and helped him cut the star shape, then held her breath while his small fingers carefully moved the limp cookie to the shiny stainless-steel cookie sheet.

“Harder on the boy than me,” Granny said, slamming a cabinet door. “I saw him just enough to know how rough his father was on him. Nothing Reed ever did was enough.”

Amy aligned Dexter's six Christmas tree shapes in a row on the pan. “Sounds as if Reed's father was mad at the world.”

“He was. But Reed suffered for it. No mama or granny to nurture him. No one to bake cookies or read stories.”

Amy started to ask why Granny was sharing this with her, but she knew the answer. In her own way, Granny was helping her understand the complex chief of police.

“This is royal frosting. Sets up like a rock.” Granny slapped a bowl of frosting on the table. “Having you and those boys here has been good for him. He needs you.”

Needed her? Somehow, Amy couldn't see Reed Truscott needing anyone. He was strong and capable, and as dependable as winter in Alaska.

A little voice niggled in her head. She
had
noticed the almost yearning way he'd snuggled next to her boys on the couch while she read to them each evening. The boys were all over him, demanding his attention, and he soaked it up like dry ground. He was sometimes awkward with them, but he tried hard.

Last night, when Sammy had scraped his knee, Reed had
been the go-to guy. Watching the lawman gently clean a scrape on her baby's knee and apply a superhero Band-Aid, all the while telling Sammy that big boys
did
cry if something hurt, had brought a lump to her throat.

It struck her then that Reed's gruffness was not anger. It was not rudeness. Neither was it arrogance. The abrupt, gruff manner was self-protection. He was afraid of being hurt, which shed a new light on the awkward, pushy proposals.

How hard had it been for him to put himself out there, time and again, for her to shoot down?

 

By the time Reed arrived home from work that night, Amy had returned from a meeting of the town decoration committee and the boys' bedtime was nearing. Sammy and Dexter had rushed to the door and flung themselves at Reed. Amy's heart lifted at the sight, and with Granny's revelations fresh in her mind, she had the strongest urge to join them. For a minute, she considered what it might be like to be held in Reed's arms, against that solid, sturdy, dependable chest.

Instead, she'd followed Granny's instructions, warmed the pot of moose stew and corn bread, and sat at the table making a to-do list, while Reed inhaled a very late dinner. Granny herself had taken a box of cookies and gone to visit a friend.

“Energizer,” Reed mumbled around a bite of corn bread.

“What?” she lifted her head from the notepaper.

“Do you ever stop?”

“Too much to do. Especially right now.” She scribbled a note to get Sammy's hair cut before the pageant.

“You like doing all this stuff.”

She loved it. She loved her town and the people in it. She loved Christmas. She loved feeling useful. She loved life. What reason, other than love, was there to do anything?

“There's a scripture, ‘to whom much is given, much is
required,' or something like that. But I don't do things out of duty,” she said pointedly. “I do them because I want to.”

He finished his stew and got up to put the bowl in the dishwasher. Reed was tidy that way. “Granny trained you well.”

“Not just her. My father insisted I pull my own weight. You mess it up, you clean it up.”

Was that where he'd developed his overactive sense of responsibility? “Granny told me a little about him today.”

He leaned his hips against the cabinet, wary, his face closed. “Yeah?”

She tried a different direction. “It must have been hard losing your mother so young.”

He shifted. “Yeah.”

“Is that why you're so good with Sammy and Dexter?”

He frowned as though puzzled by the statement. “They're Ben's boys.”

Duty again. She was really getting tired of that refrain. Didn't the man do anything from his heart instead of his head? “Ben's boys,” as he'd called them, rounded the corner from the hallway, wearing fuzzy, footed pajamas. Sammy's were of a yellow cartoon character and Dexter's were decorated with a red fire engine and a spotted dog. She lifted Sammy onto her lap and hugged Dexter against her side.

“You smell good,” she said, giving a giant sniff against Sammy's neck. “Did you brush your teeth?”

“Uh-huh.” He flashed a fake smile. “See.”

“Me, too.” Dexter offered his own fake smile. “All ready for bed.” He opened his mouth in a giant yawn. “I'm sleepy.”

“Okay. You two go on up and I'll be there in a few minutes, after I finish this list and call Casey. She's starting a new tour in the morning. I want to be sure everything is set.”

She pushed back from the table just as Reed pushed away from the countertop and lifted a palm. “You stay put. Do what you need to do. I'll put the boys to bed.”

Dexter flung himself onto Reed's knees. “You will? Will you read us a story, too? Please.”

She could see Reed hadn't bargained on that.

“Well.” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “You sure you don't want to wait on your mom? She's good at that kind of thing.”

Amy laughed. “Coward. It's a picture book. You can do it.”

 

Reed figured there was a first time for everything. A week or so ago, he'd listened to his first bedtime story. At least the first one he could remember. And now he was reading one.

He sat on the edge of the double bed, in one of his guest rooms, where both little boys had taken up residence. No one had ever stayed here, and now he couldn't think of this as anyone's room but Sammy and Dexter's. Funny how the two little dudes had wiggled their way into the fabric of his life, and he dreaded the day they'd move out again.

So far, their mother seemed no closer to accepting his proposal than she ever had. He'd failed Ben in that way, but he was trying hard not to fail him with the boys. Ben had probably read to them every night, using funny voices. Ben had probably been great at story time.

Sammy looped a tiny hand around Reed's elbow and gazed up at him with a sweet expression. “We're ready, Chief.”

Reed cleared his throat. “Right.” He opened the oversize hardback book and began to read. They seemed to be on a Christmas story kick.

Another hand, slightly larger, snaked around from the opposite side to claim his other elbow and his heart. He could smell the clean soap and toothpaste scent of them and feel their warmth spreading through him. Occasionally as he read, they'd wiggle closer. Finally, Dexter sat up in bed and leaned his head on Reed's shoulder with a deep sigh.

He'd never felt this way before. Domesticated. Warm. Settled. At home in his own house. He draped an arm around Dexter's shoulders and snuggled him close. Maybe Amy was right. He felt sorry for Ben's boys because he understood losing a parent at an early age.

No, it was more than that. He was getting attached. The thought troubled him. What if he let them down? What if he hurt them in some way without meaning to?

“Chief Weed,” Sammy said when the book ended.

“What, buddy?”

“We gotta say our prayers.”

He'd gone out on a limb again and cut himself off. He knew half of the Lord's Prayer. Was that enough?

The little boy wiggled from beneath the covers and dropped to his knees beside the bed. His brother followed.

“Come on, Chief.”

Feeling as helpless as a beached whale, Reed slipped to his knees between the children. Not knowing what else to do, he draped an arm over each child.

Hands clasped and eyes shut tight, Dexter led off with Sammy doing a tag-team prayer of thank-yous and God blesses.

Their heartfelt, endearing conversation with God made Reed realize how little he understood about being God's child. Maybe it was time he started finding out.

Halfway through the prayer, the hair rose on the back of his neck and he knew Amy had come upstairs. He could feel her there at the door, listening in. Every nerve in his body responded whenever she moved inside his radar. She was getting under his skin something fierce. Not just because of the spot Ben had put them both in, not because of the treasure or the danger—but because Amy was the most amazing woman he'd ever known—warm and funny and loving.

He was afraid his foolish heart had gotten attached to more
than the little boys. But Amy would never think of him that way. She'd said so herself. No one could take Ben's place.

He sighed heavily.

Doing the right thing had quickly become doing the hard thing—something he thought he was used to. How did he keep his promise to Ben without getting his heart trampled?

R
eed stomped the snow and mush off his boots as he stepped from the sidewalk into the General Store. Cy, knowing he was welcome in the establishment, came too, flicking bits of brown moisture onto the ancient green tile.

“Morning, Chief.”

“Morning, Doc.” Reed nodded at Dr. Alex Havens, who was leaving as Reed entered.

“Old Harry's in one of his moods this morning. Look out.”

Reed snorted and went on inside. Harry was often in a snit. If he let Harry's surliness keep him away, he'd never buy supplies.

He entered to find the store quieter than usual, without the normal chatter of three or four older gents around the stove in back.

“Where's the spit-and-whittle club?” He aimed his question at the pot-bellied store owner, grinning a little at the nickname he'd given the old men who loitered in the general store for company and conversation.

“Don't know. Don't care.” Harry slumped morosely against the counter. “What do you need, Chief?”

Harry wasn't the friendliest guy in town, but he usually
wasn't this cranky. Something was up. “Who put coal in your stocking?”

“Me, I guess. I'm an old fool.”

“That right?” Reed wasn't one to pry into personal business, but he'd known Harry since the day he arrived in Treasure Creek. For all his outward grouchiness, Harry was a fine man. Reed had delivered more than one sack of groceries anonymously to someone down on his luck—groceries paid for by Harry Peterson. He'd also known the businessman to extend credit to someone he knew might never repay. “What's up?”

“Women.”

Tell me about it,
he wanted to say. He was having fits with the feelings Amy James had stirred up inside him. Not wanting to share that little tidbit of trouble, he ambled toward the coffeepot Harry kept bubbling behind the counter and poured himself a cup he didn't really want. “All women? Or someone particular?”

“Yeah. That.”

Reed spooned sugar into the cup and sipped. He could always count on Harry to make good coffee. “Joleen Jones?”

“Yeah. Her.”

“I thought you weren't interested.”

“'Course I was. Am.” Harry slammed a wet cloth against the counter. “What kind of idiot wouldn't be interested in a fine woman like Joleen?”

Reed kept a poker face. Lots of men in Treasure Creek found Joleen's high-pressure antics a little too strong, even Harry for a while. “What changed your mind? Neville Weeks?”

“Why would she go out with a scrawny stick of a man like him?” Harry scrubbed the wet rag over the counter, rubbing hard enough to remove the fading speckled design.

“Is she going out with Neville? You know this for a fact?”

“I was standing in the door.” Harry pointed. The cloth dangled from his right hand, bleach scent thick. “Right over there. Joleen came prancing by with Neville trailing her like a hound dog. And you know what?”

“What?”

“She never so much as said hello to me.” He slapped the rag back onto the counter.

Reed shook his head, sympathetic but amused. “Women.”

“Exactly.”

Reed set his coffee mug on the counter, careful to avoid Harry's scrubbing cloth, and leaned on an elbow. “Face it, Harry. You weren't exactly encouraging to Joleen. Maybe she gave up on you.”

Harry paused in midscrub, his jaw sagging. “A man can change.”

“Well then, do it.”

“What? Change? How? What can I do to win her over? Tell me, Chief, and I'll give it a try.”

“Me? How would I know?” Considering how badly he was doing in that department himself, Reed found it hilarious as well as ironic for Harry to be asking him for relationship advice. For days he'd pondered what to do about Amy. Being with her was eating a hole inside him, a hole that she was filling with her joyful smile and funny socks and nurturing ways.

“I want her back. Not that I ever had her in the first place, but you know what I mean.”

He did. Joleen had made no secret of her attraction to the store owner.

“Well…” Reed rubbed his fingertips over the countertop worn smooth by time and enterprise. “I'm no expert, but I
figure all women like to be wined and dined. Least, that's what I've always heard.”

Harry drew away, appalled. “I'm not a drinking man. You know that.”

“It's just an expression, Harry. Take Joleen someplace nice and show her a good time. You could even buy her some flowers or candy or something. All women like flowers, don't they?” Maybe he should ask Amy about that? Did Amy like flowers?

Annoyed that his brain seemed stuck on a certain little redhead, he ground his back teeth.

“Flowers? Sure, sure. Great idea.” Harry's depressed face had changed to animation. “What kind do you think she'd like?”

Was there more than one kind? “Roses.”

“In Alaska in December?”

Reed shrugged. “You order supplies in from the Lower 48 all the time. Why not roses?”

He wondered if Amy liked roses.

“I can do it. You're right. If I can't get 'em, maybe that wedding place down the street can. I recollect roses at Mattie Starks's funeral last month.” Harry reached across the counter and clapped Reed on the shoulders. “I can't thank you enough, Chief.”

“Don't thank me yet. She might be allergic.”

Harry's face fell. “You think?”

“I was joking, Harry. Order the roses. Call Martelli's Restaurant and make a reservation. Then call Joleen and invite her out for the time of her life. Show her your natural charm. Show her she's special. A woman needs that.”

His words pierced his own heart. A woman needs to know she's special. Amy was special. Had he ever told her that? Of course not. She was Ben's wife.

He gulped. Not wife.
Widow.
A widow he not only liked a lot, but one he found attractive in every sense of the term.

Should he feel guilty about thinking such a thing? Was he being disloyal to Ben? Would Amy pack her bags and leave if he even hinted at the emotional turmoil she was causing?

Maybe. Then again, maybe not. Amy hadn't gone snowmobiling with Ethan Eckles, or anywhere else with him for that matter. But she might the next time the piano player telephoned. She was young and pretty and alone. She wouldn't stay single forever.

“Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“When you order those roses?”

“Yeah?”

“Order an extra dozen.”

 

Amy slid on a pair of sparkling earrings and turned her head to look in the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes glowed with the excitement stirring inside her. For some reason, Reed had asked her to dinner at Martelli's, the nicest restaurant in town.

At first she'd been too shocked to answer, but when he cleared his throat and said, “Maybe you don't want to. That's okay,” Amy had remembered how difficult it was for Reed Truscott to express his feelings. He was asking her for a date. A real date. And she not only didn't want to hurt his feelings, she wanted to go. With Reed. On a date. Without her sons.

The realization was a direct hit to her good sense.

Granny Crisp, of course, the matchmaking little sourdough, had harrumphed, eyes sparkling, and announced her intention to spend the evening making a gingerbread house with Dexter and Sammy. Reed and Amy would just have to go by themselves. Reed had laughed so hard at the obvious ploy that
Granny spun on her heel and marched off, muttering under her breath.

Amy drew a brush through her hair one last time, added a dab of shiny pink gloss to her lips and stood back to check her appearance. She would do. Granted, an emerald-green sweater dress with heavy black leggings and knee-high boots was as fancy as she dared get in this weather. Should she wear that long, silver necklace? The one that reached her waist?

“Maybe the matching bracelets, too.” She added the seldom worn jewelry.

Down below, the doorbell peeled.

She took another glance in the long mirror and then sighed. “Stop fussing, Amy,” she muttered. “It's probably not a real date anyway.”

Would she be disappointed if it wasn't? What if he tried another of his pushy proposals? She groaned. Why hadn't she thought of that when he first asked?

The doorbell rang again. Where were Granny Crisp and Reed?

Oh, well, she was ready. She'd get it.

Jogging down the staircase, she went to the front door where she could see the outline of a figure through the peephole. A familiar female figure holding a large bouquet of flowers.

Bewildered, she flung the door wide, letting in a blast of frigid air. “Bethany, hi. Are you lost?”

Her friend, Bethany, grinned from inside the hood of a fur-lined parka. “Nope. These are for you. Take them before they freeze.”

“For me?”

“That's what the card says.” Bethany's grin widened, growing speculative. “We wondered when this might happen.”

“When what might happen?”

“You. Chief Truscott. Living out here together.” Bethany
shrugged. “Not that we didn't understand, mind you, what with the break-in and all. It just seems natural.”

Casey had warned her that speculation was rife, but she'd laughed it off. “These are from Reed?”

“You expecting roses from someone else?”

“Bethany, stop it. Reed and I are good friends. Have been for years. You know that.”

All right, so maybe they were moving toward being more than friends. She just wasn't sure yet, and she certainly wasn't ready to be the object of gossip.

“You must be freezing. Want to come inside and warm up? I can make some hot cider.”

Bethany shook her head and backed away. “Looks like you're getting ready to go somewhere. The truck is warm, and I have to get back to the shop. I'll see you at the tree lighting?”

“Oh, sure. I'll be there.”

“With the chief?”

“Bethany!” Amy said in exasperation.

Bethany laughed and left the porch with a backward wave.

Dazed, Amy shut the door and carried the unexpected flowers into the kitchen. Outside, she heard the wedding planner's four-wheel drive grind down the incline toward the main road. Reed's heavy footsteps turned her around.

“Did you send these?” she demanded. Of course, he had. It said so right there on the card.

He stopped dead still, guilty as charged, his eyes shifting from one side to the other. “You hate roses?”

A confused mix of tears and laughter bubbled in her throat. No one, not even Ben, had ever sent her roses. “I love them.”

“Then why are you mad?”

“I…” She stuck her nose in the flowers and breathed in.
“I'm not mad. I'm stunned and…” She blinked back unwelcome tears. “Thank you. This is the nicest surprise I've ever had.”

His whole demeanor changed. “Seriously?”

“Yes.” Ben had been a good husband, but he'd never been one for romantic gifts or flowers. Amy hadn't thought she was, either, until now, when her heart felt so full she could hardly breathe.

“Well.” Reed nodded. “You look…nice.”

“So do you.” And she was not joking. Reed, out of uniform for once, wore black wool slacks and a red sweater over a white shirt and dark tie. Over all this he'd added a gray blazer. Who knew he had such great taste in clothes?

“Your coat, madam?” he said, holding out her heavy parka.

Amy made a face. “Wish I had a fancy mink to wear.”

She slid her arms into the jacket. Reed slipped the parka up onto her shoulders and let his hands linger there. “You have beautiful hair.”

The statement was so out of character for reticent Reed that Amy was dumbstruck. Slowly, she turned and smiled up at the tall lawman standing inches away. With a hitch in her throat and a song in her heart, she breathed in his warm, woodsy aftershave and allowed him to guide her out the door and into his vehicle.

Amy had ridden with Reed many times, but tonight felt like the first time, as she saw him in a new light. This was not Reed the hard-eyed, demanding cop, but Reed the gentleman. A little tentative and shy at first, as if they were teenagers on a first date, but solicitous and respectful, asking her opinion, complimenting her dress and her hair. Amy's nerve endings buzzed with energy.

When they reached Martelli's Restaurant, she reached for
her door handle only to have strong fingers stop her. “My job. The lady sits tight.”

He hopped out of the SUV and rounded the front, head down against the wind. She watched his journey with an eagerness she'd forgotten—the eagerness of a woman attracted to a man, waiting to be in his company again.

He opened her door and took her hand, helping her out. The snow in the parking area was packed and slick. “Careful. Hold on.”

He tucked her hand into his bent elbow and led the way. Amy's pulse skittered along with her feet.

Was she ready for this?

 

Martelli's Restaurant was by far the most elegant place in all of Treasure Creek. Leaving the frigid air outside, Reed guided Amy into the warm, inviting establishment, where they were greeted by a hostess.

“Chief Truscott, your table is ready. This way, please.”

He exchanged amused glances with Amy. Both of them knew the young woman, as they did almost everyone in town, but tonight her warm smile was polite and professional, in keeping with the more upscale dining atmosphere of the restaurant.

With a hand riding lightly at Amy's back, Reed followed the hostess to a corner table, where she placed two menus across from each other. Soft candlelight illuminated white linens and fan-folded napkins, heavy silver utensils and gleaming stemware. No moose antlers or animal heads hanging from the walls, and not a plaid flannel shirt in sight.

Was he ever out of his element!

“I haven't been here in a long time,” Amy said as she settled into her spindle-backed chair.