Kiss Me, Sheriff!. Wendy Warren

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 care facility.

      Veins filling with adrenaline, Willa abandoned her post at the bakery, running full throttle after the boy. Twilight had turned to dusk, and the sunny day had given way to clouds that inhibited her visibility, but she caught sight of him up ahead.

      To avoid running into a family, the kid dodged right, which forced him to skirt around a bench and slowed him down.

      “Stop! You stop right now!” Willa hollered. Pedestrians turned to stare. Briefly, the boy looked back at her, too, his eyes wide. Then he jumped over a dog tied up to a street lamp and kept running.

      Sophie Turner, who owned A Step in Time New and Vintage Shoes, was outside sweeping her front entrance when Willa raced by. “Willa?” the young woman exclaimed. “What’s wrong?”

      “He took my canister,” she panted. “I’ve got to get him.”

      “He took...what? Do you need help?” Sophie called after her.

      “No!” She cupped her hands around her mouth. “I’m warning you, you little twerp!” Really, she had been so wrong about this kid. “Stop. Right. Now!”

      “Who are we chasing?”

      Willa glanced to her right to see Derek Neel, out of uniform, jogging beside her. For a second, she was discombobulated. She’d seen him in street clothes before, of course, but tonight off duty Sheriff Neel seemed taller, more rugged and somehow relaxed even as he ran with her.

      “He stole my donation jar,” she said, panting.

      “Who?”

      “That kid!” Pointing, she accused, “That tricky little—Wait a minute, where’d he go?” Her eyes searched the darkening streets, but all she could see were a few scattered citizens of Thunder Ridge watching their sheriff and Willa run down the block together. “Darn it!” She stumbled to a stop, her breath heavy, her skin at once hot from exertion and cold from the thirty-five-degree evening. Suddenly, not even adrenaline could make her forget how tired she was, and how frustrated. “You made me lose him,” she said, putting her hands on her thighs and bending over to catch her breath. “He’s got all the money we’ve been collecting for a week. Do you know what that represented?”

      “I’m not even sure what you’re talking about.” Derek’s characteristic unruffled demeanor was intended to defuse the situation, but it had the opposite effect on Willa when he asked, “Who do you think took your jar?”

      “I don’t think he took it. I know he did.” Her sudden fury at the kid was out of proportion, but she didn’t care. “I was standing right there.”

      “Okay. And you say he looked like a kid.”

      “He didn’t look like a kid. He is a kid.” She started walking again, searching up and down the side streets, exasperated. “A kid with someone else’s donation money.”

      “Okay, look, why don’t you come on back to my office. You can give me a description, tell me what happened and how much money you think he’s got.”

      “No.” The word emerged too sharp, so she added, “Thank you. I’m going to find him.”

      Derek reached for her arm. “It’s getting dark. He could have ducked into his house by now.”

      “Then I’ll go door to door.” Turning on Ponderosa Avenue toward the residential area, she strode up the block, searching. When she felt tears at the corners of her eyes, she swiped them away and kept walking. Derek stayed by her side, keeping pace until they had gone two blocks. Then he reached for her arm again, refusing to let go when she tried to pull away.

      Because she was over-the-top, СКАЧАТЬ