Support Your Local Sheriff. Melinda Curtis

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       CHAPTER THREE

      “YOU DIDN’T HAVE to follow us over.” Julie’s tone was as nippy as the evening air.

      Nate deserved the cold shoulder for the choices he’d made regarding April. Deserved, yes. Enjoyed, no.

      This was not how he’d envisioned seeing Julie again. Oh, he’d imagined her trying to rip him a new one. And he’d imagined himself standing and taking it. But a kid...

      It wasn’t that he didn’t like kids or didn’t spend time around them. In fact, he’d just returned from a weekend with his sister, Molly, and her toddler. But one of his own? The answer should be no, thanks.

      Julie undid the straps on his son’s safety seat.

      He wanted her to hurry. He wanted to have his son in his arms once more. It made no sense. He wasn’t like Molly or even Flynn. He hadn’t longed for a child.

      He stared up at the stately forest green Victorian that was the bed-and-breakfast, and Harmony Valley’s only hotel. “Have you checked in yet?”

      “No.”

      Unable to wait any longer, Nate edged Julie aside and picked up Duke.

      “Want bed.” Short, sturdy arms wrapped around Nate’s neck.

      Nate hugged him closer, drinking in the smell of toddler—sweat and dirty clothes and the essence of his son.

      Julie had moved to the rear of the red SUV. She unloaded an open bag of diapers with a tub of wipes stuffed in it. A dinosaur-print bedroll came next, followed by a duffel bag and a backpack. She closed the hatch, groaning almost as much as the hinges on the hatch. Was she recovering from the flu?

      “Let me carry those,” Nate offered.

      “No,” Julie snapped, but it was a weary snap.

      “Juju.” Duke leaned toward her, small arms outstretched, near tears. “Want bed.”

      “Soon.” Julie slung the duffel over a shoulder (a sharp intake of breath), held the bedroll under an arm (a wince) and clutched the bag of diapers in her hand (looking like she might topple).

      “Let me help you.” Nate lowered Duke to the ground and snagged the backpack.

      Wailing, the toddler staggered dramatically to Julie and latched onto her leg.

      “Duke.” Julie looked like she wanted to wail, too.

      Without a word, Nate took the duffel, bedroll and diaper bag from her.

      The front door opened. Leona Lambridge, the original proprietor of the bed-and-breakfast, stood in the doorway. Her thin-bladed features were sharper than surgical knives. She wore a simple navy dress that cast the gray in her tightly bound hair an eerie blue. She stared at them—an overloaded sheriff, a spent-looking aunt and a hysterical child—clasping her hands as if it helped her withhold verbal judgment.

      Leona wasn’t a people person. Why she’d opened a bed-and-breakfast was a mystery to Nate.

      Julie knelt, gathered Duke with her left arm and muttered, “The music from Psycho is playing in my head.” Cop humor. Meant to diffuse stress.

      “Pay no attention to my grandmother.” Reggie, Leona’s granddaughter, edged past the old woman and hurried down the stairs to greet them. “I’m running the Lambridge B and B now.” Poor Reggie. She had to be working her fingers to the bone. She looked thin and haggard. Her long brown hair listless and her pert nose less than pert.

      “She’ll run it until something better comes along,” Leona quipped. “She’s left me once already.”

      “Your patrons missed me when I was gone.” Reggie took the diaper bag from Nate and smiled hard at Julie. “She’s friendlier than she’d like you to believe.”

      Having known Leona a few years, Nate withheld comment.

      Reggie scowled at him when he didn’t back her up. “Grandmother has friends in town. She’s retired. It’s not like I have to force her out of the house.”

      “Oh, she forces me, all right. In hopes I’ll take back my ex-husband.” Leona retreated into the foyer where her hair seemed less blue and her countenance less sharp. “Or join one of Harmony Valley’s many causes.”

      “Too much information for our guests,” Reggie muttered.

      “My offer of a place to stay still stands,” Nate said to Julie. He had a studio apartment above the sheriff’s office.

      “I’ll face the music of my own making, thank you.” Lugging Duke, Julie followed Reggie up the steps. “You’d best do the same.”

      Nate noted Julie’s slow, measured steps. Her uneven breathing as she ascended the stairs. Her rigid posture and the tender way she held Duke. What had torn her apart?

      Cancer?

      She’d been favoring her left shoulder.

      Breast cancer?

      Nate bounded up the stairs, suddenly afraid Julie might collapse.

      “I could like Ms. Smith.” Leona gave Julie a knowing smile. “She has a way with the sheriff. But—” she tilted her head and filled her expression with cheerful remorse “—the reservation was for one.”

      “Casa Landry has room for two,” Nate said, if he slept downstairs on the cot in the jail cell.

      “Poaching my business.” Reggie tsked and tried to look like there was much business to poach. “Bad form, Sheriff. Children under six stay free, Grandmother.”

      “Want bed,” Duke crooned.

      “As soon as we check in, little man.” But Julie СКАЧАТЬ