Almost Heaven. Jillian Hart

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      “I could use a snack.”

      Was it her imagination, or was he trying to be charming? “Does the town council know what you’re up to?”

      “Why? I’m doing nothing wrong. Every cop has the civil right to doughnuts. Or those amazing chocolate cookies your grandmother makes if you happen to have any lying around taking up too much space on your shelves.”

      He was definitely trying to be nice. It was hard to shoot down a man complimenting Gramma’s baking. Maybe that was one way to win elections. What did she know about politics?

      “It’s your lucky day.” Kendra spied two chocolate cookies left over from the day’s sales, looking lonely on the pastry shelf below the hand-off counter. “Could you do us a favor and take them off our hands?”

      “I reckon I could try. Helping the lovely ladies of this town is my beholden duty.”

      He sure must want to be reelected, since he was trying so hard. As if he had any real competition anyway. From what everyone said, he’d been one of the best sheriffs the town had ever had. She grabbed the two cookies with a slice of waxed paper and handed them over.

      He had a nice smile. Not flashy or too wide, but honest and easy. Sincere. “My stomach thanks you. Helen, every time I see you zipping around in that little red convertible of yours, I think I’ve got to get me one of those.”

      “Nah, you’re too stodgy, young man.” Gramma teased as she zipped up the bank’s deposit bag. “You’re better off in that sensible SUV you drive.”

      “You’re making me sound middle-aged, Helen. I don’t appreciate that.”

      “It’s not my fault you’re stuffy.” Laughing, Gramma slipped the laptop into her shoulder bag and, clutching the deposit, she headed for the door. Much faster than usual.

      “Gramma, where are you off to in such a hurry?”

      “The bank.”

      “It’s already closed.”

      As if she’d temporarily gone deaf, Gramma didn’t answer, just smiled sweetly as she backed through the doorway. “You keep up the good work, young man. It’s reassuring to see a man who knows responsibility.”

      Her grandmother tossed Kendra a knowing wink before snapping the door shut with a final jangle of the bell. That matchmaker!

      “What was that about?” Cameron looked puzzled, which proved he couldn’t be the best detective.

      “It wasn’t obvious? My other sisters are married off and providing her with grandchildren, so she’s trying to find me a husband, I guess. Sorry about that.” Kendra rolled her eyes as she grabbed her half-full bottle from the table.

      “Hey, I understand. My grandmother is the same way. She asked me for years every time I saw her, which was every Sunday for church, why I couldn’t find a nice girl and settle down.” He ambled toward the door, talking conversationally.

      The good-natured banter lifted a weight from her shoulders. Cameron was no threat. He was simply making conversation. He’d treated Gramma the same exact way.

      More at ease, she followed him and dug in her shorts pocket for her keys. “So, how did you handle your grandmother?”

      “I informed her that if I could find a nice girl, then I would marry her. The problem is finding a woman who’s interested in me.”

      “Sure, I can see why that’s a problem.” Dependable man, handsome and fit and went out of his way to help others. She locked up and tested the lock—sometimes it was tricky.

      “Once she saw it from a prospective bride’s viewpoint, she stopped bothering me. She wouldn’t want to inflict any nice girl with a husband like me.”

      “There’s more to life than having a ring on your hand, that’s for sure.”

      Was it a lie if you wanted to mean what you said, even if it wasn’t the truth? Kendra wondered as she loped down the steps and crossed the street.

      “Sure,” he agreed, keeping stride with her.

      Was it marriage she was against, or the fear of trusting a man that much?

      They’d reached his cruiser. “You should be safe to drive home.”

      “Thanks again, Cameron. You have a good evening.” She strode around the back of the trailer, jingling her keys in the palm of her hand as she went, blond hair blowing in a long silken ponytail behind her.

      Cameron bit into a cookie as he waited by his cruiser to make sure she got on her way all right. Chocolate broke apart in his mouth, as rich as cake and made richer with sweet chunks of milk chocolate.

      It almost soothed away his disappointment as Kendra’s truck engine rolled over with an easy hum. Taillights winked on and the right blinkers flashed. She eased out into the empty street leaving only tire marks and a hint of dust in the air.

      That didn’t bode too well, man. She was sure quick to get rid of him. Not that he’d come across as an intelligent future customer. No, he’d yakked on about his re-election when what he should have done was ask her about the boarding fees at her stable.

      Seeking refuge inside the car, he started the engine and flicked the air-conditioning on high. Not even the second chocolate cookie made him feel better.

      Maybe some things weren’t meant to be. And if they were, then wouldn’t the Lord present him with another chance?

      He was upset, and it wasn’t only about the questions he didn’t ask Kendra. He’d fibbed when she’d asked how he’d handled his grandmother’s desire for him to marry. His nana was a fine woman, a real lady, and she worried about him being alone.

      The truth was, he’d lost his heart when he buried his wife. He’d lived in darkness ever since her passing. His grieving was done, but the loneliness remained.

      He’d loved being married. If he could find a woman that filled him up like sunlight, that made him alive again, well, wouldn’t that be something? Did true love happen twice in a lifetime?

      He’d leave that answer up to the Lord. In the meantime, his workday was done. There was nothing else to do but go home. He would face the lonely house and the silent kitchen as he did every night and make a tuna-fish sandwich for supper while he listened to the world news.

      Alone.

      Alone. Finally. Kendra collapsed on her secondhand couch and let the window unit pummel her with blessed, cold air. Her fat tabby cat meowed a weak protest from the top of the cushion, but his demand for more treats was the last one in a long list.

      She’d done everything. The new horses were in the paddock, the stalls in the stables were cleaned, the horses fed and watered, the trailer hosed out. She’d returned messages, paid a few bills and checked on a pregnant mare.

      The cat’s meow was louder.

      “Pounce, can you wait two minutes? Just two? I don’t think I can move.”

      Meow.

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