Snowbound with the Sheriff

by Laurel Greer

  “Right you are. And know I’m one hundred percent focused on Sutter Creek’s well-being.”

  Guilt swamped him. Such a lie. Less than a day of Stella being in town, and he couldn’t get her off his mind. He hated to think of what he’d be like two weeks from now.

  “As soon as the mayor gets here, Georgie, I’ll show you how and why I don’t have room in my life for anything except for the safety of our community.”

  “You don’t need to be a monk, Ryan. Balance is key. Find yourself a local woman, someone who cares for Sutter Creek like you do.” Her frown bent into a crafty smile. “You know, you should consider asking Emma out. She’s career-driven, just like you. The two of you could distract each other from your long hours.”

  He shook his head. Wasn’t the first time someone had tried to set him up with one of Georgie’s daughters, and it wasn’t the first time he’d say no. “Emma and I don’t have that special spark, Georgie. Sorry to disappoint.”

  He was distracted enough by the only woman with whom he had discovered that special spark. The woman he most needed to keep at arm’s length now, if he was going to keep his life in the direction he’d been aiming it for years.

  A knock sounded on the door. It opened, and Wayne stuck his head in. “Sheriff? Feds are on the line. Want them patched through to your cell?”

  Georgie’s eyes lit up. “Concerning the thefts?”

  “Let me see, and I’ll let you know if I can tell you,” Ryan said. Wanting privacy without kicking Georgie out, he excused himself and went to the conference room next door. He answered his phone the second it rang. “Ryan Rafferty.”

  “Sheriff Rafferty. Special Agent Rishi Gill here. Thanks for taking my call.”

  “Sure.” As much as he loved investigations, the FBI had interstate abilities he did not. “Glad we finally made it on your radar. I’ve been trying to get federal interest in our cattle thefts for—”

  “Gonna stop you there, Rafferty. I’m in the white-collar crime division, not cows.”

  Ryan stilled. This reeked of complications. “Not ‘cows.’ Got it. Do we have a different problem?”

  “Maybe. I believe you know Stella Reid?”

  Stella was mixed up with the FBI? Why? Heart suddenly in his throat, he croaked, “Yeah. She’s a... family friend.”

  “She’s also a witness of mine. An informant in a securities fraud case at her firm. And it’s not procedure for me to involve you. Counting on you not telling anyone I did, in fact. But—I like Stella. She’s good people.”

  “Do you suspect anyone will follow her here?”

  “To the middle of nowhere? No. It’s why we let her leave New York. But she’s been through the wringer since she blew the whistle on her boss. If anyone caused problems for her and I hadn’t at least alerted you to the situation, I’d feel responsible.”

  “Uh, wow.” Gran would have told Ryan to close his mouth because he was catching flies, but this wasn’t your average news. A criminal investigation at a hedge fund? And Stella was the informant? That’d make the national news when it got out. “So this is just a courtesy call? Or do you need something specific from me?”

  “Not unless there’s an issue. She’s under an NDA. Won’t be saying anything.”

  God, poor Stella. Explained why she hadn’t been home for a visit since Laura was born. “Got it. I’ll keep an eye on anything suspicious.”

  He signed off with Agent Gill and returned to his office. His mind buzzed. A federal investigation was a lot to carry for anyone, especially having to keep it to herself. Impressive that Stella wasn’t a basket case.

  And it made her earlier plea that he not investigate her make so much more sense. She wouldn’t want the FBI to think she’d broken her NDA.

  “Sheriff?” Georgie Halloran still sat at the table. Her curious gaze drilled into him. “Was it the FBI? Are they getting involved in your investigation?”

  He shook off his fog. “’Fraid I can’t say, Georgie. But if the feds were getting involved, it wouldn’t be a secret.”

  She visibly deflated. “Damn. I had such hopes.”

  “I know. I’ll keep working on it.” Making progress on that case was critical. So was ensuring Stella was safe, though. He intended to keep more than an eye on her like he’d promised Agent Gill. But he’d have to be careful. Her involvement would inevitably go public. Depending on how the story got framed, if Stella’s ethics or actions were called into question, and he was linked to her, even the appearance of condoning unethical business practices could reflect poorly on him.

  The town had forgiven him once for his mistakes. They probably wouldn’t again.

  Chapter Five

  Stella stared at the boarded-over barn windows, heart catching in her throat. Each sheet of plywood was a reminder of how close she, Lach and Gramps had been to losing Maggie. Wow. She’d seen the insurance pictures of the sooty and charred interior, and had followed the progress of the restoration company. But witnessing the wreckage in person made her eyes sting.

  It was a stark reminder of what could have happened.

  A dry sob climbed up Stella’s throat. But before it could escape, a cranky complaint came from behind her, jarring her.

  “If you’d given us more than two days’ notice, we’d have been able to make our excuses at SAR training.”

  The snarky tone grounded Stella in the here and now, where both her half siblings were alive and well and freaking pissed at her.

  She whirled to face Maggie. Alive Maggie. Breathing Maggie.

  Irritated-as-hell Maggie.

  Short blond curls pinned back haphazardly, confirming they’d been styled by someone who couldn’t properly hold a comb, Maggie glanced away from both Stella and the building. She crossed her arms over the half-zip fleece jacket she wore with fitted sweatpants and hiking boots. Knitted mittens covered her hands, making it impossible for Stella to take stock of Maggie’s ongoing recovery from her burns. Surely she still had bandages on, given her most recent plastic surgery had only been a couple of weeks ago.

  Silence stretched until an uncomfortable shiver ran down Stella’s limbs. Crap, right, it was her turn to respond. Maggie had thrown out that barb about the short notice, and was obviously waiting for Stella to make an excuse.

  “I came the minute I could get away,” she explained.

  “The four months we’ve waited for you to come visit your niece would call you a liar.” Maggie squeezed her eyes shut for a second.

  “I’m sorry.” Guilt washed over Stella. “Really.”

  Maggie studied her. “So you say.” Her gaze flicked to the barn. “You looking for a tour or something?”

  Stella shook her head. “I thought I should face down our demons before the work bee.”

  “Our demons?”

  “Yeah. We almost lost you.”

  “I definitely put us into scramble mode. Extra money for a locum to cover until Gramps could get home. Turning Gramps’s life on its head. And the delays for Lachlan...”

  “Lachlan’s delays weren’t your doing. Take the blame for your injuries all you want, but not for the fire itself.” The fire had started when Maggie’s boyfriend’s daughter had tried to warm up Lachlan’s office one afternoon and had turned on a space heater that malfunctioned. After initially leaving the burning building with Asher and his daughter, Maggie had run back in to save a backpack full of family letters for the young girl. The aftermath—Maggie’s burned hands, their grandfather moving back from Arizona and stepping back in as veterinarian—had required a lot of juggling. “No, erase that. Blame isn’t the right word. You made a judgment call. You don’t need to regret that.”

  Or so she’d been telling herself since she picked up the phone and called the SEC hotline six months ago. She’d never regret keeping her integrity, much like she doubted her sister would change her decision to run i
n after Asher’s daughter’s letters. But both decisions came with some heavy-ass consequences.

  “I guess,” Maggie said, and held out her arms. “Welcome back.”

  Oh. Well, then. Not the animosity she was expecting.

  Pushing down the impulse to remind Maggie she was only here for a short visit, Stella accepted her sister’s offered hug. Maggie was six inches shorter, and with her hiking boots, compared to Stella’s heeled ones, she just cleared Stella’s chin. Her sister smelled like fresh air, which was probably her usual, but it had been so long since they hugged that it stuck out.

  “How did you manage to do a SAR exercise so soon after surgery?” Stella asked.

  “Strictly on the sidelines.” Maggie backed up and took off a mitten, displaying the gauze wrapped around the palm and half her fingers. “It’s why I’m back before noon. Lach stayed to finish up, but I couldn’t go into the out-of-bounds areas. I have to be careful with my graft work.”

  “And Gramps is seeing patients?”

  Judgment flickered across Maggie’s face. “You haven’t gone in to say hi?”

  She shook her head. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen him. I’d rather not have an audience.”

  Maggie rolled her eyes. “Life doesn’t have to be so complicated, Stella. Just break the seal. Hell, you did it with Ryan already.”

  “How do you know?”

  “The sheriff pulls his high-school sweetheart over on the highway? That’s solid coffee-break fodder, especially for the SAR crew. We work closely with Ryan. And if you managed to get through an encounter with him, you’d think our grandfather would be easy in comparison.”

  She winced. Maggie had a point, but it was just as hard to face her family. She actually wanted a relationship with them, so a bit more broken-glass-walking was required. “I texted Gramps, letting him know I’d be here when he was done for the day.”

  “What, you’re going to wait around an hour, lurking outside until he’s finished?”

  “I wasn’t sure when everyone would be free.”

  “Good grief. Just come to my house.”

  “But—” It’s easier to avoid thinking about Ryan if I avoid your house.

  “No buts. Come make me lunch. I’ve been feeling badly for relying on Asher so much, and I refused his help before he left for work. All I managed was microwave oatmeal.”

  Right. It was either admit to Maggie that she had unresolved feelings about her high-school breakup, or go along and be helpful.

  She clapped her hands once. “Fine. Lunch it is.”

  Maggie led the way across the road to the ranch that had been their grandparents’ prior to Maggie stepping into approximately eight pairs of their grandfather’s shoes. Their grandmother had passed away years ago, and Gramps had finally retired when Maggie had finished the process of buying the clinic.

  They entered the house through the side entrance into the kitchen. Some things were still the same: the wooden table surrounded by a mix of spindle-back chairs had been one of their grandmother’s famous thrift-store finds, as had the mismatched collection of knobs on the white cabinetry. But Maggie had updated the walls from wallpaper to a soft yellow paint.

  “What, the avocado-green appliances had to go? Say it ain’t so,” Stella said.

  Maggie laughed, and the pressure in Stella’s chest eased a little. Her sister didn’t seem as angry as Lachlan. But, then, it wasn’t Maggie’s child that she hadn’t managed to meet in person yet.

  “Coffee?” Her sister moved to fill the carafe.

  “Sit,” Stella commanded, pointing at the kitchen table. A pile of kids’ artwork and a box of markers sat beside the antique salt and pepper mills that had passed through the family for generations. The homey kitsch was nothing like the sleek white and gray lines of her NYC apartment.

  The few friends she ever invited into her place hinted at it being sterile. But why fuss with decorating? She spent so much time at the office, her apartment was more like a hotel room. Was she missing out on something by not having personal touches? Shoving down her doubt, she focused on the assortment of markers. “So, uh, Asher and his daughter are living here?”

  Maggie shook her head, a dreamy look crossing her face.

  “Wow, look at you, all in love. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear that expression.”

  “Hard to get a good sample size when we see each other all of once a year. If that,” Maggie grumbled.

  “I guess, yeah,” she admitted. She refilled the water reservoir in the coffee maker, topped up the grounds basket and set it to brew.

  Even before she’d been required to stay in New York for investigation purposes, keeping her distance from Sutter Creek had seemed logical. She’d never felt fully a part of her family, and her mom’s hostility over her father’s infidelity had created division. And that bitterness had made it too easy to resent the town.

  Her mom had hated living in Sutter Creek but hadn’t seen a way out, being a single parent with only a year of college under her belt. She’d worked at a diner on the outskirts of town, busting her butt for tips and being too stubborn to accept alimony from Stella’s dad, even though he easily could have afforded it out of his generous lawyer’s salary. When Stella was in college, her mom had waited on a table of tourists and started dating one of the men, and soon after had moved to San Diego. She’d drilled truth into Stella at a young age: Sutter Creek would hold her back from happiness and success.

  So why did I also manage to crash and burn in the heart of Wall Street?

  Nor did the impact of her self-imposed isolation sit well anymore. She was only a visitor in Maggie’s kitchen. A guest, not a fixture.

  Sighing, she poured Maggie a coffee and gestured to the pad of doodled-on paper. “Asher and Ruth are here a lot, even if they don’t live here?”

  “Yeah. We’ve been going back and forth between his place and mine since the fire. It’s a bit weird to be cohabitating under the supervision of a ten-year-old and a septuagenarian. But it’s not like I have a choice.” Maggie studied the gauze strips wrapped around her hands. Her happy smile crumbled. “I need the help. I’m eternally thankful that I have Asher, and that he’s willing to support me, but it’s a really big burden for him to have to do everything for me and Ruth...” Wiping at her eyes, she made a face. “I hate feeling helpless.”

  “It’s your job to heal, which means rest. Naps and accepting that people show they love you by doing things for you—” And I’ve done the opposite.

  Maggie looked stricken. Her hand shook as she lifted her mug to her lips.

  A lump filled Stella’s throat. She swallowed a few times to get her voice back. “Lunch. Tell me what to do.”

  “Sandwiches are fine.” Her sister pointed at the fridge and a bread box with two half-bent fingers. “So Ryan actually gave you a ticket last night?”

  “No mercy. The jerk.”

  Maggie sighed and fiddled with the edge of one of her dressings. “They’ve been ticketing like crazy on the highway since a college kid died last month when he drove off the road and hit a tree.”

  “That’s awful. He didn’t mention that... But still. I was barely over the speed limit.”

  “You know, I was really happy to dislike Ryan forever for what he did to you. But then he pulled me out of the fire. Plus, I have to admit he’s a good sheriff. I’ve felt like a traitor, easing up on him.”

  “He saved your life. You’re allowed.” She plucked ingredients for turkey sandwiches from the fridge.

  “He did.” Maggie’s eyes glinted with moisture. “But refusing to talk to you back then, and feeling so freaking helpless when you miscarried... It’s been hard not to ream him out for that a thousand times.”

  Stella sliced the cheese too hard, and the knife hit the cutting board with a thunk. Steadying her hands, she said, “Please don’t. Had I actually
ended up with a baby, I would have pushed harder for him to listen. But I didn’t need to.”

  “I guess.”

  “And what good will it do either of us to hash out what could have been?”

  Maggie shrugged. “Depends on how much you’re over it.”

  “I’m totally over it!”

  “Right.”

  Yeah, Stella wouldn’t have believed that protest, either.

  “It was eighteen years ago.” She finished constructing Maggie’s sandwich, threw it on a plate and placed it on the table.

  Her sister took a bite and chewed thoughtfully.

  “What?” Stella said, far sharper than she’d intended. She jammed the ingredients back in the fridge, then bent to get ice from the back of one of the freezer drawers. Her coffee this morning had made her jittery enough—she’d be better off with water.

  Maggie snorted. “You tell me.”

  “Well, I—”

  A creak sounded through the door to the dining room and living room. Two sets of heavy footsteps plunked toward the kitchen.

  “Gramps! Lach,” she called, juggling the ice-cube tray.

  “Stella?” her brother greeted, voice gruff.

  “Hey, Stella.”

  Not her grandfather’s voice.

  She shot to her feet, fumbling to close the freezer with a toe. She clung to the fridge to stay upright. Her weight jarred the appliance, and a couple of Maggie’s Grumpy Cat magnets clattered to the pine-colored laminate.

  Both men’s eyebrows rose. Ryan’s in concern; Lachlan’s, more like brotherly disdain.

  “Forgot how to stand, Stell?” Lachlan asked. He looked good. His tawny hair was windblown, and the beard he’d grown since the fall added to his ruggedness. He wore an outdoorsy getup similar to Maggie’s. A few lines etched his eyes—the mark of a man with an infant at home—but he was fit as ever and carried an air of contentment about him. A wave of embarrassment swept her—it’d been months, and beyond some Skype calls, she hadn’t been able to meet the woman who’d helped him find that sense of peace.