The Christmas Wedding Quilt: Let It SnowYou Better Watch OutNine Ladies Dancing

by Emilie Richards

  “Yes!” Ella was bouncing in her seat. “See that ding? It happened in a parking lot. And look how the license plate is bent! He’s trying to make it hard to read.”

  “Yeah, he is.” And he’d spotted them, too, and accelerated. “Call 911, and this time stay on the line. We’re not letting him get away again. Tell them, no excuses, they’d better come through.”

  He had to concentrate. The streets here were narrow and the neighborhood residential. The bastard was driving too fast. Brett tried to be careful without letting too much space open up between them. The guy was smart. He shot down West Dravus, panicked when the light ahead switched to red and made a right instead. Thorndyke allowed greater speed and led toward another egress from the neighborhood, one that would take them immediately back to the crowded downtown city streets where sticking close was more difficult.

  Brett heard Ella talking. Then she turned a shining face on him. “We got lucky. An officer is waiting to intercept him on West Garfield. Oh, Brett!”

  He grinned fiercely, even though he didn’t take his eyes off the vehicle ahead or the road. “The son of a bitch made a mistake.”

  Brett had never been happier to see the flashing lights of a patrol car. He dropped back and let the SPD car slide neatly in behind the Subaru. It briefly shot ahead, then slowed in defeat and pulled to the shoulder. Brett came to a stop behind the patrol car.

  The officer stayed in his vehicle for a good long while.

  “What’s he waiting for?” Ella jittered and bounced like a five-year-old restrained to her breaking point. “Is he finishing dinner? His latte? I can’t stand this.”

  “Patience, patience.” Although he didn’t have much patience himself. “He’s probably running the plates.”

  At last the officer got out and strolled forward. Brett had to grab Ella’s arm to keep her from following. “Not yet.”

  “Why not?” she wailed.

  “Because this could get ugly.”

  The officer opened the door of her Subaru and apparently invited the driver to step out. In moments the man had been positioned so that his hands were flat on the roof. The SPD officer frisked him.

  Ella whimpered her restiveness and glared when Brett laughed at her. Triumph made him feel like he’d been pumped full of helium. He’d told himself they would find her car, but he hadn’t admitted his secret doubt even to himself. But now...

  Even as he watched the spectacle in front of them, he kept an eye on Ella. Waiting was killing her. What if the quilt was no longer in the Subaru?

  No, don’t think that.

  The triumph, he slowly realized, wasn’t for him. It was all for her. So maybe this never had been about redeeming himself. Maybe it always had been about Ella Torrence, the woman he was falling in love with.

  He waited for the zing of shock, but it didn’t happen. He hadn’t thought the word yet—or ever before in his life, except in relation to his family—but the admission was no surprise. He’d been a goner for her since day one.

  The minute the officer shut the suspect into the caged backseat of the patrol car, Ella flung open her door and flew out. Brett hurried to catch her.

  She raced by the police car on the shoulder, stumbling once but keeping going. Brett felt obligated to stop when he reached the surprised police officer. He ignored passing traffic.

  “She’s more interested in something that was in the car than she is in the car itself,” he explained.

  “The driver insists he bought the vehicle from a private party three days ago. Says he was referred by a friend of a friend. Supposedly, the seller claimed not to have been able to put his hands on the title, but the Subaru was too good a deal to pass up. He figured he could straighten it out.”

  “Sure.” Brett had never seen the thief’s face, but he’d spent hours staring at the back of his head, and he was positive he was looking at the same head now. “He’s the one who stole the car.”

  “I think so, too,” the young cop agreed. “The plates were reported stolen the same day as your girlfriend called about the vehicle. They came off an old Toyota pickup. Besides, he almost ran for it. Doesn’t cross a normal citizen’s mind to step on it when he sees flashing lights in his rearview mirror.”

  The guy in the back of the car kept his face averted, but Brett studied him for a minute. He was thin, scruffy, no older than his early twenties. Brett observed the edge of a tattoo on his neck, and a ring through his eyebrow. His blond hair was lank, and he wore a couple of days’ worth of stubble on his jaw. Twitchy. Scared, probably.

  Then Brett focused on Ella. She’d whirled around her Subaru but come at last to a stop, where she stared into the rear storage area. With long strides, he went to her.

  “Ella?”

  The face she turned to him was pale and desolate, her eyes dark. “It’s not here. The quilt. It’s gone.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  UNDER THE FORCE of Ella’s pleas, the SPD officer opened the door of his squad car and allowed her to ask the man in custody about the package that had been in the Subaru when it was stolen.

  “Please.” Her voice cracked. “If you have it at home...”

  The guy stared ahead, not even acknowledging that she was talking to him.

  After a moment, Brett gently drew her away. She stood there, numb, listening as he and the officer talked briefly. Apparently, her Subaru was to be towed until her ownership was verified. She let Brett guide her back to his car and urge her into it.

  During the drive home, she didn’t say a word until he turned into her driveway.

  Then she reached for the door handle. She had to force the words out. “Well, that’s that,” she said, struggling for a matter-of-fact tone.

  He looked at her like she was crazy. “Hell, no, it’s not.”

  “What?”

  “I probably can’t get the guy’s address tonight, but I promise I’ll have it by morning. We’ll go knock on the door. Chances are good he lives with someone else. If not, we’ll find him the minute he’s released from custody.”

  She was beginning to feel like one of those toys that was designed to bounce back up every time it got knocked down. The sensation was disorienting.

  “But...how can you...?”

  “I have connections.”

  “Oh.” Hope was a thin trickle, but it was there, when a moment ago it had been nonexistent. “You mean it?”

  He took her chin in his hand. “Have I let you down yet?”

  Her lashes fluttered a few times. “No,” she admitted, softly, stunned at how easily the answer came. “No.” After a minute, she had to say it. “It’s not you. It’s me.”

  “That’s bull,” he snapped. “None of this is your fault. I want to hear you admit it.”

  His ferocity gave her a weird, full sensation in her chest. He was getting tired of her self-pity.

  Well, she was getting tired of it, too. Would anybody else have gone to the lengths that she had to get the quilt back?

  After a moment, she nodded. “You’re right. Except that I should have gone to the post office before I stopped anywhere else. And except for leaving the car windows cracked...”

  He leveled a glare at her.

  “None of this is my fault,” she said obediently. She squirmed a little. “I’m...not usually so pathetic,” she said with difficulty. “This—the quilt—was just such an amazing chance for me. Losing it has stirred up all kinds of stuff for me.”

  “I know that.” His voice had gone all soft. He snaked an arm around her shoulder and tugged her toward him, so it was easy to rest her forehead on his shoulder. She could feel the steady beat of his heart. “I do,” he murmured, his other hand cupping the back of her head. “Have faith.”

  Faith. That almost made Ella laugh, so out of her experience was that word.
And yet...he was teaching her.

  The full sensation in her chest was now closer to pain.

  * * *

  “THIS IS IT?” Ella tilted her head to see better as Brett parked in front of a duplex with moss on the roof and a scruffy lawn overrun with dandelions. Had to be a rental. “We must have driven by this place a dozen times.”

  “Do you remember it?” he asked.

  “Not really,” she admitted.

  The duplex was maybe half a mile from where they’d lost the Subaru that first day. Each side had a single-car garage, but neither had a window Ella would feel comfortable peeking into. Maybe there were windows looking out at the backyard, which was fenced.

  It was morning now, and here they were. No way to tell if anyone was home. The front blinds were closed. Ella and Brett stepped onto the small square of concrete that served as a porch. When Brett rang the doorbell, there was only silence, so after a moment he knocked hard, too. Ella stared at the door, projecting the image of it opening as if she could make it happen.

  Maybe she was on to something because a moment later they were looking at a woman—girl—she’d have sworn wasn’t over seventeen. In the narrow gap between door and frame the girl was peering through, Ella saw she wore tattered jeans that hung on bony hips, flip-flops and a thin T-shirt with no bra. Her upper arms were stick-skinny. Mascara was smudged beneath her eyes as if she hadn’t washed her face in days. Ella felt a pang of pity.

  “What are you selling?” the girl asked flatly, with no noticeable interest. Then she looked past Ella and Brett to the Corvette. She showed the first signs of animation. “Oh, my God! That car is awesome. Is it yours?”

  “Yes. Do you live here?”

  “Who’s asking?”

  “What is your relationship to Kyle Bernard?” he asked in a hard voice.

  Her expression became wary. “He’s my boyfriend.”

  “You’re aware that your boyfriend was arrested yesterday driving a stolen car?”

  “It’s a lie. He bought the car! How was he supposed to know—”

  “He stole my car,” Ella interrupted. “We followed him all over town. We know it was him.”

  The wariness morphed into alarm. “You can’t know that because the car wasn’t stolen. I told you, he bought it.” She pressed her lips together and glared.

  Ella glared back.

  Brett cleared his throat. Ella kept her gaze locked with the other woman’s.

  He said, “We’re not here to make a judgment about the car. What we’re looking for is a package that was in the car. The contents of the package weren’t valuable to anyone but Ella here. Give us that and we’ll go away.”

  The girl’s eyes were brown, too big for her face. Some emotion—or was it knowledge?—passed like a shadow across those eyes. The girl wrapped herself with her skinny arms and hugged. “Nobody who sells a car leaves stuff in it.”

  “If they saw it was only an unfinished quilt, they might,” he argued.

  Ella turned her head to stare at Brett. It took her a moment to realize that his tone was so gentle because he was trying to give the girlfriend an out. No surprise he was skilled at getting people to open up, given his profession.

  The girl chewed on what he’d said, her forehead crinkled in puzzlement. Not so bright, or else just suspicious. Ella wasn’t surprised when she said, “No way. You just want me to say Kyle stole that car, and he didn’t.”

  “Please,” Ella begged. “I don’t care if he took the car or not. The quilt was made by my family. It’s for my cousin’s wedding. Her mother started it and then died. Some other cousins and I are finishing it. It’s...irreplaceable.”

  The skinny girl only stared at her. Ella might as well have mimed. Shaking, trying to figure out what she could say that would make an impact, Ella must have given off too much intensity because the opening began to narrow as the girl started to shut the door.

  “There’s a reward for the quilt,” Brett said quickly.

  The door stopped moving. “How much?”

  “A thousand bucks.”

  Her mouth fell open.

  Ella gaped, too. A thousand dollars? Could she afford that?

  Oh, who was she kidding? At this point, she’d do anything to get the quilt back. A cash advance on her credit card was nothing.

  “Has to be the right quilt,” he added. Quickly, while the opportunity was there, he thrust his business card at her. Her fingers fluttered, but she held on to it.

  She was tempted. Please, please, please.

  But suddenly the girl’s jaw set and she went back to glaring at them. “You think you can trick me, but you can’t. If you don’t go away, I’ll call the cops.”

  Brett’s foot shot forward, but he’d been too slow if he meant to stick it in the door. She slammed it in their faces, and they heard the slide of a dead bolt.

  Ella let out a small cry.

  “She has it,” Brett said.

  “She’s probably slashing it to pieces right now, or burning it.”

  “No.” He gripped her arm and turned her to face him. “She won’t do that. She’s thinking about that thousand dollars. She has my number.”

  Rage exploded in Ella like the swell of a nuclear explosion. She was momentarily blind, mute. When she finally could speak, her voice shook. “I’m not giving up. If I have to...to break in, I will!”

  Brett’s surprise made her realize how passive she’d been lately.

  “You thought I’d want to give up.”

  “I thought you were still so busy blaming yourself, it wouldn’t occur to you that you weren’t doomed to fail.”

  “Well, things have changed.” She whirled and stomped toward the car. “You’ve convinced me. If it’s not my fault, it’s his. That slime bucket. And he’s not getting away with it.” Stopping on the sidewalk, she faced Brett, her chin jutting. “Do you hear me?”

  “I hear you.” He grabbed her and kissed her hard, then let her go to open the passenger door for her. “There’s the fire I expected from the woman who hijacked my Corvette—and me—the first day.”

  He grinned as he circled the low-slung car to get in on his side. He looked delighted because she was fighting back on her own.

  Didn’t most guys want to be the hero, no competition from the heroine?

  Well, she’d realized from the beginning how cocky he was. Only, she’d assumed it was a negative thing. Now Ella knew better. Confident was another word for the same quality. The fact that he’d let her see that confidence shaken a few times was a testament to...what? The depth of his fear for his father and his frustration with himself? Or the extent of his trust in her?

  For a moment, Ella felt like the scrawny girl/woman they’d just left, peering through a cautiously preserved gap between door and frame. Except, in her case, it was a concept she was examining as if it was a stranger on her doorstep.

  He trusts me.

  Maybe, she thought, he could. Would she let him down, if she could possibly help it?

  No.

  She stared straight ahead through the windshield, even though she was aware that Brett was looking at her. Could she really take a chance, explore where their new and fragile relationship would take them?

  She wanted to, so desperately she ached.

  “I have to get the quilt back” was what burst out, as if by succeeding she’d be assured that she could trust herself.

  But he gave her a look of disappointment. For all that he understood the symbolism, he didn’t like it that she was tying so much of her self-esteem into this one thing. A part of her understood he was right, but letting go wasn’t easy.

  No. She wasn’t ready to think about the possibility of failing, once and for all, and how she’d feel about herself afterwards.

  * * *
/>   “WHEN WILL HE get out of jail?” Ella asked.

  She had brooded during the drive, aware of Brett’s glances but unable to chat. Now they were back at her house. He was obviously comfortable here now, because he went straight to the kitchen, gave the cold coffee in the carafe a sniff, dumped it and started a new pot.

  At her question, he paused. “Probably today sometime.”

  “Then I’m going back tonight.”

  “We’re going back tonight.” He leaned heavily on the we.

  Ella sighed then nodded. Going by herself to face down a guy who had stolen her car might not have been a great plan, anyway.

  “Are you going to work?” she asked.

  “Soon as I have a cup of coffee.” He leaned a hip against the counter edge. “Can’t you tell?”

  She could—he wore gray slacks, shiny black shoes, a pale yellow shirt and a firmly knotted tie. The tie—hmm. She’d been so tense earlier, she hadn’t noticed that the little figures on it were multiples of the Road Runner. It made her want to smile despite everything.

  “Do the other partners like your ties?” she asked.

  Brett glanced down. “Why wouldn’t they?”

  At his sly tone, her smile broke free. “You look sharp.”

  For some reason his face clouded. “Yeah, that’s me. Great wardrobe, cool car, fancy condo. All the perks.”

  Ulp, she thought. “Are you going to quit?”

  He stared at her. This was one of those times she absolutely could not tell what he was thinking. “Would you mind if I did?”

  “Me?” She gaped at him. “What does it matter what I think?”

  A strange smile twisted his mouth. After a moment he shook his head, and she had the feeling she’d disappointed him. Maybe even hurt him.

  “Um...if you’re in a hurry, I can lend you a travel mug,” she offered.

  He accepted, although the perturbed lines between his eyebrows stayed in place. Even so, he paused on the porch. “No cheating. Wait for me.”

  Ella nodded dumbly. Not until he was gone did she let herself consider what he’d been implying with that question. That he wanted her to be part of his life. All of his life.