Abby Ruth elbowed him in the ribs. “Is shortsighted some new code word for wrong?”
“I guess you’ve come up with some plan that you think’ll be better than ours,” Jenny said.
“I don’t know your plan, but as a matter of fact—”
“Tadpole was willing to listen to reason,” Abby Ruth said. “On my way back from the john, I told him we were about to start the big search and he suggested splitting up to get it done faster. So, Sera and Maggie will do a little recon mission around Colton’s place while Grayson and I check the trash cans around the school. Could be someone in town took exception to a nativity made out of trash. You know how folks can be sometimes.”
“Not trash. Reclaimed goods,” Jenny corrected her mom.
“Whatever,” Abby Ruth said. “But Jesus with bobber eyes? That’s so wrong. I can hardly blame the thief if he was just trying to protect the big man’s image.”
“Jenny and I—” Teague horned in on the plan he’d supposedly agreed to, “—will check out the tree lighting.”
“No time for holiday cheer while Jesus is still on the loose, Castro,” Jenny huffed.
“Well…” he drawled. “The tree might be a good place to hide something like that. No one would suspect a thing.”
Jenny’s eyebrows rose, and she nodded slowly. “Good point.”
All he needed now was to get Jenny out of the house so Abby Ruth could help Grayson work a little magic on that poor man’s Erector set of a mess. If he could take Jenny on a little stroll down memory lane at the same time, the whole night could be a win.
Chapter 8
On the walk from his truck to the town square, Teague used the cool night as an excuse to reach for Jenny’s free hand. In her other, she carried her camera, which warmed his insides with hope. Through her glove, he could feel the heat of her skin. Lord, he wanted to touch her like this every day for the rest of their lives.
Yeah, a few other ways too, but holding her hand tonight was so peaceful. So right.
At least half the town’s population had gathered in the square. The streets were teeming with people sampling treats from the food vendors. Tables and tents lined the entire square block area, selling hot chocolate, baked goods and roasted nuts.
Jenny sniffed the air and rubbed a hand over her stomach. “Chestnuts?”
“We’re in Georgia,” he said. “Boiled peanuts.”
“Oh.” She wrinkled her nose.
“Better than it sounds.” He squeezed her hand and pulled her into his side. “Let’s scope things out, see if we can get close to the tree and look underneath. If we find Jesus, we’ll celebrate with a couple of fruitcake bars.”
“You’re not really motivating me with that promise. How about hot chocolate instead?”
“You got it.”
Before he could herd her toward the massive tree, she broke away and jogged up to the window at the flower shop. She cupped a hand around her face and peered inside, then backed off and started snapping pictures.
From the other side of the glass, Winnie, the owner of Love ’Em or Leave ’Em, waved at Teague and pointed at Jenny questioningly.
Teague circled his index finger in the universal sign for crazy, and Winnie nodded.
When Jenny returned to his side, he asked, “Anything?”
“I got a picture of some nice poinsettias and a bucket of candy-striped carnations, but no Jesus.” She was so cute when she sulked like that, inviting him to bend down and kiss that little pout off her mouth. “A real thief wouldn’t display the thing right out in public. Maybe we’re looking in the wrong—”
Suddenly, all the streetlights blipped off and silence hovered over the gathered crowd. A moment later, an instrumental version of “Silver Bells” drifted from speakers wired to the lampposts. The sound of an organ and percussion instruments bounced between the buildings, magnifying the joyous song and, in turn, Teague’s holiday spirit.
How would it feel to celebrate every Christmas season with Jenny and Grayson? He wanted to know. Too bad Grayson was missing the lighting. He’d have enjoyed it, but the kid had to fix what he’d broken.
The song drifted to an end and “O Christmas Tree” began playing. Slowly, one by one, tiny multi-colored lights blinked on, climbing up the thirty-foot Fraser Fir. They glimmered in the dark until they reached the five-pointed star—a bright cobalt blue glass work of art—and it lit up like a joyful heart.
Jenny tilted back her head and gazed up at the holiday pride of Summer Shoals. “It’s beautiful.”
That tree might be shiny and bright, but it couldn’t compare to the woman he loved. Teague leaned down and smoothed his lips over hers, a simple kiss that expressed his oh-so-complicated emotions.
When he pulled away, Jenny’s look of admiration was focused on him rather than the tree. “What was that?” she asked.
“Christmas is a time for giving, right?” he said softly.
“I’m not sure what I can give you back.”
He squeezed her hand. “This is enough for now.”
A smile spread across her face and she wrapped her hands around his upper arm.
The song ended with a last piano note, and each building around the square lit up–outlined in twinkle lights.
The sound of a collective murmur swept across the crowd.
People slowly wandered away from the tree, and Teague’s phone buzzed in his pocket. “I need to check this,” he said to Jenny and stepped away to read the screen.
Abby Ruth’s message said:
The lamb still looks like it’s been attacked by a lion.
Great.
He texted back:
Will keep Sherlock Holmes busy.
But Abby Ruth was right. Her daughter was no dummy. He needed a distraction and he needed it now.
When he turned back to look for Jenny, she was on all fours with her camera slung around her neck, crawling around under the massive tree. She sat back on her heels and shook a package with enough force to loosen the wrapping paper. If he didn’t drag her out from under there, the Ladies Auxiliary would have a fit.
“They’re just props,” he said to her.
“Someone could’ve wrapped him up.”
That would’ve been pretty smart if Jesus were actually missing. He made a show of checking the other packages, even though he felt a touch of guilt for carrying on the charade.
Jenny heaved a sigh and sat up. “Any other ideas about where we should look?”
Where was a decent distraction when he needed one?
Teague spied old Mr. Caldwell and the team of miniature donkeys he hitched up to a carriage each year, trying to sell rides to Summer Shoals folks. Most people just wandered by and toss some bills into the stovepipe hat the farmer wore like some whacked-out Ebenezer Scrooge.
Teague grabbed Jenny’s hand and led her in Caldwell’s direction. “How about a carriage ride?”
Jenny’s brows went up, and she inclined her head toward the six mini-mules. “You think they can pull our weight? That seems kind of cruel.”
“They’re hardier than they look.” He ran a hand over the lead donkey’s rump, along her back and neck to scratch the forelock between her ears.
“Offer you a ride?” the farmer asked and blew on his hands. The Georgia humidity made the thirty-something degree temperatures feel as though it were below freezing. “Got some nice blankets and a thermos of cocoa I can throw in on the deal.”
Teague urged Jenny closer to the carriage. “C’mon. It’ll be fun.”
“These here donkeys are as dependable as the ones that carried the Virgin Mary to the inn,” the farmer said.
Jenny shot Teague a pointed look and motioned her head toward Caldwell, mouthing The Virgin Mary and motioning toward the pile of blankets in the carriage.
A Jesus sighting was highly unlikely since he was out at Summer Haven. Still, Teague asked the farmer, “Think you could take us through the shops around the square? We need to stop and talk with a few o
f the owners.”
“It’s your nickel.”
Teague dug in his hip pocket and handed the old guy four twenties. The farmer’s mouth opened and closed. “This is…well…the ride’s only—”
“Merry Christmas, Caldwell,” Teague said, then leaned in and whispered, “Think you could park this thing after a couple of stops and give us a little privacy?”
“For that amount,” the man whispered back, his voice rough, “it’s yours for as long as you want it.” In a louder voice, he said, “Right neighborly of you.”
When Teague helped Jenny into the carriage, the smile she gave him warmed him more than any thermos of hot chocolate ever could. It went straight to his heart and heated his belly. And even trickled a few inches lower to settle in a part of him that had gone too long without any…ahem…neighborly generosity.
The farmer hitched his chin. “You reach up under that seat and you’ll find some stuff that’ll really warm you up. Splash some of that into your cup and you’ll be thanking me.”
While Jenny pawed through the plaid stadium blankets for Jesus and came up empty-handed, Teague fished around under the bench seat and pulled out a half-filled bottle of Jameson Irish Whiskey. Special label. Nice.
“One of my earlier customers left it,” the farmer said. “Said I could have it for myself. But I think you two might enjoy it more than me.” The grizzled old guy winked and turned back to chirp at his team. “Get along, now.”
The donkeys clopped down the street, and Teague sat back in the seat and doctored a cup of chocolate to share with Jenny. He wouldn’t care if they meandered along at this speed all night. At least it would keep Jenny exactly where he wanted her—by his side.
He passed her the cup and stretched his arm along the seat back, feeling a little like that kid in high school trying to cop his first feel.
She looked up at him in a way he hadn’t seen in over a decade, a flirty little under-the-lashes expression that cranked up every sexual thought in his head. “Why, Mr. Castro, are you putting the moves on me?”
“I suppose that depends on whether or not you want me putting the moves on you.”
She sipped at the spiked cocoa and hummed her appreciation. “Moves, I can probably handle.”
“I hear a but in there.”
“We have baggage, Teague.”
“Not so much that we can’t unpack it. Make it lighter.”
She buried her face in the cup’s steam. “Everything in my world seems heavy now. Work, Grayson’s school, now this art competition. I have to do everything myself.”
He tightened his arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “It doesn’t have to be like that, you know.”
“I never thought it would be. Not with you. And then, after I married Daniel…”
The thought of her ex-husband always made Teague feel as though he’d eaten a pissed-off bullfrog. He shifted in his seat.
“…well, his family is just so…”
“So what?”
“They dress for dinner, vacation at fabulous spots,” she said, gesturing aimlessly with her hands. “From the outside, they just look so damned shiny.”
“But on the inside?”
She sighed and leaned her head against his shoulder. “I’d like to say you crack him open and he’s black and rotten inside. But that would be unfair. He’s not a bad guy. He’s simply focused and single-minded. And I wasn’t what he had in mind for a political wife. I just didn’t measure up.”
No matter how decent she claimed the guy was, Teague wanted to track him down and introduce the dude’s face to his fist. And that was mild compared to the ass-beatings he’d imagined giving Daniel Northcutt when he’d pictured Jenny sharing the man’s bed over the years. “Then he’s an idiot.”
She laughed, and cocoa splashed over the side of the cup. He took it from her hand and sipped it lower. But the whiskey didn’t warm him nearly as much as Jenny’s nearness. “No,” she said, “I just didn’t give him what he wanted. He wanted a pretty little wife he could pull off the shelf when he wanted to play with her or parade her around. He didn’t want an opinionated career woman.”
Teague pulled back to stare down into her face. “I’m sorry, but did he even meet Jensen Elaine Cady before he married her?”
“People have this incurable optimism that we can change other people.”
The mini-donkeys clip-clopped to a stop in front of Holloway’s hardware store.
“I know you may not believe it, Jenny, but men motivated by the right things can change.” He handed her the cup and hopped down from the carriage. “Gimme a sec to ask Darrell if he’s found Jesus, and I’ll be back.”
She tried to push off the seat. “I’ll just come in and—”
He gently pushed her back. “I promise to leave no stone unturned. Besides, we have more stops to make.”
Less than five minutes later, he climbed back into the small carriage.
“Well?”
“No Jesus sighting here.”
“I should’ve gone in and talked with him myself.”
“Uh—” he hooked a thumb toward his chest, “—kinda trained for this.”
“Sorry,” she said, “sometimes I have control issues.”
He stole the cup and leaned over to press a quick kiss to Jenny’s chocolaty lips. “You wouldn’t be your mother’s daughter if you didn’t.”
While he was busy savoring the combination of Jenny’s sweet and potent taste, she snuck a hand between his legs and pinched his inner thigh.
“Ow, dammit.” He laughed.
“I don’t want you to think this winning me back thing will be easy.”
He lifted her hand from his lap, brought it to his mouth and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. Just the fact that she’d made reference to what he wanted made him lightheaded with relief and pleasure. “Nothing about you is easy,” he said, “and you know I love a challenge.”
This time, the carriage stopped in front of Icing on the Cake. “Why don’t you come in with me this time?”
Jenny peeked around him at the lighted bakery windows and groaned. “The hardware would’ve been a lot safer for my hips.”
He palmed one of those hips in question and squeezed. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”
They climbed out of the carriage and walked into the brightly lit store. With its yellow-and-pink-striped walls, the bakery always reminded Teague of one of those tiny cakes they served at girl parties.
Jenny raised her face and sniffed like a puppy. “Please tell me I’m not smelling chocolate éclairs.”
Teague tried to hide his smile. “Didn’t I mentioned they’re Icing on the Cake’s specialty?”
She hip-checked him, pushing him out of her way, then wandered closer to the display case packed with flaky pastries and cookies the size of sweet baby Jesus’s pie-plate face. “You planned this,” she accused. “We’re supposed to be looking for a missing sculpture, not stuffing our faces with sweets.”
“Cops are notorious for both.”
She poked him in the belly. “You don’t feel like you’ve been hanging out at any donut shops lately, Castro.”
The pretty red-haired bakery owner, Desdemona Fanning—or Desi as her friends called her—glided over from the register and smiled at Jenny and him. “See anything you can’t live without?”
Teague didn’t bother to glance into the display case. The only thing he couldn’t live without was standing next to him smelling of cocoa, whiskey and the cool night air.
“Are your éclairs as good as they look?” Jenny said.
Desi grinned. “Better.”
“And Summer Shoals is such a small town that calories don’t count, right?”
“Dang, you’re good,” Desi said. “I may have to use that on my new marketing materials if you don’t mind.”
“How about I trade you my marketing genius for one of those?” Jenny pointed to the smallest éclair of the bunch, which was still the size of a footlong con
ey hot dog.
But Desi opened the case and pulled out the biggest one instead. “Fair trade.” She cocked her head and cut a glance at Teague. “Sheriff, want to introduce me to your friend?”
He’d been so busy staring at Jenny like some lovesick teenager, he’d forgotten his manners. “Desi Fanning, this is Jenny Cady…uh…Northcutt.”
“Cady?” Desi asked. “Any relation to Abby Ruth?”
“You could say that,” Jenny said with a touch of dryness in her voice. “She’s my mom.”
“Yeah, I can see the resemblance.” Desi passed Jenny a white paper bag printed with the bakery’s name atop a cake stand and reached across to shake her hand. “Good to know you. We don’t get nearly enough under-sixty newcomers here in town. And the only way we’re going to keep Summer Shoals healthy is to attract families and young professionals.” Her eyes narrowed. “Wait a minute. You have an exhibit in the art show.”
Color crept up Jenny’s cheeks. “That wasn’t my idea. My mom—”
“Your photos are phenomenal.”
“Oh…well…”
Teague leaned over and stage whispered, “Say thank you, Jensen.”
“Thank you,” she said to Desi. “But all the artists are talented.”
“True enough,” Desi told her, “but I dropped my Christmas ornament in your vase.”
Chapter 9
Jenny clutched the bakery bag to her chest as if it could protect her from strangers’ polite lies and climbed back into the carriage. “Do you think she meant it?” she asked Teague.
“Who meant what?”
“The bakery girl, Desi,” she said. “Do you think she actually voted for my photography?”
Teague wormed the bag out of her grip and opened it to poke his nose inside. The scent of warm vanilla and chocolate escaped. “Why would she tell you she did if she didn’t?”
“Southerners are terminally polite.”
“If she was lying, she probably would’ve tacked on a bless your heart.”
“But I’m an outsider.”
“Don’t let what Colton said spin you up.” He pulled out the pastry and broke off a piece. “Summer Shoals is a small town, but it’s a friendly place.”
Always On My Mind Page 7
