Maybe they could be friends. And he hoped that what he was about to do would help that, rather than hinder it.
Swallowing down nerves that crept up out of nowhere, Gage let out a heavy breath and got into line, waiting his turn to talk to her. She looked up at him, finally swiping the back of her hand across her forehead.
“Sheriff,” she said. “Where's Aunt Bea?”
“Left her at home for a bit,” he replied.
Lena looked a little disappointed, but nodded. “Well, what can I get you?”
“Uh, nothing,” he replied. “I thought I'd come help you out with the Blarney Cone.”
“Oh.” Lena blinked. “Okay.”
“Okay?” Gage wasn't sure what he'd expected, but easy acquiescence wasn't it.
She shrugged. “I can't do it. I'm way too busy today. And if it has to be done, it has to be done.” Lena checked the hot fudge dispenser, and wiped off the handle. “Just . . . be gentle?”
Gage fought back a laugh. “I'll do my best.”
Lena rolled her eyes. “I know it sounds stupid, but that cone has been in my family for a long time. It has sentimental value.”
And that, Gage could understand. “I promise, I'll treat that cone like it's my own.”
Lena snorted. “Well, then, Sheriff, carry on.” She gestured toward the door. “Don't let me keep you from enforcing the law.”
He gave her a little salute and walked out of the shop. He'd left a ladder propped on the side of the building and got to work, using the jig saw to cut the upper part of the cone around the street lamp's glass globe on both sides. After a brief sanding and some touchup paint, he went in to get Lena so she could check it out.
Gage watched her nervously as she looked up at the top of the cone. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, fingertips tapping lightly on his thighs.
“Oh!” she said with a little gasp. “It looks like someone took a bite out of it.”
“Yeah, I got the idea the other day,” he said. “That way it looks intentional and not like someone, you know, just cut the top off it. And it says your ice cream is irresistible.”
Lena nodded, blinking quickly, then she looked away. “It's really nice.”
Gage's heart sank. “You hate it,” he said. “I'm sorry. I thought—”
“No!” Lena said quickly. “No, it's fine. It's the best way it could have been done.” She swallowed thickly and brushed away tears. “It's dumb. It's just that my grandpa built the cone, you know. He used to be so proud that people could see it from anywhere on Main Street. And now—”
“Now, they can't,” Gage said quietly.
She shrugged. “There are worse things that could happen,” she said. “It just makes me a little sad, I guess. What made it special is gone. So, in a way, part of my grandpa's gone, too.” Lena shook her head and gave him a faint smile. “I'm sorry. I know it had to happen. And I really appreciate you coming out here to do it yourself. And making it look so nice. So, thanks, Sheriff. Really.”
“You're welcome.” Gage still had a knot of nerves in his stomach and he wasn't sure if he should apologize again. He kind of thought it might make her feel worse, though, so he left it at that. “I should get going.”
“Wait,” Lena said, her cheeks pinkening as she looked down. “If you're not in a hurry, maybe you could come in and taste some of my St. Patrick's Day specials?”
“You don't have to ask me twice,” Gage replied, moving the ladder out of the way against the building before he followed her inside.
He sat at the counter and tried samples of the Erin go Brownie Sundae, St. Paddy's Shake, and of course the ever-famous Blarney Cone. Lena chatted with him between customers and Gage started to feel kind of comfortable around her for probably the first time since he'd known her.
“So, did you grow up in Chicago?” she asked him a while later, when he was full and buzzing a little from all the sugar.
“I grew up all over the place,” he replied. “My dad was in the Army, so we moved a lot. My grandpa and two of my uncles were Chicago cops, though. It was kind of understood that if I wasn’t going into the military, I’d follow in their footsteps.”
“You never wanted to do anything else?” Lena cleaned up some sundae dishes and tossed soiled napkins in the trash. “Not that there's anything wrong with being a cop.” She handed him a glass of ice water and he nodded in thanks.
“Nah.” He took a drink. “I think it's in my bones or something.”
“And what made you decide to come all the way out here?” she asked.
Gage sighed and smiled at a little girl staring at him from the other side of the room. “I became a cop because I wanted to help people,” he said. “But it got to feeling like I wasn't helping anyone. I'd arrest a drug dealer only to see him back on the street a couple days later. Predators and murderers . . . all the violence and hatred and—” He broke off, shaking his head. “There just came a day when I couldn't do it anymore. I needed some peace in my life.”
“That's understandable,” Lena said quietly.
“Is it?” He looked up at her. “You don't think that makes me a coward?”
“Coward? No.” She gave a little laugh. “I'm sure you helped a lot of people along the way. There's nothing wrong with wanting to have some kind of life for yourself.”
Gage studied her profile, the way the overhead lights glinted on her brown hair, bringing out the shades of blonde and gold. She looked pensive, her face soft as she thought about whatever was going through her mind.
“What about you?” he asked after another sip from his glass. “You ever think of leaving home?”
Lena laughed. “Everyone around here knows everything about me,” she said. “So it surprises me when someone doesn't.” She started to wipe down the counter with a damp towel. “I did leave for a while,” she said. “Traveled all over the world. Looking back, I'm not sure what I was searching for. Something new, I guess. Something more.” She leaned against the back counter, arms crossed over her chest.
“Did you find it?”
“I guess you could say that,” she said quietly, meeting his gaze. Gage's breath caught at the depth in her brown eyes. The pain. He'd seen it before, many times. In people he'd met on the job, haunted by experiences he could only imagine.
“I found out I wanted to be here,” she said, shaking off the melancholy with a small smile. “I wanted my family and friends. I wanted this town and the shop. This is where I belong.”
Gage nodded, swirling his spoon in his melted ice cream. “I guess that's one thing we have in common,” he said. “I think I may have finally found where I belong, too.”
She smiled at him, then, dimples on full display, and Gage's breath caught for a whole other reason. He stared, unable to look away, mesmerized by the pink flush that worked its way up her neck, filling her cheeks. He swallowed thickly. “Lena, I—”
An excited murmur went through the room, the customers pulling out their phones and scrolling through madly.
“What's going on?” Lena called out.
A young boy shouted back, “They've announced the teams for the treasure hunt!”
Lena gave Gage a little shrug and pulled out her phone. He did the same, quickly bringing up the town's Chamber of Commerce website and navigating to the page for the Pot o' Gold Treasure Hunt the following weekend. He scrolled through the list of teams and came to a stop when he spotted his own name. And the name right next to it.
Lena McKenna.
He looked up in surprise, and Lena was grinning at him. “Guess it's you and me against the town, Sheriff,” she said. She leaned her elbows onto the counter, a wicked gleam in her eye. “I think there's something you should know about me.”
“Oh yeah, what's that?”
“I'm out to win,” she said. “No matter what the cost.”
Gage probably should have felt spooked by her grave determination, but instead, he had to admit it excited him a little. “I won't hold you back,” he repl
ied.
“You better not, Sheriff,” she warned. “Because you and I are going to win that prize, and I won't have your overblown sense of honor holding us back.
“Overblown?”
She held up a finger. “All's fair in love and war,” Lena said. “And that goes double for the treasure hunt.”
His brow creased. “You're a little terrifying, aren't you?”
“You have no idea.”
Gage shrugged. This was his town now, so maybe it was time to learn how to go with the flow. “All right,” he said. “I'll follow your lead.”
Lena grinned, nodding in approval. “Wise choice, Sheriff. Wise choice.”
The official kickoff of the Pot o' Gold Treasure Hunt was the Friday morning before St. Patrick's Day, and it ran for two days, ending at the Cèilidh—an Irish-themed party at the Shamrock, Saturday night. A combination scavenger hunt, trivia challenge, and adventure game with puzzles and riddles, there were actually two hunts, although not everyone knew that. One was for the tourists, and featured rather simple questions about Holiday Junction history that could easily be found online or at city hall, as well as challenges like taking a team picture at the gazebo or in front of the water wheel at the Mill.
The other, however, was a cutthroat battle of wills and intellect between the locals. Or, at least, that was how Lena saw it.
Yes, she was more than a little competitive. No, that wasn't going to change anytime soon.
All the local business owners were expected to be available to answer questions and take pictures during the day. As Chief of Police, Gage would wander around town in uniform with Bea, trotting proudly next to him, taking selfies and giving directions. Lena would be giving out samples and answering trivia questions about McKenna's. When did it first open? 1942. What's the most popular flavor? Chocolate, believe it or not. Where do you make your ice cream? Right here in back. Would you like to see?
It was an unwritten rule that the Hunt for locals would take place in the early mornings and after closing time. Lena, however, was never one to stick to the rules—especially unwritten ones.
So, at around ten o'clock on Friday morning, she had her laptop open on the counter at McKenna's, and Gage sat on a stool across from her with Bea curled up at his feet, dozing peacefully. They'd already accomplished two of their tasks—a video of them tap-dancing down the steps of the gazebo and a picture of both of them on the roof of the old Rialto theater, which Gage had argued vehemently, and fruitlessly, against. Now, they had a riddle to solve to learn their next assignment.
“Excuse me, Chief Turner?” a woman holding a little boy's hand smiled at Gage, holding up her phone. “Would you mind?”
Gage smiled. “Of course not.” The three of them took a selfie and the woman told the boy to check it off their list.
Lena barely noticed, she was so focused on the riddle.
A drum with no sticks
A cross in the bricks
Dip the bill in a cup of corn
But don't let the copper blow the horn
“What kind of drum has no sticks?” she murmured to herself. “Bongos? Congas? Djembes?”
“Lot of djembes in Holiday Junction, are there?” Gage asked with a smirk. He was eating an Erin go Brownie Sundae and didn't seem nearly focused enough on the task at hand, in Lena's opinion.
“I don't hear any great suggestions coming from you,” she said, arching a brow. “What could this mean: dip the bill in a cup of corn? What bill? What corn?”
“Bourbon,” Gage said through a bite of brownie.
“What?”
“Cup of corn is old slang for corn liquor. In other words, bourbon. It’s from the 1920s.”
She blinked at him. “How would you know that?”
Gage shrugged. “Given that, I'd say the drum is a speakeasy. You have any old speakeasies in HJ?”
Lena tapped at her computer, looking up 1920s slang. Sure enough, Gage was right. “And dip the bill means to have a drink,” she said, running a finger down the screen. “And a copper—”
“Is a cop?” Gage finished, lips quirking.
“You, Gage Turner, are a genius!” She slapped the laptop closed. “Mrs. Katswopis!” she hollered toward the kitchen. “I've got to run out for a bit.”
The older woman, more than used to Lena’s craziness during the Hunt, emerged calmly from the back, wiping her hands on a towel. “I'll hold down the fort,” she said. “On your way back, would you bring me a latte from the Grind?”
“You got it,” Lena said, taking off her apron as she rounded the counter. She tossed it on a chair and grabbed Gage's arm.
“Where are we going?” He pulled back, grabbing the last bite of his sundae before she dragged him out, Bea bouncing along behind him.
“To the Shamrock,” she said, stalking toward his patrol car. “You're driving. And use the lights.”
He didn't use the lights, but they made it to the bar in less than five minutes. Lena picked up Bea, not even noticing when the pup licked her chin, and led Gage into the bar.
Braden barely looked their way as they wound between the tables to the door marked No Admittance in the back.
“Braden!” Lena called.
“It's unlocked!” he shouted back.
Gage figured it was a sibling thing and didn't ask questions. He followed her downstairs.
“This is one of the oldest buildings in HJ,” she told him as they descended. “And during Prohibition, they actually had a speakeasy here in the basement. It has to be what the riddle means.”
They entered a dim storage area, boxes and crates lining two walls, with a large wine rack dominating the remaining side.
The lower half of the wall was concrete block, topped by about five feet of brick wall.
“A cross in the bricks,” Lena murmured, setting Bea down so she could sniff around. “Well, they wouldn't want us moving around crates and bottles of wine, so it has to be somewhere out in the open.”
“Do you think it's a cross etched in a brick, or bricks in the shape of a cross?” Gage asked, scanning the wall above the crates.
“Either one,” she replied, then froze, pointing to scrawled white letters next to the wine rack. “Look!”
UP, THEN ACROSS
Lena had no idea what it meant—possibly instruction how to stack the crates—but it didn't matter. “It's across in the bricks!”
When they looked closer, they could see a small hole beneath the words, and crammed into that hole was a rolled up piece of paper.
“We found it!” Lena grabbed Gage's arm and turned to grin at him, surprised when their noses nearly touched. For just a moment, Lena couldn't move, couldn't breathe. Gage's gaze held hers, liquid green and warm, and when she licked her lips, mouth suddenly dry, it dipped, following the movement. He edged closer and she inhaled sharply, a shiver running up and down her spine. She felt the gentle graze of fingers against the back of her hand and her eyes fluttered closed.
“Lena,” he murmured.
A sharp bark made her jump and she looked down to find Bea tugging on the hem of Gage's uniform pants. He glanced at her sheepishly, and rubbed a hand over his neck. “Right, so . . .” He stepped back and Lena blinked.
What had just happened? Or didn’t happen, as the case may be.
Gage cleared his throat and bent to pick up Bea, cradling her against his chest. “We should probably . . .” He made an aborted motion toward the hole in the wall.
“Right!” Lena jumped, her face heating. “Right.” She carefully extricated the paper and unrolled it, grinning when she saw the words.
“Oh, this will be fun,” she said.
* * *
Gage could have kicked himself. After everything she'd told him, after all the blanks his cop instincts had filled in, he knew that Lena had an unpleasant, most likely violent, history with a man. He knew he had to be careful, gentle, not push her beyond her comfort zone. He knew that above all things, Lena had to feel safe.
A
nd then he'd cornered her in a dark basement and nearly kissed her, just because he'd gotten caught up in the moment. She'd looked at him with those sparkling eyes and smiled with those dimples and he'd—
Well, he'd almost made a huge mistake, and he hoped Lena hadn't noticed. He'd hugged Bea to his chest, half annoyed by her interruption, but also grateful that she kept him from ruining something that was really only getting started.
At least he hoped it was. In spite of everything, Gage had to admit that now. He'd fought his attraction to Lena, but there was no denying it anymore.
He liked her. He enjoyed verbally sparring with her. He admired her passion. He liked her smile. He loved her laugh.
It had snuck up on him, actually. And it wasn't until that morning, as he watched her walk out of jail, that he realized he didn't want to let her go.
Crazy. The whole thing was crazy.
All Gage had ever wanted was peace and quiet. And instead, he'd become fixated on a woman who—
Well, who was the exact opposite of quiet. But somehow, she still made him feel peaceful.
Go figure.
“Come on, Sheriff! Keep up!” she called back to him, as she crested a knoll on a dirt path about a mile north of town. He quickened his pace, Bea darting around him, so excited Gage kept having to stop and untangle her from the leash.
“Are you sure you know where you're going?” he asked, once he'd finally caught up to her. They were on top of a small hill, overlooking the town.
“Absolutely,” she said with a smile. She looked up, considering. “I'd say we have about fifteen minutes until sunset, so . . .” She sat down on the grassy area next to the path.
He sat down next to her and let Bea off the leash so she could explore a little. “You seem awfully calm for someone who was ranting and raving a few hours ago about how unfair it was that the challenge happened at sunset.”
Lena sniffed. “Well, it is kind of unfair,” she said. “We were obviously so far ahead of all the other teams, and to have to wait until sunset for the next challenge makes us all even. But—” She waved a hand with a victorious grin. “We're the only ones here.”
Lena’s Lucky Charm: Love in Holiday Junction, Book 2 Page 14
