“Deputy Gurley, nice to see you again,” said the large, blond man at the front door. Immediately, he ushered them inside. “And you’ve brought company.” He bent over, hands on knees, to reach Kyra’s level. His voice raised an embarrassing notch. “And what’s your name?”
Kyra gripped her mother’s arm tight, small fingers digging in. She kept quiet.
Randy rushed to the rescue. “Christian, this is Rebecca and her daughter, Kyra. Little bit of car trouble put ‘em in a fix. I was hopin’ you had an open room for the night.”
He straightened with a little chin curtsy. “We certainly do. Quite honestly, I’m surprised at the number of visitors we have tonight. There’s a lovely newlywed couple in the loft. And another gentleman has joined us for the evening as well.”
Rebecca stuck her hand out. “It’s fine, no judgment here. A pleasure to meet you, Christian. And thank you for helping out two ladies in distress.”
“Trust me when I say the pleasure’s all mine.” He grabbed her fingertips and shook them with a delicate touch. “Any luggage you need help with?”
Holding up her suitcase, Rebecca demonstrated its light weight with an easy shake. “What you see is what you get.”
“Very good. I imagine you’re very tired after your, ah, travails. But, alas, we have some minor formalities to take care of first.”
“Of course.” Once Rebecca shed her coat, a shudder followed like an after draft.
“I’m sorry, are you cold? I can turn up the heat if you wish. And I’ll see to it you get the first room floor with the fireplace.”
“That’d be great.” Rebecca hadn’t even thought to inquire about the costs. It hardly seemed important now. Nothing mattered more than a nice warm bed, a temporary place to sleep her troubles away. During their trip, she’d been adamant about not using her credit card again; Brad’s money, after all, at least that’s how he saw it. But she reconsidered once she thought of it as severance pay, one last go-round. With a small grin, she hoped the pricing would be exorbitant.
“Say, Christian, Dolores got any of that chocolate pecan pie tonight?” Randy tossed a thumb over his shoulder, presumably toward the kitchen.
“You’re in luck, Deputy. Fresh out of the oven.”
Kyra tugged on Rebecca’s sleeve again. “Mommy? Can I?” Rebecca saw hunger in Kyra’s eyes. She’d felt bad about not stopping for food along the way, but she’d been hell bent to get away, food a forgotten notion. Of course, she also never thought a tree would’ve stopped them before they had a chance to refuel their bodies.
“It’s okay, Rebecca,” said Randy. “I’ll take her.” He offered a hand toward Kyra.
Rebecca’s first instinct had been to snatch Kyra to her side, fold her in, not let go.
Apparently, Randy noticed her hesitation. Gently, he placed a hand on Rebecca’s arm, and said, “It’s fine. I’ll watch her. Nothing’s gonna happen to her.” This time Rebecca didn’t flinch from his touch. His trustworthy touch.
“Okay, fine. Go get pie.” Kyra raced in front of Randy, snatching his hand as she went. She practically dragged him behind her in her quest for pie. “One piece only, Kyra! You hear me?”
“Yes, Mommy!” She had turned and was running backward, with Randy stumbling after her. Then they vanished around the large stairwell.
Christian waited for her behind a beautiful oak counter, pen in hand. A closed door stood behind him.
“Your home is gorgeous.”
He tossed a manic laugh toward the ceiling like a coyote baying at the moon. “No, no, I’m afraid you’re mistaken. I’m merely the host, not the owner. That would be the Dandys, Jim and Dolores. I’m sure you’ll meet them.” He gave her a wink as if defining their “character” status.
“Hope so.”
A little bit of paperwork, a whole lot of deposit, and an avalanche of personal questions consumed the next fifteen minutes. Rebecca kept looking over her shoulder, waiting for Kyra to return. Then she realized how silly she’d been acting. No more paranoia. Not everyone’s evil. She left evil behind in Hollington. Kyra’s fine, in the hands of a nice deputy. Not to mention handsome. Why not enjoy her little vacation?
“All right, Missus Stanchfield —”
“Miz,” she corrected.
“Excuse me?” His eyebrows rose like twin arches.
“It’s Miz. I’m divorced.” It rolled out of her mouth with ease this time. Funny how she felt another brick load of angst shoveled away.
“I’m very sorry to hear that, Miz Stanchfield.”
“Don’t be.” She felt the corners of her mouth prick up, a grin, ten percent bitter and ninety percent victorious.
On the other hand, she’d obviously tossed Christian out of his comfort zone. His cheeks flushed red, his eyes flitting everywhere but on her. Judging her. Maybe everyone in Hilston considered divorce a sin. “Anyhoo, anyhow …” He busied himself with more paperwork, humming a nonsensical melody that surely he just made up.
Rebecca looked around. Wooden framework, the kind you’re more likely to see in a log cabin, braced the tall ceiling. Table lamps lit up the large room, a dazzling display of electric warmth. A log snapped in the fireplace, the smell of burning wood taking Rebecca back to her childhood. The happier days. It’d been some time since she’d had the pleasure of warming herself in front of a fireplace.
Christian hovered over his ledger, practically oblivious to Rebecca’s presence.
Behind him, the door now sat open a crack. Just enough to allow a sliver of orange light to bleed through. And within that light, an eye appeared. Staring at her. Bloodshot, narrowed. Unblinking.
A chill raced down her back. Goosebumps rippled across her arms, this time not the pleasant sort. Over her shoulder, she called out, “Kyra?” When she looked back, the door behind Christian had closed. Then she wondered if she ever saw anything in the first place. Lord knows she was exhausted enough to imagine things, her eyes dry and blurry. Still, she wanted her daughter at her side. Now.
“I’m sure your daughter’s fine, Miz —”
“Kyra!” Rebecca raced away, her boots slapping against the hardwood floor. “I’ll be right back, Christian.” He said something, but Rebecca couldn’t hear him. She had a bad feeling, a sudden feeling Kyra was in danger. A mother’s sixth sense.
She picked up her pace, swiveled around the stairwell. Breaking into a sprint, she shoved through a swinging door. The door smacked back against the wall with a resounding bang that echoed through the large kitchen like a firecracker. Her nerves buzzed like live wires, her pulse a rattling jackhammer.
Kyra and an elderly woman sat at a large oak table, room enough to accommodate a dozen people. With the kitchen counter at his back, Randy stood stuffing his face, his fork frozen in midair. Hunched over her daughter, the woman gently stroked Kyra’s chin. She looked up at Rebecca, her eyes nearly forced closed from a beatific smile. Rebecca rushed to her daughter, marking her territory by grabbing Kyra’s shoulders.
“Ah, hello, I’m Rebecca. This is my daughter.” She punched “my,” a sign of ownership. And, really, it made her feel strange, considering her daughter as property, but she felt a driving need to protect Kyra, now more than ever. Irrational, sure, and just maybe she needed to help atone for Brad’s sins as well. Still, she hardly felt like “Mother of the Year.”
“Hello there. I’m Dolores. Dolores Dandy.” The elderly woman held her hand out. Rebecca tread lightly, afraid to squeeze her offered hand too hard. But Mrs. Dandy gripped as hard as many of Brad’s cop buddies. “Kyra was just telling me about school. And I’m very sorry to hear about her father.”
Rebecca shot Kyra a look. Not only did she prefer to keep her personal life — such as it was — her own business, the fewer people who knew about her dangerous husband, the better off they’d be. Kyra sunk her head, probably working up alligator tears. A survival technique she learned early.
“Nice to meet you, too, Dolores. I’m sorry Kyra’s —”
; Dolores stood and shooed away Rebecca’s words with a flurried wave of her hand. But the raspberry sound the old woman made really surprised Rebecca. “Pshaw, child. No need to apologize for what happened to your family.” She approached Rebecca, arms out. “Should be me apologizin’. You need a nice hug after the passing of your husband.”
Rebecca stepped back as Dolores embraced her. Like an old friend, she dropped her head onto Rebecca’s shoulder, her hands massaging a circular pattern onto her back. A smirk tightened Kyra’s face, the look kids get when they try to rein in complicit laughter. She’d get hers later. But as far as lies go, it might work nicely given the circumstances. If Rebecca weren’t so on edge, she’d be proud of Kyra. Just a little. Reluctantly, Rebecca patted Dolores’s back, then gently edged away.
Still propping up the counter, Randy grinned around the pie wedged into his cheek. Apparently, he’d let Kyra’s lie fly. More cop instincts, no doubt. When Rebecca glared at him, he straightened, polishing off his mouthful like a hyped-up cow.
Rebecca turned her attention back to Dolores. “Thank you, that’s very kind. But I’d just as soon not talk about it.”
“I understand, I understand. I’ve lost someone I loved …” Her voice floated away as she lowered back into her chair. Her blue eyes misted, one hand rubbing a cheek. But her mourning didn’t last long. Her hands flew beside her, wringing away her melancholy. “What do I know? I’m just a silly ol’ woman, don’t mind me.”
Finally, Randy surfaced, his food submerged. “How ‘bout a piece of pie?” He offered his empty plate toward Rebecca for all the good that’d do her.
Food sounded like a good idea. Not the taste. Rebecca had no yearning for anything, almost as if her taste buds had retired. But she knew she needed the protein. And maybe a sugar rush could clear her head a little, if only temporarily.
“Don’t mind if I do.” She crossed the room toward Randy.
The swinging door flew open. A deep voice bellowed, “Hold on there, young lady. Jim Dandy to the rescue.” The tall man swept across the room, his stride nearly twice as long as Rebecca’s. With a chef’s polish, he slid a utensil into the pie plate and slapped a healthy-sized wedge onto a plate. Then he set it down, wiped his hands on his flannel shirt, and stuck his arms out.
Good grief. Rebecca’d stumbled across the world’s most huggingest people. Still, she gave in, accepting the kindness. Warmth she hadn’t felt at home. After a respectable length of time, Jim disengaged. “Here at the Dandy Drop Inn, everyone’s family.” With his solid baritone voice and full head of silver hair, Rebecca thought he could’ve once been a movie star. Every move he made leaned toward theatrical sweeping gestures; everything he said sounded like a radio announcement.
The Dandys made an interesting — albeit, delightful — looking couple. As short and lovably compact as Dolores stood, Jim had everyone in the kitchen beat by at least a head’s height, maybe more. “And as everyone knows, family’s everything,” he said.
He stared at Rebecca as if waiting for affirmation. “It is. Thank you both for having us tonight. For welcoming us.”
“Ain’t nothin’ we wouldn’t do for anyone, child,” said Dolores.
Jim leaned down behind his wife, his back cracking, and laid a tender kiss on the crown of her head.
A small part of Rebecca died; she wondered if she’d ever experience love and companionship into her senior years. This couple had managed to keep it together for a lifetime, their love so thick you could slice it like Dolores’s pie. Rebecca couldn’t even sustain a ten-year tenure. Of course, that tour of duty had been fought under battlefield conditions. But enough feeling sorry for herself
“Land of Goshen, Mother, we surely do have a full house tonight. Who woulda thought it during this storm.”
“That’s precisely why all these young folks have stopped in, Poppa. To get out of the snow.”
“Ceptin’, of course, for the nice, young newlywed couple.” He winked at Randy, his eyes sly. “And we all know what they’re up to.”
Dolores shoved an elbow back at him. “You just hush now, none of that kinda talk.” Yet a case of the giggles weakened her protests. He dropped down, their cheeks next to one another. A painting, a Norman Rockwell portrait of America, captured in a B&B kitchen. With a stubby finger, Dolores scratched beneath his chin. “Forgot to shave again, didn’t you?”
Good-naturedly, he grumbled something — part of their ritual, Rebecca imagined — then looked at Kyra. “And who do we have here? My goodness, you’re a pretty lil gal. You driving yet, sweetheart?”
As wary of strangers as Kyra can be, she immediately warmed to Jim. Other than food, the trip to her heart rode the funny bone. “I don’t drive, silly. I’m six!” She giggled, her feet kicking madly beneath the table, a sugar surge of delight. “I’m Kyra.”
“Sure had me fooled. Thought you was at least sixteen. I’m Jim, Jim Dandy. Ain’t that name a hoot-and-a-half?” He squatted behind her, his arms folded over the back of her chair.
Kyra appeared ready to burst out a comment, but still uncertain in the land of the adults. Rebecca knew what she wanted to say. With a smile, she nodded her approval.
“‘Ain’t’ isn’t proper. But your name’s funny.”
The Dandys’ laughter mushroomed through the kitchen, loud and resonant. A nice sound. “Why, Kyra, you’ve properly schooled me. I stand corrected.”
Obviously, Kyra didn’t understand everything Jim said. She switched her head back and forth between the laughing adults, her blond hair whipping her shoulders. Rebecca couldn’t control her own giggle, a wonderfully cathartic feeling.
When Randy clapped his hands sharply, it sounded like a gunshot’s report bouncing off the vaulted ceiling. The handcuffs attached to his belt loop jangled, a coda. “Welp. Gotta get back to patrol now that everyone’s all nice and snug for the evening. Thanks for the pie, Dolores.” He dropped low, giving her a quick hug. Rebecca wondered if Hilston’s favorite pastime leaned toward hugging. Although Randy favored Jim with a mere rigid handshake.
“You’re certainly welcome, Deputy. Do drop in any ol’ time.”
Randy hesitated at the kitchen doorway. “Rebecca, Kyra … nice to meet you both.” The door swung after he dodged out.
Rebecca hadn’t properly thanked Randy for his help. She darted after him, not quite wanting to say goodbye yet.
“Randy?”
“Oh.” With one foot out the door, snowflakes breezed in, alighting in his hair. As she approached, he closed the door and opened a smile; a big, handsome, cocky smile. One she couldn’t get enough of. “I forget something?”
“No, but I did.” She stepped closer, smelling mint on his breath, a clean odor. “Thanks. You know, for everything you did.” For one crazy, uninhibited second, she wanted to toss her arms around his neck and kiss him. Common sense won out. Instead, she wrung her hands like a dishwater housewife.
“Hey, my pleasure. Not often I get to help out a beautiful woman.”
Blood rushed into her cheeks. A carefree lightheadedness made her loopy. “Well, thanks again.” She meant to lean in, give him a quick peck on the cheek. He’d earned that, at least. Even if it was brash and extremely out of character for her. But at the last moment, he turned, meeting her lips with his.
Shock coursed through her. Reality yanked her back down to earth. She pushed him away. Her heart pounded as she tried to cover her shortness of breath. And parts of her absolutely sizzled, catching fire after lying dormant for so long. But it felt wrong. “Holster it, cowboy. I’m flattered. I really am. But I’m just not ready for … anything like this. Sorry.”
“Hey, don’t apologize, Rebecca. It’s all good.” He gave a nonchalant shrug.
Rebecca laughed, feeling a little duped. She knew his type, a cad, a player. Still, the attention was a welcome diversion. For the most part. “Fine, I accept your apology.”
“I didn’t apolo —”
“Then maybe you should.” Rebecca’s smile hint
ed at more than a desired apology. She had lit the match, now playing with fire. But it was time to douse it. “Okay, okay. Enough.” She swept her hair back with both hands, hoping to sweep the rush of arousal away with it. “Anyway, I’ll be out of here tomorrow. It’d be —”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that. I mean, the storm’s supposed to last ‘til Friday.” He tossed another shrug, no skin off his back.
“We’ll see. But now? I’m exhausted. Good night, Randy.” His foot stopped the door before she could close it.
Playfulness slipped into impatience. “What? Look, I’m sure your boyish charm and good looks get —”
“No, no, nothing like that.” Concern added five years to his face. Crow’s feet that hadn’t been there before creased with worry. He handed her a business card. “If you need anything … anything at all … give me a call. No matter the time.”
She accepted the card, playing a finger along the edge. His Jekyll-and-Hyde switcharoo threw her for a loop. “I’ll do that. But … why would I need to call you?” Paranoia, her old friend, just tapped her on the back. “Something you’re not telling me?”
“No, I didn’t mean it like that.” Faster than she could keep up with, he slipped back into his “aw, shucks” routine, all grins and charm signifying nothing. “Guess I just wanted you to call me.” He locked his supersized smile back into place. “Hey, you think I have boyish charm and good looks?”
“Good night, Deputy.” As he rambled through a list of his good points, she closed the door. So damned annoying. Yet kinda cute. And he knew it. Didn’t matter, though. She twirled a lock of hair around a finger, another smile dawning. A rare experience these days. Then she realized she had an audience.
Dread and Breakfast Page 5
