by Diana Palmer
There wasn’t space in her calendar to date. It was a stroke of luck if she had a spare five minutes to swipe on lipstick and mascara. Relationships, as far as she could tell, took a lot of time—and trust.
Two things she was short of.
Faith handed over a cookie and Ester took a big bite.
“Oh my.” Ester’s brows shot right over those bug-eyed sunglasses. “Viagra or not, this is the best gingerbread I’ve tasted in years. It’s even better than my recipe.” The older woman took another bite and moaned. “Have you thought about selling these?”
“I have, and I do. Here.” Again with the Vanna White move.
“Have you considered selling these at the bake sale?”
Only every year when the sign-up sheet went around. But Faith was never able to scrounge up the 300 dollars to pay the booth fee. And unless she could get her hands on one of Hermione’s Time Turners and be in two places at once, Faith didn’t have the spare time necessary to bake fifty dozen cookies.
“Maybe next year,” Faith said, more a vow to herself than to Ester.
“Why wait?” Ester clasped her hands. “I hear there’s an opening for gingerbread cookies this year.”
“But you’ve made the gingerbread cookies every year since I moved here.” They were one of her favorite parts of the holiday celebration. Buying an iced gingerbread man from Ester’s booth was first on her list of stops. They were as big as her hand, tasted like Christmas, and Faith loved to walk through town nibbling on her cookie while taking in all the holiday activities.
“The arthritis is getting to be too much these days. My granddaughter was supposed to fly in from Tuscola and help, but she’s expecting, so her husband doesn’t want her to fly.”
“Congratulations, you’re going to be a great-grandma.”
“I’m going to be out a helper, that’s what I am.” Ester looked about ready to keel over from the stress. “After tasting your gingerbread and looking at your young, strong hands, I thought that maybe you’d want to take my spot.”
Faith choked. “Take your spot? I thought you were going to ask me to help you.”
“You would be helping me. You’d bake and ice the cookies. We’d split running the booth. I’ve already done the hard part.”
“What’s the hard part?” Grinding the flour from wheat?
“You know, filling out the form. Paying the booth fee.” Ester’s forehead bunched in on itself. “I’d even cover the ingredients. You just have to do the rest.”
The rest? “The event is a little more than two weeks away!” A bead of panic grew in her belly, because Faith had barely had time to brush her teeth this morning. Where was she supposed to find those kind of baking hours?
Her immediate response was to say no. But Faith couldn’t turn her away. Ester had never judged Faith, even after her family’s role in Hearse-pocalypse, she’d been nothing but kind and caring.
Not long after that first Christmas in Sweet, Faith’s mama had met and married husband number four, Wallace Kimball, who was three years into a ten-year sentence for the third-degree felony theft of his neighbor’s milking cow. He was released on a technicality—the cow was no longer lactating, dropping its value below the $20,000 necessary to make it a felony. To celebrate, Wallace partied it up with his best pals, Jack, Johnnie, and José, then led Sweet Plain’s now-sheriff on a low-speed chase through town in Mr. Rayborn’s hearse, before crashing it into a tree.
Wallace had gone away on DUI, evading police, and grand-theft auto charges, but the Rayborns’ hearse was totaled beyond repair, leaving the couple without a way to drive their clients to the cemetery come burial day. Hope never apologized to the Rayborns for her husband’s role in the damages. Heck, she didn’t even acknowledge it, just walked around town as if the business of a long-standing family in the community hadn’t taken a huge blow.
“Between working and caring for your brother, I know you’re busier than a one-legged cat in a litter box,” Ester said. “I wouldn’t even ask, but I’m afraid I’m going to let the town down.”
Empathetic fear roiled in her stomach. Faith knew how paralyzing the anticipation of disappointing others could be. It was often the driving force behind many of her decisions. And kept her awake most nights, when the house was quiet, and she was alone but for her thoughts.
It was on one of those nights that the idea of becoming a Secret Samaritan had been born. That had been over a decade ago, and the more Faith learned about her parents’ wrongdoings, the longer her list grew.
Mr. and Mrs. Rayborn were on that list. And while baking some cookies couldn’t begin to atone for the damage her family had brought upon the Rayborns, it was a start. Faith never had a whole lot of free time over the holidays, but what better way to spend it than making Christmas cookies for a good cause?
She loved her position as a medical assistant at the hospital. Loved her patients, the staff, and the idea of caring for those who needed caring for. But she felt alive when she baked. She once read that medicine healed the body, but food from the heart could heal the soul.
“Don’t say anything yet.” Ester walked behind the counter and hugged her. “You have a couple of days to decide.”
Which Faith would use to rearrange her schedule and hopefully convince someone to trade a few shifts with her at the hospital.
“The new schedule comes out on Tuesday. I’ll let you know as soon as it’s posted.”
“You’ve always been a good girl, Faith.” Ester pulled back and gave Faith’s cheeks a pinch. “Now, how about you wrap me up six of your cookies? One for each grandkid and one for Woodrow.” Shaking her head, Ester pulled a twenty out of her clutch. “Oh, let’s make that an even dozen.”
“I’ll add one of my Peppermint Barks for Mr. Rayborn. Tell him it’s for being patient.” Faith placed the cookies in the box and was reaching for a bow to tie it closed when something caught her eye outside the diner window. Her brain couldn’t exactly determine what it was that had an unsettling wave slithering down her spine, but when a black SUV drove through the parking lot, her heart jerked to a stop.
Perhaps it was the government plates or the official emblem on the door that sounded a rusty but all-too-familiar alarm. But something had gone terribly wrong.
Faith glanced around the diner, noting the people still eating their dinners and chatting with neighbors about holiday plans. The OPEN sign in the window was still flashing, Ester was still talking, and across the street Mr. Wilkins was helping a couple load a Christmas tree into a truck. Everyone was wrapped up in their daily business while Faith’s world went dim.
Her heart turned to lead, the box of cookies slipping from her fingers and landing on its side. A dozen iced gingerbread cookies tumbled onto the floor.
“Dear, are you okay?” Ester placed a hand on Faith’s shoulder.
No. She was most definitely not okay. Because there, sitting in the back seat of Noah Tucker’s Ranger-issued SUV, placing him on the other side of the law, was her kid brother. Her sweet and honest and oh so gentle-hearted brother, who was supposed to be safe and sound at Shelby’s house riding horses and doing normal boy things, was somehow imprisoned in the back seat of a government vehicle while being escorted through town for all the world to see, as if he was like his father—
A law-breaking criminal.
Chapter Three
A painful jolt of nausea churned in Faith’s gut, the same way it used to when the local police paid her family a weekly visit. Sometimes they had a warrant. Other times it was to question her mother’s man-of-the-hour about some crime he’d likely committed. But Faith hadn’t lived under the same roof with a convict since she was sixteen.
She worked hard to be honest and straightforward, always conscious of the decisions she made, choosing her circle of friends carefully. Her standards for men were so high that she rarely dated. When the planets actually did align, exposing a sliver of free time to go on an actual date, she never brought them around Pax.
“Can you watch the cash register?” she absently mumbled to Ester as she turned and hurriedly weaved through the diner and out the front door, jingle bells ringing in her wake.
Everything around her blurred together as her focus locked on the SUV, which had come to a stop right outside the diner’s entrance. She reached the car as the driver came around to open the back-passenger door—that only opened from the outside.
A dull roar filled her ears as Pax hopped out, his backpack slung over his shoulder, a bright orange and black laser tag gun in his hand. A toy gun that matched the one his best friend was carrying. Faith had a strict no gun rule in place. Not in the house. Not on his person. Not ever
“Dear God,” she whispered the moment his blue and white sneakers hit the asphalt. She moved quickly and, when the driver didn’t restrain Pax, Faith pulled him into her arms. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” Pax said, squirming out of her embrace.
“What is this? You know the rules.” She plucked the plastic gun from Pax’s hand. “Where did you get this?”
“In the Tuckers’ basement,” Pax said, studying the cracks in the sidewalk. “Decalin got the new Battle Rifle Pro for his Countdown to Christmas present, and he and some of the other guys were playing commando at the park.”
And here Faith had been excited to find Pax a Superhero advent calendar. Behind each door was a superhero-shaped chocolate—not a 500-dollar laser gun. But Decalin was the youngest Beaumont, and that family never did anything small.
Besides donating the brand-new community center stationed in the heart of downtown, they also hosted a New Year’s Eve party that was rumored to cost in the six figures. Not that Faith had ever been invited, but she’d heard all about it from her regulars at the B-Cubed. So it wasn’t surprising that the budget for Decalin’s advent calendar surpassed most folks’ entire holiday spending.
“Decalin said it was BYOG only and”—Pax shrugged—“I don’t have one.”
That was the golden ticket item that sat at the top of his Christmas list—had been for the past two years. Faith had mixed emotions about getting him a toy gun. It had never become an issue because every time she’d come close to having the money, something would come up. Last Christmas she’d needed new tires, a week before his birthday the fridge had gone out.
Pax toed the ground. “JT said we could both share his, but . . .”
But Pax would be too embarrassed.
“I remembered there were some in the basement,” JT offered, being a good wingman. “They were my dad’s and he never uses them anymore, so I told Pax he could have one.”
Which explained why they were big, black, and incredibly realistic, instead of neon like guns the other kids had.
“Bringing them to the park was my idea,” Pax admitted.
“I thought you were supposed to be helping Mr. Tucker clean out the barn and brush the horses.” She cupped his face, checking him over.
“We did.” Again he shrugged her off. “But we finished early and Ms. Shelby wasn’t home from work yet, and JT’s dad was on the other side of the ranch, so his uncle offered to drive us to the park.”
Ignoring for a moment that JT’s uncle, the one and only Noah Tucker, was standing three feet away, looking mighty fine in a pair of faded button-flies that hugged his backside to perfection, Faith pulled her brother against her.
The moment she wrapped her arms around him, and she could feel that he was safe and unharmed, Faith finally took a breath, a deep calming breath that forced her heart back into a normal rhythm.
“Why didn’t you call?” she asked, not sure if she was still scared or spittin’ mad. “When plans change, you’re supposed to call.”
“We were only going to the park. You let me go there all the time.”
She released him enough to meet his gaze. “And I probably would have. If you had called to check in.”
“I forgot.” Pax dragged out the words, his tone implying that he thought Faith was completely overreacting. The quick glances he gave the SUV said he’d rather climb back in than suffer through one more second of sisterly PDA. Even though his limbs were free of restraints and he appeared unharmed, her panic had already grown so thick she could barely breathe.
Allowing herself a final once-over, Faith forced herself to pull it together.
And she did—only to find everyone else looking back. Pax with apology for scaring her. JT with shock because the “cool” older sister was losing it. And Noah with growing concern.
Show no fear.
Those three words had gotten Faith through a lot worse than a play gun and an unofficial ride in a cop car. She took one last deep breath and buried every speck of fear, every awful memory that had been triggered, and shoved it into her TO BE DEALT WITH: NEVER file.
“I’m sorry that I didn’t call to ask if you were all right with me driving him,” Noah offered. Faith ignored the flutters in her stomach, too warm to blame on nerves. “It won’t happen again. In fact, why don’t you give me your number for next time?”
The big, imposing idiot shot Faith a smile that awoke those Go on, I dare you dimples of his. Faith didn’t know what dare had been cast, but his gaze said it had something to do with her elf costume.
“There won’t be a next time.”
Ignoring Noah’s grin, she plucked the laser gun from Pax’s hand. “As for this. I’m okay with you playing laser tag at Ms. Shelby’s house, but running around town pretending to be commandos with real-looking guns? Never going to happen.” Had Shelby been home, Faith knew the guns would never have left the basement. “Why don’t you give this back to JT so he can store it safely in his uncle’s car? Then be sure to thank Mr. Tucker for the ride.”
“I told you,” Pax mumbled, handing his co-conspirator back the gun. “Thanks, Mr. Tucker, for giving me a ride.”
“Anytime, kiddo. But in the future, you tell me the rules,” Noah said, then reached over and ruffled Pax’s hair. “Understood?”
“Yes, sir.” Pax looked up at Noah, his smile so bright and eager to please, it broke Faith’s heart. He was starved for a permanent male figure in his world. For a strong man to take an interest in him. Shelby and Cody were so great, always inviting Pax over to help when there was “guy stuff” to be done. But doing guy stuff with someone else’s dad wasn’t the same.
“Good to hear,” Faith said. “Now why don’t you and JT go see if Mr. Wilkins needs help loading the trees while I talk to Mr. Tucker?”
“But,” Pax began, and Faith lifted a stern brow, cutting him short. His shoulders slumped with resignation. “Okay. Come on, JT. Maybe Mr. Wilkins will let us keep the tips.”
When they were gone, she swallowed the big, complicated knot of heart-stomping fear and worry, then turned—to find Noah watching her.
He didn’t look particularly worried. Then again, she hadn’t expected him to.
Guys like Noah didn’t do worry. They were too busy playing hero to be bothered with such emotions. It was evident in the way he swaggered toward her in worn cowboy boots, tossing around enough testosterone to level an all-girls’ college, like he was one wink away from tipping his Stetson and saying, “Howdy, ma’am.”
“I really am sorry about all this,” Noah said softly. “I was about to leave for the hardware store when Shelby called saying she was going to be late, so I offered the boys a ride. They went to the store with me, seemed to have fun looking at all the tools.”
Pax loved tools. Loved building things with his hands. Faith had been thinking about getting him his own little tool kit for Christmas. A hammer and wrench didn’t kick her paranoia into overdrive like a gun—plastic or real.
“I’m okay with you driving him, but not in the back of your squad car,” she said, ignoring how big and imposing a person he was. “Would you put your nephew in the back like a criminal?”
“I would never think that, because they’re eleven.” His voice was warm. “JT normally sits up front because he’s been cleared in the system for ride-alongs and is a Junior Ranger. If Pax wanted to sit up front, I would have let him. But he asked, repeatedly, to sit in the back.”
“Did you wonder why he wanted to sit in the back?” Faith asked quietly.
Noah stopped, his expression turning serious. “I guessed it was because we only just met and sitting next to your buddy’s uncle is weird.”
What he said made sense. Maybe it was her own insecurities and experiences coming into play, but she’d worked hard so that Pax wouldn’t have to overcome the same familial prejudices as she had.
“You know how small towns work,” she said quietly, because she certainly did. The good, the bad, and the ugly. “All it takes is one person to mistake why he’s in the back of your squad car and come Monday everyone will be speculating on why Pax was arrested.”
“Honestly, I didn’t really think of it like that,” he said slowly as if he was reconsidering his decision. “And if there is any way I can make this right, let me know.”
“Anything?”
She hadn’t meant it as sexual, but his grin said he’d taken it that way. “You name it.”
Faith rolled her eyes all the way up to the clouds before meeting his gaze. “Can I get back to you?”
“Yes, as long as you stop calling it a squad car. There’s a lot of differences between my SUV and a patrol car, one of the main ones being that there’s no barrier between the front and back seat.”
“It still looks scary.”
He lowered his voice. “He had a good time, Faith. They laughed the entire way, got a free candy cane at the store, and I may have let them flash the lights. But only when we were on my family’s property, so no laws were broken.”
“I know. It’s just . . .” She trailed off, suddenly feeling embarrassed by the way she’d reacted to the situation. She would never admit it aloud, but maybe she had over-egged the pudding on this one.
