She smiled up at him, and he couldn’t help himself, even with the boys in the back seat.
He leaned down and kissed her. He knew he couldn’t linger. But the kiss was long enough to remind her of his feelings. And his intentions.
Her emotions were ragged right now. He didn’t want to take advantage of that, but seeing his parents laughing together and hearing his father talk about his repaired heart drove home Lorenzo’s point that God numbers days. Not people.
That was a lesson he needed to embrace. “See you tomorrow.” He whispered the words against her lips. She smiled.
“Except you’ve got the apple festival and then the Patriot’s Day dinner, so you won’t see me tomorrow.”
“Oh, Ms. Alero.” This time it was him smiling against her face. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way. And I promise you...” He kissed her one last time before he reluctantly pulled away. “Where you’re concerned, there is a will.”
He smiled.
She smiled back.
And Tug Moyer was pretty sure he was the most fortunate man in the world. Again.
* * *
Tug’s campaign folks had rigged out his booth at the apple festival in the red, white and blue he’d used to define his campaign. He’d gone into this race as the favorite. He was a known entity in Central Washington. A law-and-order guy. He’d built his life and his reputation on that.
Ross Converse was an unknown in Grant County, and his former police force had been the target of several investigations over the years, two of which ended in indictments. The indictments weren’t laid at Converse’s feet, but the folks in rural Washington expected the guy in charge to be in charge, and believed in a “buck stops here” kind of mentality.
Tug had another leg up.
This was his town. His county. He belonged here. He’d never wanted anything else, and now God had sent a wonderful woman to him. He hadn’t been looking, and despite Evangeline’s efforts, he hadn’t intended on looking. In the end, Tug Moyer was falling in love.
“So here’s our schedule.” Jean Dillinger ended his musings when she met him at the booth. She’d used her no-nonsense, straight-to-the-heart style to run his campaign since midsummer, and he appreciated her expertise. “Three hours here, possible run-over with the nice weather if the afternoon gets the expected turnout,” she told him. “Which means not much more than a quick coffee between this and the Patriot dinner at the hotel. You’re expected to give a five-minute address...”
“My favorite kind, short and sweet,” he assured her, and she smiled.
“Short enough you can be off-the-cuff, and then a fifteen-minute question-and-answer period. Then dinner, where you will no doubt be approached by several people wanting you to support their causes, most of which are good solid things that’ll allow you easy answers.”
The Patriot Society had started small but now had over four hundred members and the support of many major local businesses. “I end the day with great food and nice people. Can’t argue with that. But I will be glad when this is over, Jean.”
She punched him on the arm. “Winning horses don’t fade in the homestretch, Tug. This is a campaign, not a war, so muster up.”
“I hate when you’re right.” He frowned at her. She responded with a knowing smile.
“Which is ninety-eight percent of the time. Folks are heading this way. Go get ’em, Sheriff.”
The next time he checked his watch, over two hours had gone by.
He turned as a new group of people came his way, and when he recognized them, he grinned.
“Copper Guy!” Jeremy raced ahead of Christa and launched himself into Tug’s arms. “We came to see you and get some apples and stuff. And they have a pony wagon, and Auntie Christa said we could go on it and take a ride and it goes around the whole town. Like this much!” He splayed his hands wide. “I have never been on a wagon ride in my whole life! And Nathan is coming, too, but Vangie was going to a friend’s house, so it’s just Nathan with us.”
And then he flung his arms around Tug’s neck and gave him the very best hug as Nathan and Christa drew closer.
He caught Christa’s eye over the preschooler’s shoulder. She’d tucked Jonah into a stroller, and looked the image of a happy young mother, despite the drama surrounding the small boy in front of her.
She smiled up at him, then began humming a song about heroes.
He didn’t consider himself a hero. Just a good cop, doing his job, but he loved the boy’s affection. He grinned back at her. “All in a day’s work, ma’am.”
“Then it was a very good day’s work,” she replied. “We thought it would be fun to come to the festival and see all the things.”
“I’m stuck here or I’d happily wander around with you,” he told her. He swept a quick look over the busy town park. “Three kids at a busy festival isn’t a cakewalk.”
“Did you just say that to an elementary schoolteacher who shepherds twenty-three children every day? Trust me, Copper Guy.” She rolled her eyes at his assertion. “This gig is a cakewalk.”
“I stand corrected.” His smile deepened. When other people began pressing in, he had to set Jeremy down. “I’ll see you later, okay?”
“’Kay.” Jeremy hugged him one more time. Then Nathan hugged him, and he couldn’t let them go without bending down to hug Jonah.
He wanted to hug Christa, too. He wanted the right to hug her in public, to hold her hand, to court her the way a woman should be wooed. How ironic that with all the cards, gifts and letters that had been inspired by Vangie’s internet posting, God had put the right person here, in Golden Grove.
He couldn’t help but smile at her. She must have read the intent in his eye because she took a firm step back with the stroller. “We’ll let you get on with your day while we go take that wagon ride.”
“Wish I could take it with you.”
“Another time. And yes.” She winked at him when no one could see. “That would be very nice.”
The wink made him grin, and when he got to the more formal dinner two hours later, he couldn’t get over the joy he’d felt at seeing her and the kids at the festival. It took effort to drive across the county, park at the school, maneuver kids, take the shuttle to the festival site, then repeat the process later.
She’d done it. And she’d brought Nathan along. As a single dad, he appreciated the work involved.
He walked into the dinner a happy man and stayed that way through his short address. Then the question-and-answer period came, and what had been a happy day changed after one question.
“Deputy, are you aware that your girlfriend had felony charges leveled against her in Sinclair, California, and if you are aware of this, how do you qualify your run for the sheriff’s office by dating an ex-con?”
Tug stared at the man.
The hotel’s conference room was filled to capacity. He heard the question, but couldn’t believe he’d actually heard it at all. “Excuse me?”
“You’re dating Christa Alero, is that correct?”
His heart beat a little louder and stronger in his chest. “Ms. Alero is a good friend of mine.” The lameness of his answer surprised him, because Christa was more than a friend. At least he wanted her to be more than a friend. Way more. But he hadn’t come to this dinner prepared to answer questions about her because it wasn’t like they’d ever dated.
“And you’re aware that your friend—” the man made quote marks with two fingers from each hand “—has a criminal record back in Sinclair?”
His mouth went dry.
His hands gripped the microphone tighter. Too tight, because the strong grip made his arm shake. His pulse spiked, making the whole thing almost surreal. “As a deputy sheriff, let me say that I make it a point not to delve into people’s pasts beyond a certain point.”
“So the idea of your girlfriend
being an ex-con shouldn’t be an issue for voters?”
He was blindsided, and it showed, and he knew at that moment that Converse’s people wanted it to show. They’d planted someone here to ask the question, create last-minute negative headlines. But—and this was the hardest thing of all—they wouldn’t have done this so blatantly and openly if there wasn’t something to back it up. Something that Christa chose not to tell him. Something she’d kept hidden from him, and maybe from the school board, as well.
His throat was tight. His hands went numb.
He didn’t let either physical reaction affect him. He turned the tables on the reporter. “What’s your name, sir?”
“Don Malich.”
“First, Mr. Malich, I’m not sure what you’re referring to. I think that’s obvious. Second, I’ll be sure to check it out, but I have to wonder what lengths you went to in order to surprise me with this question?”
All eyes turned to Don Malich, and it was clear that the man hadn’t expected to be put on the defensive. He’d figured this would go down the other way around, but Tug had been fighting crime for a long time. He understood his way around a football field...and an interrogation room. The best defense was an unshakable offense.
“Be assured that if any laws were broken, hedged or bent in order for you to become privy to this information, or anyone you’re connected with, it will come back on you. And until I know more, that’s all I have to say on that subject. Next question?”
Malich left quickly, scurrying out the upper door like a rabbit on the run. His actions almost said more than his words, but his words had said plenty. He’d been put in place as a device, but there was no way he wanted to be taken down with Converse’s team.
Tug answered another ten minutes of questions.
He did it because he’d given his word, yet in the back of his mind, all he kept thinking of was Christa. The sadness. The regret he’d read as if it was old news. A regret he understood, but he’d never skated on the wrong side of the law.
Had she?
He went straight home after the dinner. He didn’t want to charge into her rental home in his current state of mind with accusations. He’d approach her in the morning, after church. But the next day, when he brought in the morning paper, there was a front-page article beneath a photo of him and Christa in the parking lot of the school beside her car. It had been taken on Friday, when he had his arm braced along her car behind her. He was looking down and she was gazing up at him with an expression that made his pulse quicken all over again.
Below the picture was a headline: Sheriff Candidate Dating Former Felon?
Renzo had warned him when the paper had come out with the article suggesting he’d put Vangie up to her video shenanigans. He’d hinted that the local paper was willing to play favorites and Tug had shrugged it off.
He should have listened because the timing of this couldn’t be denied. Here was an article about him in the Sunday paper, the most read paper of the week in Grant County, with the election coming up on Tuesday.
And twenty-four hours after making mental plans for a happily-ever-after, he had to confront the woman he was falling in love with and find out what had happened in Sinclair.
Judging by the article, he wasn’t going to like it.
Chapter Fourteen
Christa hurried the boys toward the white-spired church on Sunday morning. She crossed the street alongside the pharmacy, glanced down and stopped in her tracks when she spotted the bold-faced headline fronting the Sunday paper.
Sheriff Candidate Dating Former Felon?
She tried to swallow as realization broadsided her.
She couldn’t because the secret she’d tried so hard to hide was laid out for everyone to see.
Her gut went tight as her heart sped up.
“Are we going in?” Jeremy tugged her hand toward the pretty church. They’d parked in the small municipal lot like so many others. Folks were passing them, hurrying up the walk, not wanting to be late for the service.
Should she go in and face people head-on or quietly walk away? Had they all read the paper this morning? And what exactly did it say?
Her chest clenched.
The chime of church bells began, a Golden Grove tradition seven days of the week. A sweet sound, beckoning folks to gather, but what would they think? What did they know?
She didn’t want to buy the paper from the sidewalk box, but she didn’t want to be in the dark, either. She slipped her card into the machine and it shuffled a paper into the basket below.
She couldn’t read it here.
She tucked the paper under her arm and turned.
“We’re not going?” Jeremy wasn’t a big fan of sitting in church, but he whirled back toward the sidewalk. “I want to see my friend. We always see my friend here.”
She wasn’t sure if he meant Tug or Nathan, but it didn’t matter. Gathering her wits was all that mattered at the moment, and then figuring out what to do. Two months ago, she’d been on top of the world. A new town, a new job, a place filled with hope.
The headline glared accusingly from another stand outside the small grocery as she crossed to the other side of the street.
Eyes down, she didn’t look around as she took the boys back to the parking lot.
“Can’t we just go like we’re asposed to?” Jeremy begged. “You know we’re asposed to go, Auntie Christa.”
She couldn’t bring herself to correct his speech. Or to answer, because if she did, she’d cry, and that would worry the boy needlessly.
She tucked Jonah into his car seat, then checked Jeremy’s clasps once he’d buckled into his own.
She didn’t want to think about the repercussions because she couldn’t imagine them.
All she could see was the glare of that headline and the loss of what she’d worked so hard for. Multiple degrees, a good résumé, great recommendations and a solid job, right where she wanted to be. Now it would probably all come tumbling down around her.
You could have been honest from the beginning. Honesty is the best policy. What were you thinking?
She believed that, normally, but she’d also trusted a system that said her records were sealed.
Jubilee’s words came back to her. How the official records were sealed, but that folks could examine old evidence and often put two and two together.
How could she face Tug?
Regret threatened to overtake her. She gripped the steering wheel with both hands, but it wasn’t hard enough to calm the shaking.
“What’s wrong?”
She glanced up, into the rearview mirror. Concerned big brown eyes met hers. “Does your tummy hurt, Auntie Christa?”
She nodded.
It wasn’t a full-on lie because her gut did ache. Along with everything else.
She reached the house a few minutes later, and when the boys were busy playing with the interlocking blocks Darla had found in her attic, Christa pulled out the newspaper. She’d just read the article when her phone rang. Jubilee Samson’s number appeared in the display. She seized the phone quickly. “You saw the paper.”
“Just now. I came back from early service at my church and there it was. Christa, how did they get this? Has anyone interviewed you? Or asked you about it?”
“No,” she replied, but then she remembered the missed call from yesterday morning. “Someone from the paper called yesterday but I couldn’t take the call. I assumed they wanted me to subscribe or something. I never thought anything of it, but that must be why they said I didn’t answer their calls.”
Another shot of dismay coursed through her. Could she have prevented this if she’d answered the phone? Or would that have made things worse?
“They’ve put their own spin on it,” noted Jubilee, “and the new owner of the paper has a different mind-set than most folks here, but this goes
further than I would have expected.”
“What does this mean for me and the boys? Or at least Jeremy, if Jonah’s father takes him away,” Christa whispered so the boys wouldn’t overhear her side of the conversation. “Does this mean I’ll lose Jeremy, too?”
Jubilee didn’t offer false hope. “I can’t predict how things will go, Christa, but they’re pulling a rotten deal. It’s clear they didn’t get their hands on the sealed records, but they found enough people to talk and put the story together. This is horrible.”
She’d already lost Marta and her mother. Now the ramifications of a stupid adolescent mistake could make her lose the boys.
“You sit tight and pray,” Jubilee instructed her. “I know this looks dark, but that’s often the case right before the dawn. I’ll work on my end after the offices open up tomorrow and see what happens then. There’s legal stuff and there’s moral stuff, and between the two, I don’t intend to lose Jeremy’s chance at being with an aunt who loves him. I might not be able to promise the outcome, but I can promise you I won’t leave a stone unturned to make sure we get the best possible chance at having a judge agree with us.”
“Thank you, Jubilee. You’re a voice of calm and reason and that’s what I need right now.”
“You stay quiet and don’t let anybody intimidate you,” Jubilee told her. “Sealed is sealed and they don’t need to know anything else. For the moment, silence is golden.”
Christa set down the phone, sure this couldn’t get worse as Tug Moyer’s SUV rolled into the driveway.
But from the grim expression on his normally kind, friendly face, she was pretty sure things had just gotten a whole lot worse.
Chapter Fifteen
Tug parked his SUV next to Christa’s worn car. He’d looked for her in church, wondering what he could say. What he should say. Then he figured out why she wasn’t there when a member of the congregation shoved the Sunday paper at him after the closing hymn. Now it wasn’t a few hundred people at last night’s dinner who knew what was going on. It was the whole county.
Learning to Trust Page 14
