The Sheriff’s Christmas Surprise Read online

She dealt better with adversity and challenges than with kindness. Kindness threatened to undo the barriers she’d worked so hard to construct around herself. Threatened to make her vulnerable. He was offering something that went above and beyond the call of duty.

  She tried to give the card back. “Thank you,” she said stiffly. “But I won’t need it.”

  “Take it anyway,” he urged. He surprised her by placing his hand over hers and urging her fingers to close around the card. “You never know.”

  “But I do,” she contradicted. “I know my limits and my capabilities and I’m perfectly capable of finding this particular needle in the haystack.” Again she held the card out to him.

  But he wouldn’t take it back. “Humor me.”

  She sighed softly and, because he was so close to her, he felt a little of her breath against his cheek.

  The reaction was automatic.

  His gut tightened in response. Accompanied by an unnerving tingle.

  “All right,” she murmured. “If it makes you feel better—”

  “It does,” he assured her. A beat later, an easy smile underscored his words.

  Olivia placed the card on the dashboard of her immaculate Mercedes and got in behind the wheel.

  “Thanks again,” she said, shutting the driver’s side door. Placing her key into the ignition, she turned it.

  And heard absolutely nothing.

  Frowning, she repeated the process.

  With the exact same results.

  Her frowned deepened. Olivia removed the key and then reinserted it in the ignition, hoping that the third time would be the charm.

  It wasn’t.

  This time, however, there was a small whimper coming from what sounded like the front end of her car. When she tried turning the ignition on for a fourth time, the small whimper suddenly turned into the very grating sound of metal on metal, and from every indication, neither piece of metal was faring very well in this screeching, unexpected confrontation.

  The last go-round had set Rick’s teeth on edge. It was infinitely worse than nails being dragged along a chalkboard. He squatted down so that he was level with the open window on the driver’s side and asked mildly, “Problem?”

  Frustrated, Olivia pressed her lips together. The man knew damn well there was a problem. A problem she couldn’t fix. All she knew about cars was where to put the gas. She was willing to bet that men around this area were born with a torque wrench in one hand and a can of motor oil in the other.

  With effort, she forced herself to sound civil and not stressed out. “It seems that way.”

  She didn’t have time for this. Every moment she wasted here was a moment that—God forbid—she might not have with Tina.

  Though she hated resorting to this, Olivia raised her eyes innocently to his and asked in the most helpless female voice she could muster, “Can you fix it?”

  The question amused him. He wondered if the big-city attorney just assumed he could lay hands on the hood and bring it back from the dead.

  “Depends on what ‘it’ is,” he told her. “Pop the hood.”

  “All right,” she said gamely, then looked around for an icon on the dashboard that would point her in the right direction. There wasn’t any. Though it bothered her to admit ignorance, if she sat there any longer, the sheriff would figure it out on his own. “And how do I do that?”

  He congratulated himself on not laughing. “Here, let me pop it for you,” he offered.

  She slid out and he slid in, taking her place. The seat felt pleasingly warm against the back of his legs, the warmth working its way through the fabric of his uniform. He did his best not to dwell on that, or on the woman who had warmed the seat with her own.

  Finding the hood release on the lower left side of the dashboard, just below the steering column, Rick pulled the handle up. The hood made a slight rumbling noise as if it were attempting to separate itself from the rest of the car. Satisfied, Rick got out again.

  He raised the hood and looked down into the belly of the car. Doing so yielded no insight for him. There was no telltale smoke rising up, no cracks that he could readily see. A quick check of the dipstick told him that at least her oil was full and running clean. He let the hood drop back into place, then pushed it down so that the latch would catch.

  “Well?” Olivia pressed impatiently. “Do you think you can fix it?”

  He shook his head. “I’m afraid this is a job for the mechanic.”

  “All right,” she said. Hands resting on her hips, she looked around for a garage with the appropriate sign hanging out front. She didn’t see one, but that only meant that this mechanic the sheriff was referring to had to be located in the heart of this postage-stamp-size town. “Where is he?”

  “Fishing.”

  “Fishing?” she echoed incredulously. This was becoming a nightmare.

  “That’s what I said,” he answered easily. Taking out his handkerchief, he swiftly wiped his hands, then tucked the handkerchief back in his pocket.

  “And he’s the only mechanic around here?” she questioned.

  “Only one we’ve got. He should be back Monday,” he assured her.

  “Monday?” Olivia rolled her eyes. “What am I supposed to do until Monday?” She had hoped that everything would be resolved by Monday. That Tina and the baby would be back home and she could be where she belonged. At the firm. “How am I supposed to get to Tina if he doesn’t come back until Monday?”

  He was as laid-back as she was frazzled. “We could go back to my original suggestion,” he said in an even, unhurried voice. “I could take you up to Pine Ridge myself.”

  There was that, she supposed. But she hated being in anyone’s debt, no matter what that debt was. If you were in debt, they could call it in at any time, collect at any time. She didn’t like what that implied. Constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop wasn’t the way she wanted to live her life.

  But in this case, she didn’t appear to have a choice. Not if she wanted to be there for Tina—and to see with her own eyes that her sister was really all right.

  So she nodded, none too happily. “I guess I don’t have any choice.”

  “No,” he contradicted, “you have a choice. You could wait here until Mick comes back on Monday.”

  With her luck, the mechanic would fall off the fishing boat and drown. But she had another idea, a better idea than having the sheriff as her chauffeur. “Is there anywhere around here where I could rent a car?”

  He shot down her hopes with a single word. “Nope. No reason to have one of those. Everyone’s got their own car around here.”

  “Whether it’s running or not,” Olivia muttered under her breath in disgust. She took a breath and tried to put her best face on. “If the offer’s still open, I’d like to take you up on it.” God, she thought, it almost sounded as if she was begging.

  “The offer never closed,” he said mildly.

  Apparently tired of playing a passive part and watching through the window, Miss Joan opened the door and walked out of the diner. She stood on the first step, a force to be reckoned with.

  “You two can leave the baby with me,” she called. “This way, you won’t have to be stopping every half hour or so to feed him, or change him, or to keep him from crying.”

  Stunned, Olivia glanced from the owner of the diner to the sheriff. “How did she—”

  “Miss Joan reads lips,” Rick explained, clearing up the mystery. “Her parents were both deaf and she wanted to be able to relate to them, see what life was like for them with their challenges.”

  “No law against readin’ people’s lips,” Miss Joan said cheerfully. She crossed to the Mercedes and looked into the back, where the baby was still strapped into his infant seat. “It’s not like invadin’ their privacy and readin’ their mail,” she added with a toss of her head, her bright red hair bouncing about.

  “Oh, but it is if they’re talking in low voices and have a reasonable expectation of privacy,�
� Olivia countered deliberately.

  Miss Joan stopped and awarded her with a long, sweeping look. Olivia felt as if she was being x-rayed. “I forgot, you’re one of those lawyer types.” The older woman definitely didn’t seem impressed.

  Startled, Olivia looked at the sheriff. He had obviously told her. When had he had the opportunity to talk to the diner owner about what she did for a living? And what else had he said to the old crone?

  As if reading her mind, Rick raised his hands, fingers spread, shoulder level, a man surrendering before the shooting started.

  “Don’t look at me. Miss Joan has this knack of just knowing things.” He smiled at the older woman fondly. “There’s some talk that she might be a bit clairvoyant.” He said it to humor Miss Joan, not because he believed it for a minute.

  She would have opted for the woman being a witch, Olivia thought darkly. Or, more likely, someone who eavesdropped a lot. Whatever the explanation, she didn’t like the woman presuming things and just taking over. She liked the idea of leaving her nephew with a stranger even less, especially since she’d come so close to losing him. She was having a real problem with the idea of letting him out of her sight.

  Miss Joan had already removed all the straps and freed Bobby from his seat. Taking him into her arms, she was cooing something unintelligible to the little boy and Olivia could have sworn he was giggling. That was gas, correct? she thought.

  “She’s right,” Rick was saying. “We can make better time without bringing your nephew along.” The way he saw it, the boy would be better off in one place. “And he couldn’t be in better hands than Miss Joan’s.”

  How did she really know that? Olivia wondered. She just had the sheriff’s word for it. He was a stranger to her. For all she knew, he could be a serial killer. The diner owner could be one as well. Experts were only now discovering that there were a lot more women serial killers than they had initially believed.

  Stop it, she silently shouted at herself. You’re making yourself crazy. For once in your life, take something at face value and be done with it. Graciously accept the woman’s offer. You’ll be back soon enough to pick up the boy. What are they going to do, sell him into a white slavery ring before you get back?

  Olivia set her mouth grimly. She had no choice, really. If she took Bobby along, she knew the sheriff was right. Bobby would slow them down and she had this uneasy feeling—most likely paranoia, but it was there nonetheless—that she really didn’t have time to waste. She needed to get to Tina’s bedside as soon as possible. And, with any luck, get to the bottom of why her sister had left Bobby on the sheriff’s doorstep. There had to be a reason, she silently argued. Tina wasn’t that much of a flake. She absolutely refused to believe that she was.

  So, summoning her best courtroom smile, the one she flashed to telegraph confidence to the people sitting in the jury box, Olivia looked at the diner owner and said to the older woman, “Thank you, Miss Joan. I appreciate the help.”

  Miss Joan chuckled knowingly as she cuddled the baby against her. “You don’t right now, but you will. In time.”

  Olivia had no idea what the woman meant by that, but she had a feeling that she might regret asking for an explanation, especially given the condition of her nerves. So she merely nodded and let the comment pass, chalking it up to something that only another native of Forever would understand.

  Chapter Six

  As she opened the passenger-side door and started to get into the sheriff’s car, Olivia stopped and looked over her shoulder at her own car. The sports car appeared completely out of place beside the other vehicles, like a debutante who had unwittingly wandered into a soup kitchen.

  She glared uncertainly at the sheriff. “Um, is it all right to just leave my car in front of the diner like that?”

  The sheriff smiled and Olivia instantly felt her back going up. Was he laughing at her, or at the question? Either way, she felt foolish.

  “If you’re asking me if anyone’s going to strip your car for all those pretty little parts it has, no, they’re not. We tend to respect property around here. Besides, Miss Joan’s got a dog, Bruiser. Big dog,” he added. “Just the thought of Miss Joan letting him loose keeps those with a little larceny in their hearts on the straight and narrow. I wouldn’t worry if I were you,” he assured her.

  Rick got in, put his seat belt on and suppressed a sigh. Olivia was still standing outside the passenger side. Had she changed her mind about going?

  He leaned over to the right so that his voice would project better. “Something wrong?”

  Olivia unconsciously bit her lower lip. Something new to worry about, she thought. She peered into the car and asked, “Is it safe to leave Bobby here with that dog around?”

  Hindsight told him that maybe he shouldn’t have mentioned Bruiser. The lumbering, part Labrador, part German shepherd and all puppy despite his advancing age, was exceeding gentle around children, as if he instinctively knew that he could accidentally hurt them if he wasn’t careful.

  “Bruiser’s a lovable lamb when it comes to kids,” Rick assured her. “Miss Joan has to yell, ‘Go get ’em’ for Bruiser to go after someone. And even when he ‘gets’ them, he doesn’t hurt them—much,” he couldn’t resist adding with a grin. “Then he has gone after someone?” Olivia asked uneasily, looking back at the diner.

  “So legend has it,” he replied patiently. “It was a trucker, passing through. Didn’t think he had to pay for his supper. Bruiser made him change his mind. And it was just the one incident. But that was enough to put the fear of God into any would-be thief.” That was the point of the whole story. “Your car’s safe. And so’s your nephew.”

  Trying to put a lid on her uneasiness, Olivia slowly sank down onto the passenger seat. She didn’t bother with the seat belt. Rick waited, leaving the key in the ignition, untouched. After a beat, she realized he was waiting for her to buckle up, which she did. With a nod of approval, he turned on the ignition.

  She felt testy and argumentative and annoyed with herself for being that way, but she couldn’t help it. “Tell me, if this place is so law-abiding, why does it need a sheriff?”

  Rick laughed quietly under his breath. In private, there’d been times he’d asked himself the same question. The short answer was that it made the people in town feel safe to know someone official was looking out for them.

  Out loud, he said, “To make sure Miss Irene isn’t sleepwalking through the middle of town at midnight, or thereabout, in her nightgown. Or worse, driving while she’s asleep. And there’s the occasional drunk who needs to be locked up for the night for his own good.”

  “Is Miss Irene Miss Joan’s sister?” she asked. Just how polite were these people? If she lived here, would she automatically become Miss Olivia?

  And why the hell was she thinking about that? She’d rather be marooned on a desert island than live in a place like this.

  “The term’s a sign of respect for ladies who’ve seen close to seventy years or so,” Rick answered, turning the vehicle toward the right.

  Olivia’s lips pulled into a thoughtful frown. For all intents and purposes, it sounded as if she’d fallen, head-first, into an old Andy Griffith Show rerun. Places like this didn’t really exist, did they? Was Forever really this simple, this uncomplicated, full of kind souls, or was it just a veneer under which was a cauldron of bubbling darkness, of secrets that were eventually going to erupt?

  Since she wasn’t saying anything, Rick glanced in her direction and saw the frown. In his opinion, he hadn’t said anything that was frown-worthy.

  “What?” he asked.

  “I was just wondering about what you said. About guiding old women in their nightclothes back to their homes and locking up the occasional drunk for his own good.” She looked at him, trying to get a handle on the man beside her. He didn’t appear to be particularly sleepy eyed. What was he doing in a place like this? “Is that enough for you?”

  She knew that it certainly wouldn’t have bee
n enough for her. The description he’d given her sounded downright boring and, if nothing else, he appeared to be a very vital man in the prime of his life. Didn’t he want to achieve something? Make something of himself?

  Her question rang in his head. No, it wasn’t enough for him. Which was why, he thought, he’d sent in the application to the Dallas police department. Because he kept thinking there had to be something more.

  But the topic was personal as far as he was concerned and she was a stranger, albeit a hell of a sexy one. He didn’t share personal feelings with strangers—not without a good reason, at any rate.

  “It was,” Rick said evasively.

  Olivia was quick to pick up on the keyword. “Was,” she repeated. She studied his profile. “But it’s not anymore?”

  He turned down another street. “I thought you said you were a lawyer.”

  “I am.”

  Olivia noticed that when he took information in, he nodded. Like now. “Do the lawyers from where you come from dabble in psychology as well?”

  She responded to the question with a laugh and a careless shrug. “Sheriff, we all dabble in psychology, whether we realize it or not. You do,” she pointed out, turning the tables on him.

  “Me?” he asked a tad too innocently.

  The sheriff’s tone told her all she needed to know. That not only was he aware of using psychology, but that he thought he already had her pegged.

  Not by a long shot, Sheriff.

  Most men she ran into these days thought they had her pegged. In her company only for a few minutes and they began to assume she was ambitious to the point of being driven. They didn’t realize that ambition had nothing to do with it. She was carving out a place for herself at the firm for one reason and one reason only.

  Security.

  She’d had to take care of herself and Tina for all these years. And now there was another little mouth to feed—and to send off to college someday. That took more and more money—money that, it had sadly been proved over and over again, didn’t grow on trees. Money that was only generated—if she was lucky—by the sweat of a hardworking brow.