Kiss Me, Sheriff!

by Wendy Warren

  “We all do,” Patty enthused.

  In the glare of the sensor light above the Mosers’ garage, it was easy to see the amused quirk of Willa’s lips.

  “Thank you,” Derek replied, “it’s nice to be appreciated.”

  “Come inside for a cinnamon roll,” Patty urged. “It’ll only take a minute in the toaster oven.”

  “You all go ahead and go inside now, folks,” Derek nodded toward the house. “I’ll walk Ms. Holmes to the bakery. It’s too dark to be out alone.” He took Willa’s arm as the party moved indoors.

  Derek escorted her up the block. Once they’d cleared a couple of houses, she asked curiously, “Have you been spying on me, Sheriff?”

  “Spying?”

  “Yeah. It’s the word we non–law enforcement folks use for sneaking around, watching people without their knowledge.” Stopping, she turned toward him in the dark, barely reaching his chin. “Why have you been doing it?”

  Chapter Five

  “I haven’t been spying on you, Willa. Spying implies looking for information. That’s not what I was doing.”

  Without touching her again, Derek crossed the street toward the park, listening for the sound of her rubber-soled clogs following him. He stopped when he reached the bench where she sat so patiently every morning.

  Patience was not the feeling that exuded from her now. Below the rim of her knitted hat, her auburn brows—so silky and perfect they looked like a child’s—drew together in a troubled pucker.

  Desire punched him in the gut. And upside the head. His whole life he’d waited for the feeling he got when he looked at Willa, was near Willa, thought about Willa. It was a feeling of hope so broad and deep that it set his imagination on fire. He saw them together, bodies tangled, hearts beating in time. He pictured living in a home instead of a house, lifting a laughing child who looked like her over his head. He could imagine for the first time quenching his soul-deep thirst.

  And now he understood, finally, that it was just a mirage.

  “You feed stray cats,” he said, his voice hoarse.

  She looked at him, perplexed. “So?”

  “You deliver food to lonely insomniacs.”

  Willa blinked owlishly. “How long have you been following me?”

  “Since the week the bakery opened. I was on patrol the first time I saw you walking through town. I know you work early, but two-thirty, three in the morning? No one should be out wandering the streets. I don’t care how safe or quaint or backward you think this town is.”

  “I lived in Los Angeles, Sheriff. I’ve taken self-defense classes, and I carry pepper spray. I can take care of myself.”

  He nodded. “Glad to hear it. But Thunder Ridge is mine to protect.” May as well get that out of the way. She could liken him to a TV character if she wanted, but that wasn’t going to change who he was. “Mine to watch over.”

  “So you followed me that morning. And you’ve been following me ever since?”

  He nodded.

  “Even when you’re not on duty?”

  Hands in his pockets, he stared over her head. How much should he say? Did it matter? He wasn’t trying to “win” her anymore. “I like a puzzle.” Lowering his gaze to her face, he added, “Here’s one I’ve been trying to solve. A beautiful woman, generous and kind, wants to be left alone, but reaches out to widows and spends hours coaxing scrawny feral cats to come to her so she can feed them. She doesn’t ask anything from anyone. In fact, when you reach out to her, she takes flight like a wild bird.”

  Under the dim street lamp, he caught her wince. “You’re trying to analyze me.”

  Nodding, Derek just barely refrained from touching the soft auburn waves that flowed from beneath the wool cap to caress her shoulders. “True. And, really, I should be analyzing myself. Why can’t I stop thinking about you?”

  The space between them buzzed and crackled like water on a hot skillet. She could have walked away then, but didn’t. Derek knew that after tonight he would discipline his mind to think of anything but the woman in front of him. He would force himself to accept that she would never be his, but in these final moments of longing, he wanted one—just one—taste of the heaven he’d hoped for.

  Suddenly, there was less space between them. One hand left his jacket pocket and touched the back of her head, the knitted hat rough and nubby, the auburn hair soft as a dove.

  Remember it all, he told himself, knowing he wouldn’t fall this hard again for a long, long time.

  Willa’s lips parted, and her breath escaped in a wintery puff. He could see her white, even teeth and wished not for the first time that he’d been able to make her smile or laugh more often.

  “Who have you loved?”

  He realized he spoke the question out loud when her eyes, misty gray and achingly beautiful, filled with tears.

  “Don’t,” he whispered, not wanting to be the cause of her pain, remembered or otherwise. Raising his free hand, he thumbed away the first tear that fell, and a force as powerful as gravity gripped him. It was the pull of the moon, heaven reaching down to earth.

  Just this once...

  Her mouth was warm and sweet beneath his. He meant to stop at just the barest touch of lips, but desire fired his veins when she leaned into him. One hand cupped her jaw, the other the back of her head. He let his kiss communicate what he hadn’t been able to say up to now.

  He kissed the corner of her mouth, inhaled her scent, nuzzled her jaw. She let him. Her skin was like silk.

  “Sorry, I didn’t shave,” he murmured. Sometimes before he arose to watch over her solitary walk through town, he would shave to be ready for the day ahead. He’d tossed and turned so much last night, however, that this morning he hadn’t had time. “Too rough?”

  In lieu of answering, she sought his lips again, and his body felt as if it were expanding to fill all of Thunder Ridge. Light as a butterfly, her hands settled atop his chest as she kissed him. He could tell when she began to surrender to the heat and the need, but then he realized something: while he was finding himself in their kiss, Willa, he sensed, was trying to lose herself, to lose for a moment the pain she refused to discuss.

  Disappointment began to dull some of his lust. With one gentle, final kiss, he drew back. She seemed dazed. They stood still, foggy breath mingling in the cold, as he waited for her to steady herself.

  “Almost time for you to get to work,” he said roughly, as if that were an explanation for ending one of the best sensations he’d ever had. Willa was obviously perplexed.

  Toward the latter part of his turbulent teens, Derek had learned the art of disciplining himself to think first, react later, but when Willa’s brow knit more deeply, it was all he could do not to kiss the confusion away.

  Knowing better than to keep touching her, he shoved his hands back into his jacket pockets. “Come on,” he said, shooting for a lightness he sure didn’t feel, “I’ll stalk you to the bakery. One last shadow for old time’s sake.”

  The irony didn’t relax her. Nodding mechanically, she fell into step by his side. Neither spoke as they walked through the quiet streets of Thunder Ridge. Frustration rocked Derek’s body, and his mind spun. He wondered if Willa felt the same.

  * * *

  Barreling through the door that was stenciled This Way to The Pickle Jar, Willa’s boss began talking before she was fully across the threshold. “Okay, the cinnamon–hot chocolate cake was a total hit. We sold every piece at lunch, and people are asking if they can buy whole cakes. That toasted Swiss meringue frosting?” Izzy grinned. “Genius.”

  Willa nodded from where she was putting stickers on bags of the zimmel rolls that Izzy stacked by the cash register in the deli every evening. “Oh, good. Good.” Distracted, she didn’t even notice Izzy coming round to the clerk side of the counter until a ha
nd shot out, grabbing one of the still-warm rolls.

  “I am ravenous lately,” Izzy said. “It’s always that way in winter.” Tearing off a hunk of the soft bread, the energetic blonde dunked it in the coffee she’d brought with her and popped it into her mouth. “So. How would you feel about baking cakes regularly? We would hire more help, of course, to free up your time. Someone else could come in early and bake the breads and rolls—although, oh my lord, you have a way with dough—and we could hire more counter help, too. Because if you agree, I’m thinking we could actually expand the bakery to provide more special occasion cakes.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  Izzy nodded, making her curls bounce. “You can get a basic wedding cake out here, but if you want something truly fabulous, you need to order it from Portland and transport it yourself.”

  “Wedding cakes?”

  “It’s only a thought for now.” Clearly hearing Willa’s hesitation, Izzy dialed down her enthusiasm a notch. “It just seems that you know your way around flavors and decorations. And if that part of the business should take off, you could become a kind of artistic director. Anyway, mull it over.” She dunked more of the roll into her coffee. “Plus, it would mean you wouldn’t have to come to work so early. You could start, you know...after sunrise.”

  Something about her boss’s tone made Willa suspicious. “After sunrise,” she repeated. “I don’t think so. I’d probably start the same time as usual.”

  “Oh. Really?” Izzy continued to dunk the roll hypnotically, unmindful of the fact that it was becoming so saturated with liquid that a sizable piece of it was about to fall off into the coffee cup. “Hmm. I don’t know. There might not be enough room back there—” she gestured to the kitchen “—for you and someone baking the bread. And bread and coffee cakes and Danishes would be a priority, time-wise. Actually, now that I think of it, maybe we should switch up your schedule anyway. Move Norman into the opening shift. He loves to get up early...although, wow, you really do make great dough.” She caught the soaked roll on her tongue just before it fell.

  “Izzy,” Willa ventured, “is my coming in later your idea?”

  Izzy’s faux-innocent expression was comical. “Yeah. I just thought, you know, there’s a new yoga class starting at six a.m. at the community center. You wanna go? Very relaxing, I’m sure. It’s just, you know...yeah.”

  All day, Willa had tried to understand how Derek could have begun kissing her the way he had and then stop abruptly. She’d tried to figure out whether she was glad he’d agreed not to “stalk” her in the morning anymore. And, she’d tried to tolerate the restlessness she’d felt when he’d failed to appear for his usual bagel and coffee for the first time since the bakery’s grand opening.

  “Did Sheriff Neel suggest I come in later?”

  “What?” Izzy exclaimed, embarking on the conversational equivalent of a dog paddle. “Derek suggest that you come in later? Nooooo! Why would he? He never talks about you. At all. I mean except to say something nice. And impersonal.” Izzy’s fake laugh made it clear that participating in the Thunder Ridge Community Theatre would be ill-advised. “I just thought, you know, we women need our beauty rest, and it’s not good to mess with our circadian rhythms.” Her shoulders flagged. “Okay, yeah, it was Derek. But only because he’s a very conscientious sheriff. Not for any other reason.” Setting her coffee on the counter, she covered her face with her hands. “I am so bad at this. He told me not to let you know he talked to me, so please don’t say anything?”

  A strange, sweet relief curled through Willa’s stomach. Last night the thought of his following her, watching her, getting too close raised all her alarm bells, but after that kiss... “I won’t say anything,” she assured.

  “Thank you.” Izzy’s expression relaxed. “I was serious about the wedding cakes, though. Your baking is out of this world. And when you think about all the people who rent the Summit Lodge for weddings and anniversaries and birthday bashes...ooh, I would love to get a piece of that business! We wouldn’t necessarily have to stay local, either.”

  As Izzy began to rhapsodize about a new branch of the bakery, Willa’s attention drifted to dark chocolate eyes, broad shoulders, warm skin and a kiss that made her forget everything but the lips moving on hers. She couldn’t figure out why he’d stopped kissing her, unless the experience had disappointed him? She hadn’t kissed anyone in a long time; she was certainly out of practice. And he had caught her off guard. Although, let’s face it, in vulnerable deep-of-the-night moments she had relived their first kiss a time or two and wondered if it would be that good again. And it had been, as far as she was concerned. Keeping her eye on the clock all morning, she’d wanted Derek to come in to order his bagel and give her a clue about where they went from here. When he’d failed to show, her mind had refused to stop thinking about him.

  “I’m getting ahead of myself, aren’t I?” Suddenly contrite, Izzy interrupted her own soliloquy about the business. “Never mind. I’ll do some market research, and we can talk about it another time. If it doesn’t suit you—”

  “No, no.” For heaven’s sake, focus. You’re at work. “It’s a good idea. Great.”

  “You really think so?”

  “Absolutely,” Willa confirmed. “Special occasion cakes are a big industry.”

  “Exactly! Look at Cake Boss.”

  “That’s right. And imagine the advertising possibilities. We could wear T-shirts that say Got cake? above a three-tier, tap-dancing mocha sponge covered in vanilla buttercream.” Izzy’s T-shirt designs were infamous. Willa joked so infrequently these days, it felt good to tease.

  Izzy, who was in fact wearing a gray hoodie sporting a dancing pickle, nodded knowingly. “Fine. You’re making fun of me.” Grabbing a sugar packet, she slapped it against her palm before opening it and pouring it into her coffee. “Just like Derek. He disses my Pickle Jar hoodies every chance he gets, but I sold a bunch of them over Christmas.”

  The mention of Derek’s name made heat rush to Willa’s face, and Izzy noticed. “Derek had breakfast at the deli this morning,” she mentioned, picking up her coffee and another roll and taking them with her to the door adjoining the deli and bakery. Before she opened it, she looked back soberly. “I’ve known him since he was nineteen. He’s as good as they come. I’m not sure what’s happening between the two of you, but if there’s no chance for a relationship, please make that clear to him. Really clear. His life hasn’t always been easy, and sometimes I think he—” She grimaced. “Okay, never mind. I am such a buttinsky!” She knocked herself in the head with the zimmel roll. “Like I’m such a relationship expert.” With a wry expression, she shook her head. “Sorry. Really. Forget I spoke.”

  Willa gazed at her boss, letting the words sink in. Don’t hurt my friend was what she was saying. Ashamedly, for the first time, Willa realized Derek might not be the imperturbable Rock of Gibraltar she imagined. She’d been hurting for so long that, selfishly, she forgot how easy it was to wound someone else.

  “You seem to have done quite well in the relationship department,” she commented admiringly, sincerely, and a pretty pink filled Izzy’s cheeks.

  “It took a while, but yeah.”

  Reunited with the father of her son, Izzy was now part of an adoring trio. But that wasn’t all that Willa meant. Prior to Nate Thayer’s return to Thunder Ridge, Izzy had already turned her friends and coworkers into a family.

  Chewing the inside of her cheek, Willa wondered what the people in this tightknit town thought of her unwillingness to become personally involved? Perhaps she should have remained in a big, anonymous city, after all.

  “Hey, isn’t that the kid Derek thought stole the donation jar? Did you hire him to clean the windows?”

  Willa looked at Izzy to see her peering at the large window in the front of the shop. With a spray bottle containing a blue solution in one
hand and a wad of newspaper in the other, Gilberto was staring at the gold letters that spelled Something Sweet.

  “Yes, that’s him. But I didn’t hire him.” Willa walked around the counter. “What’s he doing?”

  “Looks like he’s going to wash the windows. I wonder if he’s trying to earn money? Why don’t you ask him, and if that’s what he’s trying to do, pay him out of petty cash. He can come next door, too.”

  Willa nodded, waiting for Izzy to close the door to the diner before she headed outside. Gilberto startled a bit when he saw her, even though he knew she worked there. Guilt crawled across his features. He and Willa knew what Izzy did not, of course: that he had stolen the money.

  “Hello.”

  “Hi,” he mumbled.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m gonna clean your windows.”

  “Well, thank you, but I actually cleaned them this morning. Are you trying to earn money?” If he was, she would send him next door right away.

  He shook his head. “I can’t earn money for this. I’m supposed to do it for free.”

  “Supposed to?”

  “When you didn’t tell on me, the sheriff said you saved my butt, and I better figure out how to show you I’m worth it.”

  “So you decided to wash the bakery windows?”

  “No. The sheriff, he said I look like a good window washer. And after I wash the windows, I’m gonna sweep inside the bakery.”

  What? “That sounds like a very long afternoon. What grade are you in?”

  “Sixth.”

  Sixth. That made him eleven or twelve. Remembrance pierced Willa like an arrow. “I’m sure you have homework—”

  “Sheriff’s going to help me. Afterward. I come here every afternoon when school’s out, and then he helps me with math and stuff. Then he’s going to drive me home. He’s driving me in the squad car.”

  “Every day? Is that what the sheriff told you to do?”

  “He says a boy runs away, but a man pays his debts. So I’m here, paying them.”