by Wendy Warren
The tug on Willa’s heart was not the least bit comfortable. “I appreciate what you’re doing, and the sheriff was right about making restitution for what you took, but, um...” A thought, stuck her. “Does your cousin agree to this?”
Gilberto’s gaze shifted downward. “He doesn’t know,” he mumbled.
“Gilberto,” she began carefully.
The boy’s eyes widened. “The sheriff’s here to check on me. I gotta get to work.” Spraying the windows with vigor, Gilberto used the wadded newspaper to scrub the glass.
Willa turned around, to where Gilberto had been looking, and there, indeed, was Derek, striding down the street with his customary confidence. His features were neutral, unreadable. When he made eye contact with her, Willa couldn’t see his expression change one bit, even though her body reacted instantly and without her permission, simply to the sight of him.
She was pretty sure that for the rest of her life, when she thought about Derek Neel, she would picture him first in his uniform. Its desert-sand color was a perfect complement to his deeply tan complexion and black hair. Crisp, always perfectly ironed, the uniform emphasized his lean, muscular frame, which in turn spotlighted his height. He looked like he could whip the bad guys with a flick of his wrist.
Exactly how a lawman should look.
Why had she called him a TV sitcom sheriff? That was so hurtful. So unlike her. And, really, if he did remind her of a TV sheriff, it was in all the good ways. He was honest and ethical, and he made people feel better. Safer.
“Afternoon, Ms. Holmes.” He tipped his head to her, and she noticed he’d had his hair cut. The thick waves were shorter on the sides.
“Sheriff.”
“Gilberto,” he said. “Right on time.”
“I was early.”
Derek’s eyes glinted with approval. “Good man.”
Gilberto nodded, hair the same shade as Derek’s flopping into his eyes. Standing taller, prouder, he used both hands to wipe down the window.
Willa was struck by the similarity between the two of them. They both had café au lait skin, hair as dense as a string mop, and eyes so dark it was hard to distinguish the iris from the pupil.
“Sheriff,” she said, “may I speak with you, please? In the bakery?”
He glanced at his watch. “I have a couple of minutes.” Only a couple, his tone stated.
“Fine.” She led the way inside and rubbed her arms as warm, bread-scented air welcomed them in from the cold. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“No, thank you.”
All right. Down to business. “Sheriff, I think what you’re doing with Gilberto is admirable. No one could argue that you’re influencing him in a positive way. But I would rather that you leave me...leave the bakery...out of it.”
“Yes, you made that clear.”
“Well, then you can see that his being here every day when I am trying to stay out of it might be awkward.”
Derek appeared to ponder what she was saying. “Actually, no. How is it awkward? He’s just a kid doing some chores.”
Emotionally speaking, there was no such thing as “just a kid doing some chores.” Not in Willa’s world. And especially not when the kid was preteen and obviously aching for a parent.
“He could go to the deli. Izzy was saying she could use someone to do the windows over there. I have plenty of time in the mornings, so I always clean the bakery windows myself.”
“Gilberto stole from the bakery. He’s going to make amends to the bakery.”
“Actually, he stole from the donation jar—”
“Same difference.”
Derek’s body and even his tone remained calm, but he was as immovable as the mountain that stood sentry over their town.
Willa swallowed, her initial fear turning into embarrassment that she was, once again, making a big deal of something in front of Derek. “Sure, sure. I don’t mind taking a break from window washing for a few days.”
“There was almost a hundred dollars in the jar. It’ll be more than a few days. And I’d like to suggest you empty the jar more frequently.”
He sounded impersonal, as if he was giving safety tips to the senior center. She said nothing.
“Was there anything else you needed to discuss?” he asked.
Yes, why did you stop kissing me last night?
“No. That was it.”
“Alright.” Derek glanced to the window, where Gilberto was working particularly hard on a spot. “I’ll be supervising him. If anything comes up, call me.”
She nodded. Don’t let him go. Find out why he didn’t come to the bakery this morning. Tell him...tell him you missed seeing him. Because it was true. There had been a gaping hole in her morning routine.
“Sheriff!” she called as he headed toward the door. Derek looked back. “I didn’t thank you last night. For watching me on my way to work. I’ve become used to taking care of myself, so... Well, I’d just like to say thank you. I should have said it last night.”
The muscles in his face relaxed. His eye color seemed to change from cold onyx to hot fudge. After gazing at her for a time without speaking, Derek gave a small shake of his head, more to himself than for her. “That’s a relief,” he said finally. “Now I won’t have to figure out new ways to stay out of sight.”
“You mean you’re going to keep following me?”
“It’s not safe to walk around town at three a.m.” His rapid return to law enforcement mode made him look very, very cute. “If you insist on going for walks before work, I’ll have to keep watch. Unless you’re planning a change in schedule?”
Willa feigned an innocent expression. “You mean like if my job description were to change? If I started decorating cakes or something, for example?”
Derek rubbed his brow. “Izzy obviously handled that well.”
Willa smiled. “Don’t blame her. I’d probably still come to work early. I’m already awake in the morning, so—” She stopped, but not before raising his curiosity.
“Awake before three?” She expected him to question her about why she was awake so early, but instead he commented, “It’s supposed to be a creative time, the very early morning. In days gone by, more people were awake in the wee hours. They worked or visited with neighbors. Or made love.” He nodded. “Very powerful time.”
There wasn’t an iota of suggestiveness in his tone, but heat rose inside Willa like mercury in a thermometer. She felt herself blush from the tip of her toes to the top of her head.
“You can Google it,” he added.
“I’ll do that.” Her voice was hoarse.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Holmes.”
“Good afternoon, Sheriff.”
Chapter Six
Crossing her arms on the desk, Holliday Bailey, local librarian and continual burr under Derek’s saddle, beamed up at him. “I told you, in order to fulfill your request for a library card, I will need two pieces of mail with the potential cardholder’s name and address.”
“And I told you, I don’t have two pieces of mail with Gilberto’s name and address. So, can you make an exception?”
Holliday gasped. “What? Are you, Sheriff Follows-The-Rules, asking me to make an exception in library protocol for you? To, in fact, break the rules?” She placed a heavily jeweled hand over her chest. “I’m shocked. I’m appalled. I’m... I’m feeling faint.” She glanced around. “Medic?”
“Hilarious,” Derek affirmed since she seemed to need that. “You’re hilarious. Now can you give me the library card, please?”
She started to respond, then looked beyond him. “Hi, Willa! What can I do for you?” Glancing back at Derek, she widened her eyes. Look who’s here!
Derek gritted his teeth. Holliday was one of Izzy’s best friends. As such, Holliday
and Derek had spent more time together than they otherwise would have. Over the past year plus, she’d figured out he had a crush on Willa.
“Hi,” Willa responded, approaching the reference desk. “Hello, Sheriff.”
“Ms. Holmes.”
Holliday laughed. “You’re so formal, you two. Let me introduce you. Derek, meet Willa. Willa, this is Derek.”
As if God wove strands of hair out of autumn leaves, Willa’s soft waves cascaded around her shoulders as she smiled his way. “Sheriff,” she acknowledged, steadily meeting his eyes.
“Ms. Holmes,” he responded once again, and the moment became private, all theirs, as together they affirmed that they would not be pushed around.
“Hopeless.” Holliday wagged her head. “I have that book you put on hold, Willa. Decorating with Gum Paste. Looks fascinating.”
“It is. But if you’re helping Sheriff Neel, I can wait.”
“I’m trying to get a library card for Gilberto,” Derek shared. “He’s never had one.”
“Never?” Instantly, Willa’s brow furrowed with concern. “I would think he’d need one for school, if nothing else.”
Gilberto had been working at the bakery for almost a week. Derek picked him up in the squad car or in his truck—both of which Gilberto loved—after work, and drove him out of town to the house he shared with his cousin’s family. Invariably, Gilberto would mention that Willa had provided a snack. He also said that she corrected his grammar, and when he stayed late asking for more chores, she told him he should be doing his homework or playing a sport. Gilberto seemed to like that she talked to him that way.
“He does need a library card.” Derek studied Willa, wondering if she would always remain a puzzle to him. She had seemed almost frantically opposed to Gilberto working at the bakery at first, yet she cared about his welfare. She’d protested when she’d found out Derek was following her, yet kissed him back. Kissed him hungrily.
“Here’s the application.” Holliday slid a rectangular printed card toward Derek. “Fill it out to the best of your ability. Let me get your hold, Willa.” Pushing away from the desk, she rose and walked away on teetering high heels.
There were few similarities between Willa and the librarian. Holliday’s bold, in-your-face sex appeal was a lightning storm; Willa’s soft sensuality reminded him of a gentle rain. Not that she was simple, though. Nope. Anything but.
“So.” Off duty, Derek slipped a hand in the pocket of his jeans. “Anything new?”
“Yes, actually. I’m thinking about decorating wedding cakes.” She grinned. After unzipping the puffy white jacket that made her look like she was about to push off a ski slope, Willa unwound the raspberry-colored scarf around her neck. “Gilberto told me you’re helping him with homework. Sounds as if he’s behind in most of his classes?”
“All of them. A couple of years behind in math. I spoke with his teacher. He has no learning disabilities, just a poor attendance record since first grade.”
“What happened in first grade?”
Derek glanced around the area in which they stood. Gilberto lived outside of town, but he attended school in Thunder Ridge. He had a right to some privacy. “Are you really interested in this?” he asked.
Willa looked offended at first then seemed to understand why he would ask. “Yes,” she said solemnly. “I’m interested.”
“I’m off duty. If you have a couple of minutes, I can fill you in once we’re done here.”
Willa nodded. Derek filled out the application for the library card with as much information as he knew. When Holliday returned with Willa’s book, he handed her the application. In return, she gave him a plastic library card on which she instructed him to write Gilberto’s name.
“I can take that to the front desk.” Holliday pointed to the cake-decorating book in Willa’s hand.
“Don’t bother. We’ll use your self-checkout,” he said.
“Want me to walk you through?” Holliday asked him with feigned concern, her implication obviously that he was going to have trouble.
“Between the two of us, I think we’ll manage.”
“Yes, two is always better than one.” She smiled benignly, but Derek knew she’d be on the phone to Izzy before he and Willa were out the door.
“Holliday was behaving a bit oddly,” Willa commented as they emerged from the library.
“Holliday is a bit odd,” Derek groused, but in truth the flaming redhead was more outrageous than odd. With her leopard-print sweaters and platform shoes, she was no one’s idea of a small-town librarian. “She likes to poke at me.”
“Hmm.”
It was another cold winter day. Willa was already zipping her coat again.
“Let’s find someplace warm and private, and I’ll tell you what I know about Gilberto,” he said.
“Someplace private doesn’t exist in Thunder Ridge.” Willa smiled as she wrapped herself in the scarf.
Derek’s fingers itched with the urge to free her hair from beneath the knitted tube. “Do you have anywhere you need to be?”
“No. It’s my day off.”
“I know. I slept in.”
Willa’s pretty lips pursed as her smile widened. “You’re doing a good job.”
“At what?”
“Hiding when you follow me. I haven’t seen you once all week.”
Which meant she’d looked. “I’ve had practice.”
Lately, it was all he could do at three in the morning not to join her on the park bench when she was feeding the damn cats and make out with her under the stars. But what had changed? He didn’t want a relationship that was a mosaic of secrets.
“Come on.” Escorting her to his restored fifty-seven pickup, he couldn’t squelch the flash of pride and pleasure when she ran her fingers over the highly polished red hood.
“This is beautiful. How long have you had it?”
“Since I was nineteen. It’ll be warm if I turn on the heat, and it’s private if you don’t mind sitting in a truck in the parking lot.”
“I don’t mind at all.”
Opening the door, Derek had a feeling of déjà vu as she climbed in. How many times had he imagined Willa snuggling against him in the cab?
“Is it authentically restored?” she asked, touching the dashboard as he slid in on the driver’s side.
“When I was nineteen, my friend Walt offered me a chance to restore the truck with him. I thought we were restoring it for him, and that was okay with me. It was the most fun I’d ever had. We worked on it for two years whenever he had spare time. In the second year, he let me work on it alone.”
“He must have been a very good friend.”
“The best.”
Derek put the key in the ignition and let the engine idle so the heater could work. “Should get warm in here in a minute.” Relaxing against the embossed vinyl seat back, he rested his wrist on a steering wheel that was approximately the diameter of an extra-large pizza. “Walt was a great man.”
“How did you meet him?”
“Walt Martin was the sheriff of Thunder Ridge for nearly three decades. We met shortly after I arrived in Oregon. I’d been living with an uncle and aunt I didn’t get along with very well, and I headed out on my own at seventeen. Back then my favorite sport was fighting anyone who was willing.” Willa’s slack-jawed surprise was almost comical.
“I’d been bumming around Portland,” he continued. “I made my way out here, because I wanted someplace new to steal from.” This time, he almost laughed out loud at Willa’s expression. “I like to think I’ve changed for the better.”
“So what kind of shenanigans brought you and Walt together?”
“I was a really clumsy burglar. Tripped alarms, alerted dogs. I never actually made it all the way into anyone’s house, but I
scared quite a few people. As the sheriff, Walt decided that rather than arresting me, he would take me under his wing. He held me accountable, though. I had to apologize to everyone I’d attempted to burgle. Walt saved my life.”
Willa’s once-again kind, always gorgeous, silver-blue eyes glittered with understanding. “You’re paying it forward with Gilberto.”
He didn’t need her admiration to know he was doing the right thing, but it sure felt good.
“Did Walt give you the truck when you were done working on it?” Willa asked.
“In a way. He offered to let me buy it, but for much less than he could have gotten from anyone else. He knew it would mean more to me if I could sit in it and say, ‘I earned this.’ Of course, at the time I had no idea he was deep, deep discounting it for me. All I knew was that it was the first thing I’d ever owned, and it made me feel like a king. In later years, I tried to pay him more, but he always refused to take my money. He said I could pay for the truck by being the man he knew I could be.”
“So you became a sheriff like him.”
“I’ll be lucky to be half the man Walt Martin was. But, yes, I wanted to be a sheriff, because I saw how much he gave to the community. How much he belonged to it and how the community belonged to him.”
The glance she gave him was heart-meltingly sincere, and suddenly the cold winter day felt like summer in the cab of his truck. Without a few dozen more sets of fingers and toes, it would be difficult to count the number of times he’d imagined being with Willa as they drove the River Loop on a day off from work, or parked behind the hay bales for the summer drive-up movies at Gold Meadow Farm. Sitting in a parking lot together was nowhere near the same as the scenarios he’d played out in his mind, but if this was as close as he was ever going to get, well, he’d take it.
He’d make a mental snapshot of her, this haunting, elusive woman whom he’d sometimes thought about day and night, and he’d store the memory away, taking it out when he needed a buffer against the solitary times ahead.
* * *
Willa couldn’t believe she had dissed this very good man. “I truly am sorry I made that comment about TV sheriffs,” she began.