Lena’s Lucky Charm: Love in Holiday Junction, Book 2

by Franklin, Tami

  Gage wrinkled his nose, eyeing the bowl suspiciously. “I don't know . . .”

  “Oh, don't be such a chicken, Sheriff,” Lena said. “It's not going to hurt you.”

  He took a little taste, then with a look of surprise, scooped up some more. “Oh, this one, I like,” he said. “It's rich, but not too sweet. And the chocolate and pecans are a great touch.”

  Lena smiled and made another note. She'd make a full batch of that one for St. Patrick's Day.

  “It's kind of late,” he said, after a few minutes.

  “Best time to try out new flavors,” she said, making a few adjustments to the recipe as she wrote it down. “Nobody to interrupt or distract me.” She froze and looked up at him with wide eyes. “No offense.”

  Gage laughed. “None taken.”

  “What are you two doing out at this hour, anyway?” she asked, glancing at the clock. It was nearly midnight.

  “Had to finish up some paperwork,” he replied with a groan.

  “With the puppy?”

  Gage looked a little sheepish. “She doesn't really like to be left alone,” he said. “I've been taking her to work with me, and she actually does really well. Who knows? Maybe she'll end up being a top notch police dog.”

  Lena looked over at where the puppy was sprawled in the corner. She'd given up chewing on the towel and now lay on top of it, belly up and snoring lightly. “I can see that.”

  Gage snorted. “Well, she's still a baby.”

  “True.” Lena flipped a page in her notebook, then glanced at the dog again. “Why Bea?”

  “What?”

  “Why'd you name her Bea?” she asked. “Is it short for something?”

  “No, I mean, not really.” Gage wouldn't meet her eyes. And of course, that meant she couldn't let it go.

  “Not really?” she said, crossing her arms. “That means yes. So what's it short for? Beatrice? Bea-utiful?”

  “No.”

  “Beanstalk—”

  “What kind of name is Beanstalk?”

  “Warren Bea-tty?'

  “If you must know,” Gage said, rubbing his eyes. “It's short for Aunt Bea.”

  “Aunt Bea?” It took a moment for Lena to connect the dots. “You mean Aunt Bea, as in The Andy Griffith Show?”

  “Yes.” He sighed.

  “As in Sheriff Andy Taylor's aunt, Aunt Bea?” She smiled gleefully.

  He covered his face. “You're not going to let me forget this, are you?” he asked through his hands.

  “Nope!” Lena couldn't explain how she felt, knowing that Gage had named his puppy based on a nickname she'd given him. It made her warm. Kind of giddy.

  Happy.

  “You realize you're never going to get me to stop calling you Sheriff now, right?” she asked.

  He looked at her through his fingers. “I kind of suspected.”

  She laughed then, and he laughed with her. He had a nice laugh, she realized . . . warm and deep and rumbly. His green eyes sparkled with mirth, his teeth bright white and his grin a little crooked. She had to admit, Gage Turner was a handsome guy. The thought made her blush, though, so she turned away quickly to hide it.

  “So how did you and Bea end up here?” she asked, gathering some more ingredients and piling them on the table.

  “I was on my way home when I saw your light on,” he replied. “And then I heard the music.”

  “It helps me concentrate.” Lena dipped a finger in the lemon cheesecake and licked it off. “More lemon,” she murmured, writing it down.

  “Right, well. I could hear it from the street,” he said. “So I actually stopped to ask you to turn it down.”

  Lena cocked a brow and cast a significant glance toward the speaker, where the now-quiet music drifted into the room.

  “Yeah.” Gage rubbed the back of his neck, which was turning a shade of pink. “If you could keep it down, that would be great.”

  Lena leaned a hip against the kitchen table. “Sheriff, everything's closed. There's absolutely no one within a mile of me. Who'd hear it?”

  He sighed in exasperation. “I heard it,” he said. “Look, I'm not trying to hassle you. I'm asking you to keep the music down, just a little. Can you do that?”

  Lena thought about fighting him, but remembered that they'd agreed to a truce. This was not a hill worth dying on, and she figured if she gave Gage a victory, he'd be easier to deal with in the long run.

  “Okay. Fine. I can do that.”

  “Great.” Gage shifted a little, back and forth, his gaze straying around the room. “So this is where all the magic happens.”

  She smiled. “I guess you could say that.”

  He slipped his hands into his pockets. He was still wearing his uniform, but the sleeves of his khaki shirt were rolled up, revealing his forearms, and he looked a little rumpled, his hair poofed up on one side like he'd repeatedly ran his hand through it. He seemed relaxed. Lena thought she liked him better like this—not so straight-laced and buttoned down.

  “Well, I suppose I should leave you to it,” he said after a few silent moments.

  And Lena realized she didn't want him to go.

  “Or you could help me,” she said, a flutter of nerves taking flight in her stomach. “I mean, if you want to. You're probably busy—”

  “No!” he said quickly. “I don't—I mean, I could help. If you tell me what to do.”

  Lena reached into a drawer and tossed him an apron. “Okay, Sheriff, let's see what you've got.”

  In the end, their teamwork consisted of Lena making ice cream, and Gage tasting it, which seemed to suit them both. Gage was honest with his opinions, which was no big surprise. Lena was glad about that, though. She didn't need someone to feed her ego. She needed someone to help her decide which flavors would sell well if she put them on the menu.

  The only conflict came when she had him try a concoction of roasted beets and goat cheese, and he almost spit it out. Even Bea turned her nose up at it.

  “Sorry, but that's disgusting,” he said, filling a glass of water and draining it in one long gulp.

  “It's a classic combination,” Lena argued. “It's not my fault you have an unsophisticated palate.”

  “My palate is plenty sophisticated,” he said, still grimacing.

  “Maybe it needs some balsamic,” she mused.

  “If you want to scare everyone off.” Gage pulled over the bowl of stout ice cream and took a bite. “I'm sorry, but no kid's going to ask for a cone with a double scoop of goat cheese with beet and balsamic.” He made a face, and finished off the bowl.

  Lena frowned. Maybe he had a point.

  She pulled over the bowl of lemon cheesecake and drizzled the leftover raspberry coulis over the top. She tasted it, then sprinkled on some white chocolate chips.

  Gage licked his spoon and eyed Lena's bowl with interest. “Let me try some of that,” he said. She pushed the bowl toward him and he took a big bite. He closed his eyes in apparent ecstasy and let out a little groan.

  “Now that is magical,” he said, reaching for another spoonful. “Oh, wow. You have to sell this one. What are you going to call it?”

  “Hmm.” Lena thought about it for a moment. “Lemon White Chocolate Raspberry Cheesecake is the logical choice, but it's kind of a mouthful.”

  Gage ate some more. “How about Raspberry Lemon Truffle?”

  Lena scratched her cheek. “That's actually not bad.”

  “It's all yours,” he said with a little bow. “You can pay me in ice cream for licensing rights.”

  She smirked. “How generous.”

  “I try.”

  “Raspberry Lemon Truffle it is.” She got up and crossed to the back door, kissing her fingers and popping up to press them to the horseshoe.

  “What'd you do that for?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “For luck. I always do it when I leave the building, and when I add a new flavor to the menu. Figure it couldn't hurt.”

  Gage's lips quirked.
<
br />   “What?” Lena brushed off her apron and sat back at the table. “You don't believe in luck?”

  He snorted. “No. You do?”

  “Of course.” She sucked on a white chocolate chip, the creamy sweetness coating her tongue. “It brought you here, tonight, didn't it? And now I have a yummy new ice cream flavor.” She grinned at him and he shook his head, smiling.

  “Okay, you got me there.” He slid the empty bowl across the table and stood up straight, rubbing his stomach. “If I keep this up, I'll need to get bigger pants.

  “You'll have to work it off,” she said, tightening her ponytail. “Running burns it off for me.”

  He looked a bit surprised at that. “You're a runner?”

  “When I have time,” she said. “I try to get out at least a few times a week. You?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I've been working out with Braden, but the weather's getting nicer and it'd be great to get back to it.” He hesitated, rubbing his chin. “You, uh, want to go sometime? I'd like the company. And I think Bea might enjoy it.”

  “Sure,” she replied with a shrug. Was it weird to go running with him? She couldn't decide. Was it part of the truce? Another thing to show Lou that they got along just fine, thank you, and didn't need any help.

  And why did that thought make her feel a little empty . . . a little sad?

  “Probably will have to wait until next week, though,” he said. “I'm on earlies the rest of the week, and I assume you have to close the shop at night?”

  “Yeah, I do.” Lena felt more disappointed than she should have.

  “And Friday it's all hands on deck because of some protest.”

  She stiffened at that, a sinking feeling in her stomach. “What do you mean?”

  Gage started to pile dishes in the sink. “I got a call from some bigwig back east who's planning to tear down the old textile mill and develop the area.” He turned on the water and started to rinse the dishes, piling them into the commercial dishwasher.

  “Right,” Lena said slowly. “I'd heard about that.”

  “He has a crew coming out on Friday to do some pre-demolition work, take some measurements, that kind of thing, and he asked me to arrange for security, while they're here. I guess he's worried about protesters.” He wiped his hands and turned to face her. “You know anything about that?”

  “I might,” she said, her jaw tense. “You realize what he's planning, right? A strip mall and high-priced condos.”

  “He described it as a village square living experience and charming retail space,” Gage said, tossing the towel onto the counter. “I would think that'd be good for the town.”

  “Well, it might if it wasn't going to completely destroy it,” Lena replied, jamming her spoon into a bowl of melted ice cream and smooshing it violently. “Holiday Junction has a small town atmosphere. That's why the people who live here, live here. That's why the people who visit, visit. If you start tearing down historic buildings and replacing them with cookie cutter condos and big box stores, you lose all of that.”

  Gage folded his arms. “Well, that's all well and good, but the guy owns the property. He can do what he wants.”

  “Not if it's protected as a historical landmark.”

  “Great!” he threw up his hands. “So get it declared. Problem solved.”

  Bea, sensing the growing tension, began to whine and chew on Gage's shoelaces.

  Lena gritted her teeth, and tried not to shout. “The application's been submitted, but it'll be months before it's considered. He's trying to sneak in before we can get the declaration and demolish the building before we can stop him.”

  Gage didn't just roll his eyes, he rolled his whole head. “Let me guess, you're planning to be part of the protest.”

  She got to her feet and leaned forward against the table. “Actually, I'm in charge of it.”

  “Of course you are.”

  “What's that supposed to mean?” She gave up on trying to keep control of her temper. Anger and frustration heated her face, her white-knuckled fingers pressed into the stainless steel table.

  Gage let out an annoyed huff. “It means you'll take any excuse to flaunt the rules. Instead of working within the boundaries of the law—”

  “We are!” she shouted. “In case you haven't noticed, the right to protest is protected by the First Amendment!”

  “Not on private property.” He leaned on the table as well, toward her. An invisible wall stood between them as they glared at each other, but Lena felt the division as clearly as if it'd been made of bricks.

  “Here you go again,” she said with disdain. “The big, bad Sheriff fighting for what’s right. But this time, you're not. Can't you see that? You're fighting for the bad guy!”

  Bea barked and turned circles, but neither of them even noticed.

  “I'm fighting for the law,” he spat back.

  “Why can't you think for yourself for one minute?”

  “Why can't you think of someone else?” he shot back. “You're so bound and determined to keep everything the way it's always been because that's how you want it—”

  “How dare you!” she shouted over him. “I love this town!”

  “—can't see a way around your own ego—”

  “My ego?” Lena sputtered. “You're one to talk! You're so obsessed with being the town lawman—ruling over everything—and you have no idea what makes this town so special!”

  He jabbed a finger toward her. “I may be new in town, but I get what makes this town special,” he said, jaw twitching. “My job is to keep the people here safe. Yes, I take that job seriously. And no, I'm not going to toss it aside simply because you think it's better that way.” He straightened and ran a hand through his tousled hair as he took a deep breath.

  “I should probably go,” he said after a long, weighted moment.

  Lena crossed her arms to hide her trembling hands. “Yeah, I think that would probably be for the best.”

  He gathered up Bea and walked out without another word, and Lena stomped over to lock the door behind him. She took a few moments to breathe deeply, fight back the tears of frustration pricking behind her eyes, then went to the sink to wash the rest of the dishes. It always calmed her, or at least gave a productive outlet to her anger.

  She'd thought they could be civil . . . maybe even friends. But Lena kicked herself for letting her guard down, for trusting that there might be more to Gage Turner than a man constricted by duty and bound by his own narrow-minded interpretation of right and wrong.

  Right=Legal

  Wrong=Everything Else

  How could she have thought she could be friends with someone who refused to see the shades of gray in the world? Who hid behind his badge and used the law as an excuse to turn a blind eye to true injustice?

  But what frustrated Lena even more was her own weakness. Because, although she'd never admit it to anyone, it wasn't that she'd thought she could be friends with Gage Turner that scared her . . . terrified her.

  It was that tonight, for a brief moment, she'd thought they could possibly be more.

  * * *

  Gage pulled up to the textile mill early Friday morning, and parked next to the chain link fence, a recent addition, thanks to the new owner. He'd left Bea in his office, curled up in her bed with a rawhide chew and bowl of water. Andrews rode shotgun beside him, sipping from a paper cup of questionable coffee. Kinney and Callahan were already on site, and came out to greet them, flanking a heavyset man with bristly dark hair and round eyeglasses, bearing a striking resemblance to an owl.

  “That must be the guy,” Andrews said, unbuckling his seat belt. “What's the plan, Chief?”

  “Well, let's see what we're dealing with,” he replied, getting out of the car.

  “Mr. Webster?” Gage held out a hand to the man, who wiped his own off on his argyle sweater vest before shaking it. “I'm Chief Turner.”

  “Chief, I'd like to know what you are going to do about this.” Mr. Webster wav
ed a beefy hand back through the gate. “I can't do my work with this insanity.”

  “Don't worry, I'm sure we can figure things out,” Gage replied as they passed through the fence and crested a small knoll, the front doors of the old textile factory coming into view.

  Gage cursed under his breath. Lena McKenna stood in front of the building, arms linked with a half-dozen protesters, including Vi Chalmers, who stood next to her. A thick chain wrapped around them all and back through the steel handles on the large double doors. Even worse, the media had been alerted. In addition to Alice Camden from the Journal, a television camera focused on the group of protesters, and a reporter stood nearby, talking on her cell phone. According to the side of the TV van nearby, they were from a network affiliate in the city.

  Perfect.

  Compared to what he'd dealt with in Chicago, it was nothing. But it wasn't how Gage wanted to spend a Friday morning either.

  He'd much rather be fishing.

  Or running with Lena. The thought came out of nowhere, and Gage pushed it away just as quickly. There would be no running. There would be no Lena. That much was clear.

  “Hey Hey! Ho Ho! All your strip malls got to go!” the protesters shouted, and Gage rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache coming on.

  “Chief, you need to do something,” Mr. Webster said. “I need to go inside to take measurements and these—people—are blocking my way!”

  Gage didn't want to escalate the situation, especially not with the cameras rolling. “Can't you go in the back door?”

  “I don't have a key to the back door,” Mr. Webster replied, pushing up his glasses. “And I'm not the one who should be altering my procedures. These people are trespassing. You need to arrest them!”

  “Please calm down, Mr. Webster,” Gage said, straightening to his full height. “Let me speak to them and see if we can come to a less extreme solution.”

  He left the man with Andrews and walked over to the protesters, taking a deep breath to brace himself. Of course, he'd only made it about five steps before the reporter stepped in his path, the camera pointed at him from over her shoulder.