Tate and I had actually worked together redesigning a brochure for the tourism campaign for the city back in the fall. It really didn’t take long. I have a background in layout and design and there were plenty of pictures to choose from. Basically, all Tate had to do was okay what I’d done and we were finished. Even though I was always nervous around him and probably rushed the project more than I should, we’d gotten along well.
Putting those thoughts out of my mind, I realized I had put that delivery and the lecture I was going to receive from old man Hagenseker off long enough.
“Well, right now, I have an errand to run so if you’ll excuse me,” I said reaching for my coat.
He stood up abruptly. “If I’d known you were closing up early, I wouldn’t have stoked up the fire.”
“Not closing,” I explained as I zipped it up to my chin and pulled on gloves. “We forgot a delivery. I have to take care of it.”
“You gonna use the van?” he asked.
I hadn’t thought of that.
“You’ll never make it in that little car of yours,” he predicted.
“Oh, I think I’ll be fine,” I assured him, sounding a whole lot more confident than I felt. “Besides, I don’t have a choice. It’s for Hagenseker. You know what will happen if he doesn’t get his order. He’ll tear us to shreds in the paper. The bakery could be toast and I can’t take that chance.”
“Hagenseker lives on one of the worst roads in the county,” Tate said. “I mean we’re keeping it plowed but you’ll kill yourself out there.”
“Again, all I can do is try,” I said, feeling more hopeless by the minute.
“I’ll take it,” he said, suddenly in charge of the whole situation.
The offer hung in the warm air between us. I hesitated. It was one solution but for some reason, it added to my ruffled feathers. I didn’t need him to save my bakery. I could do it myself. Besides, Hagenseker’s reaction to the sheriff delivering an order for The Sweet Bakery while on duty could be devastating to his career AND my bakery.
I shook my head. “I’ll be fine.”
With a shrug of those broad shoulders, Tate put on his big hat, turned and left the shop. Again, he forgot his coffee.
I locked the front door and turned the sign to CLOSED. Unhappy with that, I scribbled a note and taped it to the glass.
I gave myself an hour. I should be back by then.
Out back, I decided it would take me an hour just to dig out my car. And the van was already snowed in just as bad. Shivering, I carefully placed the well-wrapped order just inside the back door and used my purse to wedge it open. That door locked automatically when it closed. I’d forgotten that more than once. Not this time.
Then I grabbed a snow shovel leaning against the back of the building and went to work shoveling the heavy snow.
Fifteen minutes later, sweating from the physical labor and the cold wind whipping my hair around wildly, I was able to get the car door open. I decided I’d start it and let it warm up while I cleaned off the windows. I pulled off one glove to reach in my coat pocket for the car keys. It was empty.
“Rats,” I muttered, looking around in the snow for the glitter of my keys. “They must have fallen out…”
Then I remembered, they were still in my purse. I didn’t need a key to lock the back door. Wading through the knee high snow drifts around the car toward the back door, I stopped and stared in amazement for the second time that day.
The back door was closed--and locked.
Chapter Four
The wind must have blown it closed when I wasn’t paying attention. Hagenseker’s order, my purse and keys—all of my keys—locked inside. Covering my face with both hands, I contemplated suicide.
“Something wrong?” Tate shouted as he climbed out of his Jeep.
“No. I’m fine,” I lied, glancing over my shoulder at the sheriff striding through the snow across our small back lot. God, he was going to think I was an idiot.
“Sure you’re not locked out?” he asked, coming up close behind me.
I took a deep breath and admitted it. “I’m locked out.”
“I think I can fix that but only if you let me drive you out to Hagenseker’s to deliver that order,” he bargained.
Defeated, I gave in and nodded mutely.
Tate disappeared around the side of the building and within minutes, he opened the back door, with my purse in his hand.
“Nice bag,” I said, trying to make light of the situation. “Matches your shoes.”
He chuckled, handed me my purse and then picked up the order sitting right where I’d left it. “Let’s roll. This storm is getting worse by the minute.”
I turned and began picking my way across the parking lot to the Sheriff’s Jeep which was idling in the middle of the street. About halfway there, I slipped and he caught my arm to keep me from falling.
“Those boots aren’t made for walking in this snow,” he observed when I finally climbed into his warm vehicle.
“But they’re cute,” I assured him as he placed the order in my lap.
“You’re cute,” he said with a silly grin. “Buckle up.”
And then he slammed the door.
I watched him make his way through the snow around the front of the Jeep. It was obvious that this big, handsome man, playboy that he was rumored to be, took his role as protector of the city and county seriously.
That evidently extended to saving bakery damsels in distress.
Tate guided the Jeep expertly through the empty streets of town and then out onto the county highway, big hands on the wheel, his face a mask of concentration.
Being with him in such close quarters didn’t help my concentration at all.
Out on the county road, I simply held on for dear life as we slowly made our way toward the Hagenseker mansion. Neither of us said a word until the lights of the place came into view and then I gasped. I’d never seen it before and was amazed at the castle like appearance. The circular drive was lined with expensive vehicles and Tate maneuvered the Jeep carefully between them.
“Big party,” I said, an understatement if I ever heard one.
“He has one every year. My parents were always invited,” he said.
“You weren’t invited this year?” I asked. Surely the prestigious position of City and County Sheriff earned him an invitation just like his father before him.
“I opted to work,” he said, square jaw taut. “I’ll try to look inconspicuous while you make your delivery.”
“Thank you,” I said, climbed out of the jeep and dropped to the ground. Teetering just a bit on my high heeled boots, I clutched the side of the vehicle to regain my balance.
The driveway was mostly clear and I tiptoed around a few ice patches and marched up to the massive oak door. Pushing the button, I heard a bell chime somewhere deep inside the house and I waited. I’d just give the order to his maid or butler or whoever, apologize profusely for being late and it would be over. Later, I would send a card to let him know that there would be no charge for his order.
After a few moments, the door opened and Hagenseker himself peered out at me. He was tall and skinny and bald as a cue ball. And he glared down at me when he opened the door.
“Your delivery, sir, from the…,” I said, mustering up my sweetest smile.
“You’re late,” he snapped, cutting me off, and glanced at his watch.
“I realize that. And I’m sorry for the delay.”
“Sweet was never late,” he was getting grumpier by the minute but he took the packages from me.
“To make up for being late, I’m giving you your whole order for free,” I told him. “Merry Christmas.”
His eyes narrowed as if he suspected me of something. Then, he made a disgusted sound and slammed the door in my face.
I stood perfectly still for a few seconds, hands at my sides clenched into fists. Relief flooded through me and I turned away from the door. I’d delivered the order successfully. Maybe, j
ust maybe I’d saved our butts.
Swiftly, that relief was turning to white, hot anger. How dare he treat me, treat my bakery like that on Christmas Eve no less! Hot, angry tears stung the back of my eyes as I stood there, unable to move.
Tate was standing beside his Jeep watching me closely.
No, I wasn’t going to let him get away with it! Business or no, I was going to give that hateful old geezer a piece of my mind. Abruptly, I turned back around and stepped closer to the door. Just as I reached out to ring the doorbell again, I stepped on a piece of ice.
Arms wind milling, feet going in opposite directions, I knew I was going down. I struggled with every ounce of strength to keep from falling and making a fool of myself in front of Tate—again.
Chapter Five
And then, miraculously, I was surrounded by strong arms. Tate lifted me off the ground until I stopped struggling and then lowered me back to my feet carefully.
“I told you those boots weren’t made for this kind of weather,” Tate whispered in my ear, his arms still holding me close.
He finally released me but not before I became aware of the strong, solid wall of male flesh pressed against my back. Still shaking both from anger and embarrassment, I let him lead me to his waiting Jeep. And once I was inside, I wiped frustrated tears off my cheeks quickly with the back of my hand.
The last thing I wanted him to see was how emotional I’d become in just the past few minutes. I was a business owner, not some helpless, emotional female who couldn’t handle herself in a professional manner.
“Hateful old bastard,” Tate grumbled as he climbed behind the wheel and maneuvered his vehicle back onto the highway.
I stared straight ahead at the snow that was still coming down, sometimes snowing cross-legged. I’d always been told that was a bad sign.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice more tender than I’d ever heard it. He reached out as if to touch my hand and then decided against it.
“Yes,” I managed to squeak and rummaged in my purse for a tissue to blow my nose.
“Want me to take you home?” he asked.
I shook my head even though that was exactly what I wanted. To go home and curl up in a ball. “I promised Ida Mae and Lacey and Lucas I’d keep the bakery open. I keep my promises.”
“Back to town it is,” he said with a little smile and we drove off into the snow storm.
By the time we were safely back inside the bakery, I’d gotten myself under control. I made fresh coffee, changed the sign to open while Tate stoked up the fire.
Rod Stewart crooned “Baby, it’s cold outside.”
The sound of Tate humming along with the music made me smile.
“I have vegetable soup in the refrigerator in back,” I said to him. “If you’d like some. I sort of owe you for taking me out to…out there.” I couldn’t even say his name without getting angry all over again.
“I need to check on a few things around town. Make sure the road crews are doing okay,” he said, pulling on his leather driving gloves. “Can I have a rain check?”
“Absolutely,” I forced a smile, not even knowing why I was so sad to see him go. “Thank you, Tate,” I added. “I mean for getting me out to …”
He waved my words aside. “No need to thank me. Just doing my job.”
And then he was gone.
I heated up some of Ida Mae’s vegetable soup, added some cheese and crackers to a saucer and brought it all back out to the front counter where I could get to work on my lap top. It was early afternoon and the evening loomed before me, empty and bleak.
An hour later, the radio still was still playing softly and my soup had gone cold. I’d tried to concentrate on the spreadsheets on my computer screen but my mind kept wandering to Tate and how it felt when he put his arms around me.
The jingle bells pulled me out of a lovely little daydream and I looked up. A boy about twelve years old wandered into the bakery. His coat was much too big for his lanky frame and he wore no hat or gloves. His hands and face were red from the cold. I looked down to see that he was wearing nothing but sneakers that were caked with snow. His jeans were wet to his knees.
“Can I help you?” I asked, smiling uncertainly.
He sniffed and swiped at his runny nose with the back of his hand. “Just came in to get warm,” he said and headed toward the fireplace.
“Would you like some hot chocolate?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No, thanks, ma’am.”
“Let me know if you change your mind,” I told him and went back to my spread sheets.
Every once in a while I would glance up to see him shifting nervously from foot to foot in front of the fire, almost as if trying to make a decision about something. It just dawned on me that he probably had no money. Even in this close knit community where we all try to look out for each other, there are some families who have fallen on hard times. I remembered hearing about a layoff out at the factory where snow cats were made.
Little Drummer Boy played on the radio.
I was just thinking that maybe he really just needed to warm up for a little while when out of the corner of my eye, I caught a sudden movement. As quiet as a whisper, the boy swooped toward a display of boxes of Christmas cookies in the window, snatched the top two and bolted out the door.
“Hey, wait,” I called out in surprise and dashed around the counter.
Tate had evidently been cruising down the street toward the bakery because just as I reached the door, he leaped out of his Jeep. He chased the boy up the snowy sidewalk, his long legs quickly closing the distance between them. I ran behind them as quickly as I could, trying to stop him.
Tate caught hold of one sleeve of the oversized jacket. Both of them slipped and slid around on the sidewalk in the snow as the boy struggled to free himself. Tate was just as determined to hold on.
“No, Tate, I shouted, my breath fogging in the cold air in front of me.
“I’ve got him,” Tate shouted back.
“No, let him go,” I called out.
While the two continued to struggle, I ran toward them across the slick pavement without even thinking. I had to convince Tate to let the boy go. I knew without a doubt he had only taken those cookies as a last resort.
Just as I reached the pair, my feet flew out from under me and I landed on my bottom—hard. My squeal of surprise caught Tate’s attention and he turned to see what had happened. The boy, realizing this was his window of opportunity to escape, jerked free and took off down the sidewalk as sure footed as a deer. His escape knocked Tate off balance and he landed right on top of me, pushing me further into the fluffy snow bank.
Tate and I wrestled in the snow, me trying to get out from under him and up on my feet on my own, him trying to get off of me and help me at the same time. He made it to his feet first and, for the second time that day, I was scooped up into his arms and settled me onto my feet as if I was nothing but a feather.
The boy was long gone.
“Are you okay?” Tate asked. He was struggling to catch his breath, concern showing on his handsome face.
His hat had fallen off and I realized his eyes were as gray as the stormy sky above us. Then, what had just happened hit me and I realized just how silly we must have looked rolling around in the snow. Me fighting to get up, him fighting to help me. I burst out laughing.
“What’s so funny?” he asked, freeing me to snatch his hat up and put it back on his head.
“Me. You,” I gasped between gales of laughter. Then I pointed to the churned up snow where we’d been wrestling.
“Well, if you hadn’t fought me,” he sputtered. “I was trying to help you up.”
I was still laughing. And the laughter felt good.
“And now I have a thief to catch,” he said.
“It’s Christmas. Let it go,” I told him and without even thinking, I caught his hand and led him back toward the bakery.
The warmth of the small space was welcome and I hurried
toward the fireplace, my boots clicking on the tiles. Tate knelt beside me and put some more wood on the fire and poked up the flames. Looking down at those broad shoulders almost touching my thigh, a little shiver of desire raced through me. I’d forgotten how nice it was to be close to a man. Then I remembered the way he held me close when he finally pulled me out of the snow bank and the shiver returned, a little more intense than before.
“That’s the first time I’ve caught him stealing,” he said.
“He didn’t steal them,” I lied, heat creeping into my cheeks.
Tate looked up at me and shook his head. “It’s against the law to lie to a police officer,” he informed me.
“Okay. Yes, he took them but it’s okay. I think he probably…”
“He wanted them for his family,” Tate said quietly, looking into the flames. “They live just a few blocks over in a trailer park. Dad is out of work. House full of children including a new baby and Mom isn’t well.”
“I would have given them to him if he’d asked, or let him do some work around the shop to pay them off,” I told him.
“They’re pretty proud. He wouldn’t take the hand out but he really is a good boy…at least he tries to be.”
“I know and I appreciate you not hauling him off to jail.”
“Well, if you hadn’t come running out there distracting me, he wouldn’t have gotten away so easily,” Tate said, standing up, his back to the fire.
“It’s against the law to lie to a…to a bakery owner,” I informed him, looking up into his handsome face.
Suddenly, it dawned on me that I was out from behind the counter. And we were standing side by side so close, we were all but touching. For one long, breathtaking moment, I thought he was going to kiss me.
And I wanted him to.
On the radio someone was singing about a White Christmas.
Chapter Six
“How ‘bout some coffee?” I asked quickly. I was suddenly getting really warm standing there by that fire, practically sweating.
Star-Crossed Curves: BBW Erotic Romance Boxed Set Page 33