A Blessed Blue Christmas

by LoRee Peery

  “Hey, Dahlia.”

  She stared. A black stocking cap gave him a sinister look. His face appeared darker, as though he’d gone unshaven since she last saw him. “Sloan? I didn’t recognize you…”

  “Not my usual uniform, I know.”

  She met his gaze. His blue eyes shining in the dimness, full of concern, drew a small sob. But she wouldn’t fall apart. She chased away any lingering show of emotion. “I’m sorry. I’ve been so worried, but this isn’t about me. Ken will be beside himself if Carrie’s involved in anything illegal.”

  “Nothing like that. I never go into a situation without knowing the Lord has His hand on us all. No person should worry when He’s watching over us.”

  “I can’t help but worry. Come into the kitchen. Coffee?”

  He pulled the shade down over the sink. “Water would be great.”

  She reached for a glass from the cupboard and filled it from the tap.

  “Thanks.” He drank the whole glass while she waited.

  Once seated at the table, he yanked off the stocking cap. “This itches.”

  She gripped the table edge. Impatience washed over her in waves. She met Sloan’s gaze across the table. The intensity of his searching look hit her in the pit of her stomach.

  He adjusted his glasses and rubbed the back of his head.

  “What happened? Is Carrie in some kind of trouble?”

  “I can’t take a chance on giving you too much information. I don’t believe your sister-in-law is involved. But a reference to Ken came up at the rendezvous. Unless there are a lot of farmers named Delisi around.”

  Hit man. Her mind whirled. “Ken! Rusty Ewing wants someone to kill my brother?” To say it out loud made the sinister fact sound beyond ugly, like a sudden slap. It took everything she had not to throw up. The situation was no fantasy. Dahlia’s breath hitched. “Tell me what happened.”

  The truth struck afresh. Ken is in danger. She closed her eyes and wished with all her might that she could put her family’s future in Sloan’s hands.

  His soft way of speaking turned alert and curt. “Trust me. I won’t let anything happen to your brother.”

  She heard the determination in Sloan’s voice. He stressed every syllable.

  And she hated the tremor in hers. “I’m so mad I can’t believe it. I need your help. Can you tell me if they talked about something as awful as guns, like an actual hit I’ve seen in the movies?”

  “Let’s take it slow. We’re working, and none of my team feels that Ken is in immediate danger. My men will study Ken’s habits, watch him, learn where he goes. That’s for his protection.”

  “Did they talk about money?”

  “That much I can divulge. No talk of money changing hands. So as of tonight, we can’t charge Rusty with a thing. He only took my guy’s phone number for now. If Rusty’s involved in the specifics of an arranged accident, or putting out a contract where the exchange of money is involved, we’ll get him then. Mind if I help myself to another drink?”

  She saw red, watching Sloan’s movements to and from the sink. How could he be so calm? Some stranger wanted to kill Ken, and they didn’t even know why!

  Once in his chair, Sloan concluded, “I can’t come right out and arrest Ewing for contacting a killer-for-hire, since words to that effect weren’t exchanged. There are certain things we need. At this point, I can promise nothing until we get further along in the case.”

  The case.

  That term brought her back to full reality. She sat up straighter. Sloan had reappeared in her life because of the case. “I just hope you stop this before Ken gets hurt. You know your job, I suppose.”

  “Trust me.”

  “You keep saying that. And you’ve said it before. But we’re not talking teenagers dreaming about getting married here. I won’t revisit broken promises. I trust myself. I know what to expect. And I deliver.”

  “Well, I can only trust myself so far. Then I have to trust the Lord. Trust is a matter of the heart, Dahlia.”

  She tucked her hair behind her ear, determined to let the trust issue slide. But others had obviously relied on Sloan, or he wouldn’t be a detective with the Marshal Service.

  Water dripped three times in the sink.

  Sloan scrubbed the back of his head again.

  “Were you on the job when you injured your head?”

  “Yeah. It changed my life. Deputies and cops gave me the details later. We were breaking up a fight after the bars closed downtown. Some guy high on more than liquor used a trash receptacle for a weapon. He brought it down on my head. That’s all a blank. I woke up from my physician-induced coma. And then I heard my partner was killed in action.” He had a faraway look in his eye. “My best friend died trying to save me.”

  She forced away the illusion of Sloan in pain. It took all her control to keep her expression from revealing empathy. “What happened to put you in that coma?”

  “A brain bleed.”

  “That’s some scar.” She didn’t want to imagine him bleeding with his head cut open and close to death. “It’s a good thing you don’t remember. I can see why you chose your hair style.”

  “Or lack of one.”

  She relented and returned his smile.

  “That it is, and a physical reminder that Jesus carried me through. Remember how you used to drill into me that you trusted in the Lord with all your heart?”

  He promised never to leave me. And so did you.

  She rubbed the chill from her arms. “Where was God to allow you to be hurt so severely? Or to let your friend die?”

  “I don’t get into God’s choices for us. I rest, knowing I’m in His care. As for Jake, they don’t often come so terrific. I consider him one of the best. I owe it to him to do the best job I can now. I always get my guy.” Sloan thumped his fingers on the table. “And for the record, I knew Rusty wanted a hit man, but I didn’t know Ken was the target.”

  “Just keep him safe. I’m so sorry you had to go through such an ordeal.”

  “The surgeon decorated my head with a bunch of staples.” He rubbed the scar. “Later, I needed a graft to close the gap. So now you know. Kind of gruesome, but I can live with the reminder of what pointed me to Jesus. I learned I need to trust God. He’s the only one with a glimpse of what’s ahead. He knows. And I am in His care.”

  “I’m glad it works for you, Sloan.” She reached for his glass and took it to the sink.

  His nearness beckoned. It had been so long since she’d been held.

  His aura filled her small kitchen.

  She had the urge to touch him, feel the texture of his skin, his embrace, his heartbeat.

  Before she guessed it could happen, he grasped her hand and swung to his feet. Tension thrummed around them.

  Sloan didn’t speak again until she looked up. “It’s important. You should understand because you were always trying to get me to see how God sets apart those He’s chosen. I didn’t comprehend when I was a teenager. Now I realize God saved me from death that night. I came to my senses and gave Him my life.” He hesitated, his intense gaze drilling into the depth of her soul.

  No. The time isn’t right. For either God or Sloan.

  She splayed her hands over his chest. Oh, how she was tempted to lay her head on that broad strength. “Later, please. All of a sudden, I’m too tired to think. You must thrive on adrenaline in your line of work. My energy is all spent.”

  He smelled so good, felt so strong. What a temptation.

  She lowered her chin in the hopes her triple-time beating heart wouldn’t betray her. She’d been absorbed by the world of fabric and jewelry for so long, she’d forgotten the effect a man like Sloan could have. His smile and the crinkles around his eyes did strange things to her insides.

  Instinct told her to throw her arms around him. Instead, Dahlia ducked underneath his arm and led him from the kitchen. None of this made sense.

  Carrie didn’t want to hurt Ken, did she?

  �
��You’ll keep in touch about trapping Rusty Ewing somehow before Ken gets hurt?”

  “Trust me.”

  Did all guys say that?

  She was tempted to allow Sloan’s low reassurance to wash over her. She couldn’t remember the last time she trusted anyone other than her family. Again, she longed to touch him, to explore the breadth of his shoulders, experience the corded muscles that bunched, tightening his shirt.

  He pivoted at the front door and lifted her hand. He turned it over, exposing her wrist, and took her back to the night they danced. He kissed the underside of her wrist, leaving a heated moist contact point where his lips touched.

  She was startled.

  Earlier, Archie’s eerie growl made her jump with a chill.

  But the thrill of Sloan’s surprise touch heated her from deep within.

  “I regret prioritizing my track scholarship ahead of you.”

  “We were both busy with what mattered at the time. Our parents were still guiding our lives. I so longed to go after you, call you, but I didn’t want to be forward.”

  And I didn’t want to feel rejected if you chose track over me.

  “So long ago it doesn’t matter now. You must not know my parents moved back east, and we didn’t return until after I graduated and worked a couple years.” He spoke so softly she strained to hear. “But we did talk about being together after college. I’m sorry. I hope for time to make up for lost opportunities when this investigation is over. Until next time, Dahlia. And I’d like it to be a promise for lots of next times. When this case is over.”

  Studying his retreating back, she almost prayed, thankful Sloan had been spared to walk into her life in order to save Ken’s life.

  The car roared to a start and took him into the night.

  Dahlia knew deep down that Sloan had changed.

  Was her memory all that remained of the boy?

  He claimed to give the Lord credit for his new lease on life.

  But could she really trust him with Ken’s life?

  And would Sloan be shocked at how far away from God she lived these days?

  4

  Sloan woke up as though he’d gone without rest. Dahlia had haunted his dreams. So he prayed.

  I know You’re still in her soul, Lord. You were so real to the girl I remember from high school. If she was Your child back then, she remains Your child. Please show me how to get through to her so she cares about You again.

  He slugged down his coffee and showered, then called her at The Blue Dahlia. “Hey. It’s Saturday. I would like to see you tonight, catch up on the past, and maybe get to know you better.”

  “Like you said. It’s Saturday. And Saturdays are my busiest of the week. Not to mention Christmas is around the corner.”

  “Got it. We all need a break to eat, though. Can we meet around six? Someplace close to your shop?”

  “How about Scots & Irish on Yankee Hill Road?

  “Perfect. I hear they have outstanding Reuben sandwiches.”

  “So true. I close at six, but I can come back here if I need to.”

  He almost wanted something to happen so this case would end, giving him free time to spend with her. He’d consider tonight a real dinner date.

  Would she be able to set aside the situation with Ken, and focus on Sloan’s company as a man from her past and not a lawman?

  ****

  Dahlia convinced herself it was the longest day of her life, knowing Ken was hard at work on the land, oblivious to the treacherous plot to do him harm. While she waited, she wondered about happenings in the country southeast of Lincoln.

  Ken had protected her all their lives, always going first into adventure, always making sure any time she drove the tractor that he’d checked all the mechanics.

  Would Ken really be safe? Could Sloan be wrong about the timing?

  What was Rusty’s reason for turning so desperate in order to complete whatever evil lurked in his mind?

  Today was one of the days Dahlia didn’t take a scheduled lunch break. She hadn’t built up a large enough customer base to hire more than two other part-time employees besides Carrie, who worked a split shift on Saturdays.

  Anytime between 11:30 and 1:30 when the boutique emptied and her tummy spoke, Dahlia went to the back for a bite to eat.

  The bell on the door announced the need to go out front to greet shoppers.

  She checked the clock continuously through the afternoon. It crawled. Way too much time to remember Sloan’s laid back manner of speaking. At four thirty the phone rang and she ran to pick it up where it lay next to her computer.

  “Hey sis, how’s business?” What a relief to hear Ken’s voice.

  “That’s my line when you claim to hear the corn growing. As for me, my business is growing. What are you doing today?”

  “Lining up delivery of the anhydrous ammonia tanks. We’re big enough now we need tanks from two fertilizer plants. Should be ready to spread on the fields tomorrow.”

  “Christmas will be a good excuse for you to take it easy. Got all your shopping done?”

  “Oh, man, that’s what Carrie’s been harping about. First thing this morning she went on about some lapis something there in your shop. No idea what she’s talking about. Whatever it is, I want to make Carrie happy. She’s been out of sorts lately.”

  Dahlia remembered Carrie fondling the bracelet and the gleam of want in her eye.

  “Sis?”

  “Sorry. I know the bracelet she likes. Lapis is a stone with minerals that are mostly blue, no two pieces are alike. I’ll package it up in a pretty bag and you can put it under the tree.”

  “You saved me again. Anything to make the wife happy.”

  Will a man ever say that about me?

  ****

  Anger over the growing reservations she’d built towards Carrie, this guy Rusty who’d befriended her, and Dahlia’s guilt over not warning Ken accompanied her to the Scots & Irish.

  At her approach, Sloan opened the door.

  She couldn’t help the small smile at the notion he’d watched for her. Once inside the long, narrow room, she tried to let go of the anxiety.

  The white tablecloths and medieval décor always drew her thoughts back in time. She liked the bold, black tables and chairs.

  Dahlia and Sloan opened their menus simultaneously.

  “So, how’d you end up doing police work, Sloan? I thought you wanted to go in to politics.”

  The waiter, sporting a Santa tie that glowed, appeared before Sloan could answer.

  Dahlia ordered a protein packed salad.

  He drooled over another diner’s Reuben and asked for one himself, along with fried sweet potato wedges.

  The waiter left with their requests.

  Dahlia tried not to be nervous.

  “I did, too, until a buddy in college working on assignments got caught up in the details of old cases. I picked up one of his books on the mystery surrounding the Black Dahlia.” He traced the edge of his folded napkin. “The title first caught my eye because her name reminded me of you.”

  She raised her eyes towards the ceiling. “I may have heard of her. As in, from most of my great aunts and uncles. But they waited until I grew old enough to absorb the horror of the crime. Wasn’t her murder one of Hollywood’s great mysteries?”

  “Probably their number one unsolved case. The way they found Elizabeth Short’s body was unprecedented at the time. The pictures I’ve seen of her even remind me of you. With your hair and coloring, and manner of dress.”

  She acknowledged his compliments, pleased he’d thought of her at some point. “That’s all well and good for a topic of conversation under different circumstances. I thought we were meeting for an update on this case that involves my brother’s life.”

  “I won’t apologize for giving that impression. I wanted to spend time with you. More like a date.”

  Sloan shook her to the core. He put off vibes she didn’t know how to read. She sensed he spun an invisib
le net around her. She felt no pressure, however. He made her feel as though he expected nothing, or wanted nothing from her. Yet, he pulled at her.

  And she feared she’d sink right into his web if he wanted her just for who she was.

  She’d given up on men because they mostly wanted her as an asset, a colorful drapery on their arms to make them look better. Or for what they thought she could give them.

  Her thoughts changed to food when their orders were filled quickly.

  She sipped on her water and ate her greens with balsamic dressing.

  He started in on his sweet potato fries and devoured half before chomping into his Reuben.

  “You asked how I got into investigative work. I’m not surprised you’re in retail, especially boutique clothing, since you sketched clothes in a notebook. How long have you had The Blue Dahlia?”

  “Not quite three years.”

  “Do you lease or own?”

  “I actually own the strip mall. The other business owners pay me rent.”

  He gave a low whistle. “Well good for you, lady. How’d that come about?”

  “Nice to know you’re impressed. Wish I could say it’s from my own sweat and labor. But my grandmother willed me some land.” She cleared the tears from her throat and took a drink of water. She’d miss her grandmother forever. “I agreed that Ken would inherit Dad’s share of the farming operation.”

  “Your dad’s mom, right? When did your grandma pass?”

  “Five years ago. I still miss her.”

  “I’m sure you do. Now that I know it’s your strip mall, I’m even more impressed with the uptown architecture. With the times, yet it’s reminiscent of a small town. Good job.” He polished off his sandwich.

  “And speaking of land, Dad and Ken have a huge operation, even quarters sprinkled along the western edge of Otoe County.”

  “I know. Discovered their holdings when I got a satellite image of the farm buildings.”

  Her cell rang, interrupting her comment.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  “Dahlia, we’re on our way home. There’s been an accident.”

  Dahlia searched Sloan’s face, glad for his company. “Who?”