The Bridal Quest

He sort of laughed. The husky soft sound whispered over her, relaxed her quicker than anything else might have. “There won’t be a crowd rushing the door for the waitress job. Don’t worry about it.”

She needed to act normal. Not make him suspicious. “Oh, that’s good.”

“You’ve been a waitress before?”

She nodded. Liar, liar, pants on fire. She could have told him that she possessed a wealth of other skills. She’d charmed dignitaries during a state dinner at the Governor’s house. She’d persuaded a CEO of a major corporation to write a check for her favorite charity. She’d hobnobbed with high society. But she’d never worked a day in her life.

“Are you visiting someone here?”

Questions. How many questions would he ask? “No.” She’d chosen the town on a whim. She’d closed her eyes and had drawn a small imaginary circle on the Nevada map. Her well-manicured fingernail had zeroed in on Thunder Lake. She’d thought it sounded peaceful, envisioned huge pines and a deep blue-colored lake. In retrospect, she believed she should have run to a big city in another state instead of the small northern town in Nevada.

For a long moment, his eyes fixed on her face as if memorizing it. Then he took a more relaxed stance. She assumed he’d decided she wasn’t planning to break in. “Where are you staying?”

She had no idea. Uneasiness rushing through her again, she dodged his stare. Several hundred feet away, across the street, a sign for a motel flashed like a welcoming beacon in the night. She spotted the vacancy sign. More important were the words below it. Cheapest rates in town. “Over there,” she said, pointing.

A breeze whipped around her, tossing her hair. No longer paralyzed by fear, as the chilly April air sliced through her, she shivered.

“It’s cold. You should go to your room. Though this is a small town, it’s still not a good idea to be wandering around so late by yourself.”

“Late? Nine o’clock is late?” Obviously the streets rolled up early.

She supposed she looked as amazed by his words as she sounded because he offered an explanation. “It is in Thunder Lake. Except in summer when tourists come, it’s a quiet town. People work hard here, get up early, go to bed early.”

She heard pride in his voice when he talked. Without knowing a thing about Sheriff Sam Dawson, she’d make a guess that he was born and raised here.

“Sounds as if you’re used to big-city living.”

Instinctively she tensed. Be careful, she warned herself. He was trained to read between lines. “I’ll—I should go,” she said with a wave of her hand in the direction of the motel. Leaving quickly seemed the smartest thing to do. She gave him a semblance of a smile, hoped it convinced him that she wasn’t a fugitive on the run.

“Good night.”

She gave up her love affair with the diner door and inched forward. He still hadn’t moved. What now? she wondered, nerves jumping as she waited for him to step aside.

“Welcome to Thunder Lake, Jessica Scott.”

An almost nervous giggle of relief threatened to slip out. “Thank you.” Before she did something dumb and gave herself away, she sidestepped him, then hurried toward the street. She probably wouldn’t see him again, didn’t have to worry about him.

She passed his car, saw the emblem on the side, signifying Thunder Lake Sheriff’s Department. Great beginnings, Jessica. Less than half an hour in town, and she’d caught the eye of the local sheriff.

Still feeling edgy, when she reached the street, she dared a look back. He was standing by his car in the shadows. His face was hidden by the darkness, but she just knew he was still watching her.

Chapter Two

For a long moment, Sam stood by a kitchen window and watched a hummingbird hover near a feeder in his next-door neighbor’s silver oak. In April, days passed lazily. Before the tourist season of summer, his duties centered on too many meetings with the mayor about requisitions for new cars or uniforms, answering complaint calls and patrolling the town.

He heard chair legs scrape across the kitchen floor behind him, but instead of turning around, he let his mind wander to last night, to the woman he’d seen. About five foot seven and willowy, she’d hardly be a threat to anyone. He hadn’t seen her clearly, but she looked out of place standing alone, in the dark, reading a Help Wanted sign. He had questions, but had seen no purpose in keeping her. If she stuck around, got the job, he’d find out more.

As the smell of coffee drifted to him, he turned away from the window. Hinting of the warmer weather to come, bright morning sunlight bathed the kitchen in a warm glow. He moved to the coffee brewer, and began counting drips, waiting for the last one to drop. He needed to quit or cut down, do something. He’d given up smoking long ago, but still needed a quick fix of caffeine to get going in the morning.

“I want to eat the chocolate bears, Daddy.”

Grabbing a blue mug from a cup tree first, he swivelled a look over his shoulder at Casey. On a yawn, his youngest plopped on a chair at the kitchen table.

“You should have something more nutrichess for breakfast. Shouldn’t she, Daddy?” her older sister piped in. At six, Annie believed in her ability to mother her dolls, her younger sister and sometimes him.

At certain moments, she looked so much like his late wife that his heart twisted. Rail thin, she had shiny brown hair that she’d recently asked to have cut in some trendy bob style. He hadn’t resisted. The short cut meant no more mornings struggling with a hair clip or one of those doughnut-looking cloth things, or having to French braid her hair. Now there was a challenge. Give him a perp in an alley any day.

He smiled at the thought. He hadn’t encountered one in five years, since he and a pregnant Christina had left Las Vegas, when he’d chosen to be a small-town sheriff instead of another big-city cop.

“Daddy, I want them,” Casey insisted, her bottom lip thrusting out.

Back to the chocolate bears.

“There aren’t enough left for even one bowl,” Annie piped in. “Daddy didn’t go to the grocery store yesterday.”

Sam cringed at the accusing tone in her voice. She could make that transgression sound like the crime of the century.

Disbelief edged his youngest daughter’s voice. “Didn’t you, Daddy?” His urchin. With her silky blond hair brushing her shoulders, at four, Casey cared more about making mud pies and riding her new bike with the training wheels than her looks. While her sister had mastered a tone that one day would deliver a reprimand with a few choice words, Sam’s youngest needed to say nothing. With one look, she’d drill someone into the ground. He watched her blue eyes narrow. She was a second away from leveling that look at him.

“I bought some,” he told her.

Sunshine returned. “You did?” Her face broke into a smile.

Saved by a quick stop at a convenience store last night, Sam mused. “I did.”

Annie delivered a pleased grin. “That’s good. If there hadn’t been more, I would have given you my share,” she assured her sister.

Sam closed one eye in her direction. Who was that strange child sitting there? Was this some new phase she was embarking on? He sure had a hard time keeping up. He opened the box of cereal, poured it in two bowls, and set them on the table.

With the girls busy crunching away on the chocolate bears that were swimming in milk and turning it the color of cocoa, he finally poured himself a cup of coffee. He’d bought one of those two-cup coffee brewers for his survival. He never had time to wait for a full pot, and figured there was less waste this way.

“Mrs. Mulvane is here,” Casey said with the opening of the back door.

Sam gazed over the rim of the coffee cup at the girls’ nanny.

“Good morning.” Arlene Mulvane’s voice cracked with her bright, cheery greeting. The elderly woman, a grandmother of four, and great-grandmother of two, lumbered into the kitchen. Several months ago after his third nanny had quit, she’d arrived at the door, and said she would take the job. He’d wondered if Arlene and several of the other town do-gooders had drawn straws to see which of them would volunteer to help “the poor dear man alone with those two little girls.” Regardless, Arlene had blended in well, treated the girls like her own granddaughters. Though she didn’t live in, she would stay late when he couldn’t get home on time.

“And we’re going to the fire station on our next field trip,” Annie was informing Arlene.

Casey offered her opinion. “The lizard farm is better.”

“Yuk!” Annie screwed up her nose, but her bright blue eyes shifted to Sam. “Don’t forget our date.”

He assumed the day would come when some other male would receive that eager look. For now, he had exclusive rights to it. “I won’t forget.”

“Around twelve-thirty?” Arlene asked.

Sam nodded, then drained the coffee in his cup. On Saturday when they had no school, they met him for lunch. “I’ll be at the diner.”