Home to Sparrow Lake

Feeling sorry for the old guy, Alex had asked for volunteers at the department to help the man, and both Walt and Jack had agreed to put the fence back together again. While Alex’s officers worked, Mr. Fergus had speculated on who could have done the deed. He’d seen Matt and Andy and “that new boy” hanging around outside at dusk and had thought nothing of it at the time. But after the fence incident, he had wondered, making Alex wonder, too.

A speculation that had put the spotlight right on the trio as the incidents—and sightings of one or more of the three teenagers—had increased. Alex could only figure they were bored and looking for ways to entertain themselves. If he could actually catch them in the act, he could put the fear of the law in them, force them into choosing reparation and community service or make them go before a judge, something he really didn’t want to do. He simply wanted to change their direction into a more positive one before things got out of hand. Then he would have no choice. He would be forced to arrest them.

Truth be told, the night before he’d been going down the alley behind Sew Fine looking for signs of mischief.

Alex hadn’t been at all prepared to find it in Brian’s sister.

What a conundrum. He’d wanted to catch Brian in the act; he simply wanted to catch Kristen.

Two goals at odds with each other.

Though he’d known Kristen for less than twenty-four hours, he was certain that, if he arrested her brother, she would have nothing to do with him.

What to do?

CHAPTER FIVE

ALEX DIDN’T APPROACH her for a date again, but in the next few days, Kristen swore she saw him more than anyone other than her aunt or siblings. No matter where she was—home, store or just walking through town—she saw Alex cruise by her in the patrol car.

Slowly.

She didn’t know whether to be annoyed or flattered.

Then she found herself looking for Alex every time she was out on the street. And sometimes she looked out Sew Fine’s windows to see if she could spot a patrol car anywhere around.

That’s what she was doing late one morning the following week when her sister joined her at the window.

“What are you looking for?” Heather asked, scanning the area outside the store.

“Oh, nothing. I was just stretching my legs.”

“Huh. You’ve been doing a lot of that the past week.”

“I get tired of sitting so much.” Not wanting to talk about her paranoia over Alex, Kristen started back to the office area.

Right on her heels, Heather said, “Then get away from that computer and start working in the store.”

“I only know a little about quilting.”

“You can learn more. That’s why you’re taking Gloria’s class, right?”

“I’m not exactly taking it. I’m just checking things out. If I understand the classes and what they provide for customers, I can market them better.”

“Whatever. It’s a smart move. You never know, you might be ready for Aunt Margaret’s advanced session in no time.”

“That’s very hopeful of you.” Kristen laughed. “I’m not quite ready for art quilts yet.” She thought about her aunt’s retirement. “Is Aunt Margaret going to keep teaching here at the store now that she’s retiring?”

“As far as I know, she wants to continue.”

“But what if we expand and there are more people for classes?”

“We can hire more teachers.”

Knowing her sister had made some beautiful quilts, including one for her, Kristen asked, “Would you want to do a class?”

Heather blanched. “Are you kidding? I’m already working full-time and going to school part-time. And somehow I have to make extra time for the twins every day. If I was going to do anything else, it would be outside. I can hardly take care of my own garden.”

Which Kristen knew was important to her sister, who was studying to be a horticulturist, specializing in sustainable landscapes.

“Relax, already. I was kidding, Heather. Like you say, we can get more teachers.”

“There are several women who come here who have been quilting forever.”

“Then why do they keep taking classes?”

“To socialize. They’ve turned it into more of a quilting circle. Everyone brings potluck. So the women eat and talk and work on their quilts. Sometimes they choose to work on group projects. You know, if someone is having a baby or getting married.”

Reminded of Jason, the man she’d thought she would marry, Kristen turned away, saying, “Sounds like they have a good time.”

If not her idea of a good time, she thought, walking back to her desk. Before her personal financial crisis, she’d enjoyed going to plays and museums and dinners with her friends. Which went to prove how much she didn’t belong in a small town. She didn’t mind observing a few classes but she didn’t want to be part of a quilting circle—she wanted her old life back.

And right now, she wanted to eat. It was lunchtime, and she wasn’t about to miss another meal. Grabbing her shoulder bag, she set off through the store to the front door. “I’m going to grab some lunch,” she told Heather. “You want me to bring something back for you?”

“Thanks, but I brought a sandwich.”

Kristen knew she should have done the same, but she hadn’t even thought about it. A holdover from her old life where she’d had lunch out every day. She couldn’t afford to keep doing that, so she needed to make sure the fridge was stocked with things she could eat. And no more mac and cheese for her or she wouldn’t fit into her secondhand designer suits, which she would need to wear on interviews. In the meantime, she decided to check out the family restaurant directly across the street.

Thinking she should have a salad, Kristen mused about what kind of dressing she would get as she checked the street for moving vehicles before crossing in the middle of the block. A siren went off nearby, but she paid it no mind as she tried to decide if she should eat in or take her meal back to the shop.

“Miss Lange, wait a minute!”

Her foot froze on the curb.

She knew that voice.

Turning, she saw Alex Novak getting out of his patrol car. He’d switched off the siren, but the light bar was still flashing. Her pulse fluttered at his approach.

“Chief,” she said, responding in kind to his calling her Miss Lange. “What can I do for you?”

He was pulling out an official-looking pad and a pen. “You can cross at the corner next time.”

“What?”

“You were jaywalking.”

He had to be kidding. “This isn’t the big city!”

“No matter. There’s a town ordinance against crossing in the middle of the street. That’s why we have those nice white lines at every corner, to give you a safe place to cross.”