Kiss Me, Sheriff!

“Hey!”

Like a lightning strike, his hands were around the canister, pulling it beneath his coat. He turned and ran for the door with such speed, Willa was still standing in shock when the door harp pinged behind him.

For a second, she merely stared. Then outrage, pure and robust, rose inside her like a geyser. Gia’s family needed that money. They needed the support it represented. They needed to know they were not forgotten, that Gia was not forgotten as she lay in a hospital bed in a long-term care facility.

Veins filling with adrenaline, Willa abandoned her post at the bakery, running full throttle after the boy. Twilight had turned to dusk, and the sunny day had given way to clouds that inhibited her visibility, but she caught sight of him up ahead.

To avoid running into a family, the kid dodged right, which forced him to skirt around a bench and slowed him down.

“Stop! You stop right now!” Willa hollered. Pedestrians turned to stare. Briefly, the boy looked back at her, too, his eyes wide. Then he jumped over a dog tied up to a street lamp and kept running.

Sophie Turner, who owned A Step in Time New and Vintage Shoes, was outside sweeping her front entrance when Willa raced by. “Willa?” the young woman exclaimed. “What’s wrong?”

“He took my canister,” she panted. “I’ve got to get him.”

“He took...what? Do you need help?” Sophie called after her.

“No!” She cupped her hands around her mouth. “I’m warning you, you little twerp!” Really, she had been so wrong about this kid. “Stop. Right. Now!”

“Who are we chasing?”

Willa glanced to her right to see Derek Neel, out of uniform, jogging beside her. For a second, she was discombobulated. She’d seen him in street clothes before, of course, but tonight off duty Sheriff Neel seemed taller, more rugged and somehow relaxed even as he ran with her.

“He stole my donation jar,” she said, panting.

“Who?”

“That kid!” Pointing, she accused, “That tricky little—Wait a minute, where’d he go?” Her eyes searched the darkening streets, but all she could see were a few scattered citizens of Thunder Ridge watching their sheriff and Willa run down the block together. “Darn it!” She stumbled to a stop, her breath heavy, her skin at once hot from exertion and cold from the thirty-five-degree evening. Suddenly, not even adrenaline could make her forget how tired she was, and how frustrated. “You made me lose him,” she said, putting her hands on her thighs and bending over to catch her breath. “He’s got all the money we’ve been collecting for a week. Do you know what that represented?”

“I’m not even sure what you’re talking about.” Derek’s characteristic unruffled demeanor was intended to defuse the situation, but it had the opposite effect on Willa when he asked, “Who do you think took your jar?”

“I don’t think he took it. I know he did.” Her sudden fury at the kid was out of proportion, but she didn’t care. “I was standing right there.”

“Okay. And you say he looked like a kid.”

“He didn’t look like a kid. He is a kid.” She started walking again, searching up and down the side streets, exasperated. “A kid with someone else’s donation money.”

“Okay, look, why don’t you come on back to my office. You can give me a description, tell me what happened and how much money you think he’s got.”

“No.” The word emerged too sharp, so she added, “Thank you. I’m going to find him.”

Derek reached for her arm. “It’s getting dark. He could have ducked into his house by now.”

“Then I’ll go door to door.” Turning on Ponderosa Avenue toward the residential area, she strode up the block, searching. When she felt tears at the corners of her eyes, she swiped them away and kept walking. Derek stayed by her side, keeping pace until they had gone two blocks. Then he reached for her arm again, refusing to let go when she tried to pull away.

Because she was over-the-top, clearly, and probably irrational and maybe even a little scary, he looked at her in concern. “What is this really about?” His eyes searched hers as if he was trying to read what she wouldn’t tell him.

She felt grief and fury rise inside her like dirty flood water. I thought I was past this. I thought I’d cut this part of me out. A couple of years ago, blinding anger had sprouted inside her as if it were a new organ. She’d worked hard to excise it, but tonight she felt as if she could scream—loudly and long enough to punch a hole in the night sky.

It had nothing to do with Derek. He was simply the hapless boulder standing in the path of her raging river. Willa’s mind was on Gia—unable to speak clearly since the accident, barely able to walk and only fifteen. And her father, her poor father, probably felt responsible and utterly helpless.

Traumatic brain injuries were cruel. She’d wanted so much to show him his family was remembered every day.

“Never mind.” She turned toward Warm Springs Road. She would get a new jar tomorrow, refill it herself and take it to the care facility. That, of course, was the reasonable solution. The boy was not her business. She shouldn’t have interacted with him so much to begin with.

It took a moment to realize Derek was still holding her arm.

“I have to go. I left the store unattended.” Which was a pretty stupid thing to do and an even dumber thing to admit to the owner’s best friend. Great. Crazy Woman Loses Job would probably be the headline on the next Thunder Ridge Gazette.

“Okay, let’s go.”

“What? No. You were probably headed somewhere, and I’m fine. Really. I was over-the-top. Sorry.” How many times could you apologize to someone for erratic behavior? “It was a long day. I’m fine now.” She forced a smile. “Not crazy.”

He didn’t bother to answer. Didn’t let go of her arm, either. With his jaw set in capable sheriff mode, he accompanied her back toward Warm Springs Road, Thunder Ridge’s main street.

For future reference, Willa thought, never tell someone you’re not crazy. It makes you sound crazy.

When they passed A Step In Time on their way back to the bakery, Sophie, who was young and pretty and single, ran to the door and smiled when she saw Derek. “Hi! Did you help Willa find her thief?”

“No, no need.” Willa tried to sound philosophical. “He was just a kid. I lost perspective there for a few minutes. It’s over and done now.”

Beneath the street lamps that had switched on and the glow from the exterior light at Sophie’s store, it was easy to see her brows pucker beneath a mop of caramel-brown curls. “I don’t have kids, but if I did, I’d want to make sure they were held responsible for stealing. That boy’s parents should hear about it.” She divided her glance between Derek and Willa. “I hope you guys follow through.”

“We will.” Derek responded firmly. “Good night.”

On they walked until they reached Something Sweet. Standing before the glass door, with the shop aglow inside, Willa hoped she would find the cash register exactly as she’d left it and figured she probably would. Crime was a relatively rare occurrence in Thunder Ridge. Before she opened the door, she said, “Everything looks fine.” What were the odds she could persuade him not to come in? She needed some time alone to collect herself. “Thanks for walking back with me. I appreciate your help. I have some work to do and then I have to close, and I’ve taken enough of your time, so—”

“You’re going to need to give a statement and a description of the suspect.”

“No. I overreacted. Frankly, I’m embarrassed. Can we just forget it?”

Derek frowned. Disapprovingly. “This is about the boy now. I need to talk to his parents.”

“Sure. Of course. It’s pretty clear you aren’t on duty right now, though.” Her gaze traveled over his off duty attire—well-fitting black jeans and a zipped-up gray hoodie—and she wondered if he was meeting someone. A man that handsome, after all... Changing her train of thought, she offered, “So maybe I can swing by the station later tonight and talk to whoever’s on call.”

Derek reached around her for the door. He held it open and waited.

Quickly assessing the outcome of making an even bigger deal about this than she already had, Willa brushed past him. She didn’t bother to walk behind the counter or into the kitchen. He wasn’t going to leave, so she turned to face him in the middle of the bakery. Beneath the hoodie, she spied the top of a black turtleneck sweater that was exactly the shade of the thick waves that fell across his forehead. Yep, he definitely looked like a man with better things to do than solve the puzzle of her lunatic behavior.

“It seems I keep owing you apologies.”

Raising one shoulder in a brief shrug, he said, “Nah. I’m not big on apologies. An explanation about what happened out there would be nice, though.”

God knew she owed him one, but it would entail too many personal revelations, so she shrugged, too, hoping irony would diffuse the situation. “I’m not big on explanations.”

“That’s a problem then,” he said. Hooking his thumbs in his back pockets, he narrowed his gaze. “How do you feel about baos?”

“About what?”