Starting Over with the Sheriff
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Judy Duarte
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16,7K
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15
Chapter One
Marissa Garcia stooped behind the cash register at Darla’s Doughnuts, where she’d stashed her purse, reached inside and hunted for her cell phone.
Once she had it in hand, she straightened and sent a quick text message.
Any news yet?
She waited, and with no dots in response, she turned and placed the phone on the counter, next to the coffee maker. Surely she’d hear something soon.
The little bell on the front door jingled as it opened.
An elderly male voice called out, “It sure smells good in here. Makes me wish I could spend the day working with you, Marissa.”
She laughed. “I know, right? I hate to leave, even when I’m off the clock.”
In his mid-seventies and an army veteran and officer who’d served in two wars, Vietnam and Desert Storm, Carl Matheson was one of Fairborn’s most interesting characters and her favorite customer. She offered him a warm smile. “Good morning, Colonel. How’s it going?”
“I can’t complain.” The colonel, his face craggy, his blue eyes bright and his chin bristled, offered her a wink and a grin as he pushed his red walker into the small shop, slowly making his way to the front of the glass case. “I may not be getting around too good these days, but I’m still walking. And I’m on the right side of the grass.” He nodded at the walker that held him steady. “And as long as I use my trusty little speedster, I manage to get my daily exercise.”
Marissa bit back a chuckle. “Does your doctor know that your fitness routine is a four-block walk that ends at Darla’s Doughnuts?”
The colonel scowled and let out a humph. “Oh, for cripe’s sake. Doc Clemmons made me give up my Marlboros and Jack Daniel’s. I’ve gotta reward my efforts somehow. Besides, a little sugar and caffeine never hurt anyone.”
As Marissa poured a large coffee into a to-go cup, the colonel arched his neck and peered at the door that led to the small kitchen in back. “You running things on your own again today?”
“Yes, I am.” This was the third morning Darla had asked her to manage the shop on her own. It was nice to know that her new employer trusted her to handle things while she was away.
“How’s Darla’s husband doing? Did Fred finally kick that infection?”
“I was just checking for a text. She took him to the doctor this morning, and I was waiting for an update. So far, no word from her.”
“That’s too bad,” the colonel said. “I hope he doesn’t end up losing his leg.”
That’s what had Darla so concerned. “Yeah, me, too.” Marissa added, “So what can I get you today, sir?”
He eyed the variety of doughnuts and muffins, then tapped an arthritic finger against the glass case. “Gimme one of those bear claws and a maple bar. To go. And don’t try to slip that fat-free creamer on me. I can tell the difference.”
He certainly could. Marissa smiled. “I won’t make that mistake again.” As she added cream and sugar to his coffee, her cell phone rang. She glanced over her shoulder at the display, hoping to see Darla’s name and to hear some good news. Instead, she spotted an unfamiliar number with a San Diego area code.
“You gotta get that, sweetie? Go on, then.”
“No. It’s just a junk call.” She silenced the ringer and let it roll to voice mail.
San Diego? She hadn’t lived in Southern California since she was nineteen. And she hadn’t been able to leave soon enough. It had taken her fifteen hundred miles, three different rental agreements in as many locales, and numerous temp jobs to end up in a place she could finally call home—Fairborn, Montana, with its quaint streets, colorful characters and small-town charm.
After placing the colonel’s order into a bag, she tucked in a couple of napkins and set it next to the register.
“Don’t forget the cream and sugar for my coffee,” the colonel said.
“I’ve already added it—just the way you like it.” She’d no more than popped on a lid when her cell phone dinged with a text, which had come from the same phone number. Only a portion of the message showed up on the display, just enough to cause her gut to clench.
Marissa? It’s Erik...
Her heart dropped to the pit of her stomach. Her fingers trembled, and her grip loosened. She tried to steady the cup with both hands, only to fumble and drop it on the floor, splashing hot coffee everywhere and drenching the top of her once-white sneakers.
Her cheeks burned as if the coffee had splashed onto her face.
“Hey! You okay, hon?”
Marissa tore her gaze from the blasted phone and turned to the colonel, who stood near the register, his craggy brow furrowed in concern.
“Yes,” she said. “I’m fine. Sorry. I’m just a little clumsy today, that’s all.”
“Join the club. Lately, I’ve been known to trip and drop things, too.” The old soldier frowned, and the crease in his forehead deepened. “But you look like you just saw a ghost.”
No. Just his text message.
Or a portion of it.
Erik Crowder. Her stepbrother, the jerk.
She hadn’t seen or heard from him in years, and she’d hoped to never hear from him again. Hadn’t he done enough to screw up her life? What made him think she’d even consider talking to him?
She’d have to block his number.
“Why are you so skittish?” the colonel asked.
“I...uh...” She glanced at the wet floor. What a mess. She threw a couple of hand towels over the spot and stepped on it, using her coffee-soaked foot to wipe the spill. Then she tucked a long strand of dark hair behind her ear and gathered her composure. “I’m just a little distracted this morning. Darla should have checked in by now, so each time my cell phone pings, I jump.”
“She probably just got busy. Besides, she trusts you. I know you haven’t worked for her very long, but you’re the best employee she’s had by far. You’ve always got a smile that makes the coffee and doughnuts taste better.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence. And you’re probably right.” But Marissa had learned that there were no certainties in this world. Not even when it came to people she’d once considered family. The hurt and humiliation of their final rejection still bore a hole through her heart.
As Marissa filled a replacement cup with the colonel’s coffee, her hands continued to tremble, but she pushed through her uneasiness and, this time, securely snapped the lid in place. Then she put the cup in a cardboard carrier meant to hold four and set it and the white bag on the seat of his walker. “There you go. That’ll be three dollars and twenty-five cents.” She looked up and managed a smile. “The entertainment was on the house.”
He chuckled and paid with a five. After she gave him his change, he stuck a dollar in her tip jar then turned toward the door.
“Thanks, Colonel.” She walked to the front of the shop and opened the door for him. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
As the sweet old man began his walk home, her mind skipped back to the text message, and her heart continued to pound as if she’d just run a marathon.
Why on earth would Erik contact her? And why now, after all this time, after all he’d done?
Once back behind the counter, she stopped to pick up the rags she’d thrown on the coffee. She started to take them to the sink in back, but curiosity nagged at her until she picked up the cell phone to read the entire text.
Marissa? It’s Erik. I need to talk to you. Please call me.
It would be a blustery winter day in hell before she called the guy who’d ruined her life.
And she’d be darned if she’d let Erik’s text rent space in her head and ruin her morning. At least, not any more than it already had.
She carried the coffee-soaked towels to the kitchen. Then she grabbed a mop and returned to the front of the shop. She’d barely made a sweep across the floor when her phone dinged again, so she set the mop aside and snatched her cell from the counter.
This time, it was Darla who’d sent the text.
Sorry. My sister called this morning, and the time got away from me. How are things going?
Marissa had barely typed out Okay when the front door squeaked open and two preschoolers rushed into the shop, breathless and beaming.
“We beated him here,” a towheaded little boy said.
“Yeah.” The girl, her red curly hair pulled back into a ponytail, nodded. “He’s a slowpoker.”
Marissa broke into a smile. “Good morning. Who are you two winners racing?”
“Our daddy.” The boy walked up to the display case and peered inside. “He said we could run ahead of him. And we did.”
“We wanted ice cream,” the red-haired girl said. “Aunt Carlene always takes us to Doc Creamer’s after we go to the dentist or to the doctor or the appointment with Miss Shirley, but Daddy brung us this time ’cause the ice-cream place is closed right now.”
Doc Creamer’s Frozen Emporium was a popular place in town, but they didn’t open until eleven or later.
“I really wanted a chocolate ice-cream cone,” the boy said, “but doughnuts are good, too. Can I have that white one with the little brown candies on top?”
The girl gave him a nudge. “Jimmy, don’t be bossy. You forgot to tell her please.”
“Don’t tell me what to do, Maddie. I was just going to say that.” Jimmy, a cute little boy with a scatter of freckles across his nose, offered Marissa a smile. “Please can I have that doughnut? And my sister wants a pink one.”
“Let’s wait until your mommy and daddy get here,” Marissa said.
“We don’t have a mommy,” the girl said. “Only a daddy.”
Marissa sucked in a breath. Poor kids.
“But we got two aunties,” the boy chimed in. “And they’re just as good as two mommies. Huh, Maddie?”
“Yeah.” Maddie nodded. “That’s what Aunt Betty Sue told us.”
“I’m sure she’s right,” Marissa said. “I don’t have a mother, either. But I had an awesome daddy.” Not a day went by that she didn’t miss him, didn’t wish she was still six years old and could crawl up on his lap and listen to his stories—those he read and those he created in his head.
“Our daddy is awesome, too,” the girl said, and they exchanged a smile.
Marissa liked children, the younger the better. And she couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen two who were cuter than these.
The bell on the door tinkled again, and a handsome, dark-haired man walked in—all buff and hunky. And far more gorgeous than a daddy had a right to be, especially when he shot Marissa a dimpled grin.
Dang. He was a gorgeous doppelgänger of Scott Eastwood, and if she didn’t know any better, she’d think there must be a Hollywood film crew in town.
“I hope these little ragamuffins haven’t been giving you any trouble,” he said.
“Not at all.” Marissa returned his smile.
“Now can we get our doughnuts?” Jimmy asked. “Please. And can I have a chocolate milk to drink?”
Maddie—his twin sister, she guessed—chimed in. “Me, too. Please.”
Marissa glanced at Mr. Daddy for his okay. When he nodded, she said, “Two doughnuts and chocolate milks coming right up.”
After retrieving the children’s orders, she shot a smile at Mr. Daddy. “Can I get you something?”
“Coffee. Black.” He gave her a quick once-over, then smiled. “You’re new in town.”
Apparently, he wasn’t. And while she’d never offer up much about her past, she couldn’t see any reason not to answer a simple question—honestly. “Yes. I moved here last month.”
“Where are you from?”
“Originally? San Diego.” She didn’t need to tell him the roundabout way she’d come here.
“Nice city. Well, welcome to Fairborn.”
“Thanks.” She cast a glance at his left hand and noted the absence of a ring. So he hadn’t remarried, although the kids mentioned not having a mom. Widowed? Divorced?
She glanced at the rest of him. Broad shoulders and bulging biceps suggested that he either had a well-used gym membership or a job that required strength and stamina. Maybe he worked in construction, although he was obviously off this morning.
Before either of them could speak, a thump sounded and the boy shrieked, drawing the adults’ attention. Little Jimmy sat on the floor, his doughnut lying next to him—frosting-side down.
“Maddie!” he shouted, tears welling in his eyes. “Look what you made me do!”
“I didn’t do anything,” his sister said. “You shouldn’t have stood on the chair.”
Mr. Daddy was at his side in a minute. “You okay, Jimmy?”
“No. My elbow hurts. And now I don’t have a doughnut.”
Marissa snatched a fresh doughnut from the case—chocolate with white frosting and sprinkles. “You’re in luck. I have another one just like it.”
Daddy helped the boy get up, took a peek at his elbow and then set the toppled chair upright. “What’d I tell you about feet belonging on the floor and not on the furniture? There’s a good reason for the rules we have. Do you need a time-out to help you to remember?”
“No. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t do it again,” the dad said, kissing the boy’s forehead. “And your elbow is fine.”
Marissa scooped the remainder of the downed doughnut into her hands and carried it to the trash can. Then she reached for a damp rag and returned to the accident site, where she wiped up all traces of frosting and crumbs.
“I’m sorry that I made your chair fall down,” Jimmy said to Marissa.
“No problem, honey. Accidents happen. In fact, I spilled some coffee myself earlier.” She pointed the toe of her stained sneaker at him.
They shared a smile.
Seeing her coffee-stained shoe jogged her memory. She looked at the boy’s dad. “Speaking of coffee, let me get that for you.”
“It’s no problem. Thanks so much for your help.” He tossed her a heart-strumming grin. “I can take it to go.”
So he didn’t plan to stay. Not that she’d expected him to, but... Well, she’d kind of like to get to know him and the kids a little better.
She filled his cup with coffee. “Cream and sugar?”
“No, thanks. Black.” He grinned.
“Oh, right. You said that before. You got it.” Now she sounded like a dingbat. Way to make a good impression... Not.
After handing him his coffee, she rang up the tab. “That’ll be seven dollars and fifty cents.”
He pulled a wallet from his hip pocket and withdrew a ten. “Here you go. Keep the change.”
“You don’t have to...” She caught herself. Not everyone who dangled money in front of her expected a favor, one that might backfire and give her a ton of grief.
“I know I don’t need to. But—” he winked “—consider it a cleaning deposit. We’ll be back, and who knows what’ll happen next.” Then he gathered up the kiddos and lovingly guided them out of the shop.
He took one last look over his shoulder at her and tossed her a smile before he shut the door behind him. He’d made a point of saying he’d come back. She certainly hoped it would be on a Tuesday or Thursday, the only mornings she worked here—unless Darla needed her.
It would be nice if he brought the kids with him. Whenever she saw a father who appeared to be devoted to his children, like her dad had been to her, it warmed her heart and sparked memories of the short time she’d had with him.
She’d never known her mom, but her dad had raised her until she was twelve. If the gentle giant hadn’t died, her life, especially her teen years, would’ve been so much better.
Yet it was more than Mr. Daddy’s paternal side that caused her heartbeat to kick its pace up a notch. It was his manly brawn and the dazzling pair of baby blues that made her feel like a woman in need of...
Well, she certainly didn’t need a man in her life. She’d learned long ago not to rely on anyone other than herself. But it would be nice to get to know him better. And maybe even go out...
Oh, for Pete’s sake. Her thoughts were spiraling. She’d have to put the whole dating thing on the back burner, especially when it came to Mr. Daddy.
Not that the kids were a problem. It was his marital status. Or lack of. Even if his wife had died, there had to be others on her side of the family, people ready to judge an outsider. And any sign of potential trouble like that would be a real game changer.
She knew that from experience.
On the drive to Tip Top Market, where Brandon Dodd would drop off the kids with his aunt and uncle, he glanced into the rearview mirror, where his four-year-olds were secured in their boosters in the back seat of his new Jeep Grand Cherokee. He always got a kick out of their childhood chatter, especially when they didn’t know he was eavesdropping. Their take on life never ceased to amaze him.
“I like her,” Maddie said. “Don’t you, Jimmy?”
“Who?” her twin asked, as he held a red-caped superhero toy and zoomed it through the air.
“The doughnut lady. She smells good. Like Miss Cynthia at preschool.”
“Yeah. She’s nice. Nicer than Miss Cynthia. Because she didn’t get mad at me when my chair fell down. At school, when it happened, I had to sit in time-out.”
“I know,” Maddie said. “And that nice lady gave you a free doughnut, too.”
“Yep.”
Brandon grinned. He liked the doughnut lady, too. And not just because she was attractive. He especially liked the fact that she’d been sweet and kind to the twins. He might be biased, but they were awesome kids—Jimmy with his scruffy, dusty-blond hair that seemed to have a mind of its own. That is, until Brandon helped him wet it down each morning. And Maddie, with her red curls that were just as wild. Fortunately, Brandon had learned to tame them using ribbons and barrettes—thanks to the help of the preschool director, who had noticed her crazy hair and given him some hands-on help. He wasn’t a natural, but for a single dad? His hairdressing skills were improving.
He smiled again at Jimmy and Maddie. Sure, they could both be naughty sometimes, but hey. What kids weren’t?
His mood darkened. He wondered if their mother ever thought about them, if she ever felt the least bit guilty about giving them up so easily.
Probably not. But her loss was his gain. He had no idea what his life would be like without them.
“Daddy,” Maddie said, “what’s the doughnut lady’s name?”
“I don’t know, honey.” Brandon should have asked her when he’d had the chance, and while loading the kids into their booster seats, he’d kicked himself for leaving without doing so. But it’d be easy enough to find out. “I agree with you, honey. She was very nice.”
“She’s pretty like a princess,” Maddie added, as she ran a pink toy comb through her dolly’s curls, catching a snag.
No argument there. With long wavy dark hair and warm brown eyes, the doughnut lady didn’t need a tiara or a gown to draw a man’s attention. And the fact that she seemed to have a way with kids was a plus. Not that he planned to introduce a woman into their lives yet—much to the chagrin of his great-aunt, Betty Sue.
You’re too young and good-looking to be single, Betty Sue had told him time and again. It isn’t natural for a man your age to be celibate.
Brandon wasn’t exactly celibate, although it felt like that sometimes. But he wasn’t about to discuss his love life, as rare as it might be, with one of his relatives, especially a woman in her mid-seventies.
“Daddy,” Jimmy said, “how come we can’t go to the park? It’s not a school day.”
“That would be fun, sport. But I have an important meeting at lunchtime, so I have to take you back to the market.”
Brandon had been depending upon his aunt and uncle to watch the twins since the day he’d packed them both in rear-facing car seats and brought them home from college, along with a bachelor’s degree in criminal justice.
Brandon had hated to ask his aunt and uncle, Ralph and Carlene Tipton, to babysit since running the market kept them both busy. But they’d jumped at the chance and were delighted to help out.
When Brandon had been in the seventh grade, his parents had gone through a nasty divorce. They’d barely been able to take care of themselves, let alone provide him with a stable home, so he’d contacted his uncle and told him how he was being left alone for days on end.
While Aunt Carlene watched the market, Uncle Ralph drove most of the night to pick him up. After being confronted about their neglect, Brandon’s mom and dad had willingly signed over custody to the Tiptons. Then Ralph took Brandon home with him to live in Fairborn. The way Brandon saw it, they’d saved his life.
You couldn’t find two finer people than his aunt and uncle, even though they did get a little too opinionated, especially when it came to his personal life.
“Stop it, Jimmy. You poked me.”
“I didn’t. Super Dude did it.”
Brandon glanced in the rearview mirror. “If Super Dude can’t respect his own airspace, I’m going to take him away from you.”
Jimmy scowled at his sister. “I don’t tell on your princess doll when she pokes me.”
Brandon fought the smile that tugged at his lips, then, taking note of his son’s scruffy hair, said, “I think it’s time for a visit to The Mane Event, Jimmy.”
“I don’t wanna get my hair cut. How come I always have to go and Maddie doesn’t?”
“Because,” his sister said, “I keep my hair out of my face with barrettes and ribbons. And you don’t.”
“That’s because I’m a boy.”
“I’ll tell you what,” Brandon said, as he turned into the graveled drive and parked in front of the market. “I don’t have to work tomorrow. So we’ll get Jimmy’s hair cut. And afterward, why don’t we stop by Darla’s for another doughnut? How does that sound?”
“Good!” Maddie said.
“Can we get the doughnut first?” Jimmy asked. “And then get a haircut?”
“Sorry, son. That’s not how rewards work.”
“That’s how I think it should work,” Jimmy muttered.
For a guy who wasn’t all that big on sweets, Brandon had a real hankering for a bear claw. Hopefully, the pretty woman who his kids called the doughnut lady would be working tomorrow morning. And he’d learn a little more about her, starting with her name.
Marissa closed up the doughnut shop at two, then she headed back to Rancho Esperanza, where she’d been staying for the past few days. It had been a godsend when Alana Perez offered her room and board if she’d help with the gardening, canning and baking. Marissa needed to build up her savings account, which wasn’t growing fast enough for the plans she’d made.
She’d only managed to find part-time positions—one at Darla’s and another as a receptionist at The Mane Event. She had higher hopes for herself than just working for someone else, but for now, it was okay. Plus, on the upside, those two employers hadn’t asked for references—or run a background check.
Besides, Alana kept her pretty busy at the ranch. It took a lot of work to get ready for the farmers market on the weekends. And since Callie, who’d lived at the ranch until she married Mayor Ramon Cruz, had moved to town, Alana needed all the help she could get. Besides, she really enjoyed working with her new landlady.
Marissa had just turned onto the county road in the ten-year-old sedan she’d named Prudence when her cell phone rang. Ever since Erik had tried to contact her, she’d been careful about checking to see who might be looking for her. There was no way she’d talk to the guy. Even if he only wanted to explain or apologize for what he’d done, she wouldn’t accept it. Not after what he’d put her through.
Fortunately, this call was from Alana. She tapped the speaker icon on the screen.
“Hey,” Marissa said. “What’s up?”
“Are you still in town?”
“No. I’m about ten minutes away from the ranch. Why?”
“Because I’m elbows-deep in bread dough for the cinnamon rolls I’m making. I thought they might go over well at the farmers market and wanted to try the recipe first. But I just realized I’m out of powdered sugar.”
“I’ll turn around,” Marissa said.
“No, you don’t need to do that. Just stop at Tip Top Market. It’s only about a mile down the road from here.”
“Do you need anything else while I’m there?”
“Not that I can think of. But then again, I can’t believe how forgetful I’ve been lately. I think the hormones have made my brain go wonky.”
A smile tugged at Marissa’s lips. “I’ve heard pregnancy will do that to you.”
“It’s a little annoying, but I’m so glad to be pregnant I don’t care.”
“And just think. You’ll have a baby boy in a few short months.”
“I think about that all the time. So I’m even grateful for all the little annoyances.”
Alana and her fiancé, Clay Hastings, were looking forward to getting married next month, and they’d agreed to let Marissa plan their wedding. If everything went according to plan, and Marissa was able to build up her meager savings, she’d eventually be able to give notice to her employers and launch a brand-new career as a wedding planner. She even had a name for it: White Lace and Promises.
When she spotted the Tip Top Market and Casino sign up ahead, she pulled into the graveled driveway and parked near the front door. It didn’t look like there were too many customers, so she ought to be in and out quickly.
She reached for her purse, locked the car door and headed inside.
Marissa had met Carlene Tipton at Callie’s baby shower, but she hadn’t stopped at the market before today. She’d passed this place several times and was curious about it.
Once inside, she scanned the interior. The market carried all the basics, including snacks and canned goods. It also boasted a pair of slot machines that sat to the right of the checkstand. Country music played on a radio behind a glass-front counter.
“Hey!” A little girl’s voice rang out. “Jimmy, look who’s here! The doughnut lady!”
“Uh-oh. Oops!”
Before Marissa could turn around, pain exploded in her forehead.
