The Lawman's Christmas Wish (2 page)

 

Reed Truscott slammed the vehicle into Park and bolted out the door before the truck stopped rocking. In more than a dozen years on the job, he'd never seen this much trouble in Treasure Creek.

“Mack Tanner and his treasure,” he grumbled. People had been traipsing up on Chilkoot Trail for years, searching for the treasure Amy's great-great-grandfather had buried there during the Gold Rush of 1889. Why did the thing have to be found in his lifetime? And why did Amy have to be in the line of fire?

It was that crazy magazine interview Amy had done. That's what started all the trouble.

His boots crunched on last night's new snow as he stalked toward Amy's Jeep. Part of him expected Miss Iron Woman
to still be inside the house. When he told her to get out, he'd intended for her to leave, to get completely away from the crime scene and any hint of danger. But Amy did things her way, so he was relieved to spot her and her little ones safely inside the red vehicle.

How was he supposed to take care of Ben's family when Amy was so uncooperative?

With her usual, vibrant energy, she hopped out of the car and came to meet him.

An invisible fist clutched his insides. Looking at Amy seemed to do that to him lately.

Stress, he supposed. Or responsibility. The problem had started after Ben insisted Reed take care of Amy and the boys if anything should happen to him. Reed had tried to laugh off the request, but when Ben pressed, he'd agreed. It was almost as if Ben knew he wouldn't be around to care for his loved ones. And Reed Truscott was a man of his word. He was honor-bound to look after Amy James. To his way of thinking, that honor was exactly why she should marry him.

But he probably shouldn't mention that to Amy today. She looked in no mood for another marriage proposal. He'd bungled the first time badly enough, though he was still trying to figure out where he went wrong.

Hands shoved into the pockets of her open parka, Amy strode toward him in jeans and a yellow-green sweater that turned her hair to copper fire. The cold, fading sunlight caught in the shoulder-length waves and shot sparks in every direction. She had glorious hair, the kind a man wanted to touch.

Reed's gut clenched again. He didn't like thinking of Ben's wife as pretty, but she was. Amy had been in his head and heart for a long time, first as a friend, but after Ben's death—well, things changed. And the feelings rolling around inside him were downright uncomfortable.

“You and the boys okay?” He barked the question, more worried about the town's main citizen than he wanted to show.

Amy nodded, pretending calm, but he'd heard the quiver in her voice on the phone. He was still angry about that. Any scuzzball who upset Amy was going to answer to him.

“Whoever broke in wasn't after us.”

“This isn't the first time, Amy. Somebody will do anything to get their hands on that treasure of yours.”

“I know.” Her reply was quiet and reflective as she gazed off toward the mountains to the west. He knew she was remembering the day they'd finally found Mack Tanner's buried treasure chest. A pair of gun-toting thieves had found it at the same time.

He'd nearly had a heart attack when one of the thugs shoved a pistol against Amy's temple. If not for Tucker Lawson's help Amy could have been killed. That moment haunted his dreams.

Since this frenzy over buried treasure began he'd not had a moment of peace. Even though the heavy metal box was locked up in the safe in his office only he and Amy had that information.

The town's excitement wasn't helping, either. “Last rumor I heard down at the Lizbet's Diner estimates the contents of that box at over a million dollars.”

Amy's eyes widened. “What? Reed, that's crazy. We don't even know what's in the box yet.”

“Tell me about it. The price goes up every day.” Grimly, he perched a hand on the butt of his service pistol. Until lately, he'd never worn it. Didn't need to. His adopted town was a peace-loving place, filled with good people. Mostly. “Men have killed for a lot less.”

Amy had this crazy idea to wait until Christmas Eve, still four weeks away, to open the chest and present the treasure
to the town. He understood in part because the town coffers were empty, and they needed money badly. The schools were in danger of consolidation, the library in danger of closing. Even his office budget was tighter than tree bark.

“You should open the treasure and be done with it,” he said.

Amy took exception. “No! Treasure Creek has faced such difficult times these last couple of years. Thinking about this treasure and speculating about the good it will do for the town has lifted everyone's spirits. I will not allow low-life scums to rob us of the best Christmas possible.”

Reed suppressed a sigh. He knew she'd say that. This was Amy, as tenacious as Alaskan winter and with a heart as big as the sun. All of Treasure Creek leaned on her, and she let them, encouraged them. Even though she was barely into her thirties, she carried a whole town on her small shoulders.

A man had to admire a woman like that.

But for the chief of police, Christmas couldn't come soon enough. Once the treasure chest was opened, maybe life would settle down and Amy would be safe again. Really safe.

He started up the drive. “I better have a look inside.”

“I'll go with you.”

“You and the kids stay out here.”

“No way. If anyone was inside, they're probably long gone, but they also might be lurking in the bushes. I'll take my chances in the house with you.”

Reed thought Amy might have just paid him a compliment. Though he'd rather she was somewhere safer, her logic made sense. An intruder could just as easily be outside as in. And Reed had the advantage of a loaded pistol.

They fell in step. As they passed Amy's vehicle, her two little boys tumbled out and followed.

“Chief Reed, someone broke our stuff.”

Reed gazed down at the knee-high child. Dexter's little
head was tilted back, looking up with big gray eyes that trusted the police to do something. Police business Reed could handle, but kids were a puzzle. “Don't be scared.”

It was a lame thing to say, but Dexter seemed okay with it. Like his mother, the child bowed his head, shoved his hands in his coat pockets and traipsed across the yard, ready to face whatever was inside the house. Three-year-old Sammy, though, clung to his mother's hand and stayed as close to her as possible. Reed couldn't help feeling sorry for the little guy.

They reached the back door and Reed thrust out an arm to stop them from entering. “Lock's jimmied. Was the door open when you arrived?”

Amy nodded. “Yes.”

Incredulous, he stared down into eyes bluer than arctic waters. His gut did that weird clutching thing again. “And you went inside anyway?”

“This is Treasure Creek. I never used to lock my doors at all. You know how out of square this old house is. I thought maybe I'd forgotten to shut the door hard enough this morning before I went to the office.”

A reasonable explanation, but he still didn't like the idea that she'd gone inside. If something happened to her—well, he felt guilty enough about the way Ben died without letting him down again.

“Let me go in first. You and the boys stay close until I check all the rooms.”

Amy scooped Sammy onto her hip and held Dexter's hand, doing as Reed asked without comment. The break-in had shaken her more than she wanted to admit.

It had shaken him, too.

Together they made the rounds downstairs. Amy remained tight-lipped, but her pallor told how upset she was. They bumped in a doorway and it was all he could do to keep from pulling her close for a moment, to tell her everything
would be all right, to erase the lines of worry around her beautiful eyes.

Reed slapped the impulse away. This was Ben's wife. She was his responsibility, not his woman.

“What a mess,” he grumbled, mostly to break his troubling train of thought, but furious, too, at whoever had done this.

“Upstairs next. Me first.”

Whoever had been here was gone now. His gut instinct told him as much, but he was taking no chances.

As they started up, he reached out and took Sammy into his arms. The kid was barely three, but Amy wasn't as big as a house cat.

“I carry him all the time, Reed.”

He just grunted and started climbing, his boots ringing hollow on the wooden steps. Lugging Sammy up the stairs was too much for her, whether she wanted to admit it or not. At the top, he returned the boy to his mother, needing to be alert and prepared in case of a nasty surprise.

“My room is here,” she said, pointing to a green-paneled door. “I dread looking in there.”

Reed bit down on his back teeth. He dreaded looking in there, too, but for more reasons than the break-in. Something about entering the bedroom that Amy and Ben had shared made him uncomfortable.

But he was a police officer. This was his job.

“Stay put. I'll look.”

With the flat of his hand, he eased the door open and glanced inside. Anger bubbled up like a hot fountain. Ben had worked his tail off on this house. Reed knew, because he'd helped him. And now, like the rest of the house, the beige-and-blue bedroom was in shambles. Papers, books, clothes and toiletries were strewn everywhere. A lamp lay on the bed, the bulb broken and the shade crumpled. The room was as cold as the outside.

With a frown, he stepped inside. “Better come in here, Amy.”

She did. “Oh, my.”

The words were barely a breath, but they were filled with distress. Again, the need to hold and comfort assailed the chief of police.

Jaw tight, he pointed to the window. “Escape route. Your visitors were likely in the house when you arrived.”

“I thought I heard something.”

Frustration and worry and responsibility warred in his belly. This wasn't the first threat to Amy's safety. She was going to get hurt if he didn't do something and do it fast.

His inner voice demanded that he do the right thing—at least the right thing in his book—no matter how much personal turmoil it caused.

And so he did.

“That's it,” he said. “You're moving in with me.” He planted one hand on his hip and faced her, ready for the inevitable argument. “Today.”

H
air rose on the back of Amy's neck. Of all the arrogant, overreactive statements! She bit back a sharp retort while trying hard to see Reed's point. Ten seconds later she gave up. His point was ridiculous. Besides, the idea of moving in with Reed, for any reason, made her feel…funny.

“Don't be silly.” She spun away and stalked out of the bedroom. Sammy and Dexter followed, little legs sprinting to keep up. They knew from experience that when Mommy moved, she moved fast.

She was already down the wooden staircase and making the turn toward the ransacked kitchen when Reed caught up with her. He grabbed her elbow. Amy stopped, not that she had much choice with fingers of steel and nearly two hundred pounds of muscle latched on to her.

“Come on, Amy, be reasonable. You have to.”

Keeping her tone even, she said, “No, Reed. I don't. Now, kindly let go of my arm.”

Reed glanced down at the place where he gripped and dropped her arm like a hot potato. He took half a step back, swallowed hard and looked about as comfortable as a grizzly in a tutu. If she wasn't so annoyed, Amy would have felt sorry for him.

“You're not safe here.” Reed's words were ground out with all the gentle persuasion of a pencil sharpener. “You need protection.”

“I can take care of myself.” When the police chief looked as if he would argue, she held up one finger—and discovered the thing was still trembling. She yanked it down to her side.

“The subject is closed. I am not leaving my home.”

Especially to move in with Reed. The idea of being in the same house day after day with him was—well—strange.
Uncomfortable
for some reason—though they'd been friends forever. Maybe that was the point. Reed and Ben had been friends, and Ben's final letter to her niggled at the back of her mind constantly. He'd written the usual things at first—his love for her and the boys, his faith, the business—but then, as if he'd known he would never return, Ben had asked the unthinkable. If anything happened to him, he wanted her to find someone else. And he wanted her to do it before Christmas.

Now Christmas wasn't that far away. Neither was Reed Truscott.

Fact of the matter, he and the boys dogged her footsteps all the way into the kitchen. Reed stalked her like a grizzly—and growled like one, too. Her sons had the deer-in-the-headlights look as their eyes volleyed between her and the police chief. Neither said a word. Dexter, she noticed, edged up against Reed's leg. The police officer dropped a wide hand on her son's small shoulder. Emotion curled in Amy's belly, but was snuffed as quickly as a candle in gale force winds.

“I'm not suggesting anything illicit. My grandmother lives with me,” Reed said, still grumbling and insistent. “It's not like we're in love or anything.”

Amy fought down a blush.
Illicit? In love?
An uncomfortable flutter invaded her chest. Reed Truscott had to be the most confusing man on the planet.

To avoid his penetrating gaze, she turned a chair upright. Egg dripped off the seat cushion, the smell ripe. She curled her nose. Cleaning would take forever.

Keeping her voice even and cool, Amy said, “I think the world of your grandmother.” Irene Crisp was a tough little sourdough who looked as if a good Chinook wind would blow her away. But looks were deceiving with Granny Crisp as well as with Amy. Reed should know that. “But I can take care of myself and my boys.”

“You don't know what you're up against.”

It was so like Reed to shoot out orders and expect them to be obeyed. Granted, he was a great cop and often right, though not in this case. “I appreciate your concern, Reed. Really, I do.”

But she didn't want to hear another word about moving in with a man who could propose a loveless marriage and not understand why she turned it down.

With the subject closed—at least in her mind—she took Sammy's hand to stop him from going farther into the messy kitchen.

“Why don't you and Dexter go into the living room and watch TV while Mama cleans up?” she said to the upturned face. “Then I'll make some dinner, and everything will be back to normal.”

Sammy wasn't buying it. He stuck a thumb in his mouth and shook his head. He hadn't sucked his thumb in a long time. Not since Ben's funeral. Dexter didn't move from his position next to Reed, but his gray eyes remained wide and worried.

Amy's heart pinched. She crouched down to their level. “Boys, we're okay. The bad guys are gone.”

Sammy's wet thumb popped from his mouth. “Will they come back?”

Amy pressed her lips together and couldn't keep from looking at Reed. If he said one word—

“Whoever broke in wasn't kidding around, Amy. Look at this place.” Reed made a wide arc with one arm, taking in the scattered belongings, opened drawers and spilled foods.

“They
will
keep trying to find that treasure.”

“Thanks a lot, officer,” she said with a tinge of sarcasm. To the boys she said, “Tonight we'll make a tent in your room and all of us will sleep together. Just like one of Mama's wilderness tours. You can be the guides and I'll be the cheechako. Okay?”

Sammy nodded at the idea of Mama behaving like a green-horn, but Dexter, wise and old at nearly five, was silent.

“I'm serious, Amy,” Reed said. “You can't stay here. You have to let me help.”

Help was one thing. Moving into his house was quite another. “No thief is going to run me and my babies out of the only home we've ever known.”

She and Ben had spent blood, sweat and tears remodeling this old house that her ancestor, Mack Tanner, had built for his reluctant bride more than a hundred years ago. It was old and crotchety and drafty in the brutal months, but the place had character and was filled with love and wonderful memories.

Reed shifted heavily and it occurred to her, reluctantly, that he was as exhausted by the last few months as she was. Like her, Reed would not back down. His sense of duty was legendary. And it was that sense of duty that bothered Amy. She didn't want to be anyone's “duty.”

“What if they come back?” he asked.

Her blood chilled at the thought. She rubbed her palms along the arms of her sweater.

“I'll manage,” she said, with more bravado than she felt. She was single-handedly running a business, booking tour guides, dealing with love-hungry women, directing the annual
church Christmas pageant and raising two little boys. She might be tired, but she could handle anything. “I'm not helpless, you know.”

Dark eyes narrowed in Reed's rugged, weather-tanned face. “Never said you were.”

She jammed a fist on one hip. “Same as.”

Reed rolled his eyes heavenward. “You are the most exasperating…”

Amy couldn't help smiling. “Okay, tough man, why would your house be any safer than mine?”

“Granny is there. I'm there. Cy is there. We can protect you.”

Amy scoffed. “Cy wouldn't hurt a hot biscuit.” The malamute was gentle as a kitten.

“And—” he held up a finger as if to stop her argument “—my place sits off the road, up an incline that requires a four-wheel drive and a lot of patience to climb. It's backed by a mountain. No one can get to you there. Come on, Amy. Be reasonable.”

Amy softened. Reed really was trying to do the right thing. He was misguided but well intentioned. “I'm not afraid to stay here.” Not much anyway. “God has always taken care of me, and He won't let me down now.”

Reed gave one grunt that let her know what he thought about that. His brown eyes glazed over and Amy suspected that he was thinking of Ben. Well, so was she. God had carried her through the nightmare of loss and the last year of struggling to make ends meet and to keep the town afloat. Without faith in God to sustain her, she would have given up.

Reed's gaze came back to hers. Jaw tight, he said, “Ben would expect me to take care of you.”

Amy's hackles jumped up like barking dogs. Reed's twisted sense of loyalty to her dead husband was the final straw.

“I said
no,
Chief Truscott, and I meant it.”

 

Reed was still stewing as he guided his Explorer back to the police station.

“She's going to get herself hurt, and then what?” If anything happened to Amy or her boys, he wasn't sure what he would do. A man could only live with so much guilt.

For one minute there, he'd been tempted to snatch her up, toss her over his shoulder like some barbarian, and drag her kicking and screaming to his place. Amy brought out the worst in him.

He shifted in the seat. Amy brought out something else in him, too.

“She's Ben's wife. End of story.”

Only, Ben was gone.

The malamute in the passenger seat listened in silence, head cocked, his one good eye sympathetic. Reed reached across to ruffle the thick, dark fur. Cy was a lot easier to talk to than most humans, and a lot more dependable. A few years back, he'd given an eye to protect his owner, a fact that had earned him the right to sleep on the foot of Reed's bed. Reed Truscott put a lot of stock in loyalty. It was what had gotten him into this dilemma with Amy in the first place. “Aw, Ben.”

As much as he missed his good friend Ben James, he couldn't imagine how hard the man's death was on Amy. But Amy was a whirlwind, staying so busy with saving the world—or at least with saving Treasure Creek—that she didn't realize how much she needed a man's help. She'd give him an ulcer if he wasn't careful.

With a sigh, he ran a weary hand down his face. He hadn't slept well since this mess over the treasure had started. Actually, he hadn't slept well since Ben's death. Nightmares brought him back to that moment on the rapids when Ben threw him
self into the icy water to rescue a capsized tourist and never returned. Some friend Reed Truscott proved to be.

With a groan, he tried to focus on something else. Thinking of his part in Ben's death drove him crazy. He'd been helpless then and he felt helpless now. But he still believed he should have done something.

He'd never told Amy about Ben's final moments but he replayed them often in his thoughts. Reed could almost feel the icy, snow-laden wind of that horrible January day, the slippery, snowpacked rocks beneath his feet, and the taste of fear in his mouth as he ran toward the river, sliding, falling, only to scramble to his feet and fall some more. He knew the capsized kayak was too far out and the rapids too wild and frigid, but he tried anyway. Long after Ben disappeared beneath the foam, Reed had searched by raft and on foot, and with every step, every stroke of the oar, he'd chanted his promise to care for Ben's family.

Though a search party eventually arrived, he'd been the one to find Ben's broken body hours later, far downstream—a sight that was burned into his memory with painful clarity. While he'd held his friend in his arms, knowing he and no one else must take the news to Amy, he sobbed his grim promise one last time.

He'd told her that night, and in the process, he proposed marriage. He thought it was the right thing to do. The thing Ben wanted. Amy hadn't agreed.

To make matters more insane, shortly thereafter Amy had been interviewed by
Now Woman
magazine. She talked about the handsome tour guides who worked for her, in an effort to promote the business, and now every love-starved female in the Lower 48 had converged upon the tiny Alaskan settlement noted for having more males than female residents.

“Maybe not every love-starved female,” he conceded to his canine companion. “But too many.”

Several had made a play for him, which just proved their desperation.

Still, a few of his buddies were now engaged or married because of that influx of females. They seemed happy about it, too. Not that he gave a frozen frog about love or marriage. He was too busy trying to keep the peace amongst all the ones who did.

Turning down Treasure Creek Lane, the town's main thoroughfare, he eased the Explorer over the snow-dusted street and into a parking spot outside the brightly painted facade of Alaska's Treasures tour company. Amy's business matched the other rustic-looking buildings—bright paint, clapboard and turn-of-the-century style.

Treasure Creek remained much as it had been in the Gold Rush Days. So much so that a man could close his eyes and imagine the rinky-tink of piano and the clip-clop of horse hooves that had filled the town a hundred years ago.

He climbed out of the SUV and sucked in the chilly smell of snow coming down out off the mountains. Treasure Creek enjoyed mild winters, comparatively speaking, and today's temperatures around freezing felt almost balmy. Black night would be upon them soon, and even now the streetlights sent a weak glow over the piles of shoveled snow. Dark or light, tired or rested, duty called the sheriff of Treasure Creek.

Amy employed a tight-knit group. The guides and office staff would want to know about the break-in.

“Come on, boy,” he said to the waiting dog.

Cy leaped happily to the ground and shook out his fur, eager for exercise. His warm breath puffed gray around his muzzle as he hopped onto the curb. Reed moved more slowly, as tired today as he'd been as a teenager when he'd labored long hours on the freezing deck of a crab boat.

As far as his father, Wes Truscott, was concerned, his son was a dead weight who should be able to earn his keep. Reed
had then, and he would now. Treasure Creek depended on him to keep its citizens safe. And that included Ben's widow.

Inside the small office of Alaska's Treasures tour company, he was greeted by the toasty, warm smell of fresh coffee and the friendly smile of Rachel Adams, Amy's receptionist. His belly growled, a reminder that his last meal had been somewhere around six this morning at Lizbet's Diner. Granny Crisp would have a hot meal in the microwave if he ever made it home.

“Amy's place was broken into,” he said without fanfare.