The Lawman's Christmas Wish (5 page)

“Oh, he is. He's so sweet.” Delilah's eyes took on a dreamy quality. “We even had this pact that if we weren't married by the time we were thirty we'd marry each other.”

“Oh.” Delilah could be silly, but she was a romantic who longed for love, and Amy couldn't imagine her settling for someone just because she'd reached a certain age.

“I know how shallow that sounds. I didn't before, but now I do.”

Amy smiled. God was making some changes in Delilah Carrington.

“When I told Ronald I was coming here,” Delilah went on, “he shocked me to the soles of my stilettos.”

“How?”

“I foolishly told him I was coming to Alaska to find my perfect soul mate. Ronald became terribly upset, more upset than I'd ever seen, and called off our pact. We haven't spoken since. At first, I didn't understand his behavior, but—”

Amy saw the problem. “He was in love with you. Really in love. And you thought of him as only a friend. A backup groom.”

“Exactly. He loved me. And I was too callous and selfish to realize how much I was hurting him. Oh, Amy, how could I have done that? Ronald may not be a muscled hunk on the outside, but he's got more muscle in his brain than anyone I've
ever known. He taught me to play chess and how to balance my checkbook. He even invested my money and taught me how to build a fail-safe portfolio. Most of all, he listened and cared about me, even when I was so silly and shallow, thinking of nothing but parties and clothes and boyfriends. Ronald is such a good man, and he has the prettiest brown, puppy dog eyes. But I treated him abominably. There is no way he could forgive me.”

“Do you love him? Or just feel badly for what you did?”

“I love him, Amy. And it took coming here to open my eyes.”

The poor girl looked so miserable, Amy's heart hurt for her. “Then you have to talk to him. At the very least, Ronald deserves an apology.”

“I've tried. That's why I'm depressed. Two days ago I emailed him, but he never replied.”

“What did you say?”

“I told him about becoming a Christian, and that I was sorry if I'd hurt him and that I'd really, really love to discuss something important with him.”

“And no answer?”

“Not a word.”

“Maybe he hasn't checked his email.”

Delilah rolled her green, thick-lashed eyes. “Ronald Pfifer is a computer nerd. He lives with an iPhone in his hand.”

Amy's lips curved. “I see your point.”

“So I guess that's that. I've missed my chance with the one man who might be the real Mr. Right. All because I was too silly to see what was right under my nose.”

“I'm sorry, Delilah. I really am.” Although she was not the best person to give advice to the lovelorn, Amy understood disappointment and loss.

At that moment, three men entered the room: Pastor Ed, Dr. Alex Havens, the town's pediatrician, and Reed Truscott. A
buzz of energy shot into Amy's bloodstream, and she couldn't decide if the cause was cocoa or Reed. And if it was Reed, why?

“Nice of you to help, Chief,” Pastor Ed was saying. “We can always use a man who's handy with a hammer.”

Oh. He wasn't following her. He was here to help the men. Shouldn't she be glad about that?

“Which leaves me out,” joked Dr. Havens. “The only hammer I use tests the reflexes. But I wield a mean can of paint.”

The friendly doctor glanced their way and smiled. Avoiding Reed's gaze, Amy lifted her empty cocoa cup to Alex. In the past, Delilah would have jumped up and simpered all over the good-looking physician, as well as Reed. The fact that she didn't only proved how far she'd come.

Lord,
Amy thought,
open Ronald Pfifer's heart—and his email.

Delilah took a final drink of her well-cooled coffee and then pushed back from the table. “Do you think it would be useless if I sent Ronald a Christmas card? I don't want to appear pushy.”

Amy nearly choked on her hot chocolate. Delilah worried about being pushy? After a quick swallow, she said, “I think a card would be exactly the right reminder. And you never know, a little prayer for Ronald's forgiveness might help, too.”

Delilah reached out and squeezed Amy's arm. “Thanks for making me feel better. Maybe I can sing after all.”

As Delilah headed back out to the choir, a dozen other people entered the room. Some headed straight for the refreshments. Others went to the tables to work on props. Amy couldn't keep from glancing toward Reed. He seemed in deep conversation with Pastor Ed, as they sorted through the stack of lumber and selected tools. He didn't appear to notice her at all.

Amy rotated her head, aware of the kinks tightening her neck muscles. She hadn't realized how tired she was until she'd sat down for a few minutes. Since her arrival an hour ago, she'd been too busy to think. And there was still plenty left to do.

Renee Haversham stuck her head around the door and called, “Amy? Everyone is here now. We're ready to rehearse the acting parts whenever you are.”

She reached for the program script she'd placed on the chair next to hers. “On my way.”

 

Reed swung the hammer and drove a nail deep into the wood. With one hand holding the manger leg in place and the hammer drawn back, he spotted Amy disappearing out the door.

Frowning, he thought about following. The woman flitted around as much as a red wasp on caffeine.

“Quit worrying, Chief.” Pastor Michaels clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Whoever broke into her house won't bother coming to church.”

Was he that obvious?

With a grunt and a concerted effort to change the subject, he motioned toward the wood glue. “I'll need that in a minute.”

The crude manger was shaping up fast. Not that he considered a cattle trough much of a challenge.

“You sure know your way around a piece of wood,” Jake Rodgers said. His fiancée, Casey Donner, stood next to him, sorting through the remaining lumber. Reed thought the oilman and the tomboy guide were an odd couple, but from the looks they exchanged with sickening regularity, they were crazy about each other. “Thanks.”

“We could have used you last week on the stable frame.”

“You saying my carpentry wasn't good enough?” This remark from Gage Parker came with a grin. There wasn't much the rugged tour guide couldn't handle, including a piece of wood.

“Nope,” Jake answered. “Just saying I haven't seen a man drive a nail in one swing in a long time.”

Working on a crab boat all those years had made Reed's hands and arms as strong as anvils. Since coming to Treasure Creek, he'd kept busy working on his own place, as well as helping Ben. Light carpentry like this was no big deal. Still, it felt good to feel useful, instead of being propped against a wall where he stuck out like a sore thumb. Helping had taken away the uncomfortable fish-out-of-water feeling. The faint sound of Christmas carols drifting in from the choir was nice, too.

Maybe hanging out at church wasn't so bad after all. Just when his shoulders were starting to relax, a high-pitched scream ripped the air. “Help! Somebody. Hurry!”

The voice was female.

Reed's adrenaline spurted. He dropped the hammer and ran. As he bounded down the hall, radio and keys and weapon jostling, all he could think of was Amy and her sons. If some creep had busted into church, of all places, and accosted Amy, the dirtbag was about to be very sorry.

Everyone else in the church was moving toward the cry for help as well, and Reed had to push through the sea of bodies to enter the sanctuary. Someone pointed upward and he skidded to a stop. Above them, in the balcony, Penelope Lear struggled with a ten-foot tall, decorated Christmas tree that had become unbalanced and canted dangerously to the right. Shiny red balls and flashing lights clanked against one another. Amy and the doctor's wife, Maryanne, were rushing to the rescue but hadn't yet reached the falling tree.

“It's coming down,” someone said. Tension thickened in the room.

Though immeasurably relieved that the distraction was not criminal, but still full of adrenaline that needed release, Reed bounded up the stairs two at a time. Alex Havens and Tucker Lawson, he noticed, were right behind him. Understandable. Their women were up there.

Reed reached the women first, and for reasons he refused to consider, slid in next to Amy. Adding his long arms, Reed reached in to the tree trunk and pushed. His nose twitched at the weird, plastic scent. Whatever happened to real trees?

Amy's slender, sweater-clad arm brushed his as they righted the tree together. Unlike the fake pine, Amy smelled really nice. Like Christmas cookies and cocoa.

His own thoughts annoyed him. Next, he'd be thinking about how pretty she was again. And that wouldn't do. His job was to protect her, not to notice her pretty hair and soft skin and bright blue eyes.

Reed intentionally gripped a wad of artificial pine needles in his palm and squeezed, figuring he deserved the pain.

When Amy grinned up at him, Reed, still fighting his emotions, blurted, “You're determined to get hurt, aren't you?”

The light in her eyes went out, replaced by an arctic frost. She looked past him to the other men. “Will you guys stabilize this and check the other one, too?”

Then she turned and left the balcony.

Reed wanted to kick himself. Why did he always say the wrong thing?

 

“Have you finally put out all the fires?”

At the quiet, familiar voice of Reed Truscott, Amy glanced up from the paper crown she was stapling onto a piece of purple cloth. Headgear for the three wise men was easy to
make. She didn't have to bother Bethany or the other artsy women for these.

“What?” She'd been miffed at Reed's bossy manner earlier when the tree fell, but she was too tired now to fuss at him. She was staying later than usual tonight because she wanted to finish as much as she could. Time was racing past and there were so many details to take care of. She wanted this pageant to be the best one ever, and if that meant longer evenings for her, she was okay with that. Sammy and Dexter were coloring Christmas pictures at the next table, but any minute now she expected one of them to fall asleep.

She paused long enough to look up at Reed. He'd shed his jacket somewhere and a dab of brown paint smudged one cheek. Humor lurked in his walnut-colored eyes.

“I've been watching you for a whole minute and a half and not one person has come in to ask you to solve a problem. You must have put out all their fires.”

A half grin tugged at her lips. “Oh. Well, that's my job as director.”

“Big job.”

“I like doing it. This year is especially important.”

“Yeah.” He scraped out a chair and straddled it.

Amy went back to her staple job. Weird how the room simmered with fresh energy when Reed entered.

“For Ben,” he said.

The energy buzz lessened.

“I didn't mean Ben, although he's a part of it, I guess.”

Reed crossed his arms over the top of the chair and leaned his chin on them. Something about the action reminded her of Dexter and Sammy. Had Reed Truscott ever been a little boy? He always seemed so…so manly. “What
did
you mean?” he asked. His lips barely moved, but enough so that her gaze was drawn to them. They were straight and well formed, with natural brackets around each
end. He'd shaved recently, but the dark smudge of whiskers was visible this close.

Amy averted her gaze, returning to her handiwork. Head-pieces wouldn't make themselves.

“The treasure has everyone thinking about money instead of the real meaning of Christmas. I want us to bring faith and love and community back to Treasure Creek.”

“Did it ever leave?”

She lifted an eyebrow. “Sometimes I wonder.”

He must have heard the sigh and the fatigue in her voice, because he said, “You look beat.”

She pushed at a strand of hair brushing her cheek. As soon as she released it, the lock tumbled down again. She probably looked more than tired. She looked haggard and old and unattractive. “Flattery.”

“Get someone else to do this little stuff.” Reed tucked the stray lock of hair behind her ear.

The whisper touch tingled against her skin. “Like who?”

His answer surprised her more than his touch. “Me.”

She held up a staple gun and a strip of purple cloth. “You want to staple the wise men's crowns?”

“Think I can't?” He took the materials from her. Their fingers brushed. Another tingle, warm and pleasant, danced on her fingertips. All this tingling…what did it mean?

Fatigue, she figured. “Well…thanks. If you staple these, I can write up the program.”

She started to push back from the table, but Reed caught her hand. The tingle, more like electricity now, moved up her arm.

“Sit.”

Amy thought about protesting. She thought about telling him she could take care of herself. But she was tired, and in his take-charge way, Reed was trying to be kind.

“Things won't get done if I don't do them.”

“How about you let me get you a cup of apple cider and you rest a minute.”

“I can sip cider while I write.”

But her protest came too late. Reed was up and over to the counter and back again in an efficiency of movement. For a big guy, he moved with the grace and speed of a shark.

He set the cup in front of her and pushed back his sleeve to reveal his watch. “Two minutes.”

Amy tilted her head, puzzled. “What are you talking about?”

“You are going to sit still for two minutes, relax and drink that cider.”

“Or what? You gonna arrest me?” Before Ben's death, she and Reed had been good friends. The ill-begotten proposal had raised a hedge between them and she missed the silly give-and-take they'd once shared.

At her cheekiness, Reed grinned. Breath clogged in Amy's chest. He scowled and grumbled at her so much, she'd forgotten about his killer grin.