Support Your Local Sheriff. Melinda Curtis
get Terrance off the street. Nate put his hands on the older man’s shoulders and gently turned him around. “You’re telling me your feet are the same size as Robin’s?”
“Robin had long, elegant feet.” Salt-and-pepper brows dive-bombed blue eyes as he stared at Nate over his shoulder. “I feel closer to her when I wear her slippers.”
Locks turned in the door behind them. Out of time, Nate hustled Terrance into the truck.
“Sheriff? Is that you?” Lilac Miller wore a pink silk bathrobe, heels and what looked like a shower cap.
“Yes, ma’am.” Nate walked in front of the headlights so she could see him. “Sorry about the noise. A cat ran out in front of me.” He got in the truck, hoping Lilac hadn’t seen his passenger.
“I saw Lilac driving Doris to the market this morning out by the highway.” Terrance’s knobby knees bumped against the old metal dash.
Nate bit back a curse, adding Lilac to his to-do list tomorrow. She was dangerous on the road, and had promised him she wouldn’t drive unless it was an emergency. “Thanks for telling me.”
Terrance squirmed in his seat. “Should I mention I was walking in my bathrobe and bunny slippers?”
“Only if you want to spend a night in jail under my supervision.”
* * *
JULIE’S BREATH SOUNDED HOLLOW. Her throat felt dry.
Someone had thrown a smoke grenade. Despite the mask, Julie couldn’t breathe. Visibility in the house was like a midnight-thick fog in San Francisco.
A woman appeared before her, holding a baby and a weapon. The assault rifle was trained on Julie.
Julie tried to shout a warning to the officers behind her.
Too late. The woman’s finger squeezed the trigger.
Julie fired.
She couldn’t see. She didn’t know...
Her breath rasped. Her throat burned.
The woman closed the distance between them, pressing the muzzle of her gun into Julie’s shoulder. Julie wanted to run, but her legs were sinking into the floor.
Crying out, Julie fired again. Suddenly, it was April who held her. April, who crumpled to the linoleum, her mouth moving as she tried to speak one word: forgive.
Julie sat up, shaking and sweating. She’d fallen asleep on the floor of the bed-and-breakfast. The lights were still on, but the chill of the evening had seeped into the room. Into her.
Helpless. She felt so helpless. And sleep deprived. She hadn’t been able to sleep properly since she’d been released from the hospital. Not since she’d stopped taking the pain pills. But if she took them she couldn’t drive or care for Duke.
It took several minutes for the shakes to subside. Several more for her to trust her legs to hold her.
But peace of mind? That remained elusive.
* * *
“JUJU.” A WHISPER. A tug on the quilt.
Julie cracked her eyes open. She felt like sun-dried roadkill. Her eyes were gritty. Her mouth dry. And her head...it felt as if her skull had been stuffed with heavy mountain clay. She wanted to roll over and stay beneath the covers.
But there was her nephew. His black hair in a rumpled half Mohawk and his mouth set in his welcome-to-morning grumpy line.
Cheerful. She had to channel April and be cheerful. “Want to snuggle, little man?”
“No. Want milk.” He tugged harder on the quilt. “Juju.”
Julie squinted at her watch. It was seven thirty, late for Duke. “Okay. Okay.” She ran through the list. Shower. Clean teeth. Clean diaper. Clean dressing. Clean clothes. Could she distract a two-year-old for an hour until Leona’s official breakfast time?
“Juju!”
“Okay, I’m moving.” Julie folded her right arm to her chest and rolled slowly to an upright position. Duke didn’t look any better when she was upright. He was still rumpled and grumpy. She caught her reflection in the mirror hanging above the desk. She didn’t look much better. She looked ready to audition for a role as a zombie—dark circles under her eyes, hollow cheeks, hair in loopy tangles. “I hope we see Leona on the way to the bathroom. She could use a good scare.”
Thirty minutes later, Julie and Duke were dressed in jeans, sneakers and thick black hoodies. She carried a backpack with toddler supplies and the custody contract she wanted Nate to sign. He’d thrown her a curveball last night by not rejecting Duke outright. In all the years she’d known him, he’d always said he didn’t want kids. He couldn’t change his mind now. She wouldn’t let him. If he didn’t sign today, she’d put the Daddy Test into play.
“Me walk. Me walk.” Duke ran to the staircase.
“Wait.” Julie dashed after him, juggling the backpack and the umbrella stroller. “Hold my hand.”
Together, they took the stairs one at a time. When they reached the foyer, they peeked into the empty living room. Sunlight streamed across the antique wood-trimmed couch, a delicate coffee table, a Boston fern and the antique rocking horse. The wood floors gleamed. There wasn’t a dust mote in sight.
“Breakfast is at eight thirty,” Reggie said cheerfully from the dining room. “There’s coffee, milk and juice on the sideboard.”
“Milk would be fantastic.” Julie tugged Duke’s blue sippy cup from her backpack.
“Why do you say breakfast is at eight thirty, Regina, when you don’t mean it?” Leona stood at the end of the foyer beneath the stairs. Dark green sheath, low black heels, pearls at her neck, hands clasped at her waist and looking as if she didn’t want to let on she smelled something unpleasant.
Julie gave a tentative sniff to make sure Duke wasn’t fragrant—he wasn’t—before slipping into the dining room to fill Duke’s cup.
“It’s hard to believe Grandmother’s first review of the bed-and-breakfast was positive,” Reggie deadpanned, wiping the dining room table as if she only had a few seconds left to clean. “Customer service isn’t her forte.”
“Chad Healy appreciates good repartee.” Leona entered the dining room, stiff as starch. “The art of conversation is dying, being replaced by the Twitter and those hashtags you always mumble about.”
Reggie stopped cleaning and grinned, a real, live, genuine smile directed at her grandmother. “Did you joke with your father when the telegraph became obsolete?”
Leona didn’t answer, but the corner of her lip twitched. Those two may go at it, but they clearly enjoyed their banter.
“How about Great-Grandpa’s horse and buggy?” Reggie leaned on the table, coming in for the proverbial kill, her tone gleeful. “His gas lamps? His...” She faltered and glanced at Julie for help.
“Uh...” Julie drew a blank, having been tag-teamed before she knew she was part of Reggie’s team.
“You petty.” Duke grinned up at Leona. He wrapped his arms around her spindly leg and gave her a hug.
Leona stared down at Duke. Almost of its own volition, her hand drifted to the top of his head and gave him a pat.
Duke released her, still grinning. “Petty you.” He reached out and patted her bottom. And then he caught sight of his sippy cup and ran to Julie. “Milk!”
Leona’s cheeks were redder than a ripe strawberry. She walked woodenly out of the room.
“I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it.” Reggie stared at Duke in awe. “The Ice Queen melted. Honestly, I don’t think she touched me when I was growing up.”
Julie