The Lawman's Christmas Wish

“I appreciate the offer, Casey.” Amy glanced toward the breakfast nook where Karenna Parker was playing with the boys and baby Matthew to keep them out of the way. “But I don’t want my sons to think there’s any reason to be afraid.”

“But there is a reason, Amy,” Penelope said with a graceful shiver. “You could get hurt.”

Amy rubbed at the back of her neck. A headache was starting, and she was certain it was from tension. But running away from a problem never solved anything, and she was telling the truth when she said she didn’t want her boys to know there was a reason to be afraid. Still, talking about the break-in upset her more than she wanted them to know.

“I’m glad all of you are here now. That’s what matters. Let’s just forget the other for a while, okay?”

Her friends exchanged glances and a silent agreement seemed to circle the room. No more talk of the break-in.

Nate dipped a pair of sponges into a bucket of soap suds and squeezed. Ketchup bloodied the water. “Business was slow anyway.”

Amy forced her gaze from the red water and the reminder that she or the boys could have been hurt—that instead of ketchup, someone could have been cleaning away blood. “No calls this afternoon?”

Her voice sounded high and strained, even to her own ears. The last thing she or the town needed after the miniboom of that last few months was a dead week. Without tourists, the town could not survive.

Rachel looked up from the kitchen sink where she was washing anything anyone stuck in front of her. If the company’s receptionist had closed the office, business must have been really slow.

“A few. Don’t worry.” Rachel waved a drippy skillet.

“Snowmobile and ski season is upon us. We’ll be wildly busy around Christmas and New Year’s when the schoolkids are out on break.”

“You’re right, of course. The Lord has brought us this far. He won’t let us fail now.”

The pep talk was more for herself than anyone. Exhausted both physically and emotionally, she was running on fumes.

Nate pivoted on the toes of his boots. His green eyes rested on her, placid and sure. “Bethany’s already booked a couple of December weddings. We’re bound to attract a few tourists from those.”

Amy’s friend, Bethany Marlow, now Nate’s fiancée, had returned to Treasure Creek a few months ago to establish a wedding planning business. Amy had once suffered doubts that such an enterprise was viable in the tiny town, but she’d been delightedly wrong. When Bethany moved back to Treasure Creek to set up her wedding shop, no one could have imagined how busy she would be. Although the now infamous magazine article had regenerated some unsavory interest in Amy’s family’s missing treasure, it had also proven a boon for the town.

The knot in her shoulders relaxed a little. Talking about weddings and business took the edge off.

“That’s great news, Nate. Is the wedding party for anyone we know?” She glanced around pointedly at several faces glowing with love. Nate’s was one of them.

“Not me and Bethany. At least not yet.” He grinned, teeth flashing beneath his gorgeous green eyes. “She wants to make plans. Lots of plans. Gotta be perfect.”

“Well, she is a wedding planner. Think of the publicity and the business the perfect wedding could bring. Not that either of you cares about that at your own wedding.”

“You got that right.” Nate was a tight-lipped rancher and part-time guide who naturally shied away from too much attention. Those who knew him knew the big wedding plans were a sure sign of how much he loved and wanted to please his bride-to-be.

“So if it’s none of us, who is getting married?” Penelope asked as she dumped the dustpan into a large, plastic trashbag. Amy tried not to cringe at the clatter and clink of her broken belongings.

“A couple is coming up from Seattle to be married on skis, and Bethany’s making all the arrangements, including accommodations for one hundred guests.”

“A wedding on skis,” Penelope mused. “Sounds…fun.” Her expression said just the opposite.

Her fiancé, Tucker, laughed. “Does that mean you want to get married on skis, too?”

Penelope pointed a manicured nail at him. “You’re cute, but you’ll be even cuter in tails and a cummerbund.”

“What? No skis?” Tucker teased. “No edgy Fifth Avenue goggles? No trendy pink-and-lime ski wear?”

“Only if you wear the pink,” she said, eyes sparkling with mischief.

A couple of the rugged guides looked aghast at the conversation, but Tucker was an attorney from the city. Even though he’d spent months stranded in the Alaskan wilderness, he and Penelope weren’t exactly the rugged type. But they were a perfect match. And he was the right groom for the formal wedding Penelope was planning—with Bethany’s help, of course.

Amy laughed, more anxiety easing away as Tucker stalked a squealing Penelope into the darkened living room—a fitting place for two romantics to sneak a kiss.

When the pair returned a couple of minutes later starry-eyed and grinning, a twinge of envy caught Amy by surprise. She and Ben had once been like this, though the last few years, with the babies and the business, had been hectic and they’d had less time for each other.

“The B and Bs must be thrilled to have so many customers this time of year,” she said.

Casey’s short brown hair bounced against her face as she nodded. “I talked to Juanita this morning at Lizbet’s Diner.” Juanita Phillips owned and operated the Treasure Creek Hotel. “She said the hotel was booked solid through the New Year and already had Valentine’s bookings, too. She’s in shock.”

“Good shock, if you ask me,” Rachel said. “We need that kind of shock at the tour office.”

A knock sounded at the door. Anxiety, momentarily at bay during the pleasant conversation, leaped into Amy’s pulse. She jumped and spun, hand flying to her throat.

“Hey.” Nate rose, giving her a worried look. He tossed the sponge into the bucket and came to stand next to her. “You okay?”

“Of course I am.” Amy forced a smile. “The knock was unexpected. That’s all.” Burglars didn’t knock. Did they?

Casey flipped on the back porch light and yanked the door open. The tomboy guide feared nothing. “Reed. Hi. Come in.”

Hat in hand, the tall officer stepped inside. His gaze swept the room before landing on Amy. He frowned.

All her anxieties came rushing back and brought their friends along.

Chapter Three

Amy James was as slippery as a young salmon. No matter how hard he tried to keep an eye on her, Reed never quite felt in control of the situation. Even though he’d gone back to her house with the troubling news from Lizbet’s Diner that a couple of strangers had been asking about the treasure, Amy had insisted on staying right where she was. She’d looked worried, nervous and shaken, but she’d thrust out that stubborn little chin and refused to even let him bring up the subject of moving to his place. As if he would have in front of half the town.

Short of camping on her doorstep in the frigid temperatures, all he could do was cruise past the cheerful blue dwelling every half hour after the unofficial cleanup committee gave up and went home. In a town as small as Treasure Creek, one deputy per shift was generally all the help a chief of police could afford, though during the busy seasons, Reed had a couple of part-time locals to call on. When exhaustion had overcome Reed, Deputy Ken Wallace had promised to keep an eye on Amy’s place.

Eyes as gritty as sandpaper, he pulled his SUV into the garage attached to his ranch-style split-level. Dark was absolute at 2:00 a.m. in Alaska, but the dome light flared on when he opened the door and stepped out onto the concrete. Cy hopped down beside him and waited patiently at the locked entrance leading into the kitchen.

Though the garage was refrigerator-cold and ripe with the familiar smells of oil and grease, Reed paused on the single step to remove his boots. Granny Crisp was touchy about her clean floors. He took an old towel from a nail and carefully dried Cy’s paws, too. No use getting Granny in a mood. He might own the house, but Granny was in charge of keeping things neat and tidy. For a little gnat of a woman, she could tear a strip off him with her black button eyes.

In his socks, he keyed the door and entered the kitchen, the only light glowing red from the microwave and stove clock. Cy’s toenails clicked against Granny’s polished linoleum. Reed reached for the light over the stove just as the overhead light flicked on. Temporarily blinded, he blinked rapidly until vision returned.

Granny Crisp stood in the doorway between the dining room and kitchen, a tiny twig of humanity. In gray thermal socks, a faded, red fleece robe that had seen too many washings, and sprouts of equally faded brown hair, she looked as harmless as a child. Reed knew better. The steel strength of her dark Russian ancestry ran through her veins.

Her gaze went first to his feet. He smiled inwardly. When it came to keeping a clean house, Granny was as predictable as the sunrise.

“Supper’s in the oven,” she said in her strong, blunt manner. Someone who didn’t know her well might think her rude, but beneath the hard shell and sharp tongue was a loving granny who’d always been there for him.

“It’s 2:00 a.m.” With everything that went on today, Reed hadn’t considered dinner, but right now all he wanted was a bed.

“I can tell time.” She went to the microwave and pushed three beeps worth of buttons. The whirring sound started. “Amy and her kids all right?”