Snowfall On Haven Point

One or two dogs were always running through the Bailey house when he was growing up, but he hadn’t had one since he left home. It was hard to justify it when he lived alone and worked long hours.

He was much better with dogs than he was with kids, actually.

“We can bring Sadie over if you want, to keep you company while your leg is broked,” the boy offered.

The tightness in his throat at the offer was caused by the pain, he told himself. “That’s very nice of you, but I should be okay.”

“Are you sure? She’s a really nice dog. Just as nice as Young Pete, only not as big. She likes to sit on your lap and watch TV.”

“Good thing she’s not as big as Pete, then. I don’t think I’d have room on this recliner.”

The boy giggled, which Marsh had to admit was kind of a sweet sound.

“We had another reason for stopping by,” Andrea said with a meaningful look down at the girl, who had moved back to the doorway to be closer to her mother, as if afraid he was going to reach out and whack her with his crutches.

“Chloe?” Andrea said when her daughter only looked at the carpet. “Chloe? Show Sheriff Bailey what you made.”

The little girl shook her head vigorously. “You do it,” she whispered.

“I’m not the one who made it, honey. You are. You did such a beautiful job on it, too.”

Chloe continued to look anywhere in the room but at him, and after a moment her mother sighed.

“Sorry. She’s become a little more nervous about people she doesn’t know the last few months.”

Though he had come onto the scene after the fact, Marshall had read the reports of what happened at Andie’s house over the summer. He knew Chloe was an eyewitness to the double shooting at her house, when Wyn and Rob Warren had both been injured.

When he showed up just moments after dispatch called him, Andie had been cradling her daughter close, trying to comfort her.

The tenderness of the image had stuck in his head for a long time—the bruised and bleeding Andrea, who must have been terrified herself, doing her best to calm her child.

He frowned, furious all over again at the man who had caused the whole situation.

Warren had put Andrea and her kids through hell, simply because he refused to accept a simple one-syllable word. No.

“Go ahead,” Andie encouraged.

“You show him,” Chloe said again, her voice whisper soft.

“I’ll do it.” Will, his tone exasperated, grabbed a paper out of his sister’s hand and thrust it at Marsh. “This is for you. It’s from Chloe.”

An odd mix of emotions tumbled through him as he looked at what was clearly an art project, a wreath cutout made from two pieces of green construction paper that had been sandwiched on either side of a glued-together mosaic of colorful tissue paper pieces.

“Did you make this?” he asked.

After a pause, Chloe nodded. She looked at him now, but her gaze didn’t rise above his chest.

“I asked my teacher if I could make two and she said I could,” she said, still nearly whispering. “I had to stay inside at recess so I could finish it before Miss Taylor had put away all the art supplies. I didn’t mind. Not really. It was snowy and cold out anyway.

Marshall wasn’t sure what to say. He almost felt like another SUV had just plowed into him.

Why would she do that for him, a virtual stranger who obviously frightened her?

He cleared his throat, telling himself the thickness there was only thirst. “Thank you. It’s beautiful,” he answered truthfully.

He considered it a small victory when she met his gaze for about half a second. “It’s really pretty when the sun comes through it,” she offered, her voice a little louder. “If you want, you can hang it in your window. That’s what we did with ours.”

“That’s a good idea. I think I’ll do that.”

She nibbled on her bottom lip, something he had seen her mother do the evening before. “Do you want me to hang it for you?” she asked after a minute. “That’s why I put a string on it and my mom gave me a hook thing.”

Not sure what to say, he glanced at Andie, who was watching the girl with a warm approval that touched him almost as much as the childish artwork. She met his gaze and gave a barely perceptible nod.

“Sure. That would be very kind of you. Thank you.”

“Which window should I put it in?” she asked. This time she didn’t look away as she waited for his answer.

“How about the middle one? Will that work?”

Her smile flashed like sunlight on snow, then she hurried to the appropriate window. She pulled a suction cup hook from her pocket.

“I want to stick it on! Can I?” her brother asked.

“I guess.” She handed the hook to him and Will licked the underside, then stood on tiptoe and reached over his head to push the hook against the window.

“That’s not high enough,” Chloe complained.

“It’s as high as I can go.”

“Mama, can you help him make it higher?”

Andrea moved to the window and repositioned the hook, then hung the wreath by the cheerful red yarn holder. “How’s that?”

“Good, I think.”

Marsh took it as another small victory when Chloe faced him head-on. “Sheriff Marshall? Is that okay?”

“Perfect,” he assured her. He tilted his head to admire the way the weak December sunlight slanted into the room just right, filtering through the tissue paper like real stained glass in a cathedral, scattering prisms of colored light around the room.

“It’s beautiful,” he told the girl again. “I can’t help but feel a bit of holiday spirit now.”

She smiled at him directly and didn’t immediately look away. Small steps, he supposed, though he had to wonder why he found such a grand sense of accomplishment in helping her lose her fear of him.

“Hey, you don’t have a Christmas tree!” Will said with the same aghast tone a person might use if his buddy’s head just rolled off his shoulders onto the floor.

“True enough.”

“Why not?”