“I know.” Her shoulders sagged. “I’m sorry. My niece was having a problem and I—”
“Could have killed somebody.”
Was he deliberately trying to make her feel worse?
“Lacie, you know you’re supposed to stop for pedestrians in the crosswalk.”
“Yes, yes, I do. And it won’t happen again. I promise.”
“I’m sure it won’t.” His breath puffed in the cold afternoon air. “But I’m afraid I’m still going to have to give you ticket.”
Indignation had her sitting taller. “A ticket? Why? Nobody got hurt.”
“I’m sorry, Lacie, but you broke the law.”
“It wasn’t like I did it on purpose.”
“Nobody ever plans to have an accident.” He pulled a pad from his vest. “I’ll need to see your license, registration and proof of—”
“Yeah, yeah.” She shoved the documents toward him.
“You know, you could cut me a little slack. I’m just doing my job.”
She forced herself to smile. “Or you could cut me some and let me off with a warning.”
Chuckling, he patted her on the arm. “I’ll be right back.”
She could hardly wait.
“Aunt Lacie?”
“What is it, sweetie?” Turning, she noticed that not only was Kenzie no longer crying, but her deep brown eyes were as wide as she’d ever seen them.
“Are we going to go to jail?”
She couldn’t help smiling. “No, we are not going to jail. As soon as we’re done here, we’re going straight to Grandma’s to get you cleaned up and into some dry clothes. Okay?”
The little girl grinned. “Okay.”
“All right. Here you go, Lacie.”
She twisted back toward the door to accept her documents from Matt.
“And if I could just get you to sign here.” Pointing with his pen, he handed her his ticket pad. “You two in for Thanksgiving?”
And then some, but he didn’t need to know that.
“We are, yeah.” She scrawled her name. Why did he make her so nervous? After all, it wasn’t like they were in high school anymore. She was thirty-four years old, for crying out loud.
Must be the uniform.
She handed him his pad.
Or the fact that he’s every bit as good-looking as you remembered.
He tore off her copy then bent to hand it to her, his seemingly curious gaze drifting from her to Kenzie. “Be safe and I hope you guys have a happy Thanksgiving.” With a wink, he walked away.
She looked at the ticket in her hand. So much for old friends.
No telling how much it was going to cost her for almost killing someone. Yet as she continued to study the paper, she suddenly found herself smiling.
It wasn’t a ticket at all. He had given her a warning.
* * *
Matt couldn’t seem to get Lacie out of his mind. And, for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why. Nonetheless, he’d spent the last twenty-four hours thinking of little else.
Was it the frazzled state she seemed to be in? Or the way she’d glared at him with those pretty gray-blue eyes?
Perhaps it was the little girl in the back seat. Though he may have been much older, he knew the pain of losing a mother. And with no father in the picture, Marissa’s death had likely rocked the kid’s world.
Memories of the child’s mother played across his mind. The last time he’d seen Marissa was six years ago, when he was stationed in Hawaii with the navy. Her visit had been a pleasant surprise. And for a brief time, he’d even thought their failed relationship might have a second chance. Instead, he’d gotten burned, and discovered the kind of person Marissa had really been. Evidently the old adage was true. Beauty is only skin-deep.
He scrubbed a hand over his face. The Collier women were the last thing he should be dwelling on. Not when he had plenty of other things to worry about. Like work, his father and the town’s annual Christmas play. He could only imagine what Dad would think of him taking on the role of director.
Something Matt wasn’t 100 percent sure of himself. He was just a deputy sheriff who barely knew stage right from stage left. Yet when he heard rumors that they were thinking about canceling the play, he’d felt compelled to do something. He couldn’t let the event his mother had begun over a decade ago die. That would be like losing Mama all over again.
So here he sat in the cab of his Jeep, staring at the two-story cream-and-blue brick building that was the Wright Opera House, praying he wouldn’t let her down.
Drawing in a deep breath, he grabbed the stack of scripts from the passenger seat and stepped out into the chilly late-afternoon air. The cast would be arriving soon, so he’d better get inside and at least pretend he knew what he was doing. He refused to let other people see him as the screwup his father believed him to be. Because regardless of the what the old man thought, Matt was not responsible for his mother’s death.
He flipped on the lights inside the circa 1888 building that smelled of lemon oil and popcorn. Moving past the box office with its intricately carved moldings, he continued up the curved staircase to the second floor. The view at the top never ceased to stop him in his tracks.
Beyond the expanse of arched windows, the gray volcanic peaks of the Amphitheater enveloped the town’s eastern edge. Cloaked in white and skirted with conifers, they were a sight to behold. God’s majesty on full display.
A few steps closer and his gaze fell to a nearly empty Main Street. He could only imagine how things must have looked back when Ouray was a thriving mining town. Carriages lining Main Street as people turned out in their finest for some cultural enrichment.
With an about-face, he moved into the theater opposite the windows and brought up the house lights. Unexpected emotion clogged his throat as he took in the large space with its brick walls, wooden floor and the original stage curtain that now served as a mural. Mama used to think of the Wright as her second home. He could still see her, taking the stage in an array of roles—everything from a soldier to a nun. She may have been a country girl, but she loved the theater. And this play was her legacy. Meaning as long as Matt lived and breathed, the show would go on.
“Oh, good. I’m not the first one here.”
The voice had him whirling to find Lacie standing behind him. Her caramel-colored hair, which had been pulled back into a ponytail yesterday, now spilled over her shoulders and down her back. Much longer than the no-nonsense, chin-length style she’d worn throughout high school. And with her pale pink peacoat cinched around her waist, she was quite the contrast to the tomboy who had once run circles around him and just about every other guy on the basketball court at Ouray High. She’d always steered clear of anything remotely feminine. That is, until she took the stage their senior year. Watching her transform from the Cockney Eliza Doolittle into a refined lady in their school play had had everyone’s jaw dropping.
Her smile wavered as he approached, her expression suddenly curious. “What are you doing here?”
He cleared his throat. “I’m directing the Christmas play. Why are you here?”
“I’m in the play.” Hands stuffed inside the pockets of her coat, she shifted from one stylishly booted foot to the other. “I thought Mrs. Nichols was directing. That’s what she said when she called and invited me to be a part of it.”
“You’re only in town for