Pushing to her feet, Kristin grabbed the shipping manifest from her clipboard and strode into the small stockroom off her sales floor to finish checking in the previous day’s delivery. Two dozen cartons were stacked beside the metal door leading to the alley.
Pulling a stool close, she opened the boxes, checking each one to see that the description and number of items agreed with the manifest, then noting it on the sheet and boxing the items back up to be shelved later.
The very last carton was a case of jelly-jar candles she’d received from a new vendor. Kristin took more time with them, removing the lids to check the quality and strength of the fragrances. The second she opened the strawberry candle with the pretty red-speckled label, she knew it was a mistake.
One whiff had tears filling her eyes and that cruel videotape in her mind clicking on again.
Suddenly she was driving up the bumpy dirt driveway to Etta Gardner’s farmhouse again…guiding her mother’s car to the end, then back behind the big, white clapboard house where the strawberry fields opened and a small campfire blazed orange in the darkness.
The scent of strawberries filled her mind and lungs, and Kristin’s chest began to ache. Because there was Zach in the car’s headlights again, shattering her heart in a million pieces.
The bell over the entry door jerked Kristin out of her thoughts, and blinking rapidly, she blessed the interruption. She didn’t need this anymore, didn’t want it.
Smoothing her pearl-gray jacket over her white camisole and gray skirt, she summoned a smile and returned to her sales floor where antiques and pretty collectibles shared space with Amish baked goods, silk flowers and more candles.
Her face froze when she saw who’d entered. Then she reminded herself that she was a professional, drew a steadying breath and walked out to greet Zach, just as she would greet any other customer who walked through her door.
“Good morning, Kris.”
“Good morning.” She would not get upset again. She would not run trembling to the cookie jar ever again because of him. She stepped behind the glass showcase that served as a sales counter to stand beside the hulking old-fashioned silver cash register. “What can I do for you?”
“Nothing. I’m here to do something for you.” He was dressed in snug, faded jeans and a white knit polo shirt with an open collar that showcased his broad shoulders and tanned arms. His steady gaze held hers as he reached for his wallet, withdrew a check, and laid it on the counter.
She knew without looking that it was made out to her in the amount of three hundred dollars. “I told you last night that I didn’t want it.”
“And I told you that I don’t like owing people. Take it.”
“No.”
He shoved it under the cash register. “All right, then add it to your donation or use it for a bookmark.”
She paused for a moment, then nodded, knowing that if she kept refusing, they’d be at this all day. “Thank you. I’ll see that the hospital auxiliary gets it. Now, if there’s nothing else, I need to get back to work.”
“There is something else.”
Kristin waited.
“Before we spoke last night, Maybelle Parker collared me.”
“Yes, I know. I saw her.”
“She said we were expected to join the other bachelors and their dates for a dinner cruise on Lake Edward in two weeks. Are you planning to go?”
She was stunned that he would even ask. “With you?”
“You did buy me.”
Kristin kept her tone even. “I did not buy you, I made a donation to the Children’s Christmas Fund. I thought you understood that.”
“So you said. But it was a pretty hefty donation. Are you sure you didn’t expect something more?”
This time she couldn’t keep the edge out of her voice. “I have no expectations where you’re concerned. I’m not going on the cruise. But if you’re interested, by all means, feel free to ask someone else.”
“I’m not interested.” Zach returned his wallet to his back pocket. “I’ll only be here for a few weeks, and I’ll need most of that time to get my aunt’s house in shape for a Realtor. I don’t have time for cruises.”
“Really?” she asked, irked again. “Would you have answered the same way if I’d said I wanted to attend?”
“Looking for a fight, Kris?” he asked curiously. “We used to be pretty good at it.”
The arrival of another customer stopped her reply, and for the second time in minutes, Kristin was glad for the interruption. She was even happier to see Chad, but probably for all the wrong reasons.
“Hi,” she called, smiling.
“Hi,” Chad called back cheerfully. “You look pretty this morning. How’s my best girl?”
“Full of energy,” she answered, letting the “best girl” thing slide.
Zach watched Hollister amble toward them, happy to return the jerk’s frigid nod as he carried a take-out bag to the sales counter. He eased as close to Kristin as the counter allowed, an intimate smile on his lips as he unloaded coffee in foam cups, stir sticks and creamers.
This morning, the chief was all decked out in his uniform—dark gray shirt with black epaulets and pocket flaps, black pants, and lots of shiny silver buttons. There was more crime-fighting paraphernalia hanging from his utility belt than Batman’s.
Zach found himself disliking Hollister more with every passing second. Maybe because he’d figuratively elbowed Zach out of the way. Or maybe because Chad was fixing Kristin’s coffee from memory.
Hollister spoke cordially to Zach as he stirred cream into Kristin’s cup, though there was no mistaking the “get lost” message in his green eyes. “Sorry, but I didn’t bring enough for company. If I’d known you were here, I’d have ordered another cup.”
Sure he would have. “Thanks just the same, but I’ve already had my quota for the day.”
“Early riser, are you?”
The question sounded like an accusation. In fact, everything he said sounded like an accusation. Zach’s edginess increased.
Kristin cleared her throat. “I had an interesting call from Anna Mae’s cousin a few minutes ago, Chad. Apparently, all the legal issues have been wrapped up, and Mrs. Arnett’s now free to sell the house and its contents.”
Hollister handed her a foam cup. “Bet she’s relieved to get on with it. She and her son have been back and forth a lot in the past few weeks.” He frowned wryly. “Weird people, those two.”
Zach stilled. How many Anna Maes could there be in a town this size? “Are you talking about Anna Mae Kimble?”
Chad took a cautious sip of hot coffee, then favored Zach with his attention again. “She was the department’s secretary for years,” he said sympathetically. “She passed away last month.”
Zach felt a stab of regret as a childhood memory of Anna Mae moved through his mind, and once again he was grateful for her kindness. “What happened?”
“It was an accident,” Chad said. “I don’t like speaking ill of the dead, particularly when the deceased was a good friend. But apparently Anna Mae had a little too much sherry the night she died. She fell in her home. Struck her head on a coffee table.”
The entry bell chimed again, and a solemn, bow-tied, older man Zach recognized entered the shop. Harlan Greene was the town’s perennial tax collector, having served in that position for decades. According