Falling Like Snowflakes (25 page)

Sheriff Colton watched her go, a wistful look on his face. His cheeks were flushed from the brief encounter.

“You should just ask her out, Colton.”

The pink stain darkened, clashing with his red mustache. “Why would I do that? I was just trying to catch you before you left. I did a little checking with my friend like I told you I would.”

After a quick glance around, Beau led him to a quiet corner of the vestibule. “What'd you find out?”

“He's a bad character, that Lucca Fattore. He's wanted in the prescription drug market, but no one's been able to nail him. He's on trial for the murder of Antonio Martelli, who I'm guessing was Kate's husband. If that's the case, her name is Eden—Eden Martelli.”

Eden.
The name suited her.

“The feds suspect that Martelli was in deep with Fattore. They think he was undercutting him.” He gave Beau a pointed look. “Martelli was either stupid or as arrogant as all get out. You don't cheat a man like Fattore. He likes to get his own revenge, which is why he was the one pulling the trigger, not some hired hand.”

“So they'll put him away for the murder?”

The sheriff gave a tight-lipped smile. “They've got lots of circumstantial evidence, but probably not enough to put him away. They had DNA evidence, but it came up missing. Martelli's kid saw him get shot, and they had him and his mom at a safe house. But the marshals turned up dead—slit throats. The Martelli woman and her kid disappeared. That's all my contact knew, and you said keep it on the down low, so I didn't press him.”

“No, that's fine. Thanks for your discretion.”

“We should probably contact the DEA, Beau. It sounds like—”

“No. We don't even know for sure if Martelli was Kate's husband. This could be something else altogether.”

It wasn't. Everything Kate told him lined up. But Colton didn't know all those details. Maybe he could get Kate to tell him the truth. Persuade her to go to the authorities and get this creep locked away for good.

“Fattore must've found the safe house and killed the marshals,” Beau said. It was a wonder Kate and Jack had escaped.

“That's what I'm thinking. That's one man that needs to be locked away.”

Colton was right. He'd talk to Kate about going back, he decided, as he drove them home a little later. It would be hard for her to subject Jack to additional trauma, but his word could put away an evil man. Then she could settle down and stop running, stop looking over her shoulder. His experience told him it wouldn't be that simple. Not with a network like Fattore's. But he'd help. He'd keep them both safe if it were the last thing he did.

Chapter 27

A
fter lunch Eden headed to the Roadhouse with Micah and Beau to watch the Patriots game. Aunt Trudy stayed home, claiming to need peace and quiet. It was a good thing because the game was close, and the crowd was rowdy.

Eden always liked the Roadhouse's atmosphere, but it was even better during a football game. The place was packed, the TVs blared, and every play was met with unanimous support for the Pats. She loved watching her son during the games. He'd become an ardent fan, cheering at all the right times, receiving high fives from Beau and Zac.

She couldn't help but notice the way the Callahan brothers turned heads as they mingled with their friends, but neither of them seemed to notice the feminine appreciation. Paige had been right about their being the town's most eligible bachelors.

At half time Zac asked Beau to run out for ground ginger. The Shop 'n' Save was closed, but the Kitchen Crate in town carried spices. He invited Eden to come along. Micah didn't want to leave, and Zac told her to go on. She acquiesced, knowing Zac would take good care of him.

“I thought everything was closed on Sundays,” she said as they walked out to the parking lot.

“Not with Christmas in less than a week.”

As they approached his truck, Beau tossed her the keys.

She caught them in her cold hands. “What?”

“You drive. Aunt Trudy said you need practice driving on the snow.”

She gave him a scowl as she slid into the driver's seat. Beau's truck rumbled as she started it. She pulled slowly from the lot and onto the street. The pavement was covered with packed snow, but it wasn't very slippery.

“Turn left on Main,” he said when they reached town. “The store's on the right, just past the coffee shop.”

The street was lined with cars, parallel parked against knee-high snowbanks. People strolled the shoveled sidewalks in their buttoned-up parkas and winter boots, carrying handled bags. The red, white, and blue Open flags hanging outside the stores waved in the wind. Christmas lights twinkled in storefront windows even though the sun hadn't set yet.

“There's a spot.” He pointed to a space in front of the yarn shop.

She pulled alongside an old black GMC and put the truck in reverse, looking behind her. She couldn't remember the last time she'd parallel parked. But it was like riding a bike, right?

Holding her breath, she turned into the curb and waited for the right time to cut the wheel back. But she waited too long, and the truck's tires bumped the curb.

She let out her breath and started forward again, turning the wheel.
Let's try this again.
Back, back . . . The truck plowed into the snowbank with a scraping sound.

Her shoulders tensed as her gaze flickered off his eyes. “Sorry.”

“You're kind of bad at this.” She heard the smile in his voice and looked to see his eyes twinkling.

She exhaled softly, relieved he wasn't upset about the truck. “I'm just out of practice.”

“That snowbank begs to differ.” One side of his lips turned up in the kind of smile that should be illegal in all fifty states. Maybe worldwide. It would be a service to women everywhere.

“I just need to line it up.”

She pulled forward, but there wasn't much room. Inches. She reversed and bumped the curb again. Forward again. Backward. Forward. Back. She didn't seem to be getting anywhere. She tensed, waiting for him to snap.

“I was wrong.” There was laughter in his voice. “You're
really
bad at this.”

Her spirits lifted at his playful tone, and all the tension drained away. Her shoulders fell, her arms relaxed, her fingers loosened on the wheel. “Shhh. I need to focus.”

“You need a hybrid and a parking space the size of a runway.”

A laugh slipped out as her gaze flickered over him. “That is not nice.”

“Did you just snort?”

“No.” She bit her lip, backing up again. Slowly this time, cutting the wheel.

“Yes, you did. You totally snorted.”

“I do not snort.” She hit the curb. A laugh escaped, finishing with a snort.

“Oh my gosh. You're drawing a crowd.”

“I am not!” She laughed, looking around, hoping it wasn't
true. It wasn't except for a teenaged kid who stood outside the coffee shop with a steaming cup and his phone, probably tweeting about bad women drivers.

“The
Harbor Tides
is going to show up any minute.”

“Stop it.”

“Man dies of old age while waiting for woman to parallel park.”

“Stop it!”

It had been forever since she'd bantered with a man. It felt good. Like a big, warm hug at the end of a long week.

She pulled forward, turning the wheel, then backed up. And there was that snowbank again.
Crunch.
They jolted forward against their seat belts. She bit her lip.

“We're going to miss the entire second half. Switch me seats.”

“This parking space is too small.”

“Sure it is. Switch me seats.”

“Fine, but it's the space, not my parking skills.” She put the truck in park then unbuckled her belt. As she reached for the handle, he scooted next to her.

Okay, they'd do it his way.

She twisted to crawl over him, putting her left hand on the seat back beside his shoulder. But he was sitting on her other hand, and she lost her balance as she tugged it free. She put her left foot down, shifting her weight, almost falling on him.

Then realized her foot was grinding into his.

She looked at him, eye to eye, practically on top of him. “Sorry!”

Her foot felt for purchase and landed on her purse. She tipped.

He chuckled, his dark eyes glimmering. “You are a hot mess, girl.”

His deep laugh loosened something pleasant inside, stirring up things she hadn't felt in far too long. And the look in his eyes wasn't hurting either.

She hiked her second leg over him, laughing at her own clumsiness. Finally she twisted over, falling into the passenger seat.

Beau's eyes connected with hers, the warmth in them making her heart roll over and beg for mercy.

“Lucky for you,” he said, “you have a great laugh.”

Beau knew he had to talk to Kate about her past. It was the whole reason he'd invited her on the errand. But seeing the pretty smile on her lips, the tinge of pink on her cheeks, he couldn't bring himself to do it just now.

Man, she was beautiful. And that laugh of hers. Like a melody that said more than lyrics possibly could. It was the first time he'd heard her really laugh, he realized. It had only made him want to hear it again and again. She deserved to have a little laughter in her life, and he wanted to be the one making it happen.

Tearing his eyes from hers, he pulled the truck forward, and a couple of corrections later, the truck was parallel to the curb.

“Show-off,” she tossed over her shoulder as she exited the truck.

She was relaxed enough to tease him now after being a tense wreck only minutes ago, and it made him feel like Superman.

Eden.
Just the sound of her real name made him think of lush gardens and natural beauty. He had to be careful not to say it, though—it would only scare her away. Maybe when he talked to her tonight she'd open up enough to tell him herself. He wanted all the barriers between them gone.

They found the ginger in the store, chatting and playing as they made the purchase. By the time they made it back to the Roadhouse, the second half was well under way.

Zac took the bag as they entered the noisy restaurant. “What took so long?”

“Kate had an interview with the
Tides
,” Beau said with a straight face.

An elbow landed in his gut. He grunted.

“Oo-kaay, then.” Zac headed toward the kitchen.

Beau made a big deal of rubbing his stomach. “Harsh, Kate. Really harsh.”

Between the Roadhouse noise and the tight game—with the Pats coming out on top—Beau didn't have a chance to talk to her.

Later that night he wondered if he was ever going to. She'd gone upstairs to tuck in Jack ten minutes ago. Remembering the intimacy of the night before, he wondered if she'd even come back down.

Aunt Trudy was knitting away in her recliner, watching a reality show set on an island in the Caribbean somewhere.

Awhile later Kate's footsteps sounded on the creaky steps. The tap kicked on in the kitchen, and she entered the living room a moment later, taking the opposite end of the sofa.

“Working on Riley's sweater?” she asked Aunt Trudy.

“I'd hoped to finish it before he left. I don't think he's allowed to receive packages.”

“Well, shoot,” Beau said. “I thought that was for me. You know red's my best color.”

“You'll be lucky if I make you anything.” She frowned at Beau. “Don't think I haven't noticed Sheriff Colton's coming by more often.”

He shot a look at Kate, but she was watching the contestant on the reality show attempt to make a shelter with palm fronds.

“What makes you think I had anything to do with that?” Beau asked.

“You can just tell the sheriff that he can keep his doughnuts and his pies to himself. I'm not interested.”

“Oh, no. I'm not getting in the middle of this.”

She pursed her lips, her needles clacking louder.

“I don't see what's so bad about him anyway. He's a nice guy. Make some woman a fine husband, if you ask me.”

Aunt Trudy grabbed her basket, tossing her project inside. “Well, I didn't ask you, did I?” She grabbed her crutches, stood, and hobbled from the room.

A few moments later her door clicked shut.