Kristen Blooming (11 page)

It took three trips, and Kristen had begun to sneeze by the time she’d finished, but she managed to throw everything away. Everything that was but the cards they’d sent. Those she kept and carried with her to the Bread Box when they all went out for lunch.

Just as she’d expected, the sheriff was at his table, glaring down the brunette waitress Kristen had learned owned the place. The woman was pointedly ignoring him, which, according to Cybil, was the normal state of their relationship. That made Kristen feel sad for the two of them but didn’t stop her from intruding.

Ignoring the deputies, who called out greetings as she stormed past, Kristen marched right up to the sheriff and pointedly cleared her throat. The big man’s gaze lifted slowly until his eyes locked with hers. Then he frowned.

“Miss Harold.”

“Sheriff Krane.” She nodded her head slightly with that greeting before whipping out the stack of notes she had stored in her purse. “If you don’t mind, I would like to have a word with you.”

* * * *

“One sugar or two?” Mrs. Harold asked, hovering over the pot of tea she’d carried in on an ornate tray.

She set it down on the coffee table that fronted the couch. A couch that had plastic on it. Actual plastic. Dylan couldn’t believe it. He felt as if he’d walked into a TV set back from before he was born. It was surreal but totally fitting.

After all, he was playing a role. To that end, he leaned forward to answer politely. “Two, thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.”

Mrs. Harold smiled at him, and Dylan could see that she’d once been a pretty woman. Kristen clearly had inherited her clear and perfect skin from her mother, along with those gray eyes. Thankfully, she hadn’t inherited her father’s nose hairs.

“Now, I told Mr. Harold about your interest in our daughter, and he was quite concerned, wasn’t that right, dear?” Mrs. Harold directed that question toward her husband, who roused himself in the large recliner Dylan had a feeling he spent a lot of time in.

“Yes. Yes. Quite concerned.” He nodded as Mrs. Harold passed a very small and delicate looking teacup over to Dylan. He murmured a soft thank you and got another smile as she began serving up her husband a cup.

“Well, I certainly don’t want you to worry,” Dylan stated as he settled back against the crinkle of the plastic and offered the other man a pointed look. “Your daughter is very lovely, and I would never do anything to disrespect her.”

“Hmm.” Mr. Harold breathed deeply and studied him for a long moment before finally responding. “Kristen is our daughter, our only daughter, Deputy Singer. I’m sure in your profession you’ve seen enough to understand that parents have a right to worry over their girls.”

“Of course.” Dylan nodded instantly in agreement. “I’m well aware of the horrors that await a young lady out in society. That’s just why I think a lady as special and sweet as Kristen should be well-protected by a man who knows how to handle that world.”

“I’m assuming you know how to handle it,” Mr. Harold filled in, accepting his tea and immediately turning to put it down on the side table next to a TV remote that looked shiny and new. In fact, everything kind of had a sheen to it, including Mr. Harold’s bald head.

“It’s my job.” Actually, there were no real horrors that happened in Pittsview, but he didn’t think that needed to be pointed out. “I’ve been a deputy with the department for four years now.”

“And that would make you how old?” Mrs. Harold asked rather baldly as she settled down onto a small, floral print chair that Dylan doubted he could fit in.

There was a second one right beside Mrs. Harold and suspected it belonged to Kristen. Poor girl. He couldn’t imagine how many teas she’d been subjected to.

“Twenty-four,” he answered, knowing that was a mark against him by the way Mr. Harold shook his head.

“So young,” Mrs. Harold murmured. “Are you certain you know what it is you really want out of life, Deputy Singer? Aren’t you just beginning to enjoy it?”

“How can I?” Dylan responded smoothly. “I’m all alone, and I was raised in a big family.”

“Do you want a family?” Mrs. Harold pressed, and Dylan knew better than to hesitate.

“Yes. A big one.” That was actually true, but that didn’t mean he wanted it then. “Big enough to keep a woman at home.”

“Oh, well.” Mrs. Harold sighed, surprising him when she didn’t immediately leap to the question of whether he had enough money to afford that dream. He didn’t, but he would have lied.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Deputy Singer.” Mrs. Harold shook her head at him. “Because our Kristen is determined to work.”

“She is?” That actually shocked him. Given this show, he’d figured Kristen was looking for home and babies. Apparently not.

“Yes, sir.” Mrs. Harold nodded before poking up with a small amount of pride.

“Women shouldn’t work outside the home,” Mr. Harold instantly interjected. “It isn’t right. Her going off to live with that
⎯
”

“Henry!” Mrs. Harold fluffed her hair as she shot her husband a pointed look. “I don’t really think we need to get into all that.”

“It’s okay, Mrs. Harold,” Dylan assured her. “I’m aware of Gwen’s reputation, but it’s Kristen I’m more concerned about.”

“Kristen?” Mrs. Harold blinked that in, looking suddenly alarmed. “Why? What has Gwen gotten her into?”

“Well, I understand that you are faithful people, and I’m sorry to inform you but your daughter…she missed church on Sunday.” Dylan knew that was true because Gwen had told him. She’d also told him that if Mrs. Harold found out she’d flip her lid. Two useful pieces of information right then.

“Oh, do you hear that, Henry? Kristen’s being led astray.”

“Hmm.” Mr. Harold made that strange grumbling noise that Dylan was beginning to suspect was an agreement. “We’ll have to have a talk with her.”

“Now I didn’t come here to get Kristen into any trouble,” Dylan warned him, inflecting enough distress in his tone to have Mrs. Harold reaching out to pat his knee.

“Don’t you worry, Deputy. You didn’t do anything wrong,” she stressed, making it patently clear who she thought had done wrong.

“Yes, well, church is important.”

“Do you go to church?” Mr. Harold asked, eyeing him with a look that assured Dylan he was being measured and tested once again.

Thanks to Gwen, though, he knew all the right answers. “Certainly, sir. I attend First Christian Baptist.”

“Do you hear that, Henry? He’s a Baptist.” That had Mrs. Harold smiling, but Mr. Harold was studying him with a narrowed gaze.

“I’ve heard of First Christian. Reverend Hampton runs the show up there, no?”

“It’s Hapton, sir.” Dylan smiled, not about to be tripped up on details. “Reverend Hapton.”

“Hmm.”

“And I hear good things about your church, First United.” Dylan easily turned the conversation back toward his ultimate goal. “Though I’ve never had the pleasure of sitting through a service.”

“Well, you should join us this weekend.” Mrs. Harold immediately leapt to the invitation Dylan was fishing for. “It would be the perfect first chance for you and Kristen to get better acquainted.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Dylan smiled.

* * * *

Brandon sat at the front desk, staring at his magazine without actually seeing anything on the high-gloss pages. His mind was caught and stuck by the memory of how good Kristen had looked in her dress that afternoon. She’d waltzed into the Bread Box at lunchtime looking as if she’d walked right off the set of an old sitcom.

Her slick dark tresses had been lightened with a hint of red and curled around her headband in a cascade of waves that framed the perfect curve of her heart-shaped face. Those wispy curls had highlighted the soft arch of her brows and the shine of her brilliant eyes. With her nose, her lips, the way her chin stuck ever so slightly out, she looked like an angel…and dressed just about as modestly as one.

That was all right with Brandon, especially if it helped keep the other men at bay. Like that was going to happen. Those idiots had screwed him completely over, and Brandon knew that was the point. It had become clear that the stupid competition was really about him.

After all, most of the deputies liked their women full-figured and fresh. Normally so did Brandon. Why work for it when easy came so…well, easy? Kristen was anything but easy, but she was worth the work. The way she’d strutted past them with her head held high that afternoon at the bakery had proved it.

Kristen had class. She might have been a little quiet, but it had been clear when she’d dumped all the letters the other deputies had sent her on Alex’s table that she also had a backbone. Nobody was going to mess with her. Nobody better or Brandon would be taking care of them.

“Hamilton, Hammel, Young….and where the hell is Singer?” Alex stuck his head out of his office to call out those names. Thankfully for Dylan, he was just walking in the door.

“Right here, sir.”

Alex grunted and shoved the door to his office farther open. “I want to see all of you. Now!”

“You’re in trouble,” Travis sang softly as all four deputies treaded slowly past. “Enjoy the night shift, guys.”

“Screw you, Travis,” Brandon shot back, miserable already because he knew the bastard was right.

Nothing was going his way these days. Fate hated him. That was clear enough when he walked into the sheriff’s small office and found both extra chairs already occupied by Duncan and Dale. Brandon realized in that moment he was not going to catch a break. Not today.

“Shut the door, Singer,” Alex snapped as Dylan crowded in behind Brandon. “I want to talk to you idiots because I’m sure, between the four of you, I’m talking to the mastermind of some stupid deputies’ challenge.”

Brandon, Dylan, and Dale all looked over at Duncan, who managed to look almost innocent in that moment. The sheriff wasn’t buying it, and neither was anybody else.

“That’s what I thought.” Alex snorted as he settled down behind his desk. “Well, it ends now. Understand me?”

Alex pinned each man with a pointed look until every one of them had nodded.

“Good,” he grunted. “Because Miss Kristen Harold is aware of your juvenile attempt to make her into some stupid prize. She’s threatening to go to the mayor
and
the paper.”

Brandon couldn’t help but smirk at that. The little miss had the brains to know just what to threaten to make Alex squirm. He didn’t like the mayor. Nobody really did. The man was pompous and annoying. Whenever he got involved with the sheriff’s department, it was an utter disaster, which reflected in Alex’s tone.

“None of us need that kind of attention. Understand?”

Another round of nods met that question, leaving Alex sighing and nodding himself.

“Good. Then stay away from the woman. If she ends up talking to the mayor and he ends up talking to me, I’m not going to waste time talking to you. Got it?”

That they certainly did. To a man, every one of them understood exactly what the sheriff was saying. If he had to suffer the mayor’s displeasure, then all four of them would be suffering his. Nobody wanted that. Alex could get creative with his revenge.

“Now get the hell out of my office…and, Singer, I’m docking your pay for that extra half hour you took at lunch.” Alex pinned Dylan with a hard look as Dylan hesitated with his hand on the doorknob. “Don’t be making it a habit.”

“Yes, sir.” Dylan waited to roll his eyes until he’d gotten out of the office.

Travis sat his desk snickering as he watched the four of them tromp back past. It didn’t take but seconds before Duncan was asking what he was looking at and an argument to follow, which was mostly just insults being passed around. Brandon ignored them all to take up his station at the front desk.

He’d be glad when his tour of duty sitting up there ended and he was back out on the road. He enjoyed patrolling, and nobody enjoyed the front desk. That was why they all took turns unless, of course, Alex was ticked at somebody.

Brandon was kind of pissed at Killian and Adam right then, but those two idiots were in such bad shape over Rachel picking on them, that it would have been kind of like picking on a sick puppy. Nobody was that cruel, even the sheriff.

“So aren’t you going to ask me where I was?” Dylan came to lean back against the counter as Brandon picked up his magazine.

“Nope.”

“Oh, come on,” Dylan cajoled. “You’re not still mad at me about the Kristen thing, are you? You know I didn’t have anything to do with that.”

“And you certainly haven’t been of any help, either,” Brandon muttered, knowing that he was being a dick.

The hole he found himself in wasn’t Dylan’s fault, but he still couldn’t help but feel as if the other man was set against him. He knew how Dylan felt about relationships. He was allergic to them and considered love like a disease. How then could he even begin to understand what it was like to fall so hard, so fast, and end up so miserable?

“That’s where you are wrong, my friend.” Dylan turned to lean in closer and drop his tone, assuring nobody else heard him. “I just had the most enlightening cup of tea with Mr. and Mrs. Harold.”