Mayhem in Christmas River: A Christmas Cozy Mystery (Christmas River Cozy, Book 2) (2 page)

I handed the former sheriff his plate, and he took it without saying thank you. He went to a corner table where he sat down and started attacking the slice with his fork. As he took his seat, his beer belly came hanging down beneath his beige collared sheriff’s department shirt that was several sizes too small for him.

Yep. That was a rut the size of Crater Lake.

I went back into the kitchen. Kara had put her shoes back on and was throwing her long, frazzled blonde hair up into a messy ponytail.

“I need to get back to the store,” she said. “It’s better if I keep busy.”

“Are you sure?” I said. “I could make up some more lemonade.”

“I’ve got too much work to do.”

“What about a girls’ night tonight?” I asked. “We could make some
Beergaritas
and eat junk food.”

“No,” she said. “I know you’ve got plans. And I’ve got ornament inventory to do before next week.”

“Well, anytime you need me, Kara, I’m here. You know that, right?”

She nodded and bit her lip.

“Sometimes you just need to wrestle these things out on your own,” she said. “There’s only so many girls’ nights you can have before they stop working.”

We had been having quite a few lately. 

“Call me if you need me, okay?”

She nodded.

“And remember that it takes a strong woman to be Mrs. Claus,” I said. “Moira Stewart knew that when she asked you.”

Kara cracked a smile.

“Sure,” she said. “I’m sure that’s
exactly
what she was thinking when she got me into this mess.”

She grabbed her Mrs. Claus frames from the counter. Then she collected her wig from off the floor.

“Have a good time tonight,” she said.

She clicked her way out of the kitchen. Just as I thought she had left, she poked her head back in.

“Trumbow’s going to kill himself if he keeps eating that pecan pie,” she said with a shake of the head.

“Do you think I ought to intervene?”

She looked back out at the dining room and then back at me. Then she shrugged.

“I think you could wait a little while longer,” she said. “He did almost arrest you for murder.”

“In front of a news crew,” I added.

“Right,” Kara said. “Let’s see how far we can push it then.”

I grinned and she walked out. I heard her say hi to the former sheriff and then the door jingled as a warm gust of air blew through the shop.

I checked the wall clock.

It was just after 11.

I let out a long-winded sigh. 

The hours were going by as slow as molasses.

It was going to be hard waiting until two o’clock rolled around.

I knew I should have been focusing on the customers and the pies in the oven and brewing more coffee, but my mind was in another world completely.

A place where all I saw was his eyes, his smile, heard his laugh, and felt his arms around me.

Two o’clock couldn’t get here soon enough.

Chapter 2

At 1:15, I took off my apron, dusted off my hands, and started collecting my things. I heard the front door jingle a few minutes later. Chrissy came out of the dining room and into the kitchen wearing her usual tight-fitting plaid shirt paired with her trademark heavy black eyeliner.

“Hey, Ms. Peters,” she said, nodding at me.

“Hey, Chrissy,” I said. “Thanks for covering for me. I really appreciate it.”

After the problems I’d had with Bailey, my former bakery assistant, I had been reluctant to hire someone else on. Bailey had been one of my best friends, right up until the point when I found out that my husband was cheating on me with her. You can imagine the trust issues that that caused.

I stubbornly worked myself to the bone for almost two years before I finally hired somebody to fill Bailey’s former role.

But Chrissy had been great so far. And whatever hesitation I’d had about hiring somebody else to help with the shop quickly evaporated within the first few weeks of her working here. She was in her early twenties and had a quiet and reserved manner that some people found off-putting, but that I liked. I’d be lying if I didn’t say she reminded me of me at her age. She had a tough exterior but was a nice person.

Chrissy was cool under pressure, and she followed my recipes to the tee. She may not have been the friendliest person when it came to the customers. In fact, with those severely plucked eyebrows and heavy makeup, I think she intimidated them a little bit. But I didn’t mind that. She did her job, and she did it well, and most importantly, I felt I could trust her. I even hired her boyfriend, Carson, to wash dishes a couple of days a week.

But I just wished she’d stop calling me
Ms. Peters
. It made me feel old. Like I was an instructor of hers at the local community college where she was taking night classes.

“There shouldn’t be too much to do,” I said, grabbing my purse and a tin of the Christmas River Cherry Pie that I had made earlier. “And don’t feel like you have to stay here until seven. If it gets really slow, close up early. I’ll still pay you for the hours.”

“Okay, Ms. Peters,” she said, putting an apron on. “I think I can handle that. You have a good time with your man.”

I laughed.

“Thanks,” I said. “And another thing. Please call me by my first name. Seriously. I mean, I know I must seem old to you, but I don’t think of myself that way.”

She grinned and then shrugged.

“I’ll see what I can do,” she said.

“Call me if anything comes up,” I said, backing out the door.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “Nothing will.”

I walked through the front door and out to the street.

It was nice feeling like the shop was in good hands.

It was nice being able to trust someone with it again.

I got in my black Ford Escape and pulled away down Main Street, which had heat waves radiating off the asphalt. I rolled down the window, letting the July air blow through my hair.

I felt absolutely free.

Chapter 3

It wasn’t going to be a typical anniversary dinner date.

There wasn’t going to be any fancy restaurant, glitzy clothes, or expensive wine menu to celebrate the milestone of being together for a year and a half.

No. I wasn’t that kind of girl.

And Daniel wasn’t that kind of guy.

He had something much better planned to mark the occasion.

I descended the stairs, wearing a pair of sturdy hiking boots, cargo shorts, a tank top, and my dusty old cowgirl hat that I’d had since I was 17 years old.

“Two weeks,” Warren said, hearing me come down the stairs.

My grandpa was sitting on the sofa with his legs propped up on the ottoman, watching a Robert Mitchum Western.

“Until?” I asked.

I fixed my long, dark brown hair into a makeshift braid and pulled my hat farther down across my forehead. 

“Till the beer’s ready, of course,” Warren said.

“Well, it’s about time,” I said. “I swear, you’ve been talking about that beer for ages now.”

“Well, it’s like they say. Good things take time.”

Over the past few years, craft brewing had really taken off in central Oregon. It seemed like you couldn’t throw a stone without hitting a neighbor’s bucket of fermenting beer. It had taken Warren a little while, but he was now onboard with the whole idea and had started brewing his own beer. He brewed his first batch with a couple of other old timers at the senior center the year before and hadn’t looked back since.

Lately, it seemed like our fridge was perpetually filled with Warren’s experiments, and the air in the house always seemed to have a distinct fermented smell to it. But I wasn’t complaining.  I did worry sometimes, though. Brewing beer took a lot of physical strength, and my grandpa was getting up there in age.

But it seemed to make him happy. And while his doctor would probably be scolding me for letting him drink so much, all that heavy lifting was giving Warren some much needed exercise. I figured that they cancelled each other out. 

“So you got a name for this batch yet?” I asked.

Since Warren had started experimenting, he had started naming his beers. They were all Western-themed names like
Doc Holiday’s Remedy
,
Wild Bill’s Last Rites
,
Eights and Aces
, and
The Kid
.

“I’m still thinking it over,” he said. “I’ll have a proper one in time for the release party.”

“Release party?” I said.

I looked over at him, raising my eyebrows.

“Well, yeah, of course, Cin. That’s what breweries do when they release a beer. And this new one’s gonna be just as good as any local brewery’s. I’d bet a whole keg on that.”

“I don’t doubt it,” I said, retying the laces of my boots. “So am I invited to this special release party, or what?”

I looked up.  

“Now, what kind of question is that?” he said, shaking his head. 

I laughed, hearing the sound of pickup tires rolling up near the curb out front.

“Okay, old man,” I said, going over and pecking him on the head. “Have fun at the tavern later.”

I grabbed my backpack from the coat rack near the front door.

“Tell Daniel I’m expecting him to show up to the release party, too,” Warren said. “I need all the word-of-mouth I can get if I’m gonna open up a brewery.”

“A brewery?” I said.

He shrugged.

“Seems like the natural next step, don’t you think?”

He winked at me. One of his trademark mischievous winks. 

I shook my head and grinned. I opened the door and was met by a hot gust of pine-scented wind.

“Take it easy, old man,” I said.

“See ya, Cin.”

I closed the door behind me and locked up.

His truck was sitting on the street, still running. My heart fluttered frantically in my chest.

Even after being with him all this time, he still had that effect on me.

When he saw me come out of the house, his face lit up in a bright smile.

I could live for a hundred lifetimes and I don’t think I’d ever get sick of that smile.

Or the way it made me feel.

Chapter 4

A year and a half had gone by faster than a fall snowstorm could hit the mountain passes.

It had gone by deliriously. Joyously. On the wings of a hummingbird flying beneath a warm summer sun.

Just over eighteen months ago, Daniel showed up on the back doorstep of my shop after chasing a stray dog through the snow. He was nearly three sheets to the wind and shaking like a leaf in the howling winter storm.

It’s not the kind of encounter most girls hope for when they meet Prince Charming. But it suited me just fine. 

Because the bottom line was that I had been the girl lucky enough to find him. 

We lay in a meadow, the tall grasses moving and swaying with the cool, blustery gusts of fresh mountain wind. The late afternoon sun was electrifying everything it touched.

Daniel and I had hiked about two miles in to an area called Holiday Meadow. A place where the forest gave way to a stretch of golden grassland that had stunning views of the majestic and craggy Cascade Mountains. It was picturesque and secluded, and I couldn’t think of a better place to celebrate an anniversary.

On days like these, it was hard to imagine that this meadow was buried under several feet of snow for more than half the year. But that was how it was up in these mountains. Summers were short, but they were sweeter than marionberry pie.

Daniel held me close. Huckleberry, the Australian shepherd that had been the catalyst of our relationship, was rolling around on his back a few feet away, trying to scratch an itch he couldn’t quite reach.

“What’cha thinking about, Cin?” Daniel whispered in my ear, his voice as soft as the mountain breeze.

I held him tighter.

“You, Sheriff Brightman,” I said. 

He laughed, and his hot breath on my neck sent my skin breaking out in waves of goose bumps.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he said. “Nothing’s for sure yet.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Don’t be so modest,” I said. “You know the sheriff position’s yours. There’s no contest.”

“Is that right?” he said.

“It sure is,” I said. “There’s not another man in the entire tri-county area that can compete with you.”

“So what you’re saying is that I win by default?” he said. 

I grinned.

“Well, living in a low-population part of the state does have its perks.”

“Is that how I won you, too?” he asked, smiling. “By default?”

I turned over on my stomach so I could get a better look at him. Those pale green eyes shone brightly in the high mountain sunshine.

“And who says you’ve won me yet?” I asked, lifting an eyebrow.

He leaned in closer to me, our eyes locking.

“Me,” he whispered. “I say so, Cinnamon Peters.”

He pulled me up into his arms suddenly and pressed his lips against mine in one of those thrilling bursts of passion that always caught me off-guard. I felt the nerves throughout my body explode like firecrackers on the Fourth of July before melting away. I wrapped my arms around his neck as he pulled me closer.

A soft breeze rustled through the grasses around us and I couldn’t think of another place on the planet I wanted to be. Or would ever want to be, for that matter, other than lying in this meadow with Daniel’s arms around me, acting like I was the only other person in the entire world.

He pulled away for a moment. I caught my breath.

I tried to suppress a smile, but it didn’t work.

He had my number and he knew it. 

“Now, are you still gonna argue with me about that?” he asked.

“You got me, Sheriff,” I said, resting my arms on his shoulders and leaning my forehead against his. “I’m all yours.”

“That’s more like it,” he said, kissing me lightly.

He kissed my neck and then looked up at me, sighing.

“I’m afraid that dinner won’t make itself,” he said, glancing over at the backpack.