The Christmas Thief (2 page)

“Welcome to Cottage Grove!” the woman said. “I’m Marylu from the town’s welcoming committee and I’ve brought you some goodies.” She extended the basket across the threshold.

Tasha stole a look over the woman’s shoulder. Marc’s truck was pulling away from the side of the road. She flashed another look at her guest. “Thank you,” she said. “Would you like to come in?”

“Absolutely!”

“I made some chai earlier. Would you like some?”

“That would be lovely!” Marylu made herself comfortable on the couch, while Tasha stashed the basket on the coffee table and poured a cup of tea from the carafe on her counter. “I’m Tasha, by the way.”

“Oh, I know who you are, dear.”

“I see.”

Wolfy whined at Marylu’s feet until she petted his head. “And who’s this?” she asked.

Tasha set the cup down in front of Marylu. “That would be Wolfy. Never met a stranger’s hand he didn’t like.” Unfortunately.

“That’s lovely. I’d be happy to look in on him if you ever have to travel. Do you work very far away? Many of our residents do.”

“Not too far. Just down at the camp.”

“Oh, how perfect. Well, you’re right, the camp is not too far, but I’m retired and have plenty of time on my hands. I hope you’ll take me up on my offer anytime. Maybe sometime when you have a long shift at camp?”

Tasha weighed that. Not a bad idea to have someone to call if she found herself in a bind. “I might do that. Thank you. Now, tell me about this welcoming committee. I didn’t realize Cottage Grove had one.”

“I apologize for the oversight, Tasha.” She sat back and Wolfy ran off after having gotten what he wanted. “I should’ve visited you weeks ago, but Harry ran off to a job somewhere in Vegas, and your information was lost in the shuffle.”

“My information?”

Marylu picked up the cup, took a sip, and cradled it in her palms. “Your name, of course. And address.”

“And you knew Harry, my real estate agent?”

“Of course, I did. Everyone knew Harry. Shame about those allergies of his. Hopefully Nevada’s dry heat will clear it up.”

“Hmm, yes, a shame. Well,” she said, eyeing the basket filled with chocolates, a plant, some coupons, and a lint brush, “thank you for the coupons and other items. I’m sure ... I’m sure I’ll enjoy visiting the shops in town. I’ve been meaning to do that.”

Marylu turned her head side to side, no doubt taking in the stained paneling and dated fixtures, the bare floors and cookie-cutter rooms. Thankfully, Tasha had already torn out the tattered and dirty carpeting and had it hauled away. While she saw the entire place as a challenge that she would overcome and make into something beautiful when she wasn’t assisting the cook at the camp down the road, others just saw a dump. She understood that, but she also refused to be dragged down by negative assessments. At least, not anymore.

Marylu’s gaze landed back on her. “Well, you’ve had your hands full, haven’t you?” The woman chuckled, her eyes glowing. “No one thought Mrs. Jordan would ever sell this place, and I guess you could say she didn’t!”

“I don’t understand.”

The woman’s laughter died away. She lowered her voice. “I didn’t mean to be disrespectful. I just meant that, well, she wasn’t here to sell it, you know, since she passed away.” She paused. “Wonder how it was that it landed in Harry’s lap to sell.”

Harry had said that the house had been taken over by the state after the owner had died without any known relatives. But Tasha didn’t care to kibbutz with the welcome lady about how she’d come to take ownership—no matter how many discounts she’d brought along with her. “I don’t blame Mrs. Jordan for never wanting to leave,” she finally said. “As soon as Harry showed me this cabin, I knew I wanted to live here. It’s so, so beautiful.”
And healing
. She cleared her throat. “Anyway, I plan to take my time renovating it. Hopefully, Mrs. Jordan would be pleased with the results.”

Marylu nodded. “Of course, dear. I’m sure, I’m sure.” Her eyes shifted toward the picture window, the one that framed the pine that Tasha had already grown to loves so well. She gave Tasha a knowing smirk. “And from what I saw when I arrived, you’ll have plenty of help with that Marc Shepherd around.”

Is anyone a stranger around here? Tasha held her tongue. Marylu, she’d discovered, was the type of woman who blew into a room, assessed it, and pulled unsuspecting inhabitants into her confidence. Even Tasha teetered on the edge of adding a lunch invitation to that tea. While she reveled in the solitude that her move had brought her—cultivated it actually—an occasional friendly visit was not completely unwelcome.

She had no plan to invest in idle construction chitchat with Mr. Marc Shepherd, however—especially if he had any intention of tearing down that beautiful tree. The thought brought a harsh lump to her throat, and she glanced away so Marylu wouldn’t probe into why she likely looked like she could cry.

Only one thought dammed her tears: If Marc Shepherd planned to disrupt her newfound paradise, she sure wasn’t going to make it easy on him.

CHAPTER THREE

At thirty-two years old, Tasha McHenry had been the youngest Human Resources Director at Tinston Insurance Services. She had started as a junior agent right out of college, but soon found that she preferred managing careers, as opposed to insurance needs. She’d met Roger Tinston, the owner’s son, around that same time, but he had not stuck around long enough for anything serious to develop between them. It took six years of working around the country in various capacities—landscaper, stock broker, ice cream store manager—before Roger realized it was time to come home and take his rightful place in the family business.

Tasha remembered the day with a mix of pain and dread. She hadn’t felt that way at the time, of course. Quite the opposite. When the prodigal son returned—although she never approved of the moniker that many in the staff had affixed to him—she found herself more eager to get to work than anytime previously. A born storyteller, Roger’s presence infused charisma into the always sedate, and occasionally dreary office. Several of the women on staff even began to see him in a new and better light, forgiving him his past and pegging him as a “perfect” match for their daughters. But much to their open chagrin, he chose her.

Those were the happiest days of her life.

Tasha grabbed her camp apron from the hook by her door, stepped out of her cabin, and turned the lock with her key.

“Excuse me, ma’am?”

She pivoted around. Marc stood uncomfortably close to her, and removed his Stetson from his head. Maybe he really was planning to tell her he was packing it all in. “Yes?”

“I stopped by to pick up a toolbox we ... I left behind yesterday. I believe it was right under that tree over there.” He pointed toward her beloved tree with his hat. “Have you seen it?”

She glanced from him to the tree, then back again. His eyes never left her face. “Sorry, no.”

He nodded without a word and stepped back to let her pass.

She stepped toward the street where her car waited, but spun back around. “You’re sure you didn’t take it with you? Maybe put it behind your seat or something?”

He smiled at her then, his expression displaying relief. “Yes, ma’am. I’m sure. Sorry to have troubled you.”

She frowned. She didn’t care to banter with him, and she certainly hoped that his plans would fall through, but Tasha also didn’t care to be addressed as if she were an elderly woman on a cruise ship. “It’s Tasha ... and you really don’t think somebody stole your tools, do you?”

His smile turned questioning, and he shrugged. “It’s not something I care to consider, but given the circumstances, I have to assume that they were taken.” He looked off toward the ocean. “It’s a shame.”

She watched him a few seconds more, unsure of whether he believed her when she’d said she knew nothing about this. “Yes, it is,” she finally said. “I have to get to work now. Hope you find what you’re looking for.”

Tasha pulled into the camp parking lot thankful that her work there was neither especially trying nor overly busy. She’d always enjoyed cooking—Roger used to say that it was her Shrimp Caesar that had sealed the deal for him—so when she saw the ad looking for someone to assist the cook, she’d applied and started working within twenty-four hours. The camp was run by a local church, the pastor their director, and his children holding various posts. She’d yet to see them all, though, since the schedule was winding down for the holidays. The fact that this was the slow season with only a few more outdoor education weeks and the occasional family camp, made the transition easier.

She poked her head into the kitchen, drawing in the aromas of simmering garlic, oregano, and parsley. “Smells more like an Italian restaurant in here than a mess hall,” she called to Lorena. The camp cook stood in front of the sink, her red hair piled onto her head. Her pink-and-black chef’s coat wore random splotches of red sauce.

“Good! You’re here.” Lorena tossed a pot into a sink full of soapy water, her netted bun bobbing when she talked. “You can finish this.”

“Great.” Tasha’s attitude deflated as she took in the amount of unwashed cookery left over from breakfast. She braced one hand on her hip. “What happened here?”

“Ack!” groaned Lorena as she batted at a loose strand of hair with the back of her hand. She gave the pot of sauce cooking on the stove a quick stir with a wooden spoon. “This week’s kids are a terrible challenge, I tell you. Having the students help with the dishes is supposed to make my life easier. Do you know that it took three lessons before they could learn to use the dishwasher?”

Tasha glanced at the arcane box-like machine with a conveyor belt attached. The contraption could wash more than fifty dishes per minute, but only if its operator knew how to use it first. “Given your reaction, I’m glad it only took me two,” she said, eliciting a laugh from Lorena. Quickly, Tasha slipped on the camp apron she’d brought with her and got started cleaning every last pot and lid.

When it came time to prepare lunch, Lorena stopped fussing over the sauce—which she had prepared for dinner—and began peeling layers of wax paper from frozen hamburger patties. She caught Tasha’s eyes and pointed at the twenty plastic bowls on the counter. “For condiments,” she said.

“Gotcha.” Tasha began filling each container with curly lettuce, thick slices of tomato, and thin strips of onion and pickles. Working inside a busy kitchen with a pseudo-grumpy cook for a boss removed the pretense and stress that Tasha had known in the insurance world where the day’s sales tally ruled the office climate. Here she could show up, stay busy, eat for free, then return home with enough energy to tackle the mounting wish list of projects waiting for her.

At the moment, though, thinking about her wooded cabin overlooking the sea didn’t bring her nearly the joy it had before she’d met Marc Shepherd and learned of his plans to build next to her.

After lunch was served and the dishes cleaned, Tasha piled a hamburger onto a plate. Students were tucked away in the hall, listening to the camp ranger speak on tree identification and conservation, so she was free to take a break. “I’m heading outside for a bite,” she called out to Lorena.

“You do that! Just stay away from that flirt, Jeremy. He’s trouble, that one.”

Tasha smiled and shook her head of curls. Stay away from the flirt—no problem there. She turned back around. “Sure you don’t want to join me?”

Lorena was drying her hands on a dishtowel, her cheeks rosy from the heat inside the kitchen. “Not today, but you call me sometime. My husband’s at the fire station all week and I need some girl time.”

“Will do.” Tasha tossed her a salute and headed outside where she found an empty table near a grove of pine and redwoods. In the distance, a wave roared as it hit the side of a cliff. A heady mix of nature scents enveloped her. Back in her hometown, parks were mostly devoid of trees so sports leagues could use the fields, but here? Nature had overrun the place with water and earth, never-ending seas, and limitless timber.

She sat there in the blessed silence and envisioned stripping her cabin walls bare, hoping drywall holes would not be her undoing. Of course, she knew that she very well might find nothing but studs underneath, and if that were the case, she’d already decided to skip the drywall. Putty and paint would have to do.

A pickup truck rolled into a clearing yards away from Tasha’s table.

“Hi, neighbor.” Marc Shepherd smiled at her as he jumped from the truck and headed over to drop the tailgate.

Tasha groaned silently. Really? He invaded her home, and now her work, in less than twenty-four hours? She wadded up her napkin and stood to leave.

The driver of the truck, the infamous Jeremy, hopped out and chuckled. “Neighbor? Man, at least I know who I’ve got as my competition.” He turned to Tasha and flexed a muscle. “Just dropping off some firewood, T. We’ll be flashing some pretty impressive guns here in the minute, if you wanna stick around.”

“That’s a tempting offer,” she said. “But I’ll pass. Duty calls.”

Jeremy threw his head back and laughed, but Marc stopped. He leaned up against the bed of the truck draping both arms over one of the side rails. He tilted his head slightly. “So you work up here?”