Page 12 of Heart of the West

I chuckle. “She’s so much like you. She sees something and goes after it. I don’t know how I’m going to be mother and father of the bride, but I’ll get it done. I know you’re with me. I feel you sometimes when I’m asleep. It’s like I expect to find you when I wake up and roll over, but your side of the bed is cold and empty. Sixteen years later, and it still feels the same. I’m putting one foot in front of the other to get the kids through this life. I’m doing my best to make sure they have a happy life. A life that you would have wanted for them. The lives we talked about for them. All three of them.”

My phone rings. I stand up, a soft curse leaving my lips. Pulling it out of my back pocket, I see it’s from Internal Affairs.

“Reeves here.”

“Sherriff, It’s Shea Lane. See you first thing Monday. Come by my office, sign the papers clearing your name and report to duty.”

“Are you coming in early?”

“No, you’re coming in late.”

“I’ll see you at nine.”

I disconnect the call and put the phone back in my pocket.

“Looks like I’ll be back in the saddle Monday, my love.”

I press my fingers to my lips, kissing them before putting my fingers against Evie’s name.

“I love you, Evie Jayne.”

Chapter 7

Ruby

The first week of bakery ownership is a complete blur. I’ve cleaned, scrubbed and polished everything to the nth degree. This morning I’m going to make a few test batches. First thing I’m making is Dustin’s cookies. I call them hot chocolate cookies. I’m not sure if that’s what his grandmother calls them or not.

I put the first batch in the oven two minutes ago. Now I just have to decide what I’m going to make to go with them. I thought I’d deliver a small platter to Dustin’s office, Calico Gypsy, and the police station. Try as I might, I can’t get the sheriff out of my head. Not to mention he’s started in a few pornographic dreams this week.

I don’t understand. Dustin is a walking, talking orgasm, and I can’t get the sheriff out of my head. Something about his beautiful umber skin and eyes that could peer right into your soul had my head all in a tither. My panties grow damp thinking about those lips. They look so kissable surrounded by snow white, closely shaven facial hair. It’s more than stubble and less than a full-beard. I don’t know what you call it. I know it’s sexy as fuck.

I pause, thinking I heard a sound. I take a few moments to realize someone is knocking on the door. I have brown paper up on the windows until the big reveal on opening day. As I walk through the dining area, I take in all the changes. The walls are cream with blue trim. The lighter color makes the space look light and airy. I traded in the old tables and chairs for new ones.I still have a few soda tables, but most are square four tops. Blue and cream gingham curtains hung at the big window. I’ll pull them back during open hours.

Paintings of the local landscapes I found at a secondhand store brighten up the walls. I replaced the wall fixtures with sconce lights with frosted hurricane style lamps and installed new Eco bulbs in the overhead lights. Roger is a cheapskate with home decor. He wanted our home to look like everyone else's but didn't want to pay an interior designer or the full retail price. I took online classes in interior design and looked far and wide to find deals.

His snooty friends' wives raved over my old house and even begged me to give them the number of my interior designer. Roger didn’t want anyone to know, so I’d have to shake my head and lie. They probably think I’m a bitch. That doesn’t matter. Not one of them has contacted me since Roger and I separated.

I unlock the front door and pull it open to find an older gentleman. He’s my height. I’d guess late-seventies with a full head of white hair and a full white beard and mustache.

“Mornin’. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

I open the door wide. “Not at all. Please come in. Is there something I can help you with, Mr...?”

His wide smile shows perfect white teeth. He offers his hand to me. “Dutch McGraw. Folks call me Dutch. I’m here to offer my help to you, or rather my goods.”

He chuckles when he notices my puzzled face. I suck at poker. I don't wear my emotions on my sleeve. I wear them on my face. Try as I might, I’ve never learned the art of schooling my face.

“If you’ll humor me, Mrs. Buffet. I have a few things in my truck. Something the Mrs. put together to welcome you to town.”

“Of course, Dutch. Please, call me Ruby,” I say with a smile.

I don’t need to ask how he knows my name. It’s a small town and he’s not the first resident to welcome me. I already knowthe favorite pastry of at least two dozen town residents. I don’t mind. It makes deciding what to make easier. I can make town favorites and try some new ideas at the same time. I have them all written in a notebook; I take it with me everywhere.

I hurry to the kitchen to grab my notebook and pen before sitting it at a table and heading to the airpot. I’ve taken to filling it for the last few days. I’m already in love with this town and its residents. It’s far from Indianapolis, Indiana, my old hometown. It was once the twelfth largest city in the nation. It slipped a few notches.

Perhaps all the pretentious snobs in Roger’s and his family’s circle ran off more people than I realized. I chuckle, blaming them for single-handedly reducing the population of the city.

Dutch comes back through the door with a huge gift basket as I place two cups of coffee on the table along with the sugar and creamer. He smiles at me.

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