Page 29 of Rescuing Sara

“No, listen to me, Danni. Two attacks on you in less in a week.” His sudden grip on her wrist was so tight, she winced. “I shouldn’t have taken that call from Hank or let you stop to buy those flowers–”

“Wait a minute.” She pulled back. “Is this why you’ve been as cranky as a bear with a sore paw all morning? Are you blaming yourself for that vendor outside St. Nicholas’ trying to attack me? You’re the one who got hurt!”

“And it never would have happened if I hadn’t–”

“Stop,” Danni ordered in her own rare flash of temper. “Stop right now. If there’s blame, then it’s on both of us. You needed to take that call from Hank Patterson. He’s your boss. And yeah, it was silly of me to stop to buy flowers for the table, but I wanted it to look nice since you’re creating these great meals. That attack was not your fault, period. So, stop blaming yourself or I’m gonna punch you in the nose just when it’s starting to look better. And if we don’t start moving again, we’re both gonna be targets, even if Kristopher is around here somewhere. He may move like a panther when he needs to, but even he can’t move fast enough to stop a bullet. Are you ‘packing’?”

He nodded silently, eyes saucer wide.

“Me too,” Danni declared. “Cleaned my little S and W the other day just like my daddy taught me. No more blaming yourself for that attack anymore or for anything else. Are you good with that?”

His low chuckle was almost as warming as his toe-curling smile, speeding Danni’s heart rate into a furious tap dance.Oh dear,she thought.Oh dear.

“OK,” he agreed. “But let’s agree you’re not going to leave my side for a minute when we’re in public. If you need to go to the ladies’ room, I’m checking it out first, okay?”

“Okay,” Danni agreed.

“Right then,” he said. “Let’s go ask the vendor over there selling hot pretzels if he knows Silas and how to find his booth.”

“Sounds good.” Danni took his offered arm. At the pretzel booth, they purchased a big one with a cup of mustard to share and ask about Silas. The vendor pointed at a large booth at the other end of the square. It was topped by a bright red sign proclaiming itLapp’s Groceries and Fine Hats.

They walked quickly but not so fast to draw attention to themselves and give them time to enjoy the still warm pretzel.

“Among your many culinary talents, do you know how to bake pretzels?” Danni asked, dipping her last piece into the slightly hot mustard. Dijon with a bit of garlic, she decided.

“No,” her companion replied. “Bread, biscuits, even croissants if I have a lot of time. But not pretzels.”

“Croissants?” Danni darted a glance at him. “I’m impressed.”Now I’m learning something about you!

“I spent a summer between my junior and senior year of college at La Varenne Cooking School in Paris studying baking,” he shared. “Pretzels weren’t included in the curriculum.”

The image of the tall, broad-shouldered Army veteran wearing an apron and chef’s hat, pounding bread dough madeher smile. “An oversight you must see that they correct one day,” she said.

“Bien sur. Of course,” he said, affecting what sounded like a very fine French accent. “Hold up.”

“What?” Danni froze in place. “What’s wrong?”

“You have mustard on your nose.” He produced a handkerchief and Danni held very still while he blotted the spot. This close she could smell soap and the scent of the mustard. A scent she would savor for a long time.

“There.” He put away the handkerchief but remained standing right before her. “That’s better.”

“You remembered your handkerchief,” she whispered, not wanting this moment to end, while praying they weren’t being sighted by a sniper.‘Death by Pretzel.’ Sounds like a cozy mystery.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “I did.”

“I think I remember Anne telling me that BP members either always have handkerchiefs with them or don’t,” she continued, unwilling to break the spell he’d unknowingly woven around them.

He leaned down and for one delicious, heady moment, she thought he was going to kiss her. “They give us a set of twelve when we complete our training,” he whispered. “There’s no excuse not to have one handy.”

“Nice,” she whispered back, daring to brush the pretzel crumbs from his shoulders. “Shouldn’t we be going?”

“Right,” he agreed, and took her arm again.

At the Lapp’s booth, a woman in white kapp covering her hair was showing a woman quilts and an assortment of knitted shawls. Beside her, a tall, blonde boy wearing a straw hat that was not quite a boater and looked to be around sixteen was selling a variety of things. Several people were ahead of them, and Danni felt Patrick’s air of apprehension return. Under hergloved hand, his arm muscles were coiled again and from beneath lowered eyelids, his gaze searched the area around them.

At last, the boy was free and from beneath his straw hat, he smiled and said, “Good morning. Welcome to Lapp’s. How may I help you?”

“Are you Silas?” Danni asked, releasing Patrick’s arm.

---