Page 62 of Sweet Home

19

WEST

West pulled on his coat and boots and left the house, dialing the local sheriff as he walked.

It was snowing now, like the heavens were as distraught as West. The icy wind blew against him as he walked into it, crystalline flakes melting to ice water as they met with his heated skin.

“Sheriff’s office,” Sheriff Landon Cole’s familiar voice said as he picked up.

“Landon,” West said. “It’s West Lawrence. I need a favor.”

“What’s up?” Landon asked.

“My daughter’s new babysitter,” West said, suddenly unwilling to bring up the car thing. “I wanted to know if you could run a background check—just to make sure she’s okay.”

“Okay,” Landon said slowly. “I owe you one, so sure. I just need a name and some details.”

West gave Dulcie’s info to Landon, realizing as hespoke that for all he knew, not a single detail she had shared with him was real.

“I’ll give you a call right back,” Landon said, and ended the call.

West reached his parents’ place and slid his phone back into his pocket. Warm light glowed from the windows, beckoning him to come in and be comfortable.

What if I just forgot all about this? What if I just let her take whatever she wanted from me? Would it be worth it just to play house with her for a little longer?

But West could never do that, not when he had his daughter to answer to. He jogged up the front steps and let himself in. The house smelled incredible, with the buttery, vanilla scent of his mom’s famous sugar cookies filling the air.

“Shoes,”everyone yelled out from the kitchen, Dulcie’s sweet voice adding a special note to that harmony of beloved voices.

Shaking his head, he slipped his boots off and marched back toward the kitchen.

The scene there could have been a drawing in a children’s book. His parents and Dulcie sat with Elizabeth at the big wooden table. Rows of sugar cookies had been laid out on trays, and though Mom and Dad were clearly frosting cookies too, everyone’s focus was on Elizabeth as Dulcie talked her through smoothing on the pretty white icing.

“Hey, son,” Dad said, giving him a smile.

“I’m frosting a cookie,” Elizabeth told him excitedly.

“Great job,” he told her.

Dulcie glanced up at him, then her cheeks went pinkand her eyes went back down to what Elizabeth was doing. Whatever she saw in his eyes must have troubled her.

“Sit, sit,” Mom said. “Can I fix you a cup of tea?”

“I’m fine,” West said distractedly, his eyes on Dulcie’s hands as she held the cookie still for Elizabeth.

“Did your phone calls go okay?” Mom asked, sounding concerned.

“Uh, yeah,” he said. “I’m waiting for one more though. Just needed some information on something.”

There was a strange silence, and it hit him again that he was being weird and awkward. But he couldn’t seem to shake out of it.

“I think I’ll take that tea after all,” he said, getting up from the table too quickly. “Who else wants a cup?”

“I can get it,” Mom said worriedly.

“No, no,” he said. “Relax.”

He filled the kettle, his mind racing. It was so strange to be here in his parents’ kitchen, with the Christmas towels out, the scent of cookies in the air, and the Vermont Symphony Orchestra playing “Good King Wenceslas” on the radio, knowing that the beautiful young woman helping his daughter frost a cookie might be a small-time con artist.

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