Page 21 of Dusty
Before Sharon could formulate a response, her quiet sanctuary was invaded, as person after person squeezed through the open front door, transforming the living room into a flurry of activity. The women bustled in, bringing with them laughter, the air quickly holding the scent of pine as Douglas and Antonio maneuvered the tree through the doorway, needles scattering across the hardwood floor.
“Corner by the window,” Jill directed, already opening the box she’d carried inside and unpacking smaller boxes containing ornaments.
Sharon watched, bewildered, as the invasion continued. The living room she’d barely used since arriving in Shiloh Springs was suddenly alive with bodies and voices. Beth and Harper argued good-naturedly about the proper way to string lights, while Douglas secured the tree in a stand that had appearedfrom nowhere. Guess it had been in one of the boxes the women carried inside.
“You come with me, I’m gonna need your help.” Ms. Patti disappeared into the kitchen, and Sharon followed, drawn by instinct to the matriarch who always seemed to be orchestrating these small-town symphonies. Even though she’d barely been in Shiloh Springs for longer than a heartbeat, she’d figured out Ms. Patti was the heart and soul of the community, and when she spoke people listened and acted.
“Ms. Patti,” she began, watching as the older woman began unloading groceries onto the counter. “What is all this?”
“This, my dear, is Christmas,” Ms. Patti replied without looking up, her blonde hair puffed out in the style she always wore, teased out and high enough to touch the sky. She’d once heard the expression, the higher the hair the closer to God. Guess Ms. Patti took that to heart.
“I don’t understand. Christmas?”
“You can’t be holed up in here like some kind of hermit during the holidays. Not in Shiloh Springs.”
Sharon crossed her arms. “I appreciate the thought, I really do, but I’ll only be here a couple more days. I’m not staying—I can’t. I’m not bringing Cooper’s madness here. It’s too dangerous.”
Ms. Patti paused, fixing Sharon with a penetrating look. “Because of those people who cornered you at Daisy’s?”
Sharon’s stomach clenched. “Yes. Those were Cooper’s people. They found me once, they’ll find me again. Cooper won’t give up, won’t stop looking. I need to keep moving.”
“Mm-hmm.” Ms. Patti continued unpacking, revealing containers of buttercream frosting in festive colors. “And running has worked out well for you so far?”
Heat crept up Sharon’s neck. “I don’t have a choice. If they find me—”
“It doesn’t matter if you’re here a day or a month,” Ms. Patti interrupted, setting a tray of unfrosted sugar cookies on the table. “Everyone needs a reminder of what this season is about. Even fugitives.”
The word hung in the air between them. Sharon hadn’t given her any details of why she was running, but somehow Ms. Patti seemed to know she wasn’t simply fleeing a bad relationship. She knew Antonio hadn’t breached the trust she’d placed in him by confiding her dilemma. No, Ms. Patti seemed to have a sixth sense. She’d proven that when she’d practically swept Sharon up in front of Daisy’s Diner the morning she arrived in Shiloh Springs like a whirlwind, and Sharon had been caught in her pull ever since.
The sound of laughter rang out from the living room as Daisy apparently dropped something. Sharon glanced toward the noise, feeling a longing she couldn’t quite name.
“I have two pans of lasagna ready to go,” Ms. Patti continued, opening a large, insulated bag and pulling out the covered pans. “You’ll need to put them in the oven to warm them up soon. Three hundred and fifty degrees. There’ll be a few more people showing up around six.”
“More people?” Sharon repeated weakly.
Ms. Patti smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “Just a small gathering.”
“Ms. Patti, I can’t have all these people here,” Sharon protested, lowering her voice. “It’s dangerous. For all of you.”
The older woman placed a container of cupcakes on the counter with surprising force. “Now you listen to me, Sharon Elliott. You’re living in our house, which means you’re under the protection of the Boudreau clan. No, don’t protest, it’s a done deal.” A tiny smile curved the corners of Ms. Patti’s lips upward before she added. “That includes a certain sheriff’s deputy.”
Sharon’s heart skipped at the mention of Dusty. She thought she’d been so careful to hide her reaction to him. The way her heart beat faster whenever he was around. Or the way she’d leaned on him after Cooper’s people found her in the diner. She wasn’t a weak person. Shoot, she’d made it halfway across the country on her own, staying one step ahead of people actively searching for her. But there was something about the sandy-haired deputy that made her weak in the knees, tongue-tied, and giddy all at the same time.
“That boy may not have been born to me, but he’s as much mine as any of my ‘Lost Boys’,” Ms. Patti continued, using the nickname the town had given to the troubled youths she’d taken under her wing over the years. “And when a Boudreau gives their protection, it means something in Shiloh Springs.” She handed Sharon the lasagna. “Now put these in the oven. They’ll need about forty minutes.”
Numbly, Sharon took the pans and turned toward the oven. As she adjusted the temperature dial, her thoughts spun wildly. It felt like she’d spent the last several weeks looking over her shoulder, sleeping in shelters, using cash only, and never staying anywhere long enough to form connections. And somehow, in less than a week, Shiloh Springs had wrapped her in a web of…what? Community? Friendship?
The word “family” floated through her mind, and she quickly pushed it away. Family meant attachment. Attachment meant vulnerability. And vulnerability was something she couldn’t afford, not with what she knew about Cooper’s operation.
From the living room came another burst of laughter, followed by Douglas’s deep voice calling, “Sharon! Come tell us where you want these lights!”
After sliding the pans into the oven, she straightened, meeting Ms. Patti’s knowing gaze. “They’re all in danger because of me,” she said quietly. “Cooper won’t hesitate to eliminateanyone who gets in his way. And what he wants is me back in Chicago.”
Ms. Patti folded her arms across her chest, a stubborn expression on her face. “What he wants and what he gets are two different things,” she replied, her voice steel wrapped in velvet. “Now, are you going to hide in this kitchen all evening, or are you going to help decorate that tree?”
Before Sharon could answer, the back door opened, letting in a blast of cold air. Her heart leapt to her throat until she recognized the tall figure silhouetted in the fading afternoon light.
Dusty stood in her kitchen, his uniform replaced by worn jeans and a flannel shirt, his sheriff’s badge nowhere in sight. But the gun on his hip remained, a reminder of the protection Ms. Patti had promised.
