Page 7 of Dusty
Tessa bustled into the kitchen as if she’d been here a hundred times before, setting the bags on the counter and unwinding her scarf.
“Ms. Patti thought you might be hungry when you woke up. There’s homemade chicken soup—her specialty—plus fresh bread from the bakery, milk, eggs, and some produce from her garden.” She began unpacking items, arranging them on the counter with practiced efficiency. “The soup just needs heating. Have you eaten today?”
Sharon started shaking her head before remembering her bakery breakfast with the sexy deputy sheriff. Heat suffused her cheeks, and she nodded. “I had something earlier this morning.”
“That was hours ago. I bet you’re ready for something hot and filling right about now.” Tessa bustled around the small kitchen, locating a pot without having to search for it. “Do you mind if I heat this up for you? You look like you could use a good meal.”
There was something about her easy confidence that put Sharon at ease despite her instinctive wariness.
“Thank you. That’s very kind.”
As she worked, Tessa filled the silence with gentle chatter about the town, the unseasonably cold weather, and how thrilled Ms. Patti was because she’d just learned that she was going to be a grandmother again. Her voice was soothing, asking nothing of Sharon but offering connection.
“You’re not from around here,” Sharon said finally, settling onto a stool at the kitchen island.
Tessa glanced over her shoulder, a knowing look in her eyes. “Neither are you.” She stirred the soup, then turned to face Sharon. “And I’m guessing you didn’t come to Shiloh Springs for the annual Christmas festival the schools put on or the scenic views.”
Sharon’s guard went up immediately. “What makes you say that?”
Tessa gave her a gentle smile. “Because four years ago, I was sitting exactly where you are now, looking just as haunted and jumpy, in this very same cottage.”
Sharon said nothing, uncertain how much Ms. Patti had shared about her situation.
Tessa continued stirring the soup. “This cottage was my safe haven too,” she said quietly. “After my parents died, I was broken inside, needing a fresh start. Took a teaching positionat the elementary school here, thinking I was leaving everything behind.” She laughed, but it held no humor. “Turns out, some things follow you even when you start over.”
She placed a steaming bowl of soup in front of Sharon, along with a thick slice of bread slathered with butter. “Eat. It helps to have something warm in your stomach when the world feels cold.” Sharon took a spoonful, the rich flavor momentarily distracting her from her fears.
“What followed you?” she asked, surprised by her own curiosity.
Tessa settled onto the chair across from her. “My ex-boyfriend, for one. He didn’t take kindly to my leaving North Carolina. I started getting phone calls. You know the kind where the phone rings, you answer, and nobody says anything, but you know somebody’s on the other end? Then this place got trashed.” She shook her head. “I’m not saying you have anything to worry about; I swear this house is safe. But I came home one night to find somebody had broken in and had torn up everything. Slashed the furniture, the mattresses. Torn pictures off the walls. Tossed around my books. I hadn’t even finished unpacking.”
“That’s awful.”
“Then there was my brother-in-law, convinced I’d taken something valuable when I moved, something that belonged to the family—a county bond my family bought to support the town where we lived when it was in its early stages of growth. My sister and I had no idea it was anything more than a family heirloom, not worth any money. We only held onto it for sentimental reasons. When I wouldn’t tell him where it was—mainly because I had no idea I even had it—he teamed up with my ex.”
“That sounds terrifying,” Sharon said, recognizing the familiar pattern of men who believed they owned you.
“It was.” Tessa’s eyes grew distant. “My brother-in-law showed up. Pulled a gun on me, demanded I give him the bond. I made him think it was in my desk at school. He forced me to go with him and my ex to the school. Threatened to kill me if I didn’t give him the bond. Fortunately, it was at night, so there weren’t any kids around.”
Sharon froze, spoon halfway to her mouth. “What happened?”
A soft smile transformed Tessa’s face. “Sheriff Rafe Boudreau happened. He’d been keeping an eye on me since I arrived—professional concern, he claimed, though things progressed pretty quickly in ways that weren’t exactly professional.” Her cheeks flushed slightly. “He figured out what was happening, and he and his brother came riding to the rescue. Risked everything to save me.”
“And the brother-in-law? Your ex?”
“Both are serving time.” She shrugged. “Turns out, the ‘bond’ was in my grandmother’s recipe book. Worth nothing to anyone but me, or so I thought, but my brother-in-law had become obsessed with the family story about the bond. He did some digging and found out it was worth several million dollars. Let’s just say he had plans to get rid of my sister, his wife—and me, leaving his daughter as the sole heir. It would have left him in control of all her inheritance.”
“Wow. That’s…wow.” Sharon took another spoonful of soup, thinking about Dusty and wondering if all law enforcement officers in this town were heroes, or if she was just lucky. “So, you stayed,” Sharon said, “after all that happened.”
Tessa nodded, her eyes bright. “I married the sheriff. Built a life here.” She reached across the table and touched Sharon’s hand gently. “Shiloh Springs gave me a second chance, Sharon. It can do the same for you. Shiloh Springs is a good place to stop and think, to catch your breath.”
The simple touch of Tessa’s hand on hers nearly undid Sharon. How long had it been since someone had offered comfort without wanting something in return?
“I don’t know if I can stay,” she whispered, voicing her deepest fear. “Cooper isn’t the type to let things go. If he finds me here, I’d be putting everyone in danger—Ms. Patti, her family. You.”
“Douglas and Patricia Boudreau have faced down worse than your Cooper,” Tessa said with surprising conviction. “Trust me on that. And this town protects its own.”
“But I’m not one of their own,” Sharon argued.
