The Men of Thunder Ridge

Chapter Two

“You sure you want to stay and close by yourself?” Kim looked at her manager with worried brown eyes yet not a line or a pucker on her silken brow, which reminded Willa how young her assistant was.

“I’m sure,” she said. “Go home to your kiddos. The sun’s actually out. If you hurry, you might have an hour left to get them outside before the stir-crazies set in.”

“You’re right.” Kim laughed. “Three and six are probably the worst ages when you have to stay inside because of the weather and dark nights. They fight like crazy.”

“Go on then.” Willa shooed her employee toward the door. “Put on their mittens and let ’em duke it out at the park. Play structures are a mother’s best friend.”

As Kim left, Willa returned to work. She hadn’t gone home after all, though she had taken a long lunch and had driven to Long River to go for a walk with other lunch-timers taking advantage of the unseasonably sunny winter day. Now, at 4:00 p.m., she was tired, but the more exhausted she was, the better her chances of sleeping tonight.

She began the process of wrapping up the leftover goodies in the pastry case so she could take them next door to the deli. Izzy would sell what she could tonight at half price, and tomorrow Willa would take the rest to Thunder Ridge Long-term Care for the staff and residents to enjoy.

The after-school crowd had already come in and cleaned her out of the most popular cookie selections, but there were still apricot rugelach, buttery shortbread and chocolate chip mandelbrot. The folks who would come in before closing would be interested mostly in bread, rolls and cakes for the evening meal, so she started packaging the cookies first. As Willa worked she flicked on the radio, opting for an oldies station, and didn’t see her next customer come in until he was standing directly in front of the counter.

“Oh!” Using her upper arm to brush a stray hair from her eyes, she smiled. “Hello. You’re here at a good time. All the cookies, bagels and rolls are two for the price of one.”

The boy—ten or eleven, she guessed—pressed his lips together in a sort of smile and nodded. He wore a dark blue coat, pilling on the body and sleeves, and a knit hat that had also seen better days. His skin was a beautiful caramel color, his eyes as dark as onyx. He looked shy, and she couldn’t recall seeing him before, either in the bakery or the deli.

“Do you like chocolate?” she asked.

He nodded, and she handed him a brownie. “Try that. On the house. Then you can look around and see if you want another one of those or something else.”

He stared at her without moving. She nodded encouragingly. “Go ahead, take it. It’s good. I like to think of it as a cross between a truffle and a brownie. Maybe I should call it a bruffle. Or trownie.” He didn’t smile.

“Free?” His only word to her was soft, a little suspicious.

“Yep. Bakeries give out samples all the time.” Gingerly, he accepted the treat. “I’ll be over there—” Willa pointed to the counter behind her “—working. If you decide to get something else, just holler. We have hot cocoa and cider, too, on the house in the evening.” Beverages weren’t really on the house, but what the heck? She’d drop a dollar fifty into the till. Sensing that her observation was making the boy nervous, she turned her back, slipping more cookies into the plastic bags she would deliver next door.

Something Sweet’s grand opening had been in September, and Izzy had already orchestrated Dough for Dollars and other promotions with the local schools, plus there had been a back-to-school special the first two weeks the bakery had been operational. Now, every afternoon they had several kids from the local K-8 and high school stopping by for snacks, but she’d never seen this kiddo before. She’d have remembered him. His shy, almost distrusting demeanor stood in stark contrast to a face that was exotically beautiful.

Everyone, children included, had a story. What was his? As her curiosity grew, Willa shook her head. His story wasn’t her business; she was just here to provide sticky sweets that temporarily soothed the soul and gave people a reason to brush their teeth. That’s what she’d wanted when she had first come to Thunder Ridge—a simple job with work she could leave at the “office.”

Several minutes had gone by when Willa realized she hadn’t heard a sound from her young customer. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw him hovering near a large plastic canister she kept on the low counter near the cash register. There was a slit cut into the top of the lid and a big picture glued to the front and covered with tape to protect the photo. “Help Gia.” Gia was fifteen and had lived at the Thunder Ridge Long-Term Care facility for the past ten months, after an auto accident that had taken her mother’s life and left her father with ever-mounting medical bills and lost workdays. Thankfully, the canister was stuffed with bills and coins. Every Friday, Willa deposited the contents into a bank account set up for Gia and her family.

The boy had eaten his brownie and was frowning at the jar. He looked anxious, conflicted. Was he thinking about donating his money instead of buying something?

A sweet, sharp pang squeezed Willa’s chest. Wow. People his age rarely gave the jar more than a passing glance. She understood that. It was so much easier to pretend bad things didn’t happen to average kids. But maybe this boy was one of the unusually empathetic ones. She was going to give this cool kid a box of cookies and a hot chocolate if he dropped even a penny in that canister.

When he looked up and caught her watching him, she smiled. He appeared startled. Completely self-conscious. You know what? She was going to give him a box of cookies and a hot cocoa just for thinking about—

“Hey!”

Like a lightning strike, his hands were around the canister, pulling it beneath his coat. He turned and ran for the door with such speed, Willa was still standing in shock when the door harp pinged behind him.

For a second, she merely stared. Then outrage, pure and robust, rose inside her like a geyser. Gia’s family needed that money. They needed the support it represented. They needed to know they were not forgotten, that Gia was not forgotten as she lay in a hospital bed in a long-term care facility.

Veins filling with adrenaline, Willa abandoned her post at the bakery, running full throttle after the boy. Twilight had turned to dusk, and the sunny day had given way to clouds that inhibited her visibility, but she caught sight of him up ahead.

To avoid running into a family, the kid dodged right, which forced him to skirt around a bench and slowed him down.

“Stop! You stop right now!” Willa hollered. Pedestrians turned to stare. Briefly, the boy looked back at her, too, his eyes wide. Then he jumped over a dog tied up to a street lamp and kept running.

Sophie Turner, who owned A Step in Time New and Vintage Shoes, was outside sweeping her front entrance when Willa raced by. “Willa?” the young woman exclaimed. “What’s wrong?”

“He took my canister,” she panted. “I’ve got to get him.”

“He took...what? Do you need help?” Sophie called after her.

“No!” She cupped her hands around her mouth. “I’m warning you, you little twerp!” Really, she had been so wrong about this kid. “Stop. Right. Now!”

“Who are we chasing?”

Willa glanced to her right to see Derek Neel, out of uniform, jogging beside her. For a second, she was discombobulated. She’d seen him in street clothes before, of course, but tonight off duty Sheriff Neel seemed taller, more rugged and somehow relaxed even as he ran with her.

“He stole my donation jar,” she said, panting.

“Who?”

“That kid!” Pointing, she accused, “That tricky little—Wait a minute, where’d he go?” Her eyes searched the darkening streets, but all she could see were a few scattered citizens of Thunder Ridge watching their sheriff and Willa run down the block together. “Darn it!” She stumbled to a stop, her breath heavy, her skin at once hot from exertion and cold from the thirty-five-degree evening. Suddenly, not even adrenaline could make her forget how tired she was, and how frustrated. “You made me lose him,” she said, putting her hands on her thighs and bending over to catch her breath. “He’s got all the money we’ve been collecting for a week. Do you know what that represented?”

“I’m not even sure what you’re talking about.” Derek’s characteristic unruffled demeanor was intended to defuse the situation, but it had the opposite effect on Willa when he asked, “Who do you think took your jar?”

“I don’t think he took it. I know he did.” Her sudden fury at the kid was out of proportion, but she didn’t care. “I was standing right there.”

“Okay. And you say he looked like a kid.”

“He didn’t look like a kid. He is a kid.” She started walking again, searching up and down the side streets, exasperated. “A kid with someone else’s donation money.”

“Okay, look, why don’t you come on back to my office. You can give me a description, tell me what happened and how much money you think he’s got.”

“No.” The word emerged too sharp, so she added, “Thank you. I’m going to find him.”

Derek reached for her arm. “It’s getting dark. He could have ducked into his house by now.”

“Then I’ll go door to door.” Turning on Ponderosa Avenue toward the residential area, she strode up the block, searching. When she felt tears at the corners of her eyes, she swiped them away and kept walking. Derek stayed by her side, keeping pace until they had gone two blocks. Then he reached for her arm again, refusing to let go when she tried to pull away.

Because she was over-the-top, clearly, and probably irrational and maybe even a little scary, he looked at her in concern. “What is this really about?” His eyes searched hers as if he was trying to read what she wouldn’t tell him.

She felt grief and fury rise inside her like dirty flood water. I thought I was past this. I thought I’d cut this part of me out. A couple of years ago, blinding anger had sprouted inside her as if it were a new organ. She’d worked hard to excise it, but tonight she felt as if she could scream—loudly and long enough to punch a hole in the night sky.

It had nothing to do with Derek. He was simply the hapless boulder standing in the path of her raging river. Willa’s mind was on Gia—unable to speak clearly since the accident, barely able to walk and only fifteen. And her father, her poor father, probably felt responsible and utterly helpless.

Traumatic brain injuries were cruel. She’d wanted so much to show him his family was remembered every day.

“Never mind.” She turned toward Warm Springs Road. She would get a new jar tomorrow, refill it herself and take it to the care facility. That, of course, was the reasonable solution. The boy was not her business. She shouldn’t have interacted with him so much to begin with.

It took a moment to realize Derek was still holding her arm.

“I have to go. I left the store unattended.” Which was a pretty stupid thing to do and an even dumber thing to admit to the owner’s best friend. Great. Crazy Woman Loses Job would probably be the headline on the next Thunder Ridge Gazette.

“Okay, let’s go.”

“What? No. You were probably headed somewhere, and I’m fine. Really. I was over-the-top. Sorry.” How many times could you apologize to someone for erratic behavior? “It was a long day. I’m fine now.” She forced a smile. “Not crazy.”

He didn’t bother to answer. Didn’t let go of her arm, either. With his jaw set in capable sheriff mode, he accompanied her back toward Warm Springs Road, Thunder Ridge’s main street.

For future reference, Willa thought, never tell someone you’re not crazy. It makes you sound crazy.

When they passed A Step In Time on their way back to the bakery, Sophie, who was young and pretty and single, ran to the door and smiled when she saw Derek. “Hi! Did you help Willa find her thief?”

“No, no need.” Willa tried to sound philosophical. “He was just a kid. I lost perspective there for a few minutes. It’s over and done now.”

Beneath the street lamps that had switched on and the glow from the exterior light at Sophie’s store, it was easy to see her brows pucker beneath a mop of caramel-brown curls. “I don’t have kids, but if I did, I’d want to make sure they were held responsible for stealing. That boy’s parents should hear about it.” She divided her glance between Derek and Willa. “I hope you guys follow through.”

“We will.” Derek responded firmly. “Good night.”

On they walked until they reached Something Sweet. Standing before the glass door, with the shop aglow inside, Willa hoped she would find the cash register exactly as she’d left it and figured she probably would. Crime was a relatively rare occurrence in Thunder Ridge. Before she opened the door, she said, “Everything looks fine.” What were the odds she could persuade him not to come in? She needed some time alone to collect herself. “Thanks for walking back with me. I appreciate your help. I have some work to do and then I have to close, and I’ve taken enough of your time, so—”

“You’re going to need to give a statement and a description of the suspect.”

“No. I overreacted. Frankly, I’m embarrassed. Can we just forget it?”

Derek frowned. Disapprovingly. “This is about the boy now. I need to talk to his parents.”

“Sure. Of course. It’s pretty clear you aren’t on duty right now, though.” Her gaze traveled over his off duty attire—well-fitting black jeans and a zipped-up gray hoodie—and she wondered if he was meeting someone. A man that handsome, after all... Changing her train of thought, she offered, “So maybe I can swing by the station later tonight and talk to whoever’s on call.”

Derek reached around her for the door. He held it open and waited.

Quickly assessing the outcome of making an even bigger deal about this than she already had, Willa brushed past him. She didn’t bother to walk behind the counter or into the kitchen. He wasn’t going to leave, so she turned to face him in the middle of the bakery. Beneath the hoodie, she spied the top of a black turtleneck sweater that was exactly the shade of the thick waves that fell across his forehead. Yep, he definitely looked like a man with better things to do than solve the puzzle of her lunatic behavior.

“It seems I keep owing you apologies.”

Raising one shoulder in a brief shrug, he said, “Nah. I’m not big on apologies. An explanation about what happened out there would be nice, though.”

God knew she owed him one, but it would entail too many personal revelations, so she shrugged, too, hoping irony would diffuse the situation. “I’m not big on explanations.”

“That’s a problem then,” he said. Hooking his thumbs in his back pockets, he narrowed his gaze. “How do you feel about baos?”

“About what?”

“Baos. They’re Chinese dumplings filled with meat. Sometimes beans.”

“I know what they are.” She’d once taught a class on Asian fusion cuisine.

“Good. How about eating some with me?” he invited. “Have you ever been to The Twin Dragon in Zig Zag? Best baos this side of Shanghai.”

“Have you been to Shanghai?”

“Only in my dreams.”

“Well, maybe someday you’ll really go,” she murmured. She had been to China. It had been a wonderful trip.

“I’ve been waiting for the right time,” Derek said.

Her head rose at that. “You shouldn’t. If you want to travel, you should just do it. Don’t wait.”

He gazed at her curiously, and she realized she’d sounded emphatic. “I’ll take that under advisement,” he said. He gestured toward the street beyond the window. “It’s a big world out there. I’d like to see it with someone. That enhances the view, don’t you think?”

“Yes.” Uncomfortably aware that she hadn’t responded to his dinner invitation, she clasped her hands in front of her. “I’d really rather not pursue finding that boy,” she said, glancing everywhere but at Derek. “I think he was just...impulsive. I don’t think he’s a criminal.”

“He’ll be impulsive again.”

“Still—”

“I’m not going to send him to juvenile hall. I want to talk to him and to his family. See if they’re aware of what he’s up to. Assuming he’s never done something like this before, I’d like to make sure he doesn’t do it again.”

Reasonable. Derek was being very reasonable. She couldn’t argue without explaining her reluctance. “All right. After I close up here, I’ll go over to your office to file a report and then head home.”

The arch of his brow, the flare of awareness in his eyes and the near-imperceptible quirk at the corners of his masculine lips told her he got the message. No baos; just business. And no explanations, either.

“My deputy, Russell, is on duty all night. I’ll text and let him know he should expect you.”

She wanted to assure him that her rejection of his dinner invitation was not personal, but he was already on his way to the door. His broad, relaxed shoulders gave no indication that his feelings were wounded. Pausing with his hand on the door handle, he turned to consider her. “Maybe I should have been a detective. I like puzzles. Here’s one I’m working on—beautiful woman—young, intelligent, capable of running her own business—moves to a small town in Oregon where she didn’t know anybody and doesn’t seem to want to. She takes a job working as a waitress in a deli. What would her motivation be?”

“For taking a job as a waitress? That’s a rather elitist attitude.”

“You have to consider the question in context,” he said pleasantly enough. “The woman is clearly overqualified.”

“Maybe she thought waitressing would turn out to be an upwardly mobile position.”

“Could be.” He nodded. “I doubt she would have assumed that at the start, though. There was no evidence that it would be.”