God, he’d wanted that for his sister. And he hadn’t given up on it, but this…hurt. He’d really thought she’d turned a corner. Three years. Three years clean without any problems. Why would she throw that away? “I thought…”
“We all think. We always think.” Sammy walked into his kitchen, stuck her head into his fridge. “And she always goes back.”
Her words were emotionless, but Gard knew better. Sammy might be resigned, but it wasn’t like she hadn’t found some hope these past few years either. Hope that was now dashed. Cruelly.
Gard hated that he couldn’t argue with Sammy, couldn’t find some way to protect that now-lost hope. “Here, eat this,” he muttered, setting the potpie down on the table, and moving into the kitchen to make himself something else.
Lia Blair hadnever been a morning person. So the irony was not lost on her that she’d decided to run a bakery and coffee shop that necessitated her getting up before the sun just about every day.
Luckily, she’d hired a responsible assistant manager who often opened so Lia could get that extra hour of sleep in. But an extra hour of sleep in bakery world was still too damn early.
She could grumble about it, and would, but some mornings when she stepped out of her little house off the main drag of Hope Town, Wyoming, and the sunrise was a soft, pretty pastel painting on the sky, she was reminded of how lucky she was to be here.
It was a hell of a lot better than everything she’d endured as a teenager that had led her to a life in Hope Town’s secret, privatized WitSec program.
Because her name might be Lia Blair here, but that was only because Edwina Cornelia Pitt didn’t exist anymore. For her own protection. Something that didn’t even faze her anymore. She liked her life here in Hope Town more than she’d ever liked any part of the life prior.
Since it was a nice day, and Lia planned on eating one of her giant cinnamon rolls for breakfast once she got into the bakery, she walked the short distance from house to bakery building out on Main Street rather than drive.
Albennie, her assistant manager, was already in the kitchen, doing the necessary first-thing-in-the-morning tasks. They didn’t speak through that first hour—even in a good mood Lia wanted absolute silence before at least a cup and a half of coffee.
So, silently, Lia went through her first hour of work, frosting pastries, baking yesterday’s doughs into rolls and the like. Shedrank her first cup of coffee as she worked, then sat down with her warm, delicious cinnamon roll and drank half the second cup.
Life was good.
The morning rush came through and kept Lia and Albennie busy, though not too rushed. Thursdays in Hope Town, Wyoming, weren’t exactly teeming with people, but the threat of winter in the air had people getting out and about more than they would soon enough.
Things tapered off in the afternoon as they usually did. Albennie said her goodbyes, leaving Lia to clean up and close up once three finally hit. Since it was Thursday, the place was dead by two, but Lia stayed open, always ready for a straggler.
She used these downtimes to test new recipes or work on one of the million projects she was always working on to keep the historical building her bakery was in functioning. Today, she wasn’t in the mood for tools or frustrating building-improvement projects, so she went to her kitchen.
She kept the music low so she could hear if someone came in—the bell on the door would ring. Then she lost herself in butter and sugar and the simple satisfaction she always felt when baking.
Italmostmade the early mornings worth it.
The new sugar cookie dough recipe she’d tried from an old cookbook she’d bought at the antique shop down the street was stickier than she’d like, messier than she’d like, but pretty darn tasty if she did say so herself.
She packaged it up to chill overnight then heard something…odd out in the front room. She wiped her hands on a towel and moved out of the kitchen area to the café itself.
There was someone inside. Which…didn’t make sense since she hadn’t heard the bell ring. But the figure stood on the otherside of the counter. Not waiting to order, at least not if the open and empty cash register drawer was anything to go by.
From Lia’s angle, she couldn’t see their face or really make out much of them considering they were wearing an oversize, bulky hoodie.
She should probably pull her phone out of her pocket and call the Bent County Sheriff’s Department, but she paused, watching as the figure helped themself to the money in the tip jar. They shoved it into their hoodie pocket, looked around—allowing Lia to see enough of their face for Lia to realize it was a girl. Probably a teenager.
The girl clearly didn’t see Lia, because her next move was to reach around the counter, open the pastry display case at that awkward angle, and grab what she could.
Before the girl could fully pull her hand from the case, Lia took a step forward into her line of sight.
“Are you going to put that money back, or am I going to have to call the cops?” Lia hated cops. That would be a very,verylast resort. But the threat when it came to teens usually worked.
Unless this teen was a lot like the teen she had been.
The girl stopped, though she didn’t turn around to face Lia. Lia imagined she was considering her chances of getting away if she ran.
Not good.
When the girl finally turned toward Lia, Lia blew out a breath. The eyes were blazing, the snarl combative. And there was that belligerence only a teen could pull out with such a lack of toughness behind it. She’d dropped the pastries and pretended she didn’t see them on the floor. “I didn’t take anything.”
