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And, for the first time since they left Dayton, he felt a sense of peace at returning to Hamlet.
Sylvester Collins came bursting into Ophelia, shaking off the snowflakes that clung to his sheriff’s hat, his jacket, his hands. “Holy hell, is it coming down out there.”
Maria looked up from where she was curled up on the sofa. She had a blanket wrapped around her legs, a pillow propped up behind her back, a mug of steaming cocoa perched at her side, and her finger between the pages of an old classic.
Because it was Christmas, and it was nice to light a fire in the grate and sit in the foyer in the company of the ten foot tree that served as the centerpiece of Ophelia’s room, Maria was reading A Christmas Carol and hoping that Sly would have a break from patrol duty before long.
Normally, she didn’t use the foyer if the bed and breakfast was vacant or if she wasn’t expecting company. She much preferred to drink her hot chocolate in her cozy kitchen. When she was in the mood to read, she usually did so in bed—unless Sly was spending the night.
Since he was clutching an overnight bag in his hand, Maria realized delightedly that that was the plan for tonight. A wide smile broke out on her face as she set her book aside and unfolded her long, slender body out of its curled up position on the couch.
Sly tossed his bag on the opposite side of the couch before reaching for Maria. She yelped at the chill that clung to his skin; the sound was swallowed by his greeting of a kiss.
“Mmm,” rumbled Sly, licking his lips after he pulled back from her. “You taste like hot chocolate.”
“I was just having some while I was reading. You want me to get you a mug?”
“I was hoping for a hot meal. I had to help three drivers out who should’ve known better than to head to Jefferson’s in the snow. Patrol was brutal. I need to thaw out a little, sweetheart.”
Not even the new sheriff of Hamlet was exempt from the patrols. Only Wilhelmina Parker got out of driving around in the cruisers, instead spending her time on duty inside the station house. The Hamlet Sheriff Department was back up to a four-man crew again now that Ricky Hart was a full-time deputy and Ethan Oliver signed on to learn the job. But because Ethan was so new, and Sly so dedicated to keeping Hamlet safe, Sly spent more time in his cruiser than doing almost anything else.
His hands were frozen. She took one of his between both of hers, rubbing it, sharing her warmth. “I was gonna make something small for me since I wasn’t sure if you were coming by tonight. For you, I’ll make something better. Feel like anything in particular?”
“Nulla.”
Anything.
Maria’s heart seemed to swell. Sly’s grasp of Italian was getting better and better every day. He was making an effort to learn the language for her, and it was the sweetest gesture ever.
“Sit by the fire, tesoro,” she said, specifically using that term of endearment because it meant something to the both of them. That he was her treasure, and that it was an Italian term, so only the two of them understood its meaning. “Warm up and I’ll whip something up for supper. Are you off duty for the night?”
Sly nodded, stripping off his damp jacket. “Rick relieved me a little early. With tomorrow being Christmas Eve, he said he’d take over command for a couple of days, give me a break. I told him he didn’t have to do that, but he said Willie has her kids, I have you, and he’s got the job. I couldn’t argue with that.”
Maria was glad. To spend Christmas with Sly was all she wanted this year. “Thank him for me, then. And we’ll make sure to drop off some food for Ricky tomorrow so he has some Christmas cheer.”
“Sounds good, sweetheart.” After throwing his jacket onto the arm of the couch, Sly sat down and started to remove his snow-covered boots. The slush was melting, leaving a mess on Ophelia’s pristine floor, and Maria was too kind to say anything.
However, before he’d even reached for one of the laces, there came a loud knock at the front door.
“Are we expecting anyone?” he asked Maria.
Ray and Caro were supposed to be coming over for holiday cocktails on Christmas Eve after they shut the Hamlet Inn up for the night. But that was tomorrow—it was still the 23rd and she couldn’t think of a single person who would be knocking at this hour.
She shook her head, long black hair swaying with the motion. “No, tesoro. And the radio’s been quiet all day.”
Sly got up, resting his hand on the butt of the gun he habitually wore now. After what happened to the last sheriff—allegedly at the hands of her own deputy—Sly wasn’t taking any chances.
Besides, from the way he shot a concerned glance toward her, he obviously still remembered the time before Sullivan, when an outsider came to ask for a night in Maria’s bed and breakfast. They might’ve met each other through the horrible circumstance of her attack by Mack Turner, but he told her more than once he would do anything if it meant he could wipe the memories of that bastard from her mind.
Maria would live through that attack again and again if it meant that she ended up with Sylvester Collins at the end of it.
“Stay here,” he told her, heading for the door.
With a snort under her breath, she got up to follow. As if she’d cower behind any man. Even without her trusty baseball bat, she wasn’t afraid.
She had Sly.
He waved her back. Maria compromised by leaving a couple of feet between them as Sly, after unbuttoning the strap on his holster, pressed his eye to the peephole. He muttered something she couldn’t make out.
