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Mr. Elmer shoved his chair under the table and rewrapped the scarf around his neck. “At least give her a chance. It’s not like we’ve advertised the parade.”
“Sophie,” Gage said. “You have my blessing. Just don’t come to me for money.”
“I won’t. I promise.” She smiled and intertwined her fingers with Ben’s. “Thank you.”
An hour later, after everyone had left and she and Ben were cleaning up the kitchen, he put down his dish towel and pulled her into his arms. He held her so close, her cheek pressed against his chest and his chin rested on her head. Then he swayed to the low Christmas waltz playing over the café’s speakers.
“Are you sure about this?” he whispered as they moved. “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone.”
She pulled back to cup his face between her palms. He was always so much warmer than she was, and she loved the rough texture of his skin beneath her fingers. “I’m not doing this to prove anything. I just need to do this. I want to belong.”
He kissed her forehead, but she heard the frustration in his short breaths. “You do belong. To me. Even though we haven’t–”
“Shh.” She stood on her toes until her lips rested against his. “It’s okay. I’m not worried about that. We’ll be together when the time is right. We have the rest of our lives to do all the things we’ve ever dreamed of doing.” She used her tongue to trace his lips. “Including those things.”
In that moment, in the dark kitchen surrounded by Christmas carols, she believed that.
Ben drew her into his arms again. “But ask for help if you need it.”
“I promise.” Fifteen minutes later, as Ben locked up the kitchen, she remembered something. While she was organized and smart, she and Santa didn’t have a great relationship. Not because she didn’t believe, but because he’d never left her a Christmas present. The greater truth was she’d never celebrated Christmas before. She’d only ever watched it from afar.
Ben took her hand and led her up the back staircase to her apartment, but her legs felt soft and mushy. She knew nothing about Santa or parades or Christmas. And she had no idea where to begin.
3
When the church bells struck eleven times, Ben hurried down the stairs from Sophie’s apartment and entered the café’s kitchen. Once he zipped up his winter coat, he went through the back EXIT door that led to an alley tucked between colonial-era buildings and a steep ravine leading to a river on the other side. The same river on which Kingsmill had built its first mill in 1681.
The roar of the river’s rapids competed with the howling wind, and he shoved his bare hands in his pockets. Trees protected him from the river’s mist, but not from the wind stinging his cheeks.
He’d left Sophie asleep in her apartment, but he hadn’t wanted to. He’d wanted to crawl into bed, take her in his arms, and make love to her all night. He’d wanted to wrap himself in her long blond hair and lose himself in her dark green eyes. The fact they hadn’t made love yet, even though they’d found their way back to each other weeks ago, made the blood burn in his veins and left him with a constant erection.
A few weeks ago, after she’d handed over evidence to take down the Black Jacks MC, he’d made a decision. It hadn’t been an easy decision, and he hadn’t talked it out with Sophie first. But since he was still involved with the Black Jacks investigation –and the murder they were accused of committing–he didn’t want to put Sophie in a compromising situation.
Sophie’s anonymous testimony could send members of the Black Jacks to jail for years, but a good defense lawyer could use their relationship as a way to get the case thrown out of court. Or expose her real identity. Although he was now a sheriff, he’d once been an outlaw. And no defense attorney would hesitate to use his past against him. That was why he used the back entrance of Sophie’s apartment instead of the front. He had no idea if the Black Jacks had discovered Sophie’s identity or hired someone to watch him. Since no one came down the alley anymore, he felt safe coming and going from her apartment this way.
“Hey, Ben.” A man stood in the opening of the back door of The Ren, the bar and restaurant next to the café, and tossed down a cigarette. He crushed it beneath his boot and crossed his arms over his wide chest.
“Hey, Lotto.” Gage stopped and nodded. “Why is your kitchen open so late?”
“Damian was at the town meeting. So the rest of the MC was here.”
Ben laughed. Gage had recently bought the building from the motorcycle club and hired Lotto as a part-time cook against the official wishes of Damian Fawkes. That meant the other members of the Devil’s Renegades were supposed to ignore Lotto because he’d defied Damian. Unofficially, most of the MC members loved Lotto and his homemade meals. So when Damian wasn’t paying attention, the MC members appeared whenever Lotto was in the kitchen. But they always came to the back door, not the front entrance.
Maybe, as a former member of an outlaw motorcycle club, he was destined to use back doors as well. And wasn’t that a depressing thought.
“Did you hear what happened at the meeting?” Ben wasn’t sure why he asked the question. Of course everyone had heard by now.
“Yep.” Lotto smoothed down his white apron and looked up at the dark sky. He was six-foot-seven with a long black beard and a bald head covered in tattoos. His starched apron was always pressed and clean. “Any ideas who took the money?”
“No.” Ben flexed his hands in his pockets. He didn’t have his gloves and now that he wasn’t walking, he felt the chill in his bones. “I don’t think it was Damian either.”
“I agree.” Lotto spit on the dirt near the brick path. “As much as I hate Damian, he wouldn’t do that. If you’d had guns stolen from the police station, he’s the first one I’d suspect. But stealing money from the Santa parade… Nah.” Lotto shook his head. “I remember how Damian, when he was a kid, counted down the days until the parade. I think those gifts from Santa were the only ones he ever got. His dad was an ass, after all.”
“True.” Ben exhaled and watched his frosty breath evaporate in the shadows. “Did you know the Fawkes’ barn burned down a few weeks ago?”
“No. But last week I went hunting with Ed in Mosby’s Gap. Ed told me there’s been random fires on the mountain. And a problem with your grandaddy’s star. It may not work this year.”
Ed lived in Mosby’s Gap, near Caleb’s mountain retreat cabin that Ben and his brothers had inherited. Ed took care of the property and maintained the Christmas star that lived on top of a hundred-foot tall steel pole. But since Ed had hermit tendencies and lived off-grid, communicating with him was difficult. “Did Ed tell you what was wrong with Caleb’s star?”
