“SO WHAT’S THIS I HEAR about Gabe Sloan trying to run down my sister in the Dixieland parking lot?” Tanner Waide mock-growled as he stepped inside the supply store on Monday morning.

      Arianne paused in the act of stocking the register drawer with bills and coins, glancing toward the door that led to the private office in back. “Shh! You know better than to make dumb comments like that with Mr. Overprotective on the premises.”

      Tanner approached the counter, chuckling. “Please. You actively seek out opportunities to provoke Dad into worrying so that you can argue with him about how capable you are.”

      “Hey.” She shot him an indignant look. “You forget, I matured during the years you were away from Mistletoe. I don’t intentionally pick fights.” Sometimes they just happened to occur in her vicinity, usually because others were having a hard time seeing reason.

      Her older brother raised an eyebrow, skeptical.

      “Did you stop by just to harass me?” she wanted to know.

      “No, I promised David I’d come by to go over some first-quarter projections.” Although Tanner, who’d formerly worked as a financial bigwig in Atlanta, wasn’t a full-time employee of the family store, he did help with their books.

      “David’s running late,” Arianne said. “Apparently the baby had a very fussy night.”

      Tanner set down his briefcase. “Guess I’ll have a cup of coffee while I wait and harass you after all. So…anything going on between you and Gabe Sloan?”

      “Yes, I asked him to help set up the fall festival and he agreed.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s all very tantalizing. Are people still so suspicious of him that they’re paying attention to his every conversation? Because we spoke at a public place in broad daylight. I can’t imagine that makes for very interesting gossip.”

      Cocking his head to the side, Tanner regarded her thoughtfully. “Actually, I heard about it when I ran into Shane McIntyre at the gas station this morning, and I’m pretty sure his interest was in you, not Sloan—but your wildly defensive attitude is intriguing.”

      “Oh.” She looked down, not sure what to say. Maybe it would be better to keep your mouth shut for a change of pace.

      “It’s funny,” Tanner added, “but when you got angry about people being ‘suspicious’ of him, you sounded almost as overprotective as you accuse Dad of being.”

      Could Gabe use someone to speak up in his defense? Her parents had tried to shield her young ears from the initial gossip, so other than being peripherally aware of the Templetons’ deaths and Gabe’s rumored connection, Arianne was vague on details. Who had Gabe been friends with when he was in high school? Had anyone stuck up for him? Had Mr. Sloan tried to shield his only child?

      “Ari?”

      “Sorry, not a morning person.” She pointed toward the back office. “Better bring me some of that coffee, too.”

      He gave her a knowing, lopsided grin. “Was that your way of dismissing me?”

      “I always said you were the smart brother.”

      “What’s that make me?” David asked, once the copper bell above the door had heralded his arrival. “The good-looking one?”

      Tanner snorted. “Out of sympathy for your rough night, I won’t even point out how ridiculous that statement is.”

      As their older sibling got closer, Arianne saw just how uncharacteristically rumpled he was. David had tucked his wrinkled shirt into khaki slacks but had forgotten his belt. His brown hair, while still shorter than Tanner’s, had outgrown its normal cut and there were dark circles under his Waide-blue eyes. But even the lines of fatigue on his face couldn’t erase his obvious joy at being a parent.

      “Got new pictures of my niece?” Arianne asked. It had become their morning ritual.

      He tossed her his cell phone, which she caught one-handed. “Took one right before I left. She looked…Angelic is the only word for it.”

      Studying the photo on the small screen, Arianne had to agree. Still, she laughed at his assessment. “Angelic? That would be the same child who cried all night?”

      “Not her fault,” the proud papa insisted. “She’s cutting her first teeth. We tried everything mentioned in Rach’s parenting books, but none of the solutions worked for very long.”

      “You want me to stop by this afternoon?” Arianne offered. “Give Rachel a break, or at least a hand?”

      “Thank you.” David tousled her hair affectionately. “For that, I’m willing to overlook that you called this bonehead ‘the smart brother.’”

      “Don’t take that personally,” Tanner said. “She was only sucking