The Sheriff Gets His Lady. Dani Sinclair
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into the kitchen.
“Hi, Dad! Dinner smells great. I’m starving.”
The animals collapsed in a boneless pile inside the door, watching Lauren with canine adoration as she gave him a quick hug and headed for the stove to check on the garlic bread he had warming.
“Yum.”
“Go wash up. Dinner in five.”
When Lauren returned from the bathroom, they fell into their usual dinnertime routine. The dogs waited hopefully for something to fall in their direction, but were quickly distracted by their own food bowls so he and Lauren could eat in peace. The cat disappeared with a haughty flick of her tail. As he ate, Noah listened to Lauren describe her day with her usual cheerful enthusiasm.
“Oh, and Doug’s coming to spend this weekend if that’s okay, Dad.”
“Anytime.” He swallowed a mouthful of pasta and regarded his daughter. “He’s not going to drive, is he?”
“No. He’s flying into San Antonio and renting a car.”
Noah raised his eyebrows. “Pretty expensive for a weekend.”
“I know, but he can afford it. And he says I’m worth it.”
He shared her grin. “He’s right. Listen, there’s something we need to discuss. You know that snub-nosed .38 I gave you?”
Her eyes went from blue to gray as she studied him seriously. “Uh-huh.”
“Start carrying it for a while.”
“Uh-oh. What’s happened?”
His daughter never failed to amaze him. He thanked God every day for the miracle of Lauren. If only Beth had lived to see what a strong, beautiful, levelheaded woman they had raised. He took a bite of salad, chewed, swallowed past the lump in his throat and proceeded to explain about Francis Hartman.
“Okay, Dad, I’ll stay alert.”
“The odds of Hartman actually coming here are pretty small,” he assured her. “If he holds to his usual routine, he’ll be back in jail in a matter of days.”
For Noah and Lauren the following day was life as normal with some heightened caution and awareness. In the afternoon, Noah spent several frustrating hours trying to track down an oil leak in his truck before he gave up and drove into town. He groaned at the sight of Alma Underwood pumping gas into her sports utility, but there was no avoiding the woman unless he drove all the way over to Bitterwater. He brought his truck to a halt and looked around for Marvin Gates. Old Man Lacy had the hapless mechanic cornered inside the garage, garrulously complaining about something under the hood of his ancient pickup.
“Noah! I was just heading home to give you a call,” Alma said. “You have to do something.”
Too late to hide, he thought ruefully, and strode over to Alma. “Afternoon, Alma. What do I have to do something about? I’m not even on duty right now.”
She finished filling her gas tank and began screwing the cap back in place while Noah rested a foot against her front fender.
“Ha! You’re the county sheriff, you’re always on duty. Besides, you know young Terry’s still wet behind the ears. This woman would chew him into little pieces.”
The idea of anyone chewing his six-foot-three inch, 220-pound muscled deputy into little pieces made Noah smile. Terry Gooding might be young and inexperienced, but he wasn’t stupid or Noah wouldn’t have hired him.
“What woman, Alma?”
“The one over in my café. She’s been hanging around Darwin Crossing for two days now. She doesn’t belong here.” Alma’s seamed face creased even further.
“Where does she belong, Alma?” Over her shoulder, Noah saw that rescue wasn’t imminent. Marvin was still busy.
The older woman sniffed. “City woman. Now, I ask you, what business could she possibly have here in Darwin Crossing? As the sheriff, you should talk to her. Find out what she’s up to.”
He tried to keep amusement out of his voice as he tipped back the brim of his Stetson and tilted his head.
“You mean you haven’t pumped her for information already?” There was no better source of information in town than Alma Underwood. The woman lived for gossip.
“Humph. Not that one. You can’t pump her with a twelve-gauge. She’s real cool-like. Cuts you dead with a look. Good-lookin’ broad, I’ll give her that, but only if you like the snooty type. She comes into my place and just sits there watching.”
“Sitting’s not illegal, Alma. Neither is watching. And you do own the only café in town.”
The older woman scowled. “She doesn’t come there to eat. She orders perfectly good food and then sits there playing with it while she looks out the window or scribbles away on this pad she carries.”
Alma took her food seriously. Noah kept his grin inside and glanced over at his pickup to be sure it wasn’t blocking anyone. Marvin was still occupied.
“I guess city women are picky eaters, but I’m afraid that isn’t illegal, either.”
Alma set her jaw and eyed him from beneath thick round glasses. “Okay, I didn’t want to say this right out, Noah, but if you’re gonna take that attitude, now I will. She seems to be watchin’ your Lauren.”
“What?”
Amusement vanished at the mention of his daughter’s name. Noah came away from the fender of her SUV. Tension took a two-fisted grip on the base of his stomach.
For an instant, he thought about Francis Hartman, then discarded the idea of a connection. But a much older fear reared its ugly head.
“Thought that might get your attention.”
Beth had laughed at him, told him his worry was foolish. But while she was a cop’s wife, she didn’t see and hear all the things he did. From the day they adopted Lauren, he’d always secretly feared that one day Lauren’s birth mother would come and try to take their little girl away.
“Are you sure about this, Alma?”
“Course I’m sure.”
Who would be watching his daughter?
“A woman,” he said almost to himself. The adoption had been perfectly legal and nearly twenty years ago. Still, Beth’s death had strengthened the fear. What if Lauren’s biological parents learned that Beth was dead? What if they decided they’d made a terrible mistake? He’d never understood how anyone could give up a precious baby like Lauren in the first place. His fear had not abated after Beth’s funeral. It had even played a small role in his moving out here in the middle of nowhere after he found himself a widower. Strangers were always noticed here in Darwin Crossing.
“Course she’s a woman, didn’t I say as much?”
“Who is she?” he demanded.
“That’s what you need to find out,” Alma said, sounding exasperated. “The woman has a file in that briefcase she carries around and your Lauren’s name is scrawled on the face of it.”
The tension building inside him coiled itself into a tight knot.
Alma bobbed her head as if she knew the impact her words were having. “If someone is checking on your daughter, maybe it’s time to make sitting and watching illegal here in Darwin Crossing.”
“Where is this woman now?”
“In my café,” Alma said with satisfaction.
Noah battled his spreading tension.
“You know, it occurred to me to wonder if that high-society boyfriend of your daughter’s might have gone and hired himself a fancy private investigator to keep an eye on his fiancée,” she added.