Her Lawman Protector. Patricia Johns
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TWO
LIV ARRIVED AT the store the next morning, half afraid she’d find another note, but the floor in front of the mail slot was bare. She sighed in relief, then took a moment to pull herself together. She wouldn’t be scared off by a coward who worked in anonymous notes. As the morning passed by, she put away the last of the books, but there were more deliveries expected. She ordered in some lunch—a slice of vegetarian pizza with a salad on the side and an order of potato wedges. She was hungry, but she was also nervous. And when she got nervous, she tended to eat. She’d always been this way, even as a kid. In her elementary school years, she’d been filled with social anxiety and was constantly peckish. She’d get on the school bus every morning with dread in her belly, and she’d have her lunch polished off before she even arrived at school.
Back then, she didn’t have a lot to be nervous about. It was just anxiety of the general variety. She’d had friends and several first cousins in the school, so she’d never been alone. A boy had started making fun of her once, and her three older cousins had beaten him up. For better or for worse, those were days when a bloody nose didn’t turn into family counseling, and Liv had gone through school both chubby and unharassed. Some called that a miracle, but Liv had a secret—she’d mastered the art of the compliment early. But as a grown woman with a marriage in her wake, Liv was tired of people-pleasing, and she’d started mastering the art of a well-timed comeback.
Liv popped the last of the wedges into her mouth just as someone rattled the front door. She looked up, still chewing, to see her aunt Marie peering through the window. Liv sighed and went to unlock the door.
“Why did you lock it?” Marie asked as Liv opened the door. “This isn’t Denver, my dear.”
Marie was a petite woman—barely over five feet tall and as trim as she’d been at twenty. She’d aged well, and at sixty, with her hair dyed a respectable brown, she could pass for five years younger.
“Hi, Auntie,” Liv said. “Come on in.”
Marie looked around, her gaze stopping at the greasy paper plate on the counter. “Liv, dear, you need to eat better.”
Would Marie give that same advice to her stick-thin daughter if she’d just consumed the same meal? Not likely. This was the kind of pressure she lived under, and since her divorce she’d decided to stop apologizing for eating.
“Do you know anyone who hates me?” Liv asked, changing the subject.
Marie blinked. “What?”
“Someone who hates me.” Liv slowed it down. “Or hates the idea of this bookstore...”
“No, of course not.” Marie eyed Liv speculatively. “What’s going on?”
“I got a threatening note. Three, actually. The police think it’s serious.”
“Threatening what, exactly?” Marie asked.
“Nothing specific. That if I don’t leave town, I’ll regret it. That sort of thing.”
Marie blew out a breath. “You haven’t been toying with another woman’s husband, have you?”
Liv burst out laughing. “I love how you always see me in the best light, Marie.”
“I’m just... It’s brainstorming, dear. What would upset someone around here? Home-wrecking, I suppose. That’s all I can think of.”
“I agree that home-wrecking is horrible, considering Evan’s cheating,” Liv replied drily, “but I’ve kept my own home-wrecking to a minimum.”
“Well, it’s a silly question to begin with!” Marie said with a shake of her head.
“Or it would be, if someone weren’t trying to scare me off,” Liv replied.
“But this is your hometown. If anyone belongs here, it’s you.”
Liv was forced to agree. She’d come home to lick her wounds postdivorce. A threatening note—it was weird.
“Is it possibly a joke?” her aunt said after a beat of silence.
“I thought so at first,” Liv admitted. “I’ve never been one to inspire this much drama, but the police think it’s something more.”
“The police may be wrong.”
“True. And if they aren’t?”
“You need a man around here,” Marie said. “And that isn’t me trying to meddle. Maybe put out some big shoes so that people think you have a boyfriend or something. A male presence might help.”
Useful. Except she did have an officer making his services available in that department. Maybe she should take Jack’s offer more seriously.
“Anyway,” Marie went on, “we’re having a family barbecue at our place and wanted to invite you. Unless, of course, you’re too full—” She looked toward the paper plates again, and Liv’s irritation simmered back up. She was tired of the constant nagging when it came to what she ate. Yes, she was plus-size, but how on earth did that make her lunch anybody else’s business? It had been like this since she was young and well-meaning extended family tried to be a “good influence” on her.
“There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about, Auntie. I’ve been reading some articles on dementia,” Liv said, fixing her aunt with her most concerned look. “And there are brain exercises you can do to ward it off.”
Marie coughed, the color draining from her face. “I’m sixty.”
“I know.” Liv held the eye contact meaningfully. “Should I print off the articles for you?”
Marie turned for the door. “No, you should not.”
“Because if you change your mind, I’ve saved them all!” Liv called after her aunt, who hauled open the door. “There are some games that your children can play with you to help keep your mental faculties sharp, as well—there’s one with a brightly colored ball.”
“Hilarious, Liv. Point made.” Marie shot her a scathing look over her shoulder. “I hope you’re advising your mother of these mental exercises, too!”
“Only when she criticizes me for eating lunch,” Liv quipped.
“Fine. I’m sorry if I offended you, but I do care. Are you coming tonight or not?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Liv said with a sweet smile. “See you.”
Marie stomped out of the store, and the newly installed bell tinkled cheerily at her exit. Liv smiled to herself, enjoying this brief victory. She was tired of explaining herself, her food choices, her divorce...all of it. But did she really want to attend this barbecue just to have her aunt mentally tally up her calories? She was tired of being the big girl who nibbled carrot sticks while everyone else gorged on ribs, only to make up the difference when she got home again, ashamed of herself on too many levels. No more faking it. She had to start trusting her own observations and stop worrying about everyone else’s. Easier said than done sometimes, but she had a feeling that, like most things, it was a matter of practice.
Liv stood motionless for a few beats as her aunt disappeared down the street, and Liv’s irritation slipped away, leaving her feeling mildly guilty. It was stupid—her aunt had been insulting her, and yet she felt bad for having given her a taste of her own medicine. But that’s how she’d always felt when she stood up for herself—guilty. That needed to stop, too. The door swung slowly shut but stopped a couple of inches short of closed.
Liv sighed and headed over to see what was blocking the door. It was a small package wrapped in brown paper, Mrs. Kornekewsky written in black marker across the front. It seemed to have tipped from the corner into the doorway as her aunt left.
Kornekewsky wasn’t her name anymore—she’d been quite happy to shed it. But someone was clinging to her marriage...
Liv