Prince Charming Wears A Badge. Lisa Dyson
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He was also very generous when it came to sponsoring teams. Callie’s softball shirt with Garrett’s across the back came to mind. “What about the store? Is someone still running it?”
Tyler shook his head. “Dad closed it when he got sick. He sold the inventory and gave up the lease. The furniture store that was next door—Pratt’s—expanded into the space.”
“That’s too bad.”
“It was for the best. Dad had an inoperable brain tumor and it was either close the store then or my sister and I would have had to do it after he passed away.”
“Neither of you wanted to continue running it?”
“Isabelle definitely had no interest. And, at the time, I wasn’t sure what I was going to do.”
Isabelle’s best friend had been Callie’s stepsister, Wendy, who’d had a major crush on Tyler. Had the two of them ever gotten together? Pushing the question to the back of her mind, Callie opened her mouth to ask why he’d left the Army—she had a hunch there was a story to that—but he changed the subject before she could bring it up.
“Now, about your community service...” He consulted his computer while she took in his broad shoulders. He’d gone from slim teenager to well-built adult. “You’re only the second person I’ve had report to me to fulfill their hours. I’ll have to see what I can find.” He clicked a few keys.
“What did that other person do for their service hours?”
He looked at her with his deep-set, dark brown eyes. As a teenager she’d thought of them as puppy-dog eyes, but on a grown man they were downright sexy. “He loaded and unloaded mulch into a truck and spread it at the elementary school. He did some other landscaping, too.” Tyler glanced at her and took in her outfit from head to toe. “I’m not sure landscaping is right for you. Besides, you’re not dressed for work like that.”
She heated at his perusal. “I have clothes to change into.” In truth, she’d worn her office clothes, hoping the Chief of Police would see her as a professional and not someone ready to do hard labor. Not that she wasn’t strong, but if she had to do community service, she might as well do something that would benefit the community. It never crossed her mind that Tyler would be the person holding authority over her. She doubted he’d give her any kind of break, though, no matter how she’d dressed.
“That’s good.” He clicked keys on his computer again and the printer in the corner, partially hidden by banker’s boxes, came alive.
Tyler stood to retrieve what he’d printed. He glanced at the page and then handed it to Callie. “You can report to this address tomorrow morning at eight. There’s a volunteer group, mostly seniors, who have planned a clean-up of the city streets.”
“Are you talking about picking up trash?”
His dark, well-groomed eyebrows rose. “Do you have a problem with that?”
Her hands clenched and unclenched automatically. “Of course not.” She rose. “I’ll be sure to be on time.”
She was outside his office when she heard him add, “You might want to wear gloves and shoes you don’t care about. Oh, and long pants. You never know when you’ll run into poison ivy or the occasional snake.”
She shivered at the thought. “Great,” she muttered to herself. She should have guessed that he’d give her a nasty job rather than one she was actually suited to. He hadn’t even asked about her skills.
For that matter, he hadn’t asked her anything about herself. Was he still holding that outburst against her? The one she hadn’t held back that last night before leaving for college? She’d thought letting him walk her home from that party would be nice. She’d planned to leave for college the next day and he’d made it clear all summer that he was interested in her.
But even if she could go back and do everything differently, there was no way to a happy ending. One of two things would have happened regardless. Either her stepsister would find a way to hurt her physically or emotionally because she wanted Tyler for herself, or, sooner or later, Tyler would have discovered how dysfunctional her family really was. What he’d witnessed that night was a mere hint of the reality.
Fine. His disinterest didn’t bother her. She had things to do and she’d get them done and get out of town.
She should have thought to bring old shoes with her, not that she really owned any. She tended to clean out her closet every spring and donate to the local women’s shelter. They were always looking for gently-worn work clothes, shoes and purses so disadvantaged women could go on job interviews and hopefully make new lives for themselves and their children. Callie was happy to help them out.
She got into her car and turned the air-conditioning up to maximum. She twisted her long hair into a bun and secured it with a few bobby pins from her purse. The heat in Tyler’s office had been stifling. The town was obviously in a financial bind if it couldn’t replace the AC or even Tyler’s ancient computer.
She pulled out of the small visitors’ parking lot next to the police station and headed to her appointment to see about a room for rent. It was the only option she’d found on Craigslist within a twenty-mile radius.
Callie could have lived out of a hotel, but she preferred to not waste her hard-earned money. And she’d save a lot if things worked out with Mrs. Thompson.
The house was a few blocks from the police station. When Callie had lived in Whittler’s Creek, this home had been occupied by Mrs. Thompson, her husband and their four children. The children must be grown by now since the youngest was only a year older than Callie. Mrs. Thompson had been the one who’d listed the rental.
The large Victorian home with its wrap-around porch sat on an oversize corner lot. It was probably a hundred years old, but from the outside it looked pristine. Especially compared to her father’s house that was only about half as old.
The pale blue painted clapboard and white gingerbread trim appeared fresh. The lawn was mowed and there were flowers blooming everywhere Callie looked. Definitely a pleasant place to come home to after picking up trash all day.
When she’d communicated by email with Mrs. Thompson yesterday, Callie had discovered that the woman had turned her home into a boardinghouse after her husband died. Callie assumed it was for financial reasons. One of her daughters had been living with her but had recently moved out, leaving an empty room to rent.
Parking beside the curb, Callie straightened her clothes and walked to the front door. Even close up, she could see how well-kept the property was.
Mrs. Thompson answered the door almost immediately after Callie rang the bell. “Come in! Come in!” She stepped out of the way for Callie to enter. If Callie hadn’t known Mrs. Thompson was in her late fifties, she would have guessed her as being closer to fifty. The petite woman with auburn hair and not a single gray had a welcoming smile and an energetic attitude to go with it.
She drew Callie in for a hug, catching her off guard. “It’s so good to see you after all these years,” Mrs. Thompson said.
Callie hadn’t known Mrs. Thompson very well, but the woman obviously remembered her. Mrs. Thompson had been the team mom on Callie’s softball team and she had also been the room mother in her third-grade classroom.
Mrs. Thompson kept an arm at Callie’s waist as she ushered her from the entryway, down a short hallway and into the kitchen with its white cabinets, yellow walls and royal blue accents. “Come, we’ll have something to drink and you can tell me what you’ve been doing.” She named both hot and cold drinks.
Callie swallowed, still in shock by the warm reception. “Coffee sounds good.” Unlike the police department, the AC in Mrs. Thompson’s house was in good working condition.
“So, tell me what you’ve been up to, Callie,” Mrs. Thompson said as she busied herself getting the coffee.
“Well, since grad school, I’ve