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BEN DODGED FISTS, fingernails, even feet as he caught her to him when she rounded on him like a cornered coyote.
“What about the security footage Tyree claims to have from that night?” He grabbed a flailing fist. “I’m guessing it’s just a matter of time before someone recognizes you then—by extension—Jack and Sarah and me.” He freed her hand and turned her so that her back was against him. He asked angrily in her ear, “You want to talk about that? Your war-hero brother’s reputation ruined because he tried to help his thieving little sister? Not to mention Sarah’s reputation and mine.”
And that was how Teresa found them; Corie flailing in his arms, her legs bicycling the air a foot off the floor.
Her expression changed as she approached them, a red sweatshirt in her hand. The warm, sweet-natured woman was now the wild coyote pup’s mother.
“Put her down,” she said.
He did.
To his complete surprise Corie explained. “I started it.” She combed her fingers through her tangled hair and spared him a quick, dark glance. “We’ll put the tree in the stand, then I have to get to work and he’s going back to Oregon.”
“I’m not going back to Oregon,” he corrected.
“Don’t you have a job? Aren’t you Beggar’s Bay’s most vigilant and disagreeable cop?”
He smiled blandly at her. “I am, but I’m on leave. Built-up vacation time.”
Teresa looked from one to the other, her expression grave. “What is this about?”
Unwilling to rat out Corie, Ben said nothing.
Corie waved both hands in a gesture that suggested it was difficult to explain. “It’s nothing for you to worry about.”
Teresa clearly didn’t believe her but finally handed Ben the shirt and said wryly, “That’s good, because I’m overextended on worry at the moment. Give me your shirt, Ben, and I’ll throw it in the wash. This one was Soren’s dad’s.”
Ben yanked his shirt off. The sleeve’s hem caught on his watch and Teresa reached up to help him then winced at something on his back.
Corie, looking away from a formidable six-pack of abs, walked around him to see what had caused such a reaction. A large bruise, already livid, ran from the middle of his back at an angle across his left shoulder.
Teresa touched it gingerly. “You pulled Corie away from the trunk, but it must have glanced off you. Does it hurt?”
He flexed the shoulder and hesitated just an instant. “Not much.”
She came around him to offer help with the sweatshirt then gasped again at the still livid scar Corie hadn’t noticed since she’d been trying hard not to look at his bare chest. It was on his left shoulder, an inch long and bright red.
He pulled on the sweatshirt. “I got shot,” he said when his head reappeared. “I’m fine. The bullet hit muscle. I had surgery. No big deal.”
Still angry, Corie had to admit that it was a desecration of such a perfect torso. She remembered what it had been like to have her body covered by his under the tree. She ignored the heat flushing her cheeks and reminded herself that she hated him despite his perfect chest and shoulders.
Soren and Carlos joined them breathlessly with a rusty stand that was far too small for the tree.
“That’ll never do,” Teresa said. “Corie, do you have time to go to Wolf’s Hardware for a bigger one before you go to work?”
Happy for an excuse to leave, Corie ran out to her truck.
* * *
BEN HAD THE most willing team he’d ever worked with. The biggest problem was that most of them were under four and half feet tall and had no sense of self-preservation. Teresa and the kids each grabbed a handful of tarp and helped him pull the tree as far as the back door.
“Okay, drop it,” he ordered, turning to see that everyone had complied.
Teresa smiled. “Usually, I have to do this by myself. Of course, I buy a six-foot tree, but this is Corie. She wants this Christmas to be special.” She didn’t explain, though the strain of the eviction threat showed in her face.
He put himself into the spirit Corie and Teresa were trying to create for the children. He’d flown out from Oregon to talk to Corie, but that was going to take a little longer than he’d imagined. So, if he had to wait for her, he may as well make himself useful.
He looked for Soren and Carlos. “Can you guys help Teresa clear a path for us inside?”
As the boys were shepherded indoors, he was left with the other seven children. They came closer and stared at him. The small girl in blue-striped shirt and shorts, tiny feet in too big flip-flops, that purse still over her arm, asked, “Are you Santa?”
Two of Carlos’s brothers scorned the question. “Santa’s fat!”
“He brings presents, not trees.”
The youngest boy stuck up for her and pointed at Ben. “He wears a red shirt.”
Ah. The loaner shirt had prompted the question.
“I’m Ben,” he said. “I’m a...friend of Corie’s.” Inaccurate but a good way to explain his presence to the children.
“So are we.” The little girl smiled that they had something in common. “She said Santa’s gonna come to see us. For sure, this time.”
Another girl maybe a year older in a similar striped shirt and shorts took a step forward. “He doesn’t always come,” she said as though it were a tough truth she’d accepted. “Sometimes he doesn’t have toys left.”
A third girl in the same uniform made a face. “Our mom doesn’t have a lot of money. She’s working so she can come and get us. Sometimes you have to help Santa pay for stuff.”
“You don’t have to buy presents,” Carlos’s younger brother Rigo said. “The elves make them.”
“They have to buy the stuff to make them with.”
“No, they don’t. It’s magic.”
“There’s no magic,” Rosie said in her know-it-all voice. “Santa comes if you’re good but not if you’re bad.”
Ben prayed for Teresa’s return, but she was busy. He was it.
“I think Santa loves all kids,” he said. “And if you do something wrong, he understands that we all mess up sometimes, and he gives you another chance.”
The middle girl in stripes asked hopefully, “You think so?”
“I do,” he replied with confidence.
Immersed in his deep discussion with the children, he missed Corie’s return and was surprised to find her standing behind Rosie when he glanced up. She held a Christmas tree stand in a very large box. Her midnight eyes looked into his.
“He’s right,” she said to the children without looking away from him. “Everybody gets another chance.”
He heard Teresa say, “Okay. We’ve cleared a path.” Ben was aware of the children climbing over the tree and going inside but he didn’t move, still ensnared by Corie’s gaze.
“Interesting that you know about the second-chance thing.” She spoke under her breath as she passed the stand to Teresa. “And yet you don’t apply it.”
“That,” he said, tearing his gaze away, “is because I’m not Santa.” He took a large step over the top branches, grabbed the tarp and yanked the tree inside.
CHAPTER TWO
CORIE WATCHED BEN assemble the outsize Christmas tree stand with all the boys helping. She was impressed that he somehow maintained a sense of humor she hadn’t known he had. He fitted the trunk into the stand with the tree still on the ground, then righted it and asked her to help hold it while Teresa gave centering directions.
When it was in place, they all stood back to admire it.
“Wow,” Rosie said on a reverent gasp. Even without decoration, it was magnificent.
“Holy s—!” Soren exclaimed.
Teresa frowned at him. “Soren Peterson.”
“Sorry.” He turned to Ben. “I’ll bet you swear.”
“Sometimes,” Ben admitted. “But never at Christmastime. And never around little kids.”
“Yeah,” Rosie said. “Even if Santa gives second chances, you’ve used yours all up. You won’t get anything.”
Soren glowered at her. “Neither will you, ’cause you’re always mean.” He stalked away. Corie went to follow him, but Teresa caught her arm. “You go to work. I’ll talk to him.” She turned to Ben. “You’ll be back tomorrow to help decorate? We need someone tall for our ladder.”
Ben opened his mouth to tell her he was here only to talk to Corie, but the children told him they were going to have hot chocolate and cookies and he had to come. The youngest Stripe Sister, as he’d designated them, held his hand.
“Sure,” he said. “Thank you.”
As Teresa followed Soren, Corie touched Rosie’s dark head. “It would be nice if you wouldn’t always mention people’s bad points, Rosie. Usually they know when they’re wrong. Your job as a friend is to tell them they’ll do better next time.”
Rosie, who seemed to consider herself the world’s moral monitor, looked at her as though she were crazy. “But he said a bad word. He does it all the time.”
“He needs a friend,” Corie added. “Try to point out the nice things about him instead of the bad.” She gave Rosie a quick hug. “I have to go to work. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She cast a general wave in the direction of the children and they chorused a goodbye.
Shouldering a large, colorful straw satchel, Corie ran out the door. Ben followed, stopping her when she would have climbed into her truck. She rummaged in her bag and looked up at him impatiently. “What? I’m going to be late.”
“I’m here to talk to you,” he said firmly, “and I’m not leaving until I do.”
She yanked open the driver’s-side door and put her bag on the seat for easier access. “So, talk,” she said, but he got the distinct impression she wasn’t listening. That was confirmed when she dumped out the contents of her bag and growled when whatever she’d been looking for wasn’t there. She said the word that had gotten Soren in trouble.
Still ignoring him, she walked around the truck, patting her pockets. Too short to see into the truck bed, she put a foot on a tire and climbed up. Hands braced on the side, she leaned in, scanned front to back then leaped down again.
As she dusted off her hands, she noticed him and seemed surprised he was still there. She looked cross, but then, she usually did with him.
“Lost your keys?” he asked.
“I’m sure I’ve just misplaced them.” She glanced at her watch.
He pulled open the passenger’s-side door of his rented Navigator. “Need a ride to work?”
Her chin dropped onto her chest when she accepted that she did. With impressive precision, she swept the contents of her purse off the driver’s seat and into her bag, slammed her door closed and walked, arms folded, to where he stood.
“I do,” she said, “but I’d rather walk if you’re going to badger me the whole way.”
“There’d be no badgering required if you just answer my questions.”
She considered him a moment then climbed in. “Okay, but I’m almost late for work. I’ll answer your questions after.” She buckled her seat belt.
“What time is your shift over?”
“We close at nine. Cleanup takes a little while.”
“All right.”
When he pulled up in front of the café five minutes later she jumped out with a very reluctant, “Thank you.” She was about to close the door then stopped and sighed heavily. “If you come just before nine, I’ll get your dinner.”
He had to pretend not to be surprised. “Thank you. That would be nice.”
“Then you’re going back to Oregon?”
“Depends on how our conversation goes.”
She seemed to want to say more but simply closed the door and hurried inside.
That was a baby step forward, he thought, but it was forward.
* * *
CORIE PUT HER purse in the small back room that served as the supply storage and employees’ lounge, and tied on a white, ruffle-trimmed half apron while her personal history raced across her mind.
She’d been four years old when she and Jack and their younger sister, Cassidy, had been separated. She had only vague memories of her life until that day, impressions of a woman’s slurred voice, of eating peanut butter on bread in their bedrooms because there was shouting in the living room. She remembered Jack—dark hair, dark eyes, always there.
Then Roscoe Brauer, her mother’s boyfriend, had been shot, and she and Jack and Cassie had spent a couple of nights with Ben’s family, the Palmers. When their mother went to jail Cassie had been sent to her father, who lived in Maine, and Corie went to Texas where her father lived.
She remembered the big change her new life had been, her stepmother and two stepsisters, who’d made it clear from the beginning that she wasn’t welcome. Missing Jack and two-year-old Cassidy had hurt with a physical pain.
Her father, Miguel Ochoa, had explained that her mother, Charlene Manning, had been a singer in small clubs. She’d gotten caught up with friends who partied with drugs. Jack’s father, a drug dealer, died in the crash of a light plane when Jack was three. Miguel had also pushed drugs, but left her mother when even he thought she wasn’t sober long enough to be in a relationship. Cassidy’s father, a counselor, had tried to help her get her life on track, but that hadn’t lasted long either. She had died in jail.
Talk about baggage.
“Who’s that?” Polly Benedict asked, peering through the blinds that covered the café’s window. She was twenty-two, had a boyfriend who was always off with the rodeo and lamented Corie’s lack of a romantic relationship. “He’s gorgeous!”
Corie walked past her on her way to the kitchen. She glanced up at the clock and saw that she was two minutes early.
Polly, several inches taller than Corie, fresh-faced and curvaceous, and unfailingly cheerful, stopped her progress and pinched her cheek.
“Look at you! You’re smiling. My goodness, how long has it been since I’ve seen your teeth? Is he responsible for that smile?”
She didn’t feel like smiling, but customers hated a moody waitress.
“He’s my brother’s brother. That’s all. He’s...visiting for a few days.”
Polly frowned over the “brother’s brother” explanation. “You’ve explained that to me before, but it’s so weird. How many people have a brother whose brother isn’t their brother?”
Corie hooked her arm in Polly’s and led her toward the kitchen. “I know, but putting it that way only makes it worse. So, what’s going on tonight? What’s the special?”
The bell rang. “Order up, Pol,” Hector called as they walked into the kitchen. With a parting grin for Corie, Polly detoured to the window to pick up her order.
“Corazon!” Wiping his hands on a kitchen rag, Hector glanced up at the clock. “I thought you were going to be late. You’re always ten minutes early. Did I hear you talking about your brother’s brother who isn’t your brother? I thought they lived in Washington.”
“Oregon,” she corrected. “I promised him dinner if he comes before closing.”
Hector was not very tall but his apron covered a generous middle. He was laid-back and kind, unless someone criticized his food or mistreated an employee. He’d given Corie a job based on nothing more than Teresa’s recommendation, and Corie would be forever grateful. His restaurant was a favorite hangout for families and young people on a date. People came from around the county.
Hector whisked an egg and cream mixture. “Good. What’s he doing here? I mean, since he’s not your brother. And you said he didn’t like you.”
Corie was tired of things she couldn’t explain. “He came to talk.” She looked in all the pots to see what was on the menu tonight.
“His phone doesn’t work?” Hector was smart and her reply had been lame.
“He’s a cop, Hector. I used to be a thief. He thinks that Jack and I reconnecting means trouble for Jack.”
Hector frowned. “You want me to set him straight?”
She shook her head, smiling. “I’m going to do that.”
“By buying him dinner? Or was the plan that I give him dinner?”
She grinned as she passed him. “I’m buying him dinner.”
“Didn’t I see you go by earlier with a big tree in the back of your truck? That must have set you back. Christmas trees are a fortune this year.”
“It’s for Teresa and the kids.”
“I know. You’re so good to her, but someday you have to fly the nest a second time and concentrate on you.”
The bell rang over the front door, announcing customers. She began to fill water glasses.
“I’m doing just fine.”
* * *
IT WAS AN average Saturday night. They did enough business to run out of the special, but not enough that Corie and Polly couldn’t keep up. Families came and left while one couple had spent the past two hours gazing into each other’s eyes while their enchiladas de queso grew cold.
Sukie Cunningham sat with her Kindle at a table at the back of the room. She was blonde and blue-eyed, a plump thirtysomething who had a taste for clothing from the junior department. She was administrative assistant to the deputy mayor, Robert Pimental. It was clear she’d been hired by Pimental for her curvaceous proportions and her too tight, too short clothing rather than her competence. Still, her pleasant personality and her look of wide-eyed innocence made her impossible to dislike.
Polly picked up a coffeepot, ready to do the refill rounds. “Do you think she has any idea Pimental is never going to leave his wife and marry her?” she asked Corie under her voice.
“I’m sure she doesn’t.” It was rumored that Sukie did more for her employer than mis-schedule his appointments and lose his messages.
“What is it about that man that appeals to her?”
“Power, I suppose. She thinks he can change her life. Her parents were poor and she waited tables here for a while before you came. But she forgot to put up orders, got them confused and dropped a tray of pies. She was always apologetic, but Hector was losing money. He finally had to fire her. Then Pimental hired her and eventually set her up in a little rental house on the other side of town.”
“She’s very loyal to him.”
Corie nodded but thought about the change she’d seen in Sukie recently—a loss of innocence in her eyes, a smile that didn’t come as easily as it used to. “She has been. I’m not sure what’s going on with them now. Maybe she’s catching a glimpse of the real him.”
Polly nodded. “Yeah. Crooked, mean, scary.”
“Yeah.”
Polly headed toward Sukie with the coffee.
* * *
BEN ARRIVED JUST before nine. He wore dark slacks and a dark cotton shirt. Corie had to stare for a minute. He’d combed his hair and actually dressed for dinner. In Querida. Good breeding was an impressive thing.
She led him to a table at the back. “Hector makes mean fajitas, wonderful camarónes—that’s shrimp if you’re not familiar with the word. All kinds of quesadillas, beef—”
He stopped her. “Camarones sounds wonderful.”
“Sautéed with lemon butter, done in salsa chipotle or á la diablo?”
“Diablo? Devil?”
“Yes. Pretty hot. Or we can go easy on the red chili.”
“I can take it,” he said. “Diablo. As it comes.”
“Something to drink? We have beer and wine.”
“Coffee’s good.”
She placed his order and brought his coffee. “Did you get a room at the B and B?”
“Yes. The owner seems suspicious of me, though. Mrs...?”
“McMinn.”
“That’s it. I don’t know what she thinks I’m doing here, but she seems convinced I’m up to no good.”
“Ah. That’s because I’m sure word is out now that you’re here to see me. She’s from Manzanita, a little town up the road where my family lived. We didn’t have a very good reputation. My father was a nice man, but hung around with people who weren’t, and Juanita was a dragon. My stepmother,” she explained. “She was unpleasant to everyone except her two daughters from a previous marriage.”
“But that’s them. How did you come by this reputation?”
She rested the coffeepot on the table. “One Easter when I was eleven, Juanita made dresses for her girls but not for me. Her girls were sweet and obedient. I wasn’t. Actually, they were scared and I wasn’t. I saw a dress in the window at a thrift shop, but I didn’t have any money. So, I stole it.” She arched an eyebrow. “Mrs. McMinn ran the shop at the time. She caught me and called the police. Juvenile Court made me pay it back. I think you’re considered suspect if you have anything to do with me.”
She couldn’t tell what he thought of that, but he finally nodded and said, “All right. Good to know.”
When Ben was finished, Corie took away his plate and put a dessert bowl containing custard with a sweet-smelling brown sauce in its place.
“Flan,” she said, “with caramel espresso sauce.” And walked away again, saying over her shoulder, “Best custard you’ll ever have.”
* * *
CORIE WAS CLEARING tables when Robert Pimental arrived just before closing. He stopped inside the door for a moment, supposedly to scan the room for Sukie but Corie suspected it was to pose there. He had visions of himself as an important figure who was generally irresistible to women. Sukie waved madly to get his attention.
He strode toward her table, about five-seven of portly arrogance. He’d come into office with his friend the mayor several years ago. The mayor had ALS and had been allowed to have a deputy for the times when the job was hard for him. The illness had sidelined the mayor a year ago and left Pimental to do pretty much as he liked in this town of two thousand.
Publicly, he’d made a few changes to earn favor with his constituents—removed parking meters, spruced up the park and playground, and created a committee to attract business to Querida.
Privately he was a philanderer with a Jaguar and an extravagant lifestyle, unusual for a small-town politician without a large inheritance.
Before Corie knew about his behavior in private, she’d gone to him for help in fighting Cyrus Tyree’s efforts to evict Teresa. She’d found him in an empty hallway, on his way to a meeting. Pimental had appeared willing to help until it became clear that he expected payment in return—and not in cash. When she’d turned to leave, he’d caught her arm to show her how generous she would have to be in return for his cooperation.
She’d swung her purse at him, forgetting that it contained a small coffee can in which she kept her tips. The loaded purse had left a visible scar above his right eye.
He’d been infuriated by her rejection—and her coffee can of tips—and had her arrested for assault. Fortunately for her, a delivery person had seen everything and volunteered to testify for her. Pimental had dropped the charges but there was venom in his eyes every time he looked at her.
As now. He stopped her as he made his way toward Sukie. “Coffee,” he said to Corie. “Decaf. And coconut cream pie.”
They were out of coconut cream. She couldn’t help but be happy about that.
* * *
BEN SAVORED THE last bite of flan and pulled his coffee cup toward him. A large man in kitchen whites approached his table.
“You’re Ben,” he said, offering his hand. There was an undercurrent of accusation in the statement.
Ben shook his hand and tried to stand in the narrow booth. “I am.” The man gestured him back down.
“I’m Hector, Corie’s boss.”
“Ah. Wonderful dinner. Those were the best shrimp I’ve ever had.”
“Thank you.” Hector squeezed into the opposite side of the booth. “Why are you here?” he asked bluntly.
Surprised by that question, Ben replied politely, “Family business.”
“But you’re not her family. Your brother is her brother, but you’re not...her brother.”
Ben laughed as Hector struggled with the family connections. “You must have her confidence if you know the Palmer-Manning family structure.”
“Manning?”
“Manning was their mother’s name and since their fathers came and went rapidly, their mother thought it was easier for all of them if they went by her name. Jack was adopted by my family, so he’s now a Palmer.”