Jennifer Snow - Love, Lies and Mistletoe

He didn’t even know where they were, for their safety. Letters back and forth were the only form of communication allowed, and they were filtered through the US Marshals and Sheriff Bishop, who also read the correspondence.

April brought over his breakfast, and he shot a look behind the counter at Tina. “Is it safe?” he asked April.

She nodded.

He picked up his fork and dove in. At that point, he wasn’t even sure he cared if they’d done anything to it. He was starving, and he knew he’d be helping Ginger Norris with her sidewalk in a few minutes. He needed his blood sugars up for the job.

CHAPTER THREE

JACOB ENTERED THE locker room at the station a few hours later. All afternoon he’d been dying to read the letter from his nephew, but a few emergencies had kept him busy. Pearl Howard, the woman who owned the flower shop on Main Street, had reported a lost cat, and it had taken nearly an hour to locate the tabby—locked accidentally in her coat closet when she’d come home from the supermarket. Unbelievable. In the city, he’d never have answered a missing cat call.

What constituted an emergency in Brookhollow was so different from in New York, and by now Jacob should have learned not to answer the more ridiculous calls. They were making him crazy. Unfortunately, he had to keep up the act.

“Hey, Jake,” Ethan Bishop, Sheriff Bishop’s son and head of the fire department, said as he entered the shared locker room, removing his jacket.

“Hi.” Jacob sat on the bench and removed his boots.

“I heard Mrs. Howard found her cat,” he said, hanging his gear on the hook and reaching for his jeans.

“She sure did.”

Ethan laughed. “I swear she locks him away on purpose to have us stop by for company.”

Pearl had looked slightly disappointed to see Jacob pull up in the squad car instead of the firemen. “I wouldn’t doubt it.” She had invited him to stay for tea and cookies afterward, which he’d refused, so instead she’d asked him to clear her walkway, which he’d done.

“Hey, man—do you ever wish there were real emergency calls around here? A burning shed, at least?” He couldn’t understand how guys like Ethan—young, fit, ambitious and hardworking—could be satisfied with the snail’s pace of life in Brookhollow.

But Ethan shook his head. “Nope. The last time there was a real fire here, it was in my wife’s garage.”

“Oh, man. I’m sorry.”

“Nah, it worked out for the best. She wasn’t there, and the garage got rebuilt to code, which I’d been begging her to do for years. But it was still scary.”

“I guess in a small town, a real emergency could mean your own family or friends are involved.” Heck, even in New York, his job had affected the well-being of his family.

“Yeah, that’s why we’re totally fine being bored out of our minds,” Ethan said, grabbing his winter coat from the locker. “Hey, I know some of the guys asked you before, but...here,” he said, taking a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handing it to him.

Jacob opened it. The bowling league again.

“We need a couple extras for the tournament in a few weeks. If you know how to roll a straight ball even just by fluke, you’re in, if you’re interested,” he said.

“Thanks. I’ll...uh...think about it.”

“Okay. See ya around,” Ethan said as he left.

Alone, Jacob balled the paper and tossed it into the trash can in the corner. Bowling was something he and Kyle used to enjoy together. They’d even joined a family league before Jacob had taken the promotion to undercover agent. The disappointment on Kyle’s face when he’d told him their weekly bowling nights would be suspended for a while had torn a hole through him, and participating in the sport now, without his nephew, would make him feel like crap.

Reaching into the back of the locker, he retrieved the already opened letter from Kyle. The return address had been cut from the corner of the envelope, and for the millionth time, Jacob wondered where they’d been sent. He hoped it was somewhere sunny and warm and fun, at least. He wished he was somewhere warm, sunny and fun. Hiding out on a beach in California surrounded by beautiful women and unlimited cocktails would be easier to swallow. An image of Heather behind the pool hall bar flashed in his mind. Okay, two out of three, but still no beach. And besides, she’d told him earlier she was applying for a job in New York. Pretty soon, the only thing making his time there bearable would be gone.

Unfolding the letter, he read.

Dear Uncle Jacob,

How are you? We are fine. Mom says hello, even though she said she is still mad at you. I’m not. The school here is better than the one in New York, they even have snowboarding lessons.

Snowboarding lessons? Colorado?

Mom says you’re probably lying around on a beach somewhere.

Ha! He wished he’d been able to be honest with his sister about his plan when he’d told her he wasn’t going into the program with her and Kyle—it might have made her a little less angry with him. Maybe.

I’ve made some new friends and I’m ahead of everyone with math and English, so the teacher asked me to be her helper. Isn’t that great?

Jacob breathed a sigh of relief. That was great. For a kid who struggled with Asperger’s and being bullied, it was great to hear he was doing well in this new place. No doubt a small town, where their story wasn’t being questioned as much as his own, and where people were accepting of them as a young single mom and son starting over in a new place.

I’m going to see Santa next week at the mall. I’m going to ask him to make sure the police catch the bad guys wanting to hurt us, so we can all be together again in time for Christmas. You ask for the same thing, too, okay? Maybe if we both ask for it, we’ll get it.

Love you Stinker,

Kyle

Jacob sighed as he folded the letter. If only he still believed in Christmas miracles...but he’d stopped believing in holiday magic a long time ago.

* * *

IT WAS GOING to take a Christmas miracle to get her out of Brookhollow before the holidays, Heather thought as she stared at the returned email notification. Invalid email address was the reason the résumé she’d sent to Mike Ainsley hadn’t been delivered. Almost twelve hours later! Shutting down the email on her phone, she dialed her sister’s number.

“Hello?” Cam’s sleepy voice said after the fourth ring.

“Were you asleep?” She glanced at the beer-can-shaped, neon-rimmed clock above the bar. Her sister was a night owl, so she hadn’t thought twice about calling after ten.

“No. I’m going over some testimonies for court tomorrow, what’s up?”

Cam was a prosecuting attorney for the DA’s office in New York and often brought her work home with her. Heather marveled over her sister’s ability to juggle her important, high-powered career with being a wife and mom. Cameron had inherited their parents’ work ethic and ambition, but had somehow gone above that and developed a work-life balance. Tonight she sounded stressed, though, and Heather almost hesitated before saying, “You gave me the wrong email address for Mike Ainsley.”

“No, I didn’t. You must have written it down wrong.” This was exactly why her sister was so great at her job. She was never wrong and had a way of wording things that made people question their own arguments.

“Maybe,” Heather mumbled. “Either way, the résumé I sent today bounced back.”

“Come on, Heather. One sec...” She heard the sound of shuffling papers. “Okay, write this down...”

After Heather copied the insane email address for the second time, she tucked the paper into her apron pocket. “It’s a wonder any of his emails actually reach him. What’s with this crazy email address anyway? I doubt M Ainsley at Highstone Acquisitions was taken,” she mumbled.