Snowfall on Haven Point(28)
“Thank you,” she said, blushing a little.
“It’s really neighborly of you to watch over Sheriff Bailey here. Marsh and I have been friends since school and I’m sure the ornery cuss can’t be an easy patient.”
She sent Marshall a look under her eyelashes and awareness seemed to spark and shiver between them.
“I’m not a nurse or anything like it,” she assured Ruben quickly, looking away. “I’m only a concerned neighbor who was asked to check on him throughout the day, only until his mother and sister return to town.”
Marshall frowned. He should be glad. He didn’t want her here, as he had made plain, so why did it bother him that she sounded so eager to hand him off to his family, like he were some kind of charity case.
“How are you and your kids settling into Haven Point?” Ruben asked.
She smiled, losing a little of her initial nervousness. “We love it here already. I’m looking forward to the holidays. You said you knew, er, Marshall in school. So you must be from this area.”
“Born and bred, a couple generations back. My father is a veterinarian in town.”
“Oh! Dr. Morales. Of course. He is the nicest man. We adopted a dog from the shelter last month and he has been so helpful through the whole process.”
“Glad to hear it. He’s a good guy,” Ruben agreed. “What kind of dog and how’s it going?”
Andie’s features lit up. “Sadie is a Havachon and she’s wonderful.”
“Ah. Part Havanese and part bichon frise. And all cute.”
She thawed several more degrees and gave him an approving smile. “You know your dog breeds.”
The deputy shrugged modestly. “I grew up helping my dad in the clinic and naturally picked up a few things here and there.”
“Would you care for a cinnamon roll? If the sheriff doesn’t mind, anyway.”
What if he did mind, very much? What if he wanted Ruben to take his charming smile and his easy conversation and get the hell out of here?
“Go ahead,” he said, feeling crotchety and sore and about a hundred years old, even though Ruben was only a year or so younger than he was. “You can take it with you. Don’t you need to go report in?”
Ruben glanced at his watch. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”
Andie pulled out a yeasty roll the size of a salad plate and drizzled with frosting from the wicker basket and transferred it to a paper plate that she also pulled out of the basket, and then she handed it over to Ruben. “Here you go.”
Ruben’s smile was as warm and gooey as the frosting. “Thank you so much. Wow, this looks fantastic. I didn’t have time for breakfast this morning, so this and a cup of coffee will be perfect.”
“I’m glad.”
Marshall wasn’t. He wanted his cinnamon roll back and he wanted his deputy to focus on the job, not on flirting with pretty widows.
“Get back to me if you find out anything new,” he said.
“You got it, boss. See you both later.”
Andie smiled and waved, but Marshall could muster only a curt nod.
“I hope he didn’t leave on my account,” Andie said, setting down her basket on a nearby table.
On the contrary. Ruben had stayed about five minutes longer than he should have, on her account. “No. We were basically done when you showed up.”
“He’s investigating the hit-and run?” she asked as she pulled another plate from the basket and set a second cinnamon roll on it.
“Yeah. No leads yet.”
“That must be driving you crazy.”
About as crazy as she was driving him, taunting him with pastries she had yet to actually deliver. “I’m not happy about it.”
“I can only imagine. You’re still convinced it wasn’t an accident?”
“I think I know when somebody tries to take me out.”
A look of distress shifted across her features, making him regret his harsh words. She didn’t need to know all the details of the noninvestigation.
“Did you have a reason for stopping by this morning? Besides the cinnamon rolls, which I appreciate,” he added pointedly.
She seemed to collect herself and handed over the plate at last. “Sorry. Yes. I did. I finally had a chance to talk to Wyn and she told me she has a tree in the shed.”
His taste buds were too busy savoring the delicious cinnamon roll—which, oddly, had a frosting that held notes of maple—to do more than gaze blankly at her while he chewed.
“A Christmas tree,” she clarified. “Remember? My kids are coming over later today to help you decorate it.”
Oh. Right. Her children seemed convinced he needed only a Christmas tree to make everything all better. He swallowed another bite of cinnamon roll, thinking he would have to figure out a way to lift weights sitting down if he wanted to burn off all the goodies he wasn’t very good at resisting when he was cranky and sore.