Firefly Glen: Winter Baby (Harlequin Signature Select) (4 page)

Emma's expression was suddenly wistful, her earlier effervescence dissipated. “I don't think that's possible, Parker,” she said softly. “Nothing's ever really perfect.”

He could have kicked himself. Though Emma never outright acknowledged it, he knew something was wrong in her marriage. She'd married Harry Dunbar, Parker's deputy sheriff, just last year, and for a few months, things had seemed fine. But lately Emma's natural buoyancy had flattened out. Something was definitely wrong.

Harry had been out of town since before Christmas, visiting his family in New York City. Emma hadn't gone with him, something Parker couldn't understand. Their first Christmas, and they spent it apart?

And there was the problem of the upcoming election. Apparently Harry had decided to run against Parker, which made for a damn sticky family situation. Harry had been pretty ticked off last year when, after the old sheriff's death, the governor had appointed Parker to take over. Harry had fully expected to get the nod. After all, he'd been the deputy sheriff here for years.

So it was not really a shock to discover that Harry planned to oppose him in the election. He might win, too. Harry had lived in Firefly Glen all his life—a real plus with the voters. Some people around here considered Parker a traitor. It was okay to go off to
college—everyone did that—but you were supposed to come right back. Parker hadn't. He'd stayed away for eight extra years, getting his law degree, being a “big shot” in Washington. A member of the Secret Service. “Putting on airs,” Mayor Millner had called it once when he thought Parker wasn't listening. Glenners didn't care for “airs.”

Obviously Harry hadn't consulted Emma about his decision. Rumor had it that Emma had ripped down Harry's campaign poster the minute she saw it. She had apologized to Parker, and her repressed anger was obvious. He wondered what she had said to Harry.

But she wouldn't talk about it. In fact, she still insisted everything was fine. And when Harry wasn't around, like today, she was so much her normal playful self that Parker could forget.

“I know nothing's perfect,” he said, reaching across the table to lay his hand over Emma's. He was horrified to discover that it was trembling. “But we don't have to settle for anything really
bad,
either, Emmy.”

She looked up and tried to grin. It was such a failure that Parker suddenly wanted to find Harry Dunbar and beat him senseless. “I mean it. We have a right to be happy,” he said tightly.

“Then get married and make me an aunt,” she said, banishing her gloom with an obvious effort. “That's what would make me happy.”

A
FTER HER ODD
but appealing encounter with the sheriff, Sarah's mood changed completely, and she entered the township of Firefly Glen with a light heart and a happy sense of New Year optimism.

She hardly recognized the place. Winter had completely transformed the summer playground of that visit so long ago. Carrot-nosed snowmen stood sentry at each corner of the town square where she and Uncle Ward had once played Frisbee and licked their melting ice cream from sticky fingers. And the leafy green maples where the Frisbee had finally gotten stuck were now just delicate brown skeletons against the dove-gray sky.

For a lifelong Southerner like Sarah, the sight was pure magic. She drove slowly, drinking in every detail. The shopkeepers here obviously didn't feel that the arrival of January meant that Christmas decorations must come down. Windows, doorways, streetlights and storefronts were looped with deep green pine garlands threaded with velvety red ribbons. The large tree in the center of the square shone with huge red balls and small twinkling white lights.

And to Sarah's surprise, the placid serenity she had imagined as she stood on the mountain looking down
had been merely an illusion. What a world of teeming life these few blocks held, in spite of the freezing cold and the snow that still fell lightly.

The sign she'd passed on the way in had proclaimed that Firefly Glen had 2,937 residents. Surely every one of them was out here today, bundled up in puffy blue coats, cherry-red knitted hats, green-and-navy-checkered mittens and bright yellow mufflers.

As she watched one little toddler struggle to walk, as stiff-legged as the Michelin Man in his padded snowsuit, she cast a doubtful look at her own light gray wool-blend coat, which lay across the back seat of the rental car. It had been the best she could find at the department stores in Tampa, but she suddenly realized that it wasn't going to be nearly warm enough for the rigors of a New York winter.

She thought of the long, twisting walk up the path to the front door of Uncle Ward's medieval mansion. In that flimsy coat, she'd be frozen solid before she had a chance to rap the massive brass knocker. They might not find her until spring.

She began searching the names of the stores she passed, looking for something that might save her.

Adirondack Outerwear. Yes, that sounded perfect. Gratefully she slipped the car into one of the designated parking spaces. Clenching her teeth against the sharp bite of wind, she darted into the store, hoping her charge card could handle the extra expense.

A sweet-toned little bell announced her arrival, but no one came to greet her. In fact, at first sight, the store seemed deserted, the coats hanging abandoned
on circular racks, the multicolored mittens lying in neat, forgotten rows under empty glass countertops.

But as Sarah made her way toward the back, she realized that she was not alone. Something was going on at the back of the shop, near the cash register. All the salesclerks—and several people who looked like customers, as well—were clustered around the counter.

A sales meeting? It didn't sound like it. In fact, as she stood, wondering, the voices grew louder. It quickly became clear that she had stumbled into some sort of fracas. One person was waving a newspaper, and about four other people began talking at once.

Feeling like something of an intruder, Sarah considered trying to sneak out again. But her curiosity got the better of her. What, in an idyllic hamlet like this, could be making everyone so hot tempered?

She fingered a few coats not far from the action, shamelessly eavesdropping. She couldn't help being curious about the people here. The anecdotes in Uncle Ward's vivid letters had made her feel as if she knew them.

“It's libel, I tell you. It's actionable. I can prove damages—”

“He can't do this! I won't make it through the winter without the profits from the festival!”

“Damn it, Tremaine, if you can't do something about that bad-tempered old hermit—”

Tremaine?
Sarah looked up, wondering if it could be the sheriff she'd met on the mountain. It was hard
to see through the crowd, but finally the agitated people shifted, clearing the way. And there he was.

Sheriff Parker Tremaine, his gold star still resting on the soft black leather of his jacket, was the man at the core of the debate, the authority to whom they all appealed. No question it was the same man. Same wavy, dark hair, same startlingly blue eyes. Same tip-tilted smile on the same generously chiseled lips she had admired once before. Apparently he wasn't exactly terrified of the annoyed crowd around him.

Sarah caught her breath. She had found him fairly eye-catching before, but obviously seeing Parker Tremaine from the neck up didn't tell the whole story. As she watched him leaning back against the cashier's counter, listening to the escalating complaints, Sarah finally got the full effect of his long, lazy limbs and tight, narrow hips.

He was even better looking than Ed, she realized. And yet, he had a kindness in his expression that Ed hadn't ever exhibited. Even more appealing, he seemed comfortably indifferent to his looks. His jacket was well-worn, fitting his broad shoulders with a fluid familiarity. His hair was just wavy enough to be unruly, but she saw no sign that Parker cared. Where Ed had always been obsessively gelling or spraying, Parker's hair was merely cut and combed and then ignored. But the result was an unintentional sexiness, as if that slight disarray invited someone to smooth it into place.

Her hands unconsciously stroked the silky fabric of the coat she held. Yes, she concluded, Parker Tre
maine wore his sex appeal the same way he wore that shiny badge on the breast of his black leather jacket—lightly. As though both of them were fun but ultimately unnecessary.

She hadn't realized she was staring until she saw that Parker was looking right at her. Even from this distance, she could tell that there was a pleased recognition in his gaze.

Maybe she could help. In a way, she owed him. He had offered to rescue her on the mountain, and he had, without realizing it, actually done so. She hadn't needed a jump start or a can of gas or a new tire. But she had needed that smile, that simple gesture of welcome. He had rescued her confidence, her optimism. He had given her the courage to make it that last mile down the mountain.

She spoke up quickly, just loud enough to be heard over the clamor of voices. “Excuse me? I'm sorry to interrupt, but is there anyone who might be able to tell me about this coat?”

Everyone turned toward her, apparently shocked to discover that there was a witness. Sarah felt herself flushing, slightly uncomfortable at being the center of attention, but then she caught Parker Tremaine's eye one more time, and he was giving her that special smile. She smiled back, but she felt the flush deepen.

“I'm sorry. May I help you?” Two salesclerks came over instantly, chagrined. The rest of the people dispersed edgily, talking to one another in lowered tones, as if wondering what imprudent comments this stranger had overheard.

Sarah pretended to listen to the saleswoman extolling the virtues of Polarweave technology—something about storm cuffs and synthetic insulation and temperature ratings—but she was really watching as Parker Tremaine made his escape through the confused crowd.

As he passed her, he winked conspiratorially in her direction. “Thanks,” he mouthed, and she found herself grinning stupidly back, as if she really had done something heroic.

“Damn it, Tremaine, you can't get out of here without promising you're going to do something about that selfish old bastard.”

One of the men from the crowd, a seventy-ish, self-important type with a red face and a snub nose, had followed the sheriff to the door and was obviously not going to give up easily.

Parker sighed, pulling on black leather gloves as he shouldered open the shop's front door. A blast of freezing air hit the front of the store, driving the older man back, as the sheriff had no doubt expected it to do.

“I'll take care of it,” Parker said firmly as he zipped up his jacket and prepared to exit. “This festival is going to take place even if I have to lock Ward Winters in the county jail until spring.”

Ward Winters?

But Sarah was too shocked to say a word. And with a melodic ringing of door bells, Parker Tremaine departed, leaving her standing there, with an expensive
black Polarweave coat in her arms and a stupid, disbelieving smile fading from her lips.

 

F
OR THE THIRD TIME
, Emma Tremaine Dunbar sat down in the back office of her stationery store, The Paper House, to proof the copy for the Kemble baby announcement.

She prayed that the front door chimes didn't sound. It seemed ridiculous to hope for bad business, but she couldn't afford to get called away again. She had promised Harry that she'd close early. He wanted to have lunch at home together. He wanted to have a “serious talk.”

But this announcement had to get to the printer today, or the Kemble family would be justifiably furious. If only she thought Harry would understand. He liked the money her store brought in, but he seemed to think it took care of itself. He didn't accept that Emma should ever be busy when
he
needed her.

Darn. There were three typos. She swiveled to the computer, punching in the keys as fast as she could, trying to call up the Kemble file. She glanced nervously at the clock overhead. It was one. She was already late.

The door chimes rang out. Emma stifled a groan, mentally begged the file to open more quickly, then stood up to return to the sales floor.

But this time it wasn't a customer. It was Harry.

He wasn't in uniform. Harry didn't work on Monday. His days off were Monday and Tuesday, about which he complained bitterly, blaming Parker for de
signing an unfair schedule. Emma had pointed out once that Parker's own schedule was even worse—he didn't even get two days off in a row—but Harry didn't care. Whenever anything displeased him these days, it was always Parker's fault.

Or Emma's. She looked at Harry's tight face and wondered why he was still so unhappy. Last year had been so different. Back before Parker had moved home and snagged the job Harry had wanted. Before the other bad news, before they had discovered that they…

Well, just
before.
They had been happy then. They had laughed—a lot. Now she couldn't remember the last time Harry had even smiled.

And yet, in spite of his frown, he looked so darling today, in that brown suede jacket she'd given him for his birthday, which matched his brown hair perfectly. Her heart did a couple of hot little thumps, thinking how much she loved her husband—and yet how little she seemed to be able to comfort him.

“I knew I'd find you here,” he said stiffly. “I knew you'd forget I had asked you to come home for lunch.”

“I didn't forget,” she said, vowing not to take offense. “I had customers.”

He looked around the empty store, commenting silently on its emptiness.

“And then I had an order to proof.” She felt her patience giving out on her. “Come on, Harry. You aren't always able to get home on time, either. Do I give you this kind of grief about it?”

He tightened his lips. “I don't think you can really equate the two, do you? I think enforcing the law might be just a little more significant than sending out invitations to Birthday With Bozo.”

Emma stared at him helplessly. She wanted to go up to this sour, embittered man and grab him by his suede collar and shake him until he told her what he had done with her real husband. Or else she wanted to go up and kiss him until he thawed, until he remembered that he was special, no matter what had happened to make him feel so insecure. Until he remembered that she loved him, and she always would.

But she'd already tried those things, more or less. And they hadn't worked. They'd only driven him deeper into his emotional hole. Apparently he didn't want to get better. And he didn't like it that she seemed to be able to move on, to put together a happy life in spite of the grim disappointments they had endured this past year.

Her strength didn't sustain him. It only made him feel even more inferior.

But she wouldn't be weak just to please him. She wouldn't drown with him, no matter how much she loved him.

“Well, we're together now. How about if I lock the door, and we can have our conversation here? What did you want to talk about?”

He raked his hand through his hair. “You know what. The poster. I want you to explain to me why you took it down. I want to know why you aren't willing to campaign for your own husband. I want to
know why, when the income from my career supports you, too, you can't do even that one little thing to help me win.”

Emma's heart was beating rapidly. Stalling, she arranged herself on the edge of the nearest table, careful not to dislodge the large sample books of cards and invitations. She took a deep breath and gave Harry a steady look.

“That's not a conversation,” she said. “That's an interrogation.”

“I don't care what you call it. I want some answers.”

“So do I.” She folded her hands in her lap, to help her resist the temptation to choke him. “I want to know why you'd put me in the embarrassing, distressing position of having to choose between my brother and my husband.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “And I want to know,” he said, his voice acid, “why that choice should be even the slightest bit difficult.”

The urge to shake him grew stronger. Was it possible he really didn't understand this? That his self-absorption had become so complete that he couldn't imagine what she was feeling?

“Because I love you both, you idiot. Because you and Parker are the two most important people in the world to me. I can live with the fact that you are competing for the same job. But I will not be forced to take sides.”