Page 6 of Mack

She managed a shaky laugh. “I’ll hold him, you punch him.”

He chuckled, and for the first time in days she felt safe.

Back in the present, Mallory steered her Tahoe into the narrow alley between two brick buildings, the morning heat already building. She smiled at the sight of her wooden sign swinging gently in the breeze. Festive Finds. She loved that place. She cut the engine, pushed open the door, and stepped inside to start her day.

****

By noon Mack was sweating in places no man should. He strode along the sidewalk, touching his hat at the women he passed, most of them smiling back.

When he reached the diner he pulled the door open and sighed at the cool air. People called out or waved as he took a seat at the counter.

“Hi, Mack. How’s it going, hon?” Connie, the owner, was already moving toward him.

“Going well, Connie. How are you and Owen?”

“Just wonderful. Your usual?”

He chuckled. “I don’t know how you do it, but yes.”

She winked. “It’s a gift.” She filled his glass with water and walked off. Mack lifted it and drank half of it without stopping.

The bell above the door jingled. Deputy Declan Cavanaugh came in, spotted him, and grinned.

“Hey, Mack.”

“Declan. Have a seat.”

“Can’t. Meeting Elise.” He tilted his head. “Another time.”

“Of course. I’d rather sit with her than me too.”

Declan laughed. “See you out there.”

Mack nodded. He liked Declan. The first day he arrived at the department, before he worked nightshift, Declan had driven him through the whole county, showing him the land and the roads. It all came back to him. The town and its people. Declan also ran the K-9 unit, and Mack had fallen for Tank immediately. The dog was a huge Rottweiler, all business on the job and all puppy the moment it was over.

Connie set his plate down and Mack groaned at the smell. Sam had told him he’d never eaten a better burger anywhere, and Mack had been skeptical. He wasn’t anymore. Owen did the cooking, but it was Connie’s recipe, and whatever was in it she wasn’t telling. The diner was the heart of Clifton. It was where every rancher and farmer came to start their days.

The more time he spent in Clifton, the more he remembered how much he liked it. The county was quiet. The occasional scuffle, a call from Dewey’s now and then. Nothing like what he was used to.

Dewey’s. He needed to get back there.

He’d thought about that singer more than he wanted to admit, and he could kick himself for not talking to her. He’d only stopped in because of a fight in the parking lot, then gone inside for coffee before getting back to his rounds. But he was off nights now, and each deputy rotated a weekend. He had one more week. He’d be there.

He finished his burger, paid Connie, left a tip, and headed outside. He stood on the corner a moment, glancing up and down the street. It was packed. He looked forward to the tourist season winding down and the town settling back into itself. He’d been surprised when Sam told him about the tourists that appeared every year.

When a lull in traffic opened up he crossed the street and made for the courthouse, picking up his pace to get out of the heat.

Chapter Two

The afternoon rush had settled into a comfortable lull, the kind Mallory liked best. She stood behind the counter threading a tartan ribbon through a wreath of frosted pinecones, the shop smelling of cinnamon and cedar, as usual, regardless of the season. Soft instrumental Christmas music drifted from the speakers overhead. A couple browsed the back wall of ornaments, murmuring to each other. Otherwise, the shop was quiet.

The bell above the door chimed.

Mallory glanced up out of habit, the greeting already forming on her lips, and felt it dissolve.

He was taller than she thought. Or maybe it was just that Dewey’s had been dark and crowded, and she’d been telling herself that she’d imagined how striking he was. She hadn’t. He stood in the doorway in a khaki shirt with his badge pinned above the left pocket, jeans, Stetson on his head, taking in the shop with those light eyes that had kept her up two nights running. He hadn’t seen her yet.

She watched him look around at the twinkling lights strung along every surface, the displays of hand-painted ornaments and advent calendars and nutcrackers standing in rows like a small wooden army. Something almost like amusement crossed his face.