Page 45 of A Dye Hard Holiday
“Papa,” Dylan whined pitifully.
“His fever hasn’t broken yet, so we need to wrap him up and get him warm.”
“I know the best place in the house for babies who don’t feel good,” Gabe suggested.
“With their grandmas,” Martina said. “Both of you have work to do, so Bertie and I will take over. I can already hear the difference in their breathing.”
Gabe and I looked at each other uncertainly. Neither of us wanted to go to work with the kids sick at home, but we both had busy days ahead of us. “Yeah, okay,” I said reluctantly, “but we want you to check in every half hour or so.”
“Or hourly,” Gabe said after the moms pinned us with incredulous looks.
“We nursed you back to good health plenty of times,” my mom said. “Now go get ready for work.”
Neither of us were happy about it, but we knew they were right. We weren’t the only working parents who would rather stay home with their sick kids than trudge into work. It seemed like the new normal was feeling guilty all the time. At work, you thought about all the things waiting for you at home, but when you got home, you worried about the things you didn’t finish at work. It was a constant juggling act that Gabe and I managed well, but sick babies at home wasn’t the same as forgetting to put the clothes in the dryer. I would worry about them all damn day, and I knew Gabe would also.
We peeked in on them in their nursery before we left. They were sound asleep in their grandmothers’ arms and didn’t even stir when we kissed them goodbye.
“Dylan’s fever broke,” my mom said. “They’re going to be just fine.”
Gabe pulled me to him for a lingering kiss before I could climb in my SUV. “I’ll get home at a decent time tonight,” he promised me. “I’m sure things will be calmer at the police station today.”
“Let’s hope so.”
It wasn’t often that someone arrived at the salon before me, but Wren beat me in that morning.
“Everything okay?” he asked when I walked through the back door.
“The twins have colds,” I replied as I tipped my head and studied him. There was something different about Wren, but what? He wore his typical long-sleeved gray t-shirt, black jeans, and black biker boots. He hadn’t shaved his beard or cut his long hair.Aha!I mentally snapped my fingers. His hair hung to his shoulders when it was usually tied back when he worked.
Wren snorted and said, “Bet you’ll avoid the doctor’s office like the plague since Dr. Douche is working there.”
“Oh man, I hadn’t thought about that. Let’s hope my homeopathic efforts work.”
Wren grinned wryly. “I’ll cross my fingers for you.”
“Good morning,” Dare said when he entered the salon. He was all toothy grins and happiness while Wren grew rigid and red-faced.Hmmmm, what had happened between these two?
Wren turned his head to look at Dare and I got a glimpse of the reason why Wren had chosen to wear his hair down. I sent up a prayer that Dare was the one who left that little love bite low on Wren’s neck. I got my answer when Dare crossed over to him and looked at his handiwork.
“I can cover that with concealer if you prefer to wear your hair up,” Dare offered.
“Nah.”
I could tell that the guys could use a few minutes alone before the crazy set in, so I excused myself to make a cup of coffee and check out the morning paper. Our routine had gotten messed up that morning with sick kids and I didn’t get my early dose of coffee and gossip. My throat felt a little scratchy and I knew coffee was the fix I needed. I had just taken my first sip when I flipped open the paper that Wren had brought in with him.
“Fuck!” I said when I saw the front-page headline.
“What’s wrong,” Dare said, running into the room. I held up the paper for him to see. “Fuck!”
Wren entered the room next. His eyes rounded in surprise when he saw it too.
“Police Captain Promises to Catch the Christmas Bandits by Christmas Eve,” I read aloud. Amazing how Gabe had left that part out, but we hadn’t done a lot of talking the night before—well, not with words anyway.
Beneath the heading was a picture of a fierce-looking Gabe taken during the town hall meeting. In comparison to the headline, the rest of the article was tame. Gabe just stated the dollar value of the items stolen or damaged and provided a background story for some of the victims, including myself and Mrs. Hazelbaker who was heartbroken over her stolen sled. Myrna had even added pictures of both our properties to go with the article to give it a personal touch. My heart hurt just looking at the wreaths.
“Shit, look at the wording for the reward! It says a person can earn five thousand dollars if they help ‘capture’ the Christmas Bandits. Holy fuck!” I exclaimed. “We’re going to have a bunch of Dog the Bounty Hunters running around Blissville.”
“Has Gabe seen this?” Dare asked.