Page 2 of Stormswept Colorado (Hart County #3)
ONE
Teller
February, This Year
My hometown was my favorite place on earth. Especially mornings when the sun lit the sky in gentle shades of orange and peach, when the birds were chattering in the pine trees beyond my porch, and the mountain air was that perfect balance of crisp and sweet. When everything was calm and easy.
This was not one of those mornings.
I shifted my weight, hands resting casually on my duty belt. “Jimmy, I still don’t see why you found it necessary to call 911.”
He pointed a finger at Rosie, the owner of Main Street Market. “Because that shrew won’t let me buy my toilet paper.”
Rosie crossed her arms. “And I told this old fool that the limit is two.”
“Last time I checked, this was a damned free country!”
“I’ve had a two-pack limit on toilet paper for years now, and you know it.”
I sighed. If this was a sign of my day to come, it was going to be a long one.
Rosie Alvarez ran a tight ship here at the market. But for some reason, she had an on-again, off-again romance with Jimmy Perkins, the man currently creating a disturbance in her store.
From the sounds of it, I guessed the two of them were currently in the off position.
I glanced at Jimmy’s cart. “Is there a reason you’re stocking up on toilet paper, batteries, and…geez, how much orange soda does one man need?”
Jimmy looked at me like I was dumber than something he’d scraped off his mud-crusted boot. “Storm of the century’s coming this weekend, Chief Landry. You’d best be getting the town ready. Not obstructing a man in his right to stock up on the essentials.”
“But that’s still no reason to call 911 claiming false imprisonment,” I pointed out.
“I can’t leave until I have my desired purchases.” Jimmy’s head waggled, making his gray ponytail shake. “Basically the same thing.”
I didn’t know if this dispute was a lovers’ quarrel, some kind of foreplay, or both. But either way, I wanted no part of it.
I closed my eyes, calling on those yoga breathing techniques in the videos Piper liked to send me. What was it? Something about a victorious warrior?
“Let’s just get this sorted out.”
After a few minutes of mediation, Rosie decided to let him buy three packs of toilet paper instead of two. Which, to me, wasn’t the best idea. Just encouraged him. But Jimmy had dropped the troublesome act and had a shine of affection in his eyes by the end of their negotiation.
Then Rosie swatted his behind as Jimmy left. “We’ll talk more about this later, Jimmy Perkins,” she said sternly. He winked.
Those two, I swear.
“Next time, could you work out your relationship issues without involving the police?” I asked.
“Haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about.” Her cheeks stained as red as her dyed curly hair.
Sure she didn’t .
Through the window, Rosie and I watched her boyfriend trot out to the parking lot.
Regular business had resumed in the checkout line, the noise in the market returning to its usual chorus of small-talk and the beeps of the scanner.
Through the windows facing Main, I saw locals in knit caps and down coats as they went about their day.
The sky was pure blue, and the sun was bright. One of those winter days that almost looks like summer until you step outside and feel the chill.
Rosie turned to me. “What do you think about this storm that’s coming, Teller? Chief , I mean.”
I smiled at her slip. Rosie had known me since I was a kid, back when I’d bagged groceries after school for extra cash. And for that employee discount. Those days felt like a long, long time ago.
“It’s wise to prepare as usual,” I said. “But no need to go overboard. It’ll hardly be the storm of the century. In fact, we need the precipitation. It’ll be good for the snowpack.” If we didn’t get enough snow in winter, that meant fire danger in the warm months.
But weather patterns worked on their own schedule, especially in the mountains. It could be dumping snow in one part of the county and bone dry a few miles away. The old timers liked to get their farmer’s almanacs out and make predictions, but they were wrong just as often as they got it right.
“But will it interfere with the wedding?” Rosie asked, and several more heads over in the checkout line nodded. Because of course they were listening. “That’s what I’m worried about.”
Ah, The Wedding . The event that needed no modifiers in Hart County.
Ashford O’Neal and Emma Jennings would be getting married this coming weekend in Hartley, the county seat.
It was going to be a big celebration, and it seemed like most of our town of Silver Ridge was invited.
People in these parts had been looking forward to Emma and Ashford’s nuptials since before the two were even engaged.
He was the single dad with a tragic history, and she was the optimistic young music teacher who’d changed his life.
Everybody adored Ashford’s daughter, Maisie.
They wanted to see that happily ever after in person.
I’d known Ashford since our families lived across the street from each other growing up, and I was happy for him. The ceremony would take place Saturday afternoon. I’d gotten the obligatory invite, so I was driving out tomorrow night, on Friday.
Did I appreciate all this fuss about the wedding, though? Not so much.
A mountain pass stood between us and Hartley, and it was difficult driving in blizzard conditions.
But this wouldn’t be a blizzard. My police department would coordinate with the Hart County Sheriff’s Office as usual.
Just another day at work for us. I was more worried about folks driving back to Silver Ridge after too many cocktails.
At social events, my typical M.O. was to make sure things didn’t get out of hand. According to my sister Piper, I was chief of the fun police.
I leaned my elbow on the customer-service counter. “Storm is set to hit Saturday evening, but everyone will already be in Hartley by then. We’ll be nice and cozy at the inn by the time that storm arrives. It’ll snow a couple feet, but the plows will have it handled by Sunday morning as usual.”
Rosie nodded. “Suppose you’re right.”
Our audience moved along, returning their focus to their shopping. “Thanks, Chief,” one woman said as she passed me.
“Y’all have a good day, now.” I adjusted my belt, nodding, then checked my watch. I had a lot of tasks ahead of me and only so many hours to do them.
But Rosie touched my arm before I could break for the exit. She leaned forward to drop her voice into a mock whisper that was nowhere near quiet.
“I heard from Dixie Haines that Ayla Maxwell has already arrived in town. Just this morning Dixie spotted Ayla at the coffee shop. I’ve been playing her music on rotation for days, just in case she comes in to the market.” Rosie pointed a finger at the ceiling.
“Didn’t notice,” I deadpanned. I’d been trying to ignore the dance beats coming from the overhead speaker system.
“Do you think she’ll sing at the wedding reception?”
“I highly doubt it.”
“Wouldn’t it be romantic, though?” She fluttered her lashes.
“I wouldn’t know.”
Rosie nudged my arm teasingly. “Ah, yes. You’re the town’s most eligible bachelor, and you’re committed to staying that way. Don’t frown like that. I’m not judging.”
“Just so long as you’re not trying to fix me up.” Which was a favorite pastime of every other woman of a certain age in town.
I couldn’t even tell you how many granddaughters and nieces had been foisted on me.
Rosie held up her hands. “I can’t help it if I’m in the mood for love with the wedding almost here, and now my favorite singer in our midst. Even you can’t be immune to that excitement, right?”
I shrugged. For some reason, my heart rate kicked up as I imagined seeing Ayla Maxwell again.
Ayla was Ashford’s sister-in-law, and she’d visited Silver Ridge a few times in the last couple years or so. For a while, our local population had kept its calm about her celebrity status.
But with The Wedding just on the horizon, excitement had streaked back up into high gear. And the popularity of our local ski resort had drawn more and more tourists.
My department had been planning for Ayla’s presence in town.
Her arrival in Silver Ridge could mean traffic jams on our two-lane highways.
Gawkers forming crowds on Main, pushing and shoving to get a glimpse of her.
Even paparazzi and reporters from out-of-state.
A bunch of disruptions that would take department resources to sort out.
A much bigger problem than a few feet of snow.
“There’s that sexy love song of hers. Listen to that sultry beat.” Rosie lifted her arms and shimmied her hips. “It always gets Jimmy in the mood. Know what I mean?”
I coughed. Oh, please no. “I’d better be going.” I rapped my knuckles against the customer-service desk. “I’ll see you at the wedding, if not before.”
As I left, the song playing from the speakers wedged into my brain, refusing to let go. Ayla’s smoky voice and the suggestive lyrics.
Fine, it was sexy. Rosie had that right.
Ayla Maxwell was a beautiful woman. Nobody could deny that.
But something about her just…raked across my nerves. Setting me on alert whenever she was near.
She was a diva who was used to getting her way. Probably explained why I’d gotten testy with her the first time we met. I was protective of my constituents, and her sudden presence had drawn all the wrong kinds of attention to our town.
But in the spirit of community peace, I could try to make a better impression during this visit.
Could even be friendly. Everyone in town knew me as straight-laced and serious, but I wasn’t an ogre.
I would be professional and courteous next time I saw her.
Nothing more and nothing less. Like she was any other visitor to Silver Ridge.
If I could just get that song out of my head.