Jill pursed her lips as admiration danced in her eyes. “Ooh, look at you. So sophisticated.”
“And late for work. I need to get there before Mrs. Lamb drops by for her weekly visit to her safe-deposit box.” Christine groaned when she looked at the clock on the wall. “I feel like it’s going to take a while to recover from this weekend.”
“You’re going to be fine,” Jill said as she grabbed a basket and dumped the clothes in it. “I’ll let you know when your clothes are ready. Hey, how much money did you win?”
“Not even a thousand,” she admitted. Travis probably thought she was crazy to get excited over a few hundred bucks. He’ll never know that she was more excited about adding him to her dream list.
“At least it’s something,” Jill said. “You can use the money for another wild weekend.”
“Another one.” For some reason, she wasn’t excited about the idea. She hadn’t considered where she wanted to go next. What was stopping her from taking another trip to Vegas?
“Well, yeah. See what you accomplished when you didn’t have everyone in Cedar Valley looking over your shoulder?” Jill’s eyebrows rose, hiding under the coppery curls. “You’re not going to stop, are you?”
“Wouldn’t think of it,” she said as she left the store. Christine tried to ignore the pinch in her chest. Her Vegas weekend was a success because of Travis. She wouldn’t be able to recapture the magic anywhere else with anyone else.
* * *
TRAVIS SLOWED HIS motorcycle on the street and looked around with a growing sense of horror. There were more trees than people, no cars parked on the cobblestone street and it was so quiet that he could hear the birds sing. He saw the hand-painted sign welcoming him to Cedar Valley, but it felt as if he had entered a different era.
There was no way Christine Pearson lived here, Travis decided as he easily found a spot to park his motorcycle. She may have been raised here or even passed through. She was too young, too curious about life, to have stayed.
The town was smaller than he had expected. Travis chuckled. It wasn’t even a town. It was too small to be a village. He was surprised it was big enough to have earned a dot on the map.
He looked at the homes and businesses lined up on Main Street. This place once had money, a century or two ago. Now it was as quiet as a ghost town. But someone had to live here, considering how much effort had been expended to renovate the Victorian houses. They were well loved and freshly painted in colors that reminded him of Easter eggs.
This was an odd place for a jewel thief, Travis decided as he reluctantly got off his motorcycle and removed his helmet. Something about Cedar Valley made him tense, as if he knew he was going to make a false move. A mistake. He had traveled far and wide, from cosmopolitan cities to tribal lands. It took some time to learn the rituals and traditions, but here he had a very strong sense that he didn’t belong.
It was genteel. Small-town Americana. As he strode down the sidewalk, he noticed the antiques store and teahouse. A carriage house had been converted into a small bookstore. The quaint post office had a small red-and-blue mailbox bolted to the wall. The brown building up ahead was the general store and he saw the white church steeple on the hill, peeking out above the fat, leafy trees.
“Good morning!”
Travis frowned when he heard the young male voice. Great, it was one of those towns. The kind of place where everyone knew you, your family history and your secrets. He never did well in places like this.
He turned around and nodded his head in acknowledgment to the man coming out of the bookstore. The stranger was pushing a cart of paperbacks on the small stone path.
“Are you lost?”
Travis heard the territorial edge underneath the friendly question and gave the man a closer look. He was a clean-cut kind of guy with a blue dress shirt and khaki pants. Bland, forgettable and enjoyed being the big fish in a small pond. “This is Cedar Valley, right?” Travis asked.
“Yes, it is. Sorry.” His eyes narrowed with distaste at Travis’s disreputable appearance. Apparently Cedar Valley had a dress code. Leather jackets and faded jeans didn’t make the list. “Most of our visitors are older and come for our famous weekends.”
“Famous weekends?”
The man stretched his arms out. “Cedar Valley is the Pacific Northwest weekend destination. We have a popular farmers’ market and flower stand. The general store does a great picnic basket. If you’re looking for a place to stay, we have a bed-and-breakfast, but it’s always full on the weekends.”
He really was in hell. “I’m looking for Christine Pearson.”