He laughed. “Not me, no. I got this from Sorrow Bailey, down at the lodge. She baked it. ” Seeing that she took a bite, he gave her a firm nod, and shut the car door.
Marlene chewed slowly. It was good bread, just a little bit of sweet, yet substantial, too. Now the question was: how did the sheriff end up with homemade bread from the Bailey girl’s kitchen? Sorrow was with Damien, and a young girl would
be a fool to step out on the rich and handsome Simmons boy. She’d pelt Sorrow’s mama with questions next time she saw her, that was for sure.
A bite of food spiced with a bit of speculation perked Marlene up, both in body and spirit.
Billy grabbed a bag of gravel and a small shovel from the back of his SUV and set to work freeing her front wheels. It was a testament to the Sierra Falls community that the sheriff’s snow shovel got more action than his sidearm ever did.
He bent down to spread the gravel evenly at the base of the tire. Marlene tilted her head…my, my, but the man had a fine set of shoulders. He was built like a bull. A strong, solid sort of man.
Fishing another slice of bread from Billy’s stash, she nestled deeper in the front seat, nibbling at the snack like it was popcorn at the movies. The sheriff shoveled and spread gravel, got into her truck, and sure enough, he was able to back it out. Marlene was almost disappointed to see the thing freed from the embankment.
Billy opened her door. “Feeling better?” His cheeks were flushed and damp from the cold and flurries.
There was nothing like seeing a man after a job well done. If only she were thirty years younger.
Marlene gave him a broad smile as she let herself out of his truck. “Much. ”
He returned her smile, wary surprise in his expression.
She thought she must look like a loony bird and toned down her grin. “You’ve been too kind, Sheriff Preston, and I thank you for it. ”
“If I get to call you Marlene, then you’ve got to call me Billy. ” He gave her a wink, and her heart thumped in a way that had her wishing she had a daughter she could foist onto the man.
“Then thank you, Billy. ” Marlene handed him the aluminum foil. She’d folded it into a careful square. “Homemade bread is good for what ails you, I always say. Sorry I didn’t leave you any. ”
“Don’t you worry,” he said as he walked her back to her truck. “I had my fill earlier. Once you start eating the stuff, it’s hard to stop. ” He opened her door, and the old hinges creaked. “You sure you’re all right to drive?”
She checked her watch. “I’m sure I won’t be all right if I’m late to our monthly meeting. ”
He ushered her into her seat, a true gentleman. “Meeting?”
“The historical society. ”
“Of course,” he said. “The Spring Fling women. The last festival happened just before I moved into town. Can’t wait to go to my first—your BBQ cook-off is the stuff of legend. ”
“If there even is a festival,” she grumbled. He raised his brows, waiting for more explanation, so she continued, “We’re broke. I swear, sometimes it feels like the town’s dying. We can hold bake sales and bingo nights till the cows come home, and it won’t be enough to cover our expenses. ”
He leaned against the open door, looking thoughtful. “Well, if there’s any way to save the tradition, my money’s on you ladies to find it. ”
Marlene smiled as she drove off. Money or no money, the festival budget needed to include one of those strength testers—she bet their new sheriff would be one of the few who’d be able to pick up the sledgehammer and ring that bell.
Five
Sorrow sat on one of the attic trunks, ignoring the flurry of activity around her. She’d been sneaking peeks at the letters all morning, reading snatches of lines here and there. She couldn’t wait to dig in that night. The one she was reading looked like a love letter, written to someone who’d left her ancestor behind.
She could certainly relate to that—her siblings and just about everyone she’d gone to school with had left town, abandoning her in Sierra Falls.
Scooting her feet out of the way of one of the roofers, she flipped through the stack. Were they all love letters? It was so frustrating—all she wanted to do was curl up with a cup of tea to read them, but she was stuck with a bunch of careless construction guys instead.
A horrible slam tore her from her reading. She flew up, scuttling across the attic, hunching so as not to hit her head on the low sloping ceiling. “No! I mean…please. Oh! Watch the dollhouse. ”
The guys had shown up like bats out of hell, Jack Jessup’s crew more interested in getting the job done than in having a care with any of the Bailey family possessions. She stood protectively in front of the dollhouse from her childhood. “I’d just like to move some things aside, if you don’t mind. ”
Apparently the men did mind, as they continued to barrel up and down the stairs, managing to tromp gritty, blackened snow throughout the place. They’d cut away the damaged portion of the roof, and big wet clumps of snow had fallen straight into an opened trunk. So much for her careful piles—between the swirling wind and all the activity, her neat stacks were in shambles.
Tucking the letters inside her jeans at the small of her back, she grabbed an armful of what looked to be vintage dresses and hustled them to her room and out of harm’s way. There was still a trunk she hadn’t gone through, and she was wrestling it to the far corner when Damien’s head appeared at the top of the attic stairs.