She waited for his reaction. Waited for him to point out that maybe what had happened was merely proof that lying and betrayal did destructive things to the innocent. She knew they’d both thought it.
Rourke’s only reaction was to crank up the heater, blasting her with warm air.
CHAPTER TEN
On Saturday morning, Jenny and Rourke went to the Sky River Bakery. She had some work to do in the office, and he was going to take a duty shift for an officer who was out sick. When they stepped inside, a bell jangled over the door, and the warm, fragrant embrace of the bakery surrounded them.
Mariel Elena Gale, the counter girl, greeted them with a smile. She was the bakery’s youngest employee, with a zany sense of humor and a decided streak of independence. She was responsible for such delightful innovations as moose-head sugar cookies and chocolate cupcakes sprouting sugar-dough crocuses. Beside the cake-of-the-day, she’d placed a sign that read, “You want a piece of me.”
“Hello, Jenny, Chief McKnight.” Mariel didn’t seem at all surprised to see them together. “The usual for you?”
“Sure.”
Jenny poured coffee into a pair of thick china mugs. “I’m a little suspicious,” she admitted, “now that I know about your coffee-making skills.”
“I never came here for the coffee,” he said. “I figured that was obvious.”
She didn’t know what to say to that, so she sidled away and concentrated on making sure everything on the condiment counter was precisely aligned. Being with Rourke so much was affecting her in unexpected ways. Things she hadn’t let herself think about in years came bubbling to the surface, and to her surprise, the memories had not lost their sharpness. And she was worried, too, that she was teetering on the edge of something that was, at best, foolhardy. At worst, dangerous. She needed to do something different, but she felt frozen by inertia and indecision.
As she stood at the counter, Jenny saw a woman drop a napkin beside Rourke’s table and then bend to pick it up. Which of course, was no big deal, except that the woman was zipped into a tight magenta ski bib and an even tighter white angora sweater, and she was making no secret of her interest. Jenny couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the woman clearly found him vastly amusing. Rourke had always had that effect on women, even as a kid. He didn’t even have to say anything. There was just something about him, and it wasn’t only the matinee-idol looks. Whether on purpose or not, he exuded a brooding sexiness that seemed to promise endless nights of pleasure. Or so it seemed to Jenny, as she reluctantly admitted that she and the ski bimbo shared the same taste.
Fortunately, the moment was broken by Mariel, who brought two plates to the table. The skier’s gaze lingered a moment longer and then she moved on to join her friends, who were getting ready to leave.
His “usual” was a sweet-cheese Danish with a honey-orange glaze, served warm, and he was already eating it when Jenny returned to the table.
“Sorry,” he said around a mouthful. “I couldn’t wait. This is almost as good as sex.”
She glanced in the direction of the magenta ski bunny. “I’d say that depends on the sex. And I’m changing the subject immediately. Nobody wants their chief of police talking like that.”
“Yeah, I’ve always been so concerned about my image.”
The place was hopping. Shoppers stopped in for loaves of rye or a special pie for Sunday dinner. A few intrepid tourists—downhill and Nordic skiers and snowmobilers—were having coffee and planning their day on the cross-country trails that wound through the area or at Saddle Mountain, the local ski hill. Three old men gathered at their regular corner table, their thick overcoats, mufflers and flat wool caps hanging on a nearby hat tree.
Despite the chaos her life was in, Jenny felt a strong sense of connection to the community at moments like this. The chatty customers, the smells, the smiling counter girl, the busy sounds from the kitchen, all combined to create an atmosphere that was safe, familiar and timeless. Although looking after the place had consumed her entire adult life, she was grateful for the old-fashioned, changeless building on the town square. When everything else had been taken from her, the bakery still stood, solid and real and secure.
At the same time, the weight of responsibility pressed on her. The emotional one-two punch of losing her grandmother and then her home had left her reeling, but she had a business and employees to look after. She told herself she should be grateful to have the family bakery, but the fact was, sometimes she wondered what her life would be like if she’d been allowed to choose. The bakery was her grandparents’ dream, not hers. She felt disloyal even thinking such a thing, but she couldn’t help herself.
Rourke leaned back in his chair and looked at her. “I would love to know what’s on your mind.”
“Maybe I don’t have anything on my mind.”
He chuckled. “Right.”
“Just feeling ambivalent about this place. The bakery, I mean.”
“Ambivalent? Come on, this is the happiest place on earth. Forget Disneyland. Look at these people.”
She scanned the faces of the customers, seeing easy smiles and unhurried pleasure in their faces. “I just took it for granted, I suppose. And I’m ambivalent because I watched my friends all leave after high school. That’s what people do in a town like this—they leave.”
“Some of us come here to stay,” he pointed out. “Me. Olivia Bellamy and now Greg. I always envied the way you grew up, here in this place.”
Oh, my, she thought. And didn’t that open a private door? “You did?”
