Where Love Abides. Irene Hannon

and Sleeping Beauty. I could recite the books in my sleep at this point.”

      A sheriff who read his child bedtime stories. Surprising. But nice. “I’m sure her mom feels the same way.”

      A brief shadow darkened his eyes, like a cloud passing in front of the sun. “Her mother died when she was eighteen months old.”

      Shock rippled across Christine’s features. “I’m sorry.”

      “Thanks. My mom has stepped in to help, and that’s been a great blessing.” He nodded toward the torn-up garden. “If you have a change of heart about reporting this incident, let me know.”

      With that, he turned and strode back toward his car.

      Long after he left, Christine stood in the middle of her topsy-turvy pumpkin patch, thinking about the motherless little girl who called the sheriff “Dad.” Her own situation had been similar but reversed. Her father had died when she was six, before she’d formed any clear memories of him. But her mother had tried her best to compensate for the loss.

      All her life, Christine had known that her mother would do anything, sacrifice anything, for her. She’d been loved with such deep devotion that nothing later in life could take away the foundation of self-worth her mother had laid. That foundation had held her in good stead through the hard times, allowing her to retain her self-esteem even as Jack had done his best to destroy it.

      For some reason, Christine had a feeling that Jenna would grow up with the same solid foundation of confidence and dignity. Christine might not trust Dale Lewis as a sheriff, but she knew at some intuitive level that he was a loving, devoted father. And that if Jenna could have only one parent, she was lucky to have him.

      There was a time, in a situation like this, when Christine would have uttered a silent prayer in her heart, asking the Lord to protect the little girl and to give her father strength to carry on alone. But she didn’t talk much to the Lord anymore. In her time of need He’d let her down, and her once-solid faith had faltered. Now, she regarded prayer as no more likely to yield results than standing in the middle of a pumpkin patch wishing for a fairy godmother to appear.

      And as for Prince Charming… It was a whole lot safer to leave him in the pages of a fairy tale.

      Chapter Four

      “And they lived happily ever after. The End.” Dale closed the book and smiled at Jenna. Snuggled beneath the covers, her golden hair splayed on the pillow, his daughter exuded an innocence and unbridled enthusiasm that was a balm to his soul.

      “I like that story, Daddy. Can I be a princess when I grow up?”

      “You’re my princess right now, sweetie.” He reached over and tickled her, enjoying her giggles as she squirmed away from him.

      “I mean a princess with a crown and a pretty long dress and a happy ending, like the reluc…lucant princess in the book.”

      “You can be anything you want to be, honey.” Soon enough, the world would teach her that happy endings were often confined to storybooks. He wasn’t going to be the one to disillusion her.

      “Tell me again how you met the lady who sent me this book today.”

      For some reason, Jenna was fascinated by the tale of Christine and Dale’s encounter.

      “It was rainy outside, and the road was slippery. Her car slid off the edge of the blacktop and she hit her head, so I took her to see Dr. Martin. She sent the book to say thank you.”

      “Then you rescued her, just like the prince in the book rescued the relucant princess?”

      “Well, there weren’t any dragons around. But I did help her. That’s what policemen do. They help people who are in trouble.”

      “What does she look like?”

      An image of Christine popped into his mind, the way she’d looked in the pumpkin patch this afternoon, with a streak of dirt across her forehead. “She has brown eyes—kind of soft and velvety, like the cattails we saw at the lake, remember?—and her hair is brownish-red and wavy, and it touches her shoulders.”

      “Is she pretty?”

      Dale pictured the gentle curve of her cheek, her thick fringe of lashes, the delicate jaw and soft, full lips. Not to mention the well-shaped legs outlined beneath her snug jeans, or the way she was softly rounded in all the right places. Oh, yeah, she was pretty. No living, breathing male could fail to notice that.

      “Yes, honey, she’s pretty.”

      “I wish I could meet her.”

      His daughter’s wistful tone tugged at Dale’s heart. “She has a farm and she’s very busy. But we might see her in town sometime.”

      “Is she a mommy?”

      “I don’t think so, honey. She’s kind of a mystery lady.”

      A frown creased Jenna’s brow. “What does that mean?”

      “It means no one knows very much about her. But I think she lives by herself.” He’d seen no ring on her finger to suggest she had an equally reclusive husband.

      “I bet she gets lonesome.”

      Did she? Dale wondered. If so, she wasn’t doing anything to rectify the situation. The question was, why not? She was a young woman. Surely she yearned on occasion for companionship. For love. As he did.

      A faint pang of melancholy stirred in Dale’s heart, like the indistinct outer ripples after a stone is dropped in the water. Over the years, the sharp pain of loss had dissipated. But the dull ache never went away. Despite the problems in his marriage, he missed sharing his life with one special person.

      Oh, he had Jenna and his mother. And plenty of friends. But it wasn’t the same as being in a loving, committed relationship. Friends and family didn’t ease the loneliness of the dark nights when he lay awake yearning for the comfort of a warm embrace, a whispered endearment, the sense of peace that had filled him when his wife had lowered her defenses long enough to sleepily snuggle against him as he gathered her in his arms.

      Those moments had been rare, but he’d cherished them. And he missed them.

      “Daddy.” Jenna tugged on his sleeve, calling him back to the present. “Do you think the mystery lady gets lonesome?”

      “I don’t know, honey. Maybe.”

      “We could visit her.”

      Not a good idea. Christine had made it clear she didn’t welcome contact with the sheriff’s department. “We’ll see, honey.”

      “That means no.” Disappointment flooded Jenna’s face. Like most five-year-olds, she knew how to interpret that response. “Don’t you like her?”

      Frankly, Dale didn’t know how he felt about Oak Hill’s newest resident. She intrigued him. He found her attractive. He was curious about her past. But as for liking her…

      “I don’t know her very well, Jenna. You can’t decide if you like someone until you get to know them.”

      “I can tell right away if I like somebody,” his daughter declared.

      That might be true, Dale conceded. Children approached strangers with an open mind, while adults’ pasts colored new relationships.

      “That’s because you’re such a smart little girl.” Dale leaned over and kissed Jenna’s forehead. Standing, he set the book on her nightstand. “Sleep tight, sweetie.”

      “You, too, Daddy. I think I’ll dream about the relucant princess. And the mystery lady.”

      “That sounds good. You can tell me all about it at breakfast tomorrow.”

      Shutting the door halfway, Dale headed for the kitchen. The two-bedroom bungalow was quiet as he opened the fridge and retrieved