Silent Night in Dry Creek. Janet Tronstad

      “There’s no husband,” the sheriff said as he leaned back again. “Not even a boyfriend hanging around. It’s just a hunch I have.”

      The room was silent.

      “That’s it?” Wade finally asked to be sure he wasn’t missing something. It wasn’t only a desire to get back to work that brought him here. His savings were almost gone so he really needed this job, but still—this was Carl. “I remember your hunches. They didn’t always pan out.”

      “This one’s different.” The sheriff crossed his beefy arms. “You’ll see.”

      Wade lifted an eyebrow. “Well, I hope you and your hunch are going to be around to post bail when this woman hauls me to court for following her around for no good reason. That’s what will happen, you know. She’ll call me a stalker. Just being worried is no excuse to put a tail on someone.”

      Wade didn’t have much, but he prided himself on being a fierce defender of the law. He didn’t take bribes, he didn’t look the other way and he sure didn’t violate anyone’s rights by surveilling an innocent woman for no reason—especially not one who was as good-looking as that redhead. She wouldn’t be the only one who would think he was a stalker; he’d half believe it himself. Even Scrooge would hesitate to put a tail on the Christmas angel.

      “Now, don’t go getting ahead of yourself. I’m not asking you to follow her exactly. She’s staying out at her father’s place—Elmer Maynard. You remember him? I just thought you could keep an eye on her. There’s no law against seeing what’s in front of your face.”

      “Elmer doesn’t have a daughter.” He remembered more than he cared to about his days growing up in this small town. The Maynards owned on the place next to his grandfather’s farm so he knew them well. The man didn’t have any sons, either.

      “It turns out Elmer had an affair back when we were kids. Not that he knew anything about Jasmine until she showed up in Dry Creek last fall, fully grown and cruising past forty.”

      So she was around his age, Wade thought in satisfaction. Of course, that didn’t mean anything. He made it a point never to socialize with church women and he’d guess she was a staunch one if she’d agreed to swing on that rope in the pageant. Besides, he was here on business.

      He went back to the sheriff’s comment. “I bet the tongues are still wagging over Elmer having a daughter.”

      Even as a boy, Wade knew how much Elmer and his wife wanted children. Of course, Elmer’s wife was dead now so she would never know that her husband had a kid all along.

      The sheriff shrugged. “People can only talk about things like that for so long. By the time Jasmine found the three men who might have been her father and figured out Elmer was the one, well, people had sort of gotten used to her. And Edith Hargrove stood up for her, which helped a lot. She’s Edith Nelson now that she married Charley, but I’m sure you remember her.”

      “Of course, I remember her.”

      Who could forget Edith? She was a warrior. When he was six, she had knocked on his grandfather’s door and announced that Wade belonged in Sunday school. His grandfather had been too drunk to respond and Edith boldly took his silence for agreement. Every week after that, she stopped by to pick Wade up on her way to church. His grandfather never looked happy about it, but he didn’t stop her.

      Once Wade got over the miracle of someone going against his grandfather, he paid attention in church. For some strange reason, Edith saw potential in him when no one else did. Of course, he knew right from the start that he’d eventually disappoint her. No one could make themselves believe something they naturally didn’t. Oh, he might have believed in God back then, but—like now—he just couldn’t believe that God was of much use to anyone in this world. Frankly, Wade didn’t trust Him.

      The sheriff grinned. “Edith is some woman.”

      Wade nodded. “She’s a force of nature, all right.”

      However, with the state of his bank account, he didn’t have time to walk down memory lane.

      “The problem is that you can’t just pay me to follow someone around,” Wade said, bringing the conversation back to what he needed to say. “Unless I’m in danger of getting shot, the county won’t want to sign the check. They keep the safe stuff for their own people even if it means overtime.”

      Carl’s face flushed. “About the money—the county doesn’t exactly have a budget that—”

      “Aww, man.” Wade looked across the table at the closest thing he had to a friend. “You’re joking, right? I drove all the way up here and you’re telling me there’s no money to pay for the job.”

      By now Carl’s face was red, but he was sticking to his request. “Hold on. There’s money. It’s just coming from the city of Dry Creek instead of the county.”

      “When did Dry Creek become a city?” Wade glanced around in bewilderment. This café hadn’t been here when he was a boy. Well, the building had been here, but it had been empty. There might be a couple of more houses behind the hardware store. And he heard they’d painted a mural on that old barn outside of town, hoping to get some tourists. He supposed it was progress, but—“It hasn’t grown that much, has it?”

      “We don’t need to be big to have money.”

      “Enough to hire me?”

      “Of course, you. We don’t want a stranger poking around. And, if you’re here, you can spend a few days at your grandfather’s place. He’s the only family you’ve got. Besides, he’s having a hard time and it’s Christmas. It’d be nice if you visited him.”

      Everything froze. Then Wade reached for his wallet. He’d pay for his breakfast and be out of here. “Christmas is just another date on the calendar as far as I’m concerned. If going to see my grandfather is part of the deal, then Dry Creek will have to find someone else.”

      “Now, don’t be a fool,” Carl said when he saw Wade’s wallet. “I’m paying for breakfast. I know how it is when you can’t work. And you’re at least entitled to gas money for driving up here.”

      The sheriff pulled a wad of bills out of his jacket pocket.

      Wade hadn’t seen that kind of cash in months. “Don’t tell me you carry that much money around. Is that the Dry Creek money?”

      Carl flushed as he laid the well-worn bills on the table. “We don’t have a checking account yet.”

      A suspicion started growing in Wade’s mind. Those bills hadn’t come fresh from a savings account, either. “Have you ever done this before? Collected money to hire someone?”

      Carl was quiet.

      “Well, that really settles it. I don’t take charity,” Wade said as he pushed back his chair. Pride was about all he had left and those bills told the story. Someone had passed the hat for him and he didn’t like it. “You can tell everyone that I’m doing just fine.”

      The two men glared at each other for a minute.

      “You can tell them yourself,” the sheriff finally said. “If you’re too stubborn to take honest work—”

      “What’s honest about it? I’m not going to follow some woman around just so you can give me money and make me think I earned it.”

      The sheriff’s face softened. “It was either that or I’d have to deliver a carload of casseroles to your front step. You know the people around here help their own.”

      Just then the door to the café opened. Wade looked up and saw the red-haired woman walk into the room. A leather bag swung from her shoulder and the faint smell of some floral perfume swirled around her. As she took a few steps, he could see he’d underrated her looks. Her delicate porcelain skin was rosy from the cold and her auburn hair curled around her face, reminding him of a Botticelli angel with