Her brain raced through iterations of Cody attempting to start a house-painting business. Small-business funding. Grants. A mentor? Too bad Marissa was half a continent away. She and Cody would get along like a house on fire.
“Charcoal,” Cody continued, and her brain screeched to a halt. “Pastels. In a dream world, I’d buy a Mac and as many programs for artists and graphic designers as it would hold. High-speed Internet access. The moon will fall out of the sky before any of that happens, so I’ll take the old-fashioned supplies. If I had a car, I’d go to Brookings and steal them, but I don’t have a car, or money for gas. It’s a bitch to steal gas. I’ve done it, but newer cars have those gas-tank flaps that you have to release from inside the car.”
“We can’t fault your resourcefulness,” she mused.
He looked up, resignation clear in his gray-green eyes. “Are you going to tell Chief Ridgeway?”
She should, for so many reasons. It was the right thing to do, given that Cody was already doing community service for theft. It was the right thing to do because she and Lucas were more deeply involved than she’d anticipated, and Lucas the man wouldn’t take well to her withholding information from Lucas the cop.
Who was Lucas the man?
“Not at present,” she said.
“Going to blackmail me?”
“It’s called a second chance,” she said quietly. “Do you want it or not?”
He looked down between his arms, braced on his knees, then up at her. “Yeah,” he said. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. I want a quid pro quo.”
His eyebrows arched alarmingly. “Whatever that is, I don’t have one.”
“I want a favor in return. I want you to write the section of the proposal outlining what the library needs to be useful to young people in town.”
“Sounds like school.” He looked at her. “You’re going to call Chief Ridgeway if I don’t, right?”
“No,” she said calmly. “I’m not.”
“Fine. I’ll do it.”
Later in the day, when Mrs. Battle’s shift ended, she came into the library director’s office. “You did the right thing,” Mrs. Battle said. She struggled to find the sleeve of her wool coat, and Alana reached around to help her.
“Out of curiosity, what do you think Chief Ridgeway would have done?”
Mrs. Battle fussed with her scarf. “The boy I knew growing up would have done one thing. The chief of police, I’m not so sure I know. He’s filling his uncle’s shoes very ably.”
“I saw pictures of him as a teenager last night,” Alana said. “He was working on the kitchen plumbing while I went through his grandmother’s books. I found photo albums.”
“He was an astonishingly good-looking young man,” Mrs. Battle said matter-of-factly. At Alana’s surprised look, she added, “I’m seventy-seven, not dead, young lady.”
“He looked so different,” Alana said. “He’s no less handsome now, but he’s closed off. It’s like a light went off behind his eyes.”
“His divorce was hard on him,” Mrs. Battle said as she looped her purse over her arm, “but he was different before he came back. Whatever happened in Denver changed Lucas Ridgeway, and not for the better.”
? ? ?
ALANA’S AUDI ZIPPED past him as Lucas walked along the sidewalk in front of his house. He unclipped Duke’s leash and let the dog loose to sniff the squirrel trails in the front yard. Across the driveway, Alana slid out of the car, collecting an assortment of bags from the passenger seat.
“I just need a few minutes,” she said with a quick smile. “Mrs. Battle and I just met with Delaney Walker-Herndon about the library renovation proposal. The meeting ran late.”
“You should change clothes,” he said. “Temps are going to start dropping as the sun sets. Something warm, and wear good shoes.”
Her gaze skimmed him, taking in his jeans, uniform polo, windbreaker with POLICE in big white letters, and black uniform boots. “Ten minutes,” she said.
If she was ready to go in ten minutes, he’d eat Duke’s dinner rather than the meatball subs he’d planned to pick up at Gina’s, but he let it slide. When she got the door open, Duke pricked his ears and trotted across the driveways to follow Alana into the house. She cooed a greeting, then poked her head out again. “Duke seems to like this house.”
“Gran gave him treats all day long,” he said, resigned. “Bring him with you when you’re ready.”
“He’s coming?”
“He’s coming.”
Exactly nine minutes and forty-five seconds later, Alana held the screen door for Duke, then followed the dog out onto the paved strips serving as a driveway. She locked the door behind her, then walked over to Luke’s Blazer. He used the excuse of making sure she was ready for a long, cold night to look her over. She wore jeans, a dark gray turtleneck sweater, a peacoat, and a pair of gray hiking boots with a purple snowflake decorating each side, white fur peeking out from the shank, somehow both fashionable and appropriately dressed for the damp chill growing in the air as the sun set. She’d removed her makeup, making it easy for him to watch the heat bloom on her cheeks as he studied her.