Everyone needs a little help finding love…

He’s loved and lost before…

But his daughter wants him to try again.

While widower Tug Moyer isn’t looking for a new wife, his eight-year-old daughter is convinced he needs one—and that her social media plea will bring his perfect match. The response is high, but nobody seems quite right for the sheriff…except her teacher, Christa Alero, who insists she isn’t interested. Now their little matchmaker must convince them both to give love a chance.

Multipublished bestselling author RUTH LOGAN HERNE loves God, her country, her family, dogs, chocolate and coffee! Married to a very patient man, she lives in an old farmhouse in Upstate New York and thinks possums should leave the cat food alone and snakes should always live outside. There are no exceptions to either rule! Visit Ruth at ruthloganherne.com.

Also By Ruth Logan Herne

Golden Grove

A Hopeful Harvest

Learning to Trust

Shepherd’s Crossing

Her Cowboy Reunion

A Cowboy in Shepherd’s Crossing

Healing the Cowboy’s Heart

Grace Haven

An Unexpected Groom

Her Unexpected Family

Their Surprise Daddy

The Lawman’s Yuletide Baby

Her Secret Daughter

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Learning to Trust

Ruth Logan Herne

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90666-5

LEARNING TO TRUST

© 2020 Ruth M. Blodgett

Published in Great Britain 2020

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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“I’m pretty much a lost cause in the romance department.”

Christa was about to do a mental eye roll because that was about the cheesiest line she’d ever heard, and she’d heard her share over the last few years…

But then Tug went on.

“We lost her mom three years ago.”

A widower. Raising kids alone. The revelation sparked her sympathy. “I’m so sorry.”

He acknowledged her words with a look of appreciation. “Thank you. I won’t pretend it’s been easy,” he added frankly as they neared her door, “but we’re doing all right on our own. Just like we are. And while I hate to disappoint my resident matchmaker, that’s how it’s going to stay. I’ve got enough on my plate. As you can plainly see.”

They’d reached her classroom.

She paused.

So did he.

And when she looked up and met his gaze, she read the sorrow and sincerity there, and that expression—that singular look—was enough to make her wish he’d give romance a second chance.

Dear Reader,

Oh, how I loved writing this story. Having grown up poor, I know the downsides of being marginalized, but I’m also a big fan of teachers and cops that go the extra distance for kids and that’s why I picked two such wonderful champions for this story. For Tug and Christa, God’s perfect timing was put to the test and emerged triumphant.

Grown-ups have such influence on kids. We don’t always see it, and we don’t necessarily witness the fruits of our labors, but that love and support for kids of all ages can make a huge difference. Kindness and truthfulness and busy hands are a perfect combination!

I love to hear from readers. It’s like my favorite thing! Feel free to email me at loganherne@gmail.com, friend me on Facebook, visit my website, ruthloganherne.com, or swing by the Yankee-Belle Café at yankeebellecafe.blogspot.com to chat with authors there about life, love and food! And thank you so much for reading this beautiful story!

With love,

Ruthy

And these words, which I command thee this day, shall be in thine heart: And thou shalt teach them diligently unto thy children, and shalt talk of them when thou sittest in thine house, and when thou walkest by the way, and when thou liest down, and when thou risest up.

—Deuteronomy 6:6–7

This one is for Lisa, a wonderful and masterful elementary school teacher who makes things come alive for kids with special needs and everyone she comes in contact with… She is a great mom, great daughter, great sister, great wife and a dear friend. The kind I can make fun of and laugh with and, yes, occasionally cry with. To Lisa…with love. You brat.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Introduction

Dear Reader

Bible Verse

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter One

The elementary-school principal wanted a meeting ASAP regarding Tug Moyer’s overachieving daughter. Tug’s boss had requested a similar face-to-face conference because he’d broken protocol to save two little boys from a hostage situation an hour before and the Central Washington deputy sheriff hadn’t eaten since last night.

Must be Monday.

The good news was the preschool boys were being checked out at the local hospital, where they were met by a woman from child services. They were alive. They’d suffered no physical harm and maybe they were young enough to escape with no emotional trauma.

He explained to the soon-to-retire sheriff that he had to stop at the school, pulled into the parking lot of Golden Grove Elementary two minutes later and walked in the front door.

“Tug Moyer.” Ivy Harrington beamed at him from her chair behind the reception desk inside the door. The seventy-two-year-old woman wasn’t meant to guard anything, but she could push the alarm button that issued a silent 911 call and/or the door-opening button, and she’d only confused the two a few times.

Minor details for a woman who’d taught Golden Grove kids for over forty years.

“Miss Ivy, how are you?” He motioned to the check-in roster. “I’m on my way to Evangeline’s class. Can you write me in?”

“That’s not protocol,” she scolded, but grinned. “But for you, I’ll do it.”

“I appreciate it.” He flashed her a smile, then turned.

Three people stood forty feet ahead of him. Three very unhappy people, including Evangeline.

He wiped the grin off his face, but not before they saw it. The principal and the younger woman frowned in tandem. Then the principal tapped her watch. “You’ve kept all of us waiting, Terrence.”

Uh-oh. His given name. He’d been named Terrence Michael nearly four decades back, but he’d been called Tug for as long as he could recall. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Menendez. I was in a bit of a situation when the original text came in. Hazard of the job.” He turned toward the other woman and tried not to notice how pretty she was, but he’d have to be dead or blind and he was neither.

Her dark hair was pulled back from an oval face. Sculpted brows arched over smoky eyes, eyes that were neither gray nor brown, but a blend of both. He reached out a hand in greeting and tried not to notice she wasn’t wearing anyone’s ring because he never noticed things like that.

He did now. “Ms. Alero, I presume? We haven’t had the pleasure of meeting yet. I’m Deputy Moyer. Evangeline’s father.”

“I know who you are.” The teacher gave him one of those classic elementary-schoolteacher looks. Hard. Firm. Unyielding. He’d gotten his share of those back in the day but hadn’t been privy to one in a long time. The attractive teacher brought that winning streak to an end. “At this point,” she continued, “I’m pretty sure half the world knows who you are.”

The exaggeration made him frown. As a deputy, he’d been doing online self-help videos for kids for several years. The Fire Within was a totally volunteer Christian cop kind of thing, and every now and again one of his posts went viral. In the internet age, that was a good thing.

“The online world has a new hero, it seems.” She folded her arms lightly. “Or in this case, heroine.”

He looked from woman to woman. “I’m confused. Did my video from last night offend someone? Because I’m not sure how urging kids to seek help in times of stress can be a bad thing.”

The principal hummed, then aimed a look down at Evangeline.

The teacher followed.

And his absolutely beautiful, precocious daughter squirmed. He squatted down and got face-to-face with the guilty-looking girl. “Vangie, what did you do?”

“Exactly what you showed me to do.”

The teacher made a sound of disapproval.

Tug ignored it.

He kept his focus on Evangeline. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Making videos. You know. We do that all the time.”

They did. Both kids saw him making videos for his social-media page. With Nathan, six, and Vangie, nearly nine, he’d recently started showing them how to shoot a video of themselves that they could send to various family members. “You made a video?”

“Dad.” She clasped his hands in hers. Her voice held appeal, and when Vangie embraced her I-know-best persona, Tug knew he was in for a serious reckoning. Despite her age, Evangeline Moyer was pretty sure she should be ruler of the universe and was always surprised when the world disagreed.

“What on earth did you do, child?”

“You really don’t know?” The teacher’s voice smacked of doubt. “When something goes viral on social media, your phone must be sending you alerts. Haven’t your friends and family been texting you?”

His phone.

He’d silenced it because he’d been knee-deep in a life-and-death situation on Old Orchard Road.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket as he answered her. “Ma’am, I do a daily encouragement video blog for teens, and every now and again one of my posts hits it big.” He lifted his shoulders in a frank shrug. “While that’s complimentary, the most important thing is reaching the one kid that really needs those words that day. It’s not about how many shares or Tweets or—”

He stopped as his gaze dropped to his phone.

He stared.

Two million views already, and the popular post had gone live seven hours ago.

Seven hours…

He’d posted his video to go live at midnight. That was fourteen hours ago. That meant he was on his way to work when this one hit the internet. Vangie and Nathan were catching the school bus at his mother’s house at that time. He took a breath. A really deep one. And then he spoke. “You accessed Grandma’s laptop?”

Vangie made a little face of acknowledgment. “Her phone, actually.”

His heart began to race because he knew that all-too-innocent look she was giving him. It was the same wide-eyed expression he’d used to wrangle himself out of a great many things over the years. “Evangeline Mary Moyer, what on earth have you done?”

“Daddy.” She spoke with an ever-patient, exasperating, yet still adorable, air. “I’m going to find you a wife.”

Tug Moyer looked shocked.

No, make that dumbfounded, which annoyed Christa Alero even more. First he trained a child on how to make videos, then had the nerve to be surprised when she did it.

What a dolt. No matter how amazingly good-looking the guy was, with his shock of brown hair, ruddy-brown eyes and a heart-stopping, to-die-for grin, he was foolish to take such liberties with children. He was a cop. More than anyone, he should know how easy it would be for the wrong kind of person to see Evangeline’s plea, be taken with the child and then do something stupid or dangerous. Wasn’t the world already perilous enough for children?

She should know. She’d grown up in the thick of it.

She choked the negativity down. She’d dealt with her past years before. She might not be able to change what had happened, but she could smooth the road she’d chosen. She’d become a teacher to influence the future and that meant everything.

“My office. Now.” The principal didn’t mince words. She stepped back and waved one hand. “After you.”

Deputy Moyer and his really cute daughter went on ahead.

Christa fell in step with the principal. Halfway down the hall, she glanced to her left.

A tiny smile softened the principal’s features, as if she thought either the incident or the pair in front of them were amusing. Or worse, endearing. Clearly she liked the guy.

I’m going to find you a wife.

Evangeline’s words and her winning smile weren’t lost on Christa. Appealing, yes. But dangerous when paired with the social-media frenzy.

Christa took a seat on the far left, facing the principal. The deputy took the seat in the middle. Evangeline sat to his right.

Was he protecting the girl by opting for the middle seat? Or was he trying to intimidate Christa?

Or he could just be sitting… Like a normal person.

The mental scolding was right. Being raised in a gang-infested California city where too many cops looked the other way tended to ignite her suspicions. She took a breath and quietly folded her hands in her lap. The principal would handle this. That took the onus off Christa and helped ensure an ongoing good relationship with the child.

Mrs. Menendez took her seat. “Tug, you know this is serious.”

Tug?

Christa bit back words of recrimination because calling the guy by a nickname leveled the playing field too quickly. He should have to suffer more, shouldn’t he?

“It is gravely serious,” he replied. He aimed a ridiculously handsome look at his daughter and she wriggled under the scrutiny. “Vangie, you know better than this. It’s dangerous for kids to be on the internet. You took a big chance that bad people might see you or your brother. Most people are going to think your post is cute. That’s why it’s been shared…” He swept a look at his phone. His eyes went wide and it was impossible to miss the gorgeous tones of cinnamon brown. “Nearly three million times now.”

“We have local TV stations and national news networks calling for interviews,” the principal told him. “I’m sure you’ll find similar circumstances at home.”

“National news?” His voice cracked. Just a little. She hadn’t thought his gorgeous eyes could go wider. Wrong.

Mrs. Menendez pressed her lips together and nodded.

“I thought just some nice people around here would see it,” Vangie piped up. “You never get a chance to go out with ladies, Dad. You’re always helping other people or saving lives, and how are you ever going to find a wife if you never look? Especially if you get to be the new sheriff. So I thought this would help.”

Christa almost choked.

The child was delightfully smart and utterly sincere.

“Vangie, I know you meant well, but this isn’t how it’s done, honey.”

Evangeline almost bounced in her seat as she argued her point. “It is, Dad! Maybe that’s the problem because it’s exactly how they do it now. There are so many people on social media and they love stories like this. I heard Grandma and Nurse Mortie talking about it. She said people absolutely eat this stuff up.”

The principal choked back a laugh and even Christa had to fight a smile because the girl’s sincerity was spot-on.

“Eavesdropping on grown-up conversations, then taking that information and deliberately disobeying our rules isn’t something I take lightly, Evangeline.” He was firm. Strong. Direct. And the uniform added an extra measure of power to drive his points home.

The girl gulped.

The deputy turned and made eye contact with the adults. “Ms. Alero and Mrs. Menendez, I apologize for today’s disruption. With the soaring numbers of this post, I can’t promise it won’t stay a nuisance for a while. If you’d like me to keep Evangeline home, I can do that. She can stay with my mother while I work.”

“And miss school?” Evangeline’s eyes went wide. She turned to the principal quickly. “We can’t do that. You know how much I love school, Mrs. M.!”

Another nickname, which meant the rules of school decorum might not be very rigid in Golden Grove.

“And we all appreciate your enthusiasm and scholarly efforts, Vangie, but the school isn’t equipped to handle prying people or—”

The school secretary buzzed in right then. “Mrs. Menendez, I’m sorry to interrupt, but we have a developing situation. Reporters are clogging the bus loop. The buses can’t pull in to pick up the students. There are sheriff’s deputies arriving to help straighten things out, but I thought you should be aware.”

Reporters. Law-enforcement response en masse. All for a little girl who should have been watched more carefully.

The injustice of it rose up to choke Christa.

She knew the inequalities of police response. She’d seen it firsthand. Little help came her way back in Sinclair, California, but up here in small-town Washington State, a cute kid makes a heart-wrenching video and cops come out of the woodwork to keep her safe and sound.

The disparity triggered too many old hurts. Where was all this help when a teenage girl found herself in desperate situations thirteen years ago?

Fortunately, Evangeline was a pleasure to have in class, and Christa would only have to see the clueless father a few times over the course of the year. She could handle that. She stood. “I’ve got to get back to my class for dismissal. If the buses can safely access the children, that is.”

The deputy rose out of his chair, too.

He didn’t loom, although he could have because he was a good six inches taller than she was. He turned her way. “Ms. Alero, I’m sorry our first meeting was like this. Evangeline is normally—” he slanted a gaze at his daughter “—well behaved. And a hard worker. You can be sure I’ll follow through with this at home.”

She appreciated the sincere promise. She nodded quickly. “Thank you, Deputy Moyer.”

She started to turn but had to stop when a shorter, older man in uniform strode into the room. He stood inside, crossed his arms and held the taller cop’s gaze. “This is a debacle and just a few months before my retirement, Tug. I was hoping for a quiet fall, but I guess not.”

The deputy’s boss?

She spotted the name tag that read Sheriff Wainwright and she almost felt sorry for Evangeline’s father.

“It is, sir. We’ll see that it gets fixed.” That was the deputy’s response, but he didn’t seem all that concerned.

“We’ve got the bus loop handled,” the sheriff continued, “but with the outpouring of media and the growing unrest in the middle school, the school council and I have made a decision.”

The deputy kept his face flat as he asked, “A decision?”

“Tug, you’re great with kids,” said the sheriff. “You’re one of the best officers we’ve got, and you know I have to pull you off patrol after today’s incident. One of us needs to follow protocol. In this case, it’s me.”

The deputy acknowledged that with a twitch of his mouth, and Christa did not want to think how engaging that particular move was. Not following the rules made him a rule breaker, too, she realized. Clearly the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.

“We’re reassigning you to the school district temporarily. You’ll be the Golden Grove resource officer for a while. That way we’ve addressed security issues at the school, and the rise in gang affiliation with the kids in a few of the rougher areas.”

“Dad!” Evangeline grabbed hold of his hand. “Does that mean you’ll work right here? With me and Nathan? Won’t that be so absolutely perfect?”

Christa’s emotions rose all over again. She couldn’t believe that the county was naming a resource officer to the schools because a cute kid posted a video.

The lack of equitability sent a slow burn up her back.

They’d had a few guards at Sinclair City High, and each one of them had turned their back on a whole lot of stuff that went down in those halls. Stuff that had changed her life.

She took a step toward the door. “Excuse me.”

The sheriff smiled at her and stepped aside, but then he offered his hand. “You’re new here, aren’t you? Welcome to Golden Grove, Ms. Alero. Mrs. Menendez shared your credentials with the board and we worried that a bigger district might win the day, so we were very happy when you chose us.”

She accepted the kind gesture. “Thank you, Sheriff. My aunt lives somewhere in this area, and she loved the location. I haven’t had time to connect with her yet, but it will be nice to become reacquainted. We haven’t seen each other in over fifteen years.”

“Family’s a good thing.”

She hoped so.

Her mother had kicked her aunt out of the house when Christa was twelve. They’d emigrated from Guatemala before Christa was born. Her mother had come to America to give her three-year-old sister and her unborn child a chance at a new life. She’d sacrificed so much to offer a clear, clean future, but neither she nor her aunt had respected that as a teen.

Christa was sorry for that now. It was too late to make it up to her late mother, but maybe she and Marta could make a difference together. She eased out the door and started toward her classroom.

“Ms. Alero.”

That voice. Kind, yet commanding.

She’d seen the election posters that had popped up around town the past few days. Now she could put a face to the Tug Moyer for Sheriff signs dotting many front lawns.

Evangeline’s good-looking father wasn’t only a local deputy. He was running for county sheriff, and that position could make him privy to all kinds of information. Like why she had a juvenile record back in California.

She turned and looked at him.

He met her gaze with such a sincere expression that her heart almost melted, but not quite. “Yes?”

He fell into step beside her, as if he cared that she was needed in her classroom and didn’t want to hold her up. “I truly am sorry about this. Impressed, too.” He slanted her a grin and she had to work hard to ignore the way her heart jumped again. “Vangie’s a quick learner, and I’m her project-of-the-day, it seems.”

The fairly laid-back assessment tweaked her. “Project-of-the-day?”

“In her quest for total world domination, my daughter is pretty sure she can fix things if people would simply listen to her.”

His frank words drew her smile. “A lady boss.”

The title deepened the laugh lines around his eyes. “Exactly. And it will be fine with me when she moves on from the current quest because I’m pretty much a lost cause in the romance department.”

She was about to do a mental eye roll because that was about the cheesiest line she’d ever heard, and she’d heard her share over the last few years…

But then he went on.

“We lost her mom three years ago.”

The revelation sparked her sympathy. “I’m so sorry.”

He acknowledged her words with a look of appreciation. “Thank you. I won’t pretend it’s been easy, but other than the current debacle,” he added frankly as they neared her door, “we’re doing all right on our own. And while I hate to disappoint my resident matchmaker, that’s how it’s going to stay. I’ve got enough on my plate. As you can plainly see.”

They’d reached her classroom.

She paused.

So did he.

And when she looked up and met his gaze, she read the sorrow and sincerity there, and that expression was enough to make her wish he’d give romance a second chance.

Chapter Two

Tug’s mother had texted him that their house was surrounded by reporters from all over the Pacific Northwest. He could either face them now or face them tomorrow when his work was done and he’d had time to sleep. The thought of saying something stupid that might cost him the election made the decision for him.

Tomorrow won.

He drove toward the O’Laughlins’ apple farm, then pulled into what used to be Libby Creighton’s driveway. Libby had gotten married last year, and the hands-on exhibit farm was already knee-deep in early-September apples, but no one would expect the Moyers to be staying in the vacant bungalow-style home. The press had staked themselves outside his house and his parents’ place. His parents had sold their farm to a major fruit conglomerate after his dad’s heart attack, but their former orchard abutted the O’Laughlins’. Once a neighbor in Central Washington, always a neighbor. It was a good place to hide in plain sight. He was glad his mother had thought to call Libby and arrange things so they could avoid the onslaught of sudden interest in his private life.

His aunt Grace was waiting at the side door. “I know you’ve got things to do,” she told him as the kids hopped out of the unmarked car he’d borrowed from the station. “I’ll watch these guys tonight. We’ve got folks going in and out of your parents’ house to keep the press occupied.”

“Decoys? Mom’s idea, I expect.”

“Always looking out for folks,” Grace told him with a laugh. “Two morning shows are already requesting interviews. And I expect there will be plenty more.”

That brought his chin up after kissing the kids goodbye. “Interviews?”

“I forgot.” She waved her hands as she talked, totally animated 24/7. “You’re never around to see the morning news. They love anything nice that goes viral. It might be something to think about. It could be a great shout-out for your teen ministry. That’s if we don’t kill Vangie first,” she added cheerfully as the eight-year-old hurried by her. “That would change the story, I expect.”

“Auntie…” Vangie tipped the sweetest of smiles up to her aunt. “Really?”

“Oh, we’ll let you live, darling, but only because you are a delightful package of beauty, brains and tenacity, and I happen to like all three,” Grace assured her. “I’ll leave the scolding to others because I loved that video, Evangeline. I may have shared it a few times myself.”

“Aunt Grace.” Tug frowned purposely, but had to bite back a grin.

“Go on in, you two,” Grace directed the kids. “I’ll be right there. I made mac and cheese for supper,” she continued once the kids were out of earshot. “I’m keeping them inside tonight even though it’s nice out. Just so no one happens to see Evangeline and notifies the press. Libby’s at the old barn up the road and she said we can use the house as long as we need to.” Libby and her husband, Jax McClaren, had turned her family farm into an old-fashioned hands-on facility over the past year. In the middle of huge commercial fruit farms and orchards, O’Laughlin Farms offered folks a chance to step back into simpler times.

“I’m grateful.” Things would die down eventually. They always did, but the outpouring of affection for Vangie’s plea was astronomical. Now he needed to keep everyone safe—including his own children—while reporters and strangers milled around their small town. And while he considered both sides of his new school assignment. “I’m going to the station house to take care of some paperwork. I’ll be back soon.”

“I’ve got this,” Aunt Grace said.

He knew she did. He was blessed with great family. His wife Hadley’s parents had relocated to Arizona before she’d passed away, but his whole family loved being part of the kids’ lives. It meant a lot to him to have his children surrounded by so much love.

Tug called Jubilee Samson’s number as he drove to the station, then asked about the boys when the social worker answered. “It’s Tug Moyer, Jubilee. How are the little guys doing?”

“Well enough,” she replied. “The hospital is releasing them to an emergency foster-care placement for overnight and I’m searching for family. Jeremy’s hanging in there, but little Jonah is beside himself. He just keeps crying for his mama and no one seems to know where she is.”

That could mean several things. If the kids were the children of an undocumented immigrant, the paper trail thinned quickly. And finding them with an addict who had a long rap sheet wasn’t normal. No one would intentionally leave their children with someone like that. Given the circumstances, he’d be surprised if their mother turned up happy and whole anywhere, and that thought made him sad. “Was the guy with the gun their father?”

“No,” she replied. “And no trace of the mother. He didn’t make it, by the way.”

Tug sighed. He loved his job, but he didn’t love that kind of outcome. Losing someone to anger or depression or desperation never sat right, even when the guy had a fairly lengthy criminal record.

“But you and Renzo got the boys out before the guy turned the gun,” she continued.

Renzo Calloway was his partner and best friend. Long before they’d become deputy sheriffs, they’d been joined in friendship as both sets of their parents reached out to foster kids throughout the county. Tug’s parents paused their fostering efforts when his father developed a heart problem, but Renzo’s mother had taken on orphaned triplets a few years before. Vangie and Nathan thought the identical girls were an oddity at first. But now they were just three kids who happened to look alike.

“You saved the boys’ lives,” Jubilee added. “You did good, Tug.”

Something to thank God for, right there. It broke his heart to have little children involved in death and disaster. Children were so special. So dear. Each one a gift from God. “I wish we could save everyone, Jubilee.”

“That poor soul had a long history with the Quincy police, according to what I’ve seen. He’s been on the down side of life and the high side of drugs for a long time. How he ended up in that house with those little ones is anyone’s guess. I’m hoping this was an aberration and that their mother shows up healthy and whole.”

Would a mother who loved her children leave them in that situation? Tug couldn’t imagine it, but that was a topic for another day. “Keep me posted, okay? I want to make sure they’re safe and sound and together.” Recently it had been difficult to find families willing to take multiple kids for foster-care placement. The Calloways and the Moyers had always been exceptions to that rule. If these little fellows were brothers, he didn’t want to see them separated.

He filled out the required forms at the station house as he considered appropriate forms of punishment for Evangeline. Except…

Her little ruse amazed him. Yes, she’d created a spectacle. He knew she didn’t comprehend the far-reaching effects of social media. She saw the thousands of likes and shares on his posts, but a girl her age couldn’t comprehend these out-of-the-stratosphere numbers on his social-media account. He’d never had one of his videos snowball like this.

For a kid her age to have that much gumption and initiative was mind-boggling. It was wrong, yes. But how many eight-year-olds could execute a plan like that in the thirty minutes she and her brother were at their grandparents’ house this morning?

The kid showed promise. It was kind of a shame to clip her wings, but he was the parent. Therefore, that fell into his wheelhouse.

Aunt Grace called a few minutes later. “I promised the monsters they could say good-night to you.”

He laughed. So did they. Nathan burbled with joy, such a happy child. And Vangie had already moved on to something else after watching a nature show about the effects of plastic on sea waters. She’d worked on fixing his marital status that morning. Now she was ready to protect the world’s oceans. All in a day’s work, it seemed.

He loved them. He loved them so much that he couldn’t imagine life without them. Hadley had left them far too soon. She’d lost out on years of hugs and kisses, so when he did those things, he did them for two. Every embrace and cherished moment wasn’t just for him, but for their mama in Heaven. A woman who was too busy to take care of herself because he was too busy being cop-of-the-year.

He tamped down the guilt that threatened to overflow from deep inside him.

Tomorrow he’d check on the boys again. Make sure they were all right. When he’d plowed through the pile of paperwork related to their case, he grabbed a burger at a drive-through in Quincy, ate it on his way home and pulled into the small parking area outside the O’Laughlin farmhouse.

He hadn’t been followed. He’d checked deliberately. If he could get a good night’s sleep, he’d tackle reporters in the morning. He hugged his aunt, sent her on her way and slept on the comfy sofa in the living room. He’d don his superhero uniform first thing in the morning, but for tonight…

Tonight he slept.

Christa steered her car around the throngs of reporters lining the street and eased into a space in the teacher’s parking area. Deputies had moved the reporters off school grounds, so it wasn’t quite the fiasco they’d faced yesterday. She was grateful for that. As she stepped out of the car and took a deep breath of fresh, clean country air, she realized there was a whole list of things to thank God for up here.

Central Washington wasn’t like any other place she’d known. While she’d never lived in a small town, she was pretty sure she’d fallen in love the first day she got here, and that was an amazing feeling. Once she settled in, she’d make a concerted effort to find her aunt Marta. The Quincy address Marta had sent years ago had been a dead end, and there hadn’t been time to delve further while starting her new job and setting up her classroom, but she’d give it a try this weekend. If Marta still lived here, Christa wanted the chance to get to know her, without all the drama that had surrounded them as youngsters. Was it silly to long for a nice, normal American family existence, like the ones she saw on TV?

She hoped not.

She slung her heavy canvas teaching bag over her head and shoulder, then lifted the science box from her back seat as an SUV backed in next to her. She had no free hands, so she hip-checked the door to close it, then moved forward.

Her neck jerked back.

The full book bag slid backward, weighing her down. When she tried to loosen the weight on her throat by taking her right hand off the heavy box, the box tipped precariously.

She tried pulling at the strap to ease the strain.

That maneuver only tightened the noose around her neck, and she couldn’t bend low enough to set the science box down. Dropping it was out of the question. She’d spent nearly two-hundred-and-fifty dollars on those microscopes and lenses. They wouldn’t survive the fall to the asphalt. But she was trapped by the closed, locked door that had caught her strap, with no way to get her key fob to unlock it unless she dropped the box.

“Oh, this isn’t good.”

That voice again, a ripe blend of amusement and chagrin.

“Hang on, Ms. Alero. Let me take the box. Vangie, hold your brother’s hand and go straight into the school.”

“Okay, Daddy.”

Tug didn’t just lift the box from her hands. He realized instantly that the strap was choking her and he slid one big, strong hand beneath the tightly woven canvas strap and pulled it toward him to release the strain on her throat while he grabbed the science box with his left hand. Spiced aftershave made her long to draw closer. Breathe deeper. But the current predicament made both impossible, which was probably a good thing. He gripped and pulled the canvas strap a little farther. “Can you duck under?”

She couldn’t find her voice to say yes. She nodded and slipped beneath the strap. Then she grabbed her key from her pocket and hit the unlock button on the fob. A pain shot through her chest when she tried to draw a breath.

That surprised her, but when she realized how short the free end of the strap was, she understood why she’d been gasping for air. She jerked the door open.

The snagged strap fell free. She closed the door again, hit the lock button and turned.

Whoa.

He was watching her with worried eyes. Eyes that went straight to the heart and maybe even the soul. Eyes that drew her even more than the spiced autumn scent surrounding her.

“That was a close call, ma’am.” Concern deepened his gaze further. “If I was setting up an accidental death scene, I would never have thought about this particular combination.”

The ma’am was cute. Colloquial. Like old-time Mayberry stuff. It would be so easy to flirt with him. See how much of that charisma was genuine. But she hadn’t come to town with the goal of ruining someone’s political career, and new sheriffs and old felons weren’t a good mix, and he’d already made his lack of options known. End of story.

“You could have dropped the box.” He raised the container slightly. “Things are replaceable. You aren’t.”

“Too much invested in that box,” she replied as she pulled the bag back up. She didn’t feed the strap over her head this time. Over her shoulder would be good enough. Her voice rasped slightly when she spoke. The sound made him frown.

“That strangle did a number on you. You should go to the nurse,” he advised. He fell into step beside her, and even though the entire crowd of reporters was shouting his name and pressing against the police tape that someone had erected to keep them off school property, he kept his gaze on her and still managed to get the door open with his free hand without glancing away. “What if it did internal damage or something?”

“I’m fine.” She took a deep cleansing breath and the next words came easier. “Just a little shaken that something like that could happen. I would have never imagined it. Thank you, Deputy.”

“Tug,” he told her. “Just doing my job.” He brushed it off as if he went around saving people from rogue bag straps on a regular basis. He winked and smiled, which only managed to send her thoughts straight back to the flirting that couldn’t possibly happen, while he saluted Mrs. Harrington at the main entrance desk. “Good morning, Miss Ivy.”

The elderly woman hurried around the curved desk and threw her arms around him. “Tug, I’m thrilled that you’re going to be working here! There’s a group over at the middle school that bears watching. They’ve been trying to mess with some of our fifth and sixth graders, and not much has been done.”

“Mrs. Menendez told me about the gang symbols in the boys’ bathrooms,” he replied. “I’ll keep my eye on things. We’ll figure out what’s going on and see what we can do to stop it.”

“Riffraff from the coast, that’s what’s going on,” complained the old woman. “Bringing drugs to small towns. It’s not right, Tug. It’s just not right.”

Christa didn’t stick around to hear his reply, because she was some of that coastal riffraff. It wasn’t wrong for a town to protect itself, but was this a common assumption here? That everyone who came from a troubled past was suspect?

She’d broken free with the help and inspiration of some wonderful teachers. Now she wanted to do the same for others. This section of Central Washington had a more diverse population than the state as a whole. Here she could begin anew and inspire children. That was her goal.

Broad footsteps followed her down the hall. She didn’t have to turn to know who was approaching. When she turned into her classroom, Evangeline’s eyes lit up. “Daddy!”

He came in behind Christa, set the science box down, then hugged his daughter. “You be good, smart and respectful because right now I have to go outside and face those reporters, young lady.”

She peeked up at him, guilty.

“And then I’ll be here on school grounds for the foreseeable future. Here’s my cell number.” He raised his gaze to include Christa as he handed her a slip of paper. “Just in case.”

The hot cop’s cell number.

The born romantic in her loved the notion.

The pragmatic woman with a record knew better.

But when he touched his daughter’s head and said, “I love you, Vangie. You are the very best of your mama and me put together, and she’d be proud of your initiative,” she heard the longing in his voice.

And that touched her even more than his magnificent smile.

Chapter Three

“Here he comes!”

A female voice announced Tug’s appearance as he crossed the wide driveway leading to the school’s drop-off areas. A host of voices began hurling questions his way, and when it seemed more like mayhem than an interview, he raised his hands for quiet.

Surprisingly, most of them hushed up. “I have ten minutes,” he told them. “Let’s not waste them. I’m sure you’ve all got the basics on me because it’s public record, so let’s start with you.” He motioned toward a middle-aged woman with short spiky hair.

“Two questions,” she announced briskly. “One, do you intend to let your daughter live—”

A soft chorus of laughter rolled through the group of reporters.

“And two, why would a sheriff train a child on how to use a dangerous instrument like the internet?”

“She’s alive and well thus far,” he replied and didn’t soften the droll note to his voice. “And while I didn’t train her, I did teach her how to shoot videos to send to her grandparents who live out of town. That way they stay in touch with her visually. The ease of social media did the rest because my mother had my vlogging app on her phone.”

“For your teen-empowerment videos?”

“Correct.”

“Are you searching for a wife, Deputy?”

That came from a man a little farther back, and the entire group seemed to wait for his reply. He gave them a rueful grin as he scrubbed a hand to the back of his neck. “I’m not.”

“And yet we have a list of women who would love to meet you,” stated a local reporter. She raised a sheet of paper in her free hand. He recognized her from the midday news that was often on in the station-house break room.

“Please tell me you’re kidding.”

She made a face at him. “Not kidding. And some of the comments have gone viral, as well. You’ve become a meme.”

He’d thought this couldn’t get worse.

It just had.

“There are worse things I could be, I suppose. But I had not figured on being a meme, so that’s something new.”

“Deputy,” a middle-aged man he didn’t recognize called out from the back of the group. “There is speculation that you put her up to this to garner more local votes in the November election. Is there a grain of truth in that? The timing does make it suspicious.”

The hairs along the back of Tug’s neck stood up.

No one who knew him, or Evangeline, would think that, but Ross Converse, the other candidate for sheriff, liked to throw shade. Ross was fairly new to the Columbia Plateau area. He’d been a police chief near Seattle, then moved inland three years ago. He quickly became known for his I-know-best summations at local governmental meetings and didn’t seem to understand that Central Washington folks didn’t always appreciate being told what to do by outsiders. He’d stirred up a lot of negative discussion lately, and now he was running for sheriff. It didn’t make a lot of sense to Tug, but he met the reporter’s gaze and shrugged. “A man can’t control what folks might say, but I’m going to let my record as a deputy sheriff and unit commander speak for itself. I know a lot of these voters. They’re smart people and I’d never insult their intelligence by rigging an attention-grabbing scheme.”

“Deputy, we’d love to have you on WPAB,” cut in another woman. “I know you’ve gotten lots of interview requests, but it would be wonderful to have the local stations get the scoop.”

“I’m a scoop?” He flashed a grin. “I’m taking all requests seriously, but right now I have a job that I take even more seriously, and as you can see—” he motioned toward the school as a chorus of village church bells announced the eight o’clock hour “—my workday has begun. Thank you all.”

He ignored the clamor of voices that followed. He could reconvene with them later, but right now, he needed to meet with the principals and design a game plan that kept him in proximity to all three schools despite the spacious layout that left room for high-school athletic fields.

He wanted the administrators’ trust and to trust them in return, but by the end of the day he realized that the junior-high principal was too busy trying to be the kids’ friend to be an effective leader. Was the middle school’s spike in problem behaviors and lack of proficiency due to her ineptitude? Or because there was a bad crop of kids in the current seventh-and eighth-grade classes?

He let himself into the east wing of the elementary school for a quick meeting with Mrs. Menendez as the buses pulled out that afternoon. The first thing he heard was a grief-stricken child. The little one was sobbing as if his or her little heart would break, and Tug hurried in that direction.

Jubilee Samson came around the corner right then. She had one little boy in her arms. He was the one crying, his sweet face buried against her shoulder.

The other boy spotted Tug and recognized him from their interaction the previous day. “Hey!” he yelled. He jerked free of Jubilee’s hand and raced toward Tug. “Hey, you! Hey!”

He didn’t just grab Tug. He leaped into his arms as if searching for safety or salvation or something the least bit familiar. “You’re the copper guy. You’re the copper guy!”

“Deputy,” he told the boy as he hugged him. “From yesterday, right?”

“I remember. I remember!”

And even though the standoff ended well for the boys, Tug hoped the memory would fade in time. He held the boy and met Jubilee’s gaze over his head. “What’s up? Do we have news?”

Her grave expression shared silent consternation. “I’ve come to see Ms. Alero. She teaches third grade here.”

“Evangeline’s teacher.” He said the words as Christa came their way from the bus loop. He motioned her over. “This is Ms. Alero, Jubilee.”

The social worker turned. Then she turned back toward Tug. “Tug, I’m sure you’re busy, but can you watch the boys for a few minutes while I speak to Ms. Alero?”

“Sure.” He took the crying boy from her, then crossed the hall and opened the door to a kindergarten room. “Fellas. Let’s see what they’ve got in here.”

The littlest boy’s distress broke the deputy’s heart. Tug was a fixer. A negotiator. A guardian. Right now, all of his skills came to the surface. He guided the older boy into the room and quietly shut the door.

Normal little fellows would have scrambled around the room, checking things out.

Not these two.

The littlest one clung to him with his tousled head burrowed into Tug’s shoulder. The older boy—Jeremy—took a seat on a little chair and folded his hands. Eyes down, he sat there, alone and despondent, as if nothing could ever be right again.

Tug took a breath.

He didn’t have the words to fix whatever disaster had impacted these two little lives, but he had a few skill sets that had sat untapped once Nathan and Vangie went to school.

Without releasing his grip on little Jonah, he began singing a popular kids’ song. When the boys’ tears turned to watery smiles, he breathed a little sigh of relief.

Marta gone?

And the guy who’d held those two precious children hostage yesterday, two boys who were her baby cousins, was Marta’s newest boyfriend and drug supplier, according to the social worker. And he was gone, too.

Christa sank into her chair in disbelief.

The social worker dragged up a folding chair by the reading circle and set it down beside her. “I’m sorry I had to be the one to tell you. The police chief in Quincy offered to deliver the news, but our office was already involved because of the boys. Ms. Alero…” The middle-aged woman sighed softly. “I’m so dreadfully sorry. Were you and your aunt close?”

Christa shook her head. It took a long moment for her to find her words because of the torrent of emotions swirling within her.

Marta had been so funny, so pretty. They’d been girls together, before Marta took up with one of the leaders of the Santiago gang in Sinclair. There’d only been three years between them, which meant Marta would have been thirty now.

If she’d lived.

The disbelief rose up again. “Are you sure you have the right person? That it is my aunt Marta? And that these children are hers?”

The woman’s expression deepened. She nodded and gripped her hands together as if in prayer. At this moment, Christa would welcome the prayers and all the help she could get, because how does a person handle grief upon grief?

One step at a time…

She’d learned that the hard way, but what if one got tired of stepping?

“We are certain.” The social worker leaned forward. “And it was by the grace of God we found you so quickly. His grace and the internet because her name was linked to yours. And to a Margaretta Alero, in California. Imagine my surprise when I plugged your name into the system and realized you’d just moved here. The Lord works in mysterious ways,” she finished softly. Then she noted the small cross hanging on the thin chain around Christa’s neck. “You probably already know that.”

Did she?

Some days. But during the dark times when she’d railed against her mother, when she’d run amok in anger, when she blamed her mother for Marta’s departure, it wasn’t God’s ways she followed. He didn’t deal in ways of darkness and deceit. How she wished she’d known that back then.

“I know this is a shock, but state law says that family placement takes precedence over foster care for bereft children, and I wanted to see how you felt about that.”

The boys.

She’d spotted them in the hallway. One safe in the clutches of the deputy’s arms, and one looking so very lost and alone. “They’ll need a home.”

“Yes. But don’t feel that you have to take on more than you’re capable of, Ms. Alero. We can find temporary placement for them, if need be.”

Shuffled off to strangers, like so many of the kids she’d grown up with. Surrounded by whomever, and good or bad, it wouldn’t be family. It wouldn’t be the people who should love them best. “I only have a little studio apartment. Not nearly enough room…”

“I understand.” The woman—Jubilee—didn’t pressure her. “I’ll find a spot for them, and—”

“No.” Christa drew herself up, surprised. “No, that’s not what I meant. Not at all what I meant. They are family, these boys. Mis primos,” she went on. “My cousins. They will stay with me, of course, but the lack of space makes it hard.”

“There’s space at my parents’ place.” Tug Moyer’s voice interrupted them from behind. The social worker turned quickly.

“Tug, your parents have helped a lot of kids over the years. Would they be willing?”

“Deputy, I—”

Christa started to interject, but paused when he came forward. He hooked a thumb across the way as he pulled another chair forward. “Mrs. Menendez is with the boys now. They’re pretty shaken up.”

Who wouldn’t be? And to be such little fellows, besides?

He sat, pressed his hands together and leaned forward to get her attention. He got it, all right. The strength of his manner, the sincerity of his gaze said this was the kind of man you could count on.

“Ms. Alero, my parents have been foster parents for nearly two decades. They’ve got a good-sized house, and room for you and the boys to stay together until you find somewhere else to move. If nothing else, it buys you time right now. Time to wrap your head around all of this. To adjust. To grieve.”

His expression said more and she remembered his look that morning, a mix of sorrow and guilt. A look she identified with because that same expression looked back at her from the mirror, every single day.

“They’ve got plenty of space and my mom might be available to watch the boys during the day while you work. At least for the time being.”

“You can’t possibly speak for her.”

He cringed slightly, but more in amusement than angst. “You’ll understand when you meet her. She is affectionately known as Hurricane Darla and generally sweeps in like a Category Four. She’s got a heart for children. Vangie and Nathan go there every day after school. I expect they’d love to see the boys.”

What could she say?

The Lord giveth. The Lord taketh away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.

Was that how it really worked or did bad stuff just happen and humans learned to adapt or not?

She wasn’t sure, but to have so many things fall into place… That meant something, didn’t it?

She took a deep breath. Stood up. Then she stretched out a hand to Tug Moyer. “I will accept your offer on behalf of your parents. If they are half as kind as their son, then I know we’ll be in good hands until we find a bigger place.”

“I’ll let them know.”

He took her hand. Held it. And for those brief moments, she wasn’t sure where her hand began and where his left off.

Not magic, like in the movies.

But belonging. As if destiny did have a say in things. And yet she understood the levels of impossible more than most.

She’d committed a crime in California. She had a record. Sure, it was supposed to be sealed, but was it? Really? This guy, this kind, gracious and bighearted man, was running for county sheriff, and there was no way in the world she was going to let this attraction ruin his job or his life.

But when he gave her hand the gentlest squeeze of compassion, she realized something else.

It was going to be nearly impossible not to fall for him, so that meant she had her work cut out for her. Fortunately, she’d been a sci-fi fan as a youthful reader. All she needed now was a cozy home and a cloak of invisibility and she’d be all set.

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