thought they looked more disappointed than worried.
“Why don’t you go keep an eye on it,” he told the children. “I’m coming out in a minute and I’d like you to help me bring it into the house. Does anybody know where the Christmas tree stand is?”
“I do.” Soren took off, Carlos and the other children right behind him.
The moment they were out of earshot, Corie sat beside him. “We’ll take care of the tree. Why are you here, anyway?” she asked sharply.
With a quick glance around to make sure no one had lingered, he replied quietly, “I want to talk to you about the jewelry you stole from Tyree. But I’d rather do it in private.”
She made a sound of disgust and stood. To think she’d saved his life. Well, actually, he’d gotten into trouble trying to save hers. Still—same old Ben. Suspicious. Judgmental. “Yeah, well, I don’t want to talk about it at all.”
“You don’t have a choice.”
“Everyone has a choice. You know what happened. You were there.” It was such an injustice that Jack had come in search of her after all those years on the very day she’d chosen to break into Cyrus Tyree’s house and steal the jewelry that could secure the future of Teresa’s foster home.
He stood beside her, a good head taller than she was. She looked right into his face so he wouldn’t think he could intimidate her with his size.
“I was, but something seems to have changed along the way,” he said. “I put the jewelry into a priority-mail box and sent it to Tyree. But, according to the news report on national television, what was delivered was not what I sent. Mrs. Tyree held up a handful of Mardi Gras beads for the camera. Not the diamonds, emeralds and gold that you stole and that I packed up and mailed back.” He folded his arms, biceps rounded under the thin cotton of his shirt. “How’d you do that?”
She felt such dislike for him at that moment she didn’t trust herself to remain in his presence. She started to walk away but he made the mistake of stopping her again.
* * *
BEN DODGED FISTS, fingernails, even feet as he caught her to him when she rounded on him like a cornered coyote.
“What about the security footage Tyree claims to have from that night?” He grabbed a flailing fist. “I’m guessing it’s just a matter of time before someone recognizes you then—by extension—Jack and Sarah and me.” He freed her hand and turned her so that her back was against him. He asked angrily in her ear, “You want to talk about that? Your war-hero brother’s reputation ruined because he tried to help his thieving little sister? Not to mention Sarah’s reputation and mine.”
And that was how Teresa found them; Corie flailing in his arms, her legs bicycling the air a foot off the floor.
Her expression changed as she approached them, a red sweatshirt in her hand. The warm, sweet-natured woman was now the wild coyote pup’s mother.
“Put her down,” she said.
He did.
To his complete surprise Corie explained. “I started it.” She combed her fingers through her tangled hair and spared him a quick, dark glance. “We’ll put the tree in the stand, then I have to get to work and he’s going back to Oregon.”
“I’m not going back to Oregon,” he corrected.
“Don’t you have a job? Aren’t you Beggar’s Bay’s most vigilant and disagreeable cop?”
He smiled blandly at her. “I am, but I’m on leave. Built-up vacation time.”
Teresa looked from one to the other, her expression grave. “What is this about?”
Unwilling to rat out Corie, Ben said nothing.
Corie waved both hands in a gesture that suggested it was difficult to explain. “It’s nothing for you to worry about.”
Teresa clearly didn’t believe her but finally handed Ben the shirt and said wryly, “That’s good, because I’m overextended on worry at the moment. Give me your shirt, Ben, and I’ll throw it in the wash. This one was Soren’s dad’s.”
Ben yanked his shirt off. The sleeve’s hem caught on his watch and Teresa reached up to help him then winced at something on his back.
Corie, looking away from a formidable six-pack of abs, walked around him to see what had caused such a reaction. A large bruise, already livid, ran from the middle of his back at an angle across his left shoulder.
Teresa touched it gingerly. “You pulled Corie away from the trunk, but it must have glanced off you. Does it hurt?”
He flexed the shoulder and hesitated just an instant. “Not much.”
She came around him to offer help with the sweatshirt then gasped again at the still livid scar Corie hadn’t noticed since she’d been trying hard not to look at his bare chest. It was on his left shoulder, an inch long and bright red.
He pulled on the sweatshirt. “I got shot,” he said when his head reappeared. “I’m fine. The bullet hit muscle. I had surgery. No big deal.”
Still angry, Corie had to admit that it was a desecration of such a perfect torso. She remembered what it had been like to have her body covered by his under the tree. She ignored the heat flushing her cheeks and reminded herself that she hated him despite his perfect chest and shoulders.
Soren and Carlos joined them breathlessly with a rusty stand that was far too small for the tree.
“That’ll never do,” Teresa said. “Corie, do you have time to go to Wolf’s Hardware for a bigger one before you go to work?”
Happy for an excuse to leave, Corie ran out to her truck.
* * *
BEN HAD THE most willing team he’d ever worked with. The biggest problem was that most of them were under four and half feet tall and had no sense of self-preservation. Teresa and the kids each grabbed a handful of tarp and helped him pull the tree as far as the back door.
“Okay, drop it,” he ordered, turning to see that everyone had complied.
Teresa smiled. “Usually, I have to do this by myself. Of course, I buy a six-foot tree, but this is Corie. She wants this Christmas to be special.” She didn’t explain, though the strain of the eviction threat showed in her face.
He put himself into the spirit Corie and Teresa were trying to create for the children. He’d flown out from Oregon to talk to Corie, but that was going to take a little longer than he’d imagined. So, if he had to wait for her, he may as well make himself useful.
He looked for Soren and Carlos. “Can you guys help Teresa clear a path for us inside?”
As the boys were shepherded indoors, he was left with the other seven children. They came closer and stared at him. The small girl in blue-striped shirt and shorts, tiny feet in too big flip-flops, that purse still over her arm, asked, “Are you Santa?”
Two of Carlos’s brothers scorned the question. “Santa’s fat!”
“He brings presents, not trees.”
The youngest boy stuck up for her and pointed at Ben. “He wears a red shirt.”
Ah. The loaner shirt had prompted the question.
“I’m Ben,” he said. “I’m a...friend of Corie’s.” Inaccurate but a good way to explain his presence to the children.
“So are we.” The little girl smiled that they had something in common. “She said Santa’s gonna come to see us. For sure, this time.”
Another girl maybe a year older in a similar striped shirt and shorts took a step forward. “He doesn’t always come,” she said as though it were a tough truth she’d accepted. “Sometimes he doesn’t have