Chapter Two
T he town of Mistletoe was quiet at six in the morning, like a picturesque painting of a sweet, small mountain town. The sky was still dark, but Officer Wren Little’s high beams caught the flash of buildings and lampposts as she drove down Main Street, making a left onto Spruce. She rolled down her window, ignoring the sting of cold air on her skin as she pressed in the code to get into the employee parking lot of the police station. The gate sprang to life with a loud screech as it pulled across the gravel, allowing Wren to pass through. She stopped just inside, making sure it closed without anyone sneaking through. No one had tried since she arrived six weeks ago, but that didn’t mean someone wouldn’t. If spending the last sixteen years in major cities had taught her anything, it was to always be on her guard. One wrong move and—
Four rapid knocks on her window before she’d even put the cruiser in park sent her nearly jumping through the roof. Her dog, Duke, let out a low growl from the back seat, his chin resting on her left shoulder, closest to the intruder. She turned to glare out the window at the dark figure, rolling down the window again.
“B, what are you doing out here?” she grumbled.
Officer Barret Hughes ducked down, grinning at her through the open window. The twentysomething officer was friendly and engaging most days, but scaring her to death was a good way to get tased.
“Sorry, but I saw you pulling in and wanted to tell you I got coffee and donuts.” Barret reached in and rubbed Duke’s head. “I even got one for you, boy.”
Duke’s tail thumped happily against the car’s interior, and Wren rolled her eyes. The dog was a spoiled brat, but he’d been her faithful companion the last five years. She couldn’t have asked for a better partner.
“Thank you, I appreciate the update, but I could have gotten that information inside.”
“True, true.” Barret fell back, allowing her to open the door and step out. “Sorry, I know I can be a bit much sometimes.”
Wren smiled reassuringly at the younger man as she opened the back door to release Duke. The German shepherd mix hopped out of the SUV, his long tan and black fur creating tufts along his jaw and ears, which were flopped over instead of straight up. When she’d adopted Duke from a program out of Sacramento that trained shelter dogs, the other members of the Force had dubbed him Temu because he was smaller and fluffier than the Belgian Malinois the department liked to purchase. Her former chief had liked the publicity, though, and when Duke suddenly doubled in size around six months, her fellow officers stopped talking smack. Especially after putting on a training suit and getting taken down by the hundred-pound underdog.
Barret was a head taller than her and lanky like a track runner. It made him fast, but intimidating he was not. Especially when he squatted down and talked in a high-pitched baby voice to Duke. “Who’s a good dog? Huh?”
Duke sat at Wren’s side, his tail wagging frantically, but he didn’t move otherwise. He looked up at her in the parking lot lights with dark, pleading eyes, and she sighed. “Play.”
Duke bounded toward Barret, and the officer rubbed the canine all over, continuing to talk to him like he was an adorable toddler. When Duke was working, he was the best dog, but watching him relaxed and playful never failed to make her laugh.
“Alright, you two, that’s enough. I’m just a cranky mess before I’ve had my coffee. Time to work.”
Duke straightened up and returned to her side, panting with his tongue lolling out.
“Say no more,” Barret said, holding his crooked arm out to her. “Let’s go inside where I can get you caffeinated and tell you all about the happs last night.”
Wren chuckled and looped her arm with Barret’s, letting him lead her and Duke into the station. He punched in his code at the back door, holding it for them to pass through. The small station sported a front desk with no protective glass, which was so strange after working in Sacramento the last few years. There were security precautions everywhere at big-city stations, but in Mistletoe, the only secured doors were the front and side, and the gray door at the back of the room that led to the two holding cells. Desks lined either side of the room behind the door that separated the main reception area from the bullpen. The front lobby had two rows of blue chairs and a few side tables with magazines splayed across the tops. The walls had various posters about outreach programs and laws, including multiple that discouraged drunk driving, which was a massive problem in a town with nothing else to do during the long, cold months.
Compared to her time in larger cities, the most she’d had to deal with since being here were a few assault collars and a lot of drunk and disorderliness. Otherwise, Mistletoe was rather peaceful, and she was soaking it all in.
“Coffee and donuts are on the counter,” Barret said, releasing her arm. “Case files are on my desk. Had one domestic out at the Reeds’.”
“Uh-oh. What did old Lloyd do to poor Margaret?” Wren asked, her tone laced with sarcasm. She removed her coffee cup from the cardboard carrier, thinking about how quick the older woman was to throw something at her poor husband over the smallest slight.
Barret picked up the donut obviously made for Duke with dog bone sprinkles and waved it at her. “Can I?”
Wren nodded, addressing Duke, who sat patiently, but his eyes were locked on the pastry. “Eat.”
Barret gave Duke the donut, which disappeared in two bites, and wiped his hands on a napkin before answering her question. “This time Lloyd had the nerve to complain that Margaret rearranged the furniture to try something new and he didn’t like it. In return, she called him a host of names she didn’t mean and chucked a lamp at his head. Luckily, it was still plugged in and didn’t get very far. She eventually apologized to both her husband and myself, after telling me I needed to head back to the playground with the rest of the kiddies.”
“Well, isn’t that nice.” The sarcasm hung heavy and thick like fog. “I’m actually Team Margaret on this one. If anyone tried telling me how I could decorate my house, I’d do more than throw a lamp.”
Barret took a drink of his coffee, head cocked slightly to the side. “If two people live together and are partners, shouldn’t they both get a say?”
Wren pointed her finger at Barret smugly. “And that’s why I don’t have a romantic partner. I like things my way.”
“Well,” Barret said, flashing her a sheepish grin that made her instantly suspicious, “if you change your mind on that front, I’ve had several inquiries about you.”
Wren choked on the hunk of maple bar she’d just bitten off. “From who?”
“Guys at the gym. Kiss My Donut. Clive Ewan asked for you instead of me when I picked him up from the Wolf’s Den last night. Apparently, you’re prettier.” Barret turned toward the glass window with his hand on his chin, studying his reflection. “I don’t see it.”
She snorted. Barret’s delicate features, slim nose, and full lips were part of his youthful face, whereas Wren had started up a skin care regimen when she turned thirty just to keep her skin from turning to leather like her dad’s had. Wren had no idea what her mom looked like now. Her dad put away all the pictures of her when she left, and Wren didn’t care enough to look her up on social media.
Wren’s jaw tightened. She didn’t like thinking about her mother, so her thoughts circled back to Barret’s offer to set her up. Dating and relationships were the last thing on her mind, but unfortunately, the one thing she wanted did require the participation of a man. Nothing like getting shot to make you start questioning your whole life’s purpose and thinking about your biological clock.
Since her return to Mistletoe, men hadn’t been shy about asking her out, but they were barking up the wrong tree. Love was a trap that destroyed lives, and there was no way she was falling into it again.
“I wouldn’t trust Clive Ewan’s beer goggles,” Wren teased. “I think you’re gorgeous.”
“Well, thank you very much.” He pursed his lips, moving his face back and forth like a male model. “Also, on the plus side, I didn’t get punched in the face, so that is a win in my book.”
“Ah, ‘The Book of Fun Facts and Opinions According to Barret’!” Wren put the last of the maple bar in her mouth and clapped.
“Hey now, don’t mock ‘The book of Barret.’ It’s full of fun factoids, like how the chief comes in early to talk about what to expect during the holidays.”
That made sense. Although Wren had been a decorated officer since she was twenty-one, this was her first year serving the Mistletoe community, and while she didn’t expect massive drug busts and murders, it was always good to be prepared. Especially with the holiday festivities and how many tourists came through.
Barret had been a part of Mistletoe’s finest for three years, and while there were five other veteran officers on staff, Barret and the chief were the only ones she cared to know. One of the guys had been her older brother’s friend since high school, and he was a bigger tool now than he had been then.
The back door opened, and Chief Monroe stepped through the doors, looking sharp in his uniform, his close-cropped gray hair standing out against his dark skin. He was a big man, well over six feet, and had lived his whole life in Mistletoe. His dad had been a prominent figure in the community, a member of the school board, and the chief spoke about the man with reverence.
Wren wasn’t one to sing the praises of anyone, least of all her dad, who had been a county sheriff. God love the man, but he was a hardheaded son of a bitch, and Wren had no plans to be anything like him.
Especially when she had a child of her own.
“Good morning. Are we ready for another fine day protecting and serving?” Chief greeted Duke with a pat on the head. Duke leaned into the affection so hard he almost fell over.
Wren shot the chief a wry smile. “Yes, sir.”
“Ah, Wren, how you’ve grown,” Chief said, his dark eyes twinkling. “Six weeks ago, you would have looked at me with disgust for my cheery demeanor.”
“Only because I am not a morning person, sir, and prefer to be sleeping when the hideous light of the day star is upon us.”
“Only it’s not out yet.” The chief picked up the lemon-filled glazed from the box and smirked. “And when she does come out, I’m not sure how much sun we’ll have today. Weatherman called for snow.”
Barret laughed. “When are these guys going to learn that Idaho does what she wants and there is no guessing what’s going to happen on any given day until you look up at the sky and say, ‘Hey, it’s snowing.’”
Wren waved what remained of her second donut between the two of them. “Are we really gonna stand around and bullshit about the weather?”
“No, we are not.” Chief turned to Barret. “How were patrols last night?”
“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” Barret said.
Chief shook his head. “Barret, you don’t have to prove you have the mettle to do this job. I’ve seen it. I just want to know how it went.”
“It went fine.”
Chief nodded, turning his attention to Wren. “And you? Still pissed at me for pulling you off nights?”
“Absolutely not. That would be unprofessional.”
He patted her shoulder. “I appreciate it, and I’m sure Johnson does, too. Being a new dad is hard enough, but also being on opposite schedules from your wife?” Chief shook his head. “I was lucky that we could afford for my wife to stay home with our kids and then go back to teaching when they were in school.”
Wren’s chest squeezed a bit. Over the last year, a slow, burning need had been brewing inside her, which became excruciating every time someone brought up kids. Having a family had always lingered at the back of her mind, but after growing up in her father’s home with three older brothers and then working in a male-dominated field, she’d given up on dating a long time ago. Sex, absolutely not, but trying to make a relationship work? Men either grew to resent her long hours or were initially turned on by what she did, then looked for ways to challenge her at home, like they were in some kind of dominance struggle.
If she wanted to have kids, Wren knew she’d have to get started soon, but after she’d watched that documentary about the man who’d fathered a thousand kids, artificial insemination was off the table, at least from a donor who was a stranger. The last thing she wanted was her child to accidentally date their sibling when they reached maturity and end up on some weird TLC show.
She’d posted a profile on a local dating site, marking the “casual” box, and her inbox had been flooded with responses from eager men. She’d looked through their profiles and set up a few informal dates with some who looked promising, but she needed a nondisclosure agreement signed before she discussed what she was looking for so that rumors wouldn’t fly. The last thing she wanted was for information to get back to her dad. No need to have that fight with him until there was something to fight about.
It was crazy to think that she was a grown woman of thirty-five, still worried about what her dad would think. She knew he’d be against her being a single parent. Maybe not to the degree when she’d been sixteen, but he had old-fashioned ideas about how people should live their lives. People went to college or trade schools, built up their career, then got married, and, finally, had kids.
It was funny to think she was so desperate to start a family now, but if life had taken a different route when she was sixteen, Wren would have a nineteen-year-old kid right now.
She sighed heavily. Some things just weren’t meant to be, and God had been looking out for her. Wren had obviously dodged a bullet by not running off with Sam Griffin when she was a teenager. From the way the women of Mistletoe had roasted him last night on the radio, he’d turned into a philandering dog in his middle years.
Of course, she couldn’t blame them for falling for his charms. Although she hadn’t spoken to him since coming back to town, Wren had seen him around, and damn if he hadn’t aged like fine wine. His blond hair swept back off his face, which was all high cheekbones and angles. Combined with a leather jacket, white T-shirt, and loose bootcut jeans, he was pure sex walking. In high school, he’d been less lean and his face was softer, but that was a long time ago. People changed.
“Wren?” Barret asked, dragging her out of her head.
“Sorry!” Wren gave him a thumbs-up, even though she had no idea what they’d been talking about. “We’re good.”
“Alright, over the next few weeks we’re going to rotate shifts patrolling events. I’ll have a schedule uploaded Friday.” The chief grabbed one more donut and said, “As for today, Wren is going to start in town and work her way outward, Barret is going home, and when the rest of the guys trickle in, I will give them their assignments.” Chief picked up his coffee and held it in a salute. “You two have a nice day now.”
“You, too, sir,” they said in unison.
Once the chief shut the door to his office, Barret grinned at Wren. “Want me to bring dinner at shift change?”
“Sure. But I’m buying since you provided the hearty breakfast.”
“Oh, you are on! Food always tastes better when I don’t pay.”
Wren hip checked him as they headed for the door. “Mooch.”