A Forever Christmas - By Marie Ferrarella Page 0,51
Eleanor, you know I’m going to have to fine you for all those cuss words coming out of that genteel mouth of yours,” Rick told the woman mildly. Glancing toward his brother-in-law, he asked, “How much is Eleanor up to now, Joe?”
Joe paused for a second to calculate, then answered, “Twenty-five dollars by last count.”
“Well, it’s all worth it,” Eleanor declared with a toss of her dyed flaming-red hair. “You’d cuss, too, if you had to be married to that poor excuse for a man,” she informed the sheriff, gesturing dismissively at her husband.
Rick took hold of the woman’s shoulders and looked into her eyes. “Eleanor, it’s almost Christmas and in the spirit of the season, I’m going to forget about your fine—but I want you to practice a little of that Christian charity you’re so famous for and give your husband another chance.”
“Another chance?” she echoed incredulously. “I’ve already given him another chance. I’ve given him a dozen extra chances—”
“Then it shouldn’t be all that hard to give him one more,” Rick said amiably. There was resistance in the woman’s rounded face. “Do it as a favor to the rest of us,” he coaxed.
Eleanor Walker, who had at one point in time been considered to be quite stunning, sighed dramatically. Twice. And then she shrugged in surrender, mumbling, “All right, but only for you, Sheriff.”
“Thank you, Eleanor. Can’t ask for anything better than that.” Rick looked pointedly at the man still standing on his cot, eyeing his wife fearfully. It made for a ludicrous scene, seeing as how Ben was twice his wife’s size. “And you, Ben, I want you to promise not to touch a drop of anything with alcohol in it for the next thirty days—”
“Thirty days!” Eleanor cried, outraged that the time limit was so short.
“Thirty days?” Ben lamented at the same time. The expression on his face clearly indicating that he viewed thirty days to be close to an eternity.
“Thirty days,” Rick repeated. “Otherwise, I’m locking you both up—in the same cell.” Inserting his key in the lock of his prisoner’s door, he looked from husband to wife, then back again, waiting. “So is it a deal?” he asked.
Having no choice, Ben nodded sheepishly. “It’s a deal.”
“Deal,” his wife grumbled, spitting the four-letter word out.
Rick paid no attention to either tone, only to the promises that had been given. “That’s what I like to hear,” he told both parties as he pulled open the cell door.
Ben never took his eyes off his wife, watching her fearfully, as he exited the cell.
As the sheriff walked out with his deputies, his former prisoner and Ben’s wife, he was surprised to find someone waiting for them in the office.
“Hi,” Angel greeted them brightly. “I heard your voices so I let myself in. I hope you don’t mind,” she said to Rick.
“Not at all. Is there something I can help you with, or are you here to see Gabe?” Rick asked, and then he couldn’t help adding, “What is that insanely delicious aroma?”
“Well, that’s actually kind of the reason why I’m here,” Angel confessed. She placed her hand on top of the old-fashioned wicker basket she’d set down on the desk closest to the door: Gabe’s desk. There was an equally old-fashioned red-and-white-checkered cloth covering the length of the basket. It did nothing to suppress the warm aroma.
Gabe quickly crossed to her side. The conversation with Alma was still very fresh in his mind. Had someone tried to get in contact with her? Focusing strictly on her and not on the food that she’d obviously brought, it was hard to miss the concern in his voice.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
The question caught her off guard. She looked at him quizzically. “No, why should it be?”
Alma stepped forward. “I think he’s trying to say that it’s the middle of the morning and he’s wondering what you’re doing here at this time.”
Angel grinned at the man who so easily sent her pulse racing with just a touch. “I didn’t know you came with subtitles,” she said to him. “We were running late this morning,” she reminded Gabe with a pleased smile.
Having alternated between making love and decorating the tree for half the night, they’d both slept through the alarm this morning and barely had time to get dressed before they were due at work. In the interest of time, breakfast had been a casualty.
“So I asked Miss Joan if I could bring you breakfast once the rush was over. Miss Joan