talking to, anyway?
Mouth set in a firm line, he shifted off the path and made his way quietly forward until he could see her and verify that no one had joined her. She must be talking to the dog. Or to herself.
She rolled a yellow tennis ball, and as her dog bounded after it, she continued, “A sheriff. I guess there is something to the whole long-arm-of-the-law thing. I flee to the middle of freaking nowhere, but I can’t get away from it. Isn’t that just my luck? Some people go their whole lives without having run-ins with the law. Not me. Oh, no. I’m plagued by police. They are the bane of my existence. Every time I turn around, I run into a cop. Or like today, a cop runs into me. Literally.”
The dog pounced on the ball, then plopped down on her belly and started chewing at it. Savannah snapped her fingers. “Bring the ball back, Inny.”
When the dog ignored her, Zach smirked.
She sighed and strolled over to wrestle the ball away from the mutt. “He should be charged with police brutality. I’m going to have a bruise where his bony shoulder poked my belly.”
She rolled the ball again while muttering indistinctly, so the only word he picked up was “manhandler.” Zach scowled. That was plenty enough to hear. Ungrateful witch.
The dog started toward the tennis ball but suddenly veered away on a scent. As she dashed into the trees opposite him and Savannah chased after her, Zach saw his chance and hurried to retrieve his rod and tackle box. Five minutes later, he climbed into his truck and twisted the key in the ignition with more force than was necessary.
He was pissed. He didn’t expect every woman who crossed his path to like him, but the truth was that most all of them did. Female acquaintances viewed him favorably, and some of his closest friends were women. He’d never had trouble getting dates. He remained on good terms with most of his former lovers. He liked women. Women liked him.
And, dammit, he was a good cop! Barney Fife, my ass, he thought.
So what put the pit in the Georgia peach?
He mentally reviewed their exchange, attempting to pinpoint the moment when her mood went cold. As he braked to a stop at the intersection to the main road into town, he figured it out. The woman had bristled when he’d identified himself and asked for her ID.
“Well, well, well,” Zach murmured. Savannah Sophia Moore had a secret.
Guess he’d just have to put on his detective hat and discover what it was.
THREE
Savannah spent most of her time in the week following her unexpected meeting with the sheriff in her workshop, creating product, ordering supplies, and squeezing every possible bit of buying power from each penny she spent. When Jim Brand presented his under-budget invoice upon completion of the renovations of the retail space, she’d been hard-pressed not to do handsprings. Overall, start-up costs hadn’t been as onerous as she’d anticipated, and as she double-checked the balance in her checkbook, she noted that she had plenty of wiggle room in her budget. The regular pounding of a hammer out in her workshop reminded her that her good fortune was due in no small part to her new Eternity Springs neighbors. They’d all proven quick to offer a helping hand.
At this moment, Colt Rafferty was building the shelves for her workshop. His wife was due to come by any moment with her baby and the balance of their housewarming gift. It felt like Christmas morning to Savannah.
The town of Eternity Springs was an eclectic mix of commercial and residential space with most business properties aligned along one of the four “tree” streets, Cottonwood, Pinyon, Spruce, and Aspen, with most but not all of the houses in town located on the numbered streets, First through Eighth. Apparently zoning had never been a consideration. Since Savannah’s place was on Fourth between Spruce and Pinyon, the retail shop she planned needed something eye-catching to lure tourists down the side street.
Impressed by the signage across the street at Vistas, Savannah had asked for the name of the graphic designer responsible for the art gallery’s logo. After claiming the design as her own, Sage had offered to do the logos that Savannah needed as a gift. What Savannah hadn’t known at the time she accepted her new friend’s largesse was that in addition to being the gallery’s business owner and manager, Sage was a renowned artist