bouncing around her shoulders, and I do my best to resume normal breathing. She nearly made my heart stop.
“Since you’re the quarterback princess, you don’t need to be a cheerleader.”
She stops and turns, considering this. “Being a cheerleader hurts my throat. Coco can be a cheerleader.”
Thank God. “Good idea.”
“Go far!” She hoists the ball, and I lunge forward to catch it before it hits the ground.
I hit the ground, rolling onto my back and holding the ball up, wondering how much more of this I can stand. J.R. threw some stinkers when we played together, but he’s got nothing on my daughter.
“She’ll give you a workout.” The familiar male voice makes me pause, and I see the sheriff standing on the sidewalk watching us.
Putting the ball under my arm, I walk over to where he’s standing. “Daisy said you taught her how to play.”
“Didn’t take much teaching. That little girl’s a natural.” He smiles, watching her with pride, and I’m not sure how to feel about this guy.
“You’re close with Daisy?”
“I’ve been checking on her and Emberly since Melody was a baby, or a bossy toddler, I should say. She’s the first little kid who’s ever pointed her finger at me and told me No.”
Pride swells in my chest. “She’s still pretty bossy.”
“Yeah, she is.” He gives me a quick glance, and adds, “She and Coco were the little flower girls when I married Tabby.”
My eyes flicker to his left hand, where a shiny gold band sits. It releases the tension in my shoulders. He’s married. “I’ve got to meet everybody.”
“You will.” He puts his hand on his belt. “The village is pretty small, and the people are very friendly.”
The way he says it makes me think it must be like Fireside. “Friendly and curious?”
“Exactly.” He takes a step as if to go, then pauses. “You planning to be around a while?”
I look over to where my little girl is dancing around with a football under her arm picking the purple clover flowers. “Yeah, I’m not going anywhere.”
Melody has spotted us and runs at top speed to where we’re standing. “Mr. Chad, go far!”
He takes a step back before bending quickly to catch the ball my daughter just hurled at his crotch. “Good. We’re starting to get outnumbered.”
Laughter bubbles in my stomach, and I scoop up my daughter. “Come here, princess. It’s time to get some lunch.”
She squeals with laughter, and I put her on my shoulders. Yeah, I’ll be here for a while.
“What is it?” Daisy frowns at the glossy white statue I’m lifting out of a narrow cardboard box.
It has long, narrow legs and a slender torso, and when I position it on the floor, it’s almost as tall as I am.
“Is it a dog or a deer? Or a horse?” The head is lowered, like it’s sniffing the ground or eating.
“It can’t be a horse. No mane.” She steps around the sculpture in her baggy denim overalls, looking so much like she did when we worked on her aunt’s house. “Maybe it’s a greyhound?”
She looks up at me with those big brown eyes, and I’ve forgotten the question. “Whoever buys it will know.”
“It reminds me of Dimitriov, but he only did human figures.”
I have no idea what she’s talking about. “You’re really smart with all this stuff.”
Her nose wrinkles, and she takes out a small white price tag. “There’s a lot I don’t know. I can ask Spencer. Not everything in the store needs a pedigree to sell.”
I watch as she prices it at $200 and attaches the tag to the ear. “Where do you want it?”
“It’s very dramatic. Maybe in the front window? Since it’s white, we don’t have to worry about it fading in the sun.”
Reaching around the animal’s body, I lift it and carry it over to the gallery window up front. She’s right behind me, carrying the inventory sheet, and it takes a few minutes for me to angle it to her satisfaction.
Our little girl is in preschool today, and I met her equally bossy best friend Coco this morning when they met up to walk to school.
“Chad seems like a good guy.” I follow her back to the tower of boxes we’ve relocated behind the cash register.
“He really is. He’s been popping in here checking on Melody and me since she was a baby.”
“That’s what I heard.” He’s married, but I still feel a twinge of possessiveness. “Is there some reason he does that?”
Daisy’s brow furrows. “What do you mean?”
“It seems pretty