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“He wouldn’t have listened.” Gran
offered them a matter of fact expression that broached no argument. “At twenty-four, a sweet little thing like Belinda Cunningham hanging on your every word? No, Mac wouldn’t have wanted to hear what I had to say.”

“Well feel free to be honest with me when the time comes,”
Alex half-joked, but didn’t downplay the meaning in his words. “Sooner’s better than later when it comes to certain things.”

Gran shifted her gaze to Cress. “How about you, Crescent? Would you like me to be honest with you as well?”

Not in this lifetime. If Gran had an inkling of what had happened with James, she’d be first in line to kick his sorry butt from here to eternity. And Cress’s, too. Nope. No way would Gran be calling the shots on Cress’s former relationship. That level of embarrassment she did not need. “I’ve got it covered, Gran, but thanks. Trust me. If I need you, I’ll let you know.”

Gran assessed her with a look. “No you won’t. You hate
it when people tell you what to do. Always did. That can be a problem, you know.”

“Yup.” Cress nodded, stood and crossed the room, busying her hands at the sink. “One I got from you. Thanks for that, by the way.”

Alex stood as well. He didn’t say a word for long seconds, forcing Cress to glance his way. He held the sullen donut up. “So you’re not interested?”

She had no trouble reading the double entendre and even if she was interested, she’d deny it.
Not now or ever. Go away.
“Not in this lifetime, Counselor.”

“I
was, of course, referring to the donut.”

“I know what you meant.” For
pity’s sake, did he think for a minute she was suggesting anything else? With him? Please. No matter how thick his hair was, and how those eyes gazed like they could see into her soul. If she had a soul. Nearly a decade on the force and three years with James had her doubting the probability.

“I’ll eat it then.” He took one big bite, his expression savoring the half-scowl, then practically inhaled the remaining half, total guy, chewing and swallowing with exaggerated relish. “Awesome.”

“Would you like a quart of milk to wash it down?”

A slight smile curved his mouth. His eyes lightened
a shade, giving them a softer look, less hardscrabble. “The coffee was fine, thanks. I’ve got to push off.”

Gran nodded and started to stand. He put a gentle hand to her shoulder and kept her in her chair. “I can see myself out, same as I saw myself in. You rest, okay? Cress is here for a reason. She wants to help. Don’t give her a hard time and be good to yourself.”

“You’re getting bossy.”

He grinned. “I’ve always been bossy. That’s why we get along so well. You listen to Cress, you hear?”

If anyone else talked to Gran that way, they’d have gotten an earful.

Not
Alex. She rolled her eyes but smiled. “Yes, sir.” She nodded toward the donuts. “Thank you for those. They’re a real nice treat.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Are you coaching tonight?”

He nodded. “Four nights a week at the village park. Makes things a little hairy because
Mac’s coaching too and Cruz and I are sharing his boys so he can continue with the high school team.”

“Cress can help.”

Gran’s offer forced Cress to turn around. She shook her head, her focus darting from Gran to Alex. “Um, no. She can’t.”

“Of course you can.” Gran frowned. Her finger thumped the table. “What
else have you got to do?”

“I’m helping Audra with a horse she rescued.” Cress tossed the explanation out, hoping it would buy her time.
“I told you that, remember?”

Nope.

“Do that this afternoon while I’m napping,” Gran offered sensibly. “Then you can help with the boys tonight.”

“I don’t know anything about boys,” Cress protested, her voice
rising, her hands coated in soap bubbles.

“No argument here.”
The look Alex tilted her way said so much more than the words.

“What’s to know?” Gran demanded. “You run around with them, take them to the playground, buy ‘em an ice cream at Smithy’s. How long’s practice?”

For some reason Alex seemed to be enjoying this. He shifted his look from Cress to Gran, his face a picture of innocence. “Six to eight.”

“Two hours?” Cress’s voice nearly squeaked. This couldn’t get worse. Not possible.

“Two and a half, actually,” Alex explained. “I have to get there early and sometimes the parents hold me up at the end. Questions and stuff like that. Maybe two-and-three-quarters, in fact.”

Nearly three hours of her life spent trying to amuse two little boys she’d never met and already didn’t like. “How old are they?”

“Five and three.”

“Just babies,” her grandmother exhorted.

“Listen, Cress, I didn’t mean to railroad you,” Alex started, his voice lawyer-calm but his eyes twinkling the exact opposite. “I’m sure I can manage a squad of forty nine-year-olds and two pre-schoolers.”

Forty. He was coaching forty kids and she was whining about two little ones, barely big enough to catch a ball. Humbled by the comparison, she caved. “Where do I meet you?”

He let Gran see the smile but not the wink. “The village park, field four, behind the lodge.”

She nodded. The look of satisfaction on Gran’s face should have felt good, but didn’t. Why did she feel like she’d just been totally manipulated into something she’d never have done on her own?

Because she had.

Alex
nodded to Gran, one hand on the door. “See you later, Gran. If you need anything, just call.”

“I will.”

“Cress.” He turned her way, his expression frankly amused. “See you tonight.”

Her chest fluttered. She chalked it up to caffeine rush and turned back to the sink. “Feed them first.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And make sure they use the bathroom.”

He hedged, still grinning. “That one I can’t guarantee. Three hours can be a mighty long time for a three-year-old.”

The thought of taking a little boy to the bathroom made her cringe. Did you take them to the women’s side or the men’s side?

“But where—?” she turned to call after him and found he hadn’t quite left.

“Use the women’s side,” he offered, the smile softer but still defined, “despite their protests. Safer, all around.”

Was her lack of experience that obvious? Of course it was. Give her a murder investigation, no problem. A drug ring, she was on it, no question. Squirrel her into a job undercover, Detective Cress Dietrich was your girl. She could hootch it up, tone it down, flirt, tease, or be Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm. Role-playing as needed, Cress could pan it out until the final curtain, collaring the bad guys on the streets of Minneapolis.

But two little boys with bathroom issues?

Mind-boggling scary.

Chapter Nine

“Shut up.”

The tone tweaked Cress, not the words. Her internal cop radar ramped as she turned the corner of the grocery aisle a few hours later. Keeping her eyes trained on the bread display, she pretended great interest in whole grain vs. multi-, turning the packages as if weighing her options while assessing the scene to her right.

A tousled-haired boy stood perfectly still, his hopeful look squashed by some inner knowledge as the
scruffy woman at his side chose two flaky cherry turnovers and placed them in the waxed white sack.

Anticipation followed the pastries, the boy’s eyes mirroring his appetite. He licked his lips and swallowed, salivating, and Cress was reminded of Old Shep, foreseeing a treat.

But something in the woman’s tone and the boy’s countenance told her no treat would be forthcoming. And that made her wonder.

The local grocery had a small seating area, five square tables, benches attached, nothing fancy, but enough space for the slight crowd who frequented the deli or bakery counters at any one time. Most customers were in too much of a hurry to sit in the grocery store and chat, but Cress had noted a couple of regulars who hung out there, coffees in hand, sharing tidbits of gossip and news.

Of course in her hometown one equated the other, so they always had plenty to stew about.

The
woman moved to the deli check-out, less crowded than the big registers at the front of the store. Once she paid for the fruit-stuffed pies, she burrowed into one of the benches, hunched forward, eyes downcast. The boy sidled onto the opposite bench, silent and still, nostrils flared, his gaze riveted on the bag.

“Your coffee,
ma’am.” The deli girl brought over a steaming foam cup. She set the coffee on the table and angled three little creamers alongside.

The
woman gave a curt nod, never glancing up. The deli clerk offered a ‘whatever’ look, rolled her eyes and strode back to her work area.

“Here.” The
woman handed two of the creamers to the boy who grasped them with eager hands, tearing back the foil cover and downing the meager contents in swift form. She stirred the third creamer into her coffee, then took a huge bite of turnover, flaky crumbs dotting the table as she chewed.

The boy stared, eyes wide, waiting, his throat contracting as he swallowed saliva.

The woman ate to the last two corners of the turnover, the back, crusty parts, then handed the dry points to the child. Once again the boy downed them as if starving, small hands shoving the food into his face as if afraid it might be snatched back.

While Cress moved to the opposite corner of the bakery area, the scene repeated itself, the boy getting the back two corners of that turnover as well.

Cop instincts warred with plain decency. A huge part of Cress wanted to march to the counter, buy the kid his own food and hand it to him to thwart the gruff-faced woman’s sense of control.

But her cop side alerted her to two things. One, that something else might be going on here, something worth checking out, and two, that outside interference might bring wrath upon the boy in a much more physical way once the kid
got home. Cress had seen that scenario far too often to take it lightly.

No. For now, better to suck it up and try to find out who they were. Where they lived. Something about the whole situation smelled
raw, but Cress had been on the side of law and order long enough to know the wheels of justice sometimes cranked slowly.

Leaving the counter girl a mess of crumbs,
wax paper wrappers and no tip, the woman pushed to her feet, a little unstable, then jerked her head for the boy to follow. The kid did, his eyes darting one last look at the bakery full of sweets and breads, his somber gaze wanting.

Cress set down her items, skirted the opposite end of the deli and watched through a window as the pair climbed into a ratty old pick-up. Committing the license plate to memory and wishing she’d bothered to carry a purse with a notepad, she left her carrots abandoned in the store and ran to her car, following the pick-up from a good distance. When it finally turned down a dirt lane about five miles out of town, Cress breezed on by, taking the next turn
to circle around, unwilling to chance being seen.

Once in town she headed to the local police department, a small group of offices
adjacent to the village library. Seated behind a galvanized metal desk, a woman resembling Ursula the Sea Witch flicked a glance Cress’s way. Eighties-style hair and over-done nails complemented her heavy-handed make-up. She assessed and dismissed Cress in one quick look, her attention moving back to the active computer screen where a space alien threw blobs of green gook at robust heroes as they clambered through tunneled walls, their light sabers flashing green, gold and pink. “Yes?”

Cress resisted what she wanted to say and put on her best smile. “Hi. I’m Cress Dietrich. Are any of the officers around?”

The older woman paused her game with an overt sigh, looking bored. “You want one of my boys?”

Boys. Great. How delightfully colloquial. They hadn’t quite figured out that women could wear a badge, carry a gun, keep the peace.
Cress downgraded the smile a notch. Maybe two. “I’d like to talk to an officer, please.”

The woman shrugged, a look of disinterest firmly in place. “They’re out.”

“All four?”

Boredom changed to a frown. “Seven, actually. We have two officers on at any one time, and the others are on call seven days a week. What was your name again?”

Cress leaned forward, her detective side coming to the fore. “At any point in this conversation did you ask me if I had an emergency?”

The woman’s attitude faltered, but only slightly. She hesitated, snapping one long, over-painted fingernail with another. “No. But I knew you didn’t. No one walks like that if they have an emergency.”

“Or if I was in some kind of trouble?”

“No.”

“Or if I needed assistance?”

“Do you?”

Cress eased back, scowling. “A little late now, don’t you think? What’s your name?”

“Missy.”

That came as a shock to Cress. If ever anyone in the entire world should not have a sweet, homespun name like “Missy”, it was the robust, over-done woman seated before her. Brunhilda, maybe. Mrs. Hannigan. Or that creepy school principal from the movie
Matilda
, the one with the torture device for errant students.

But… Missy?

Obviously she’d had hopeful parents somewhere along the line, like back in the Mesozoic Era.

Or earlier.

Cress bit back what she wanted to say, thought of her run in with the local squad car patrol a few days previous, and decided retreat looked like the best choice available.

As she turned to leave, the woman stood, her ample form spilling from the chair, a nervous pencil poised
, only just now realizing she’d really messed up. “Who did you say you were?”

Cress shook her head. “Never mind. I’ll find a sheriff.”

Pushing through the door, she clenched her hands, wondering how on earth people existed in a one-horse town like this, a handful of non-entity police, a female bulldog guarding the ‘boys’ like a mother dog with scruffed-mutt pups.

She suppressed the gathering headache by pressing her thumb and forefinger to the
bridge of her nose, thinking. Geographically, the woman and boy were out of Watkins Ridge’s authority. She’d hoped the locals might have a clue as to their identity and the kid’s well-being, but she should have known better.

That meant a trip to the s
heriff’s office in Chippewa Falls. Cress glared at her watch. What had been flagged as a simple visit to the grocery store for horse rewards turned into a fruitless venture over something that wasn’t her business.

And Gran would be waiting for her, sandwiches ready, knowing Cress had promised to be at the Village Park before six.

Gran came first, right? Hadn’t she put everything on hold because Gran needed her? Or was it because she needed Gran? That idea pricked her conscience. Either way, her place right now was at Gran’s side. If the locals could turn a blind eye to the strange behaviors of one of their shady citizens, so could Cress.

*

“I have to pee.”

Cress shook her head, glanced at her watch, and willed the minute hand to move with more speed. “You just went, twenty minutes ago. Eat your fruit snacks.”

The five-year-old scowled, then pouted. “You’re not the boss of me.”

Cress thought briefly of the
ever-present pistol tucked into her back waistband, her loose tee-shirt providing ample coverage. “Wanna’ bet?”

She gave the littler fellow another push on the swings and met Aiden’s scowl with one of her own. “Didn’t
Alex promise you ice cream if you were good?”

Aiden nodded, petulant, his right foot spewing dirt clouds with his toe. “I want it now.”

Cress kept her eye on Nick and her voice as non-combative as she could. “Mouth off to me one more time and you won’t get it at all. And if you think for one minute I don’t mean it,” she leveled a cop stare right at him and was pleased to see the little brat squirm, “then keep it up. Nick and I will eat ours right in front of you, and maybe even get seconds.”

“Nick’s a baby.” Aiden directed his sour attitude toward his kid brother. “Baby’s don’t get seconds.”

“Am not,” Nick protested, his voice hiking up.

“Are too.”

“Am not!”

“Are—”

“Shut up, both of you.”

Two sets of astonished eyes stared at her, while their mouths formed perfect ‘O’s. Nick broke the ensuing silence, his voice awed. “You said a bad word.”

“I did not,” Cress growled, thinking back, wondering if she swore without thinking.

“Did too.” Aiden took a step back as if
she
were the one in serious deep water. “Daddy says we should never, ever say that. It’s not nice.”

Say…?

Oh.

Shut up
. Cress blinked, remembering how often they’d used the phrase as kids. Everyone said it back then, but now…

Nowadays kids probably got sent to some conflict resolution class where a social worker would delve into why they felt the need to command others in a cold, prickly fashion when it would be so much nicer to ask people to be quiet, please.

Yeah. That mindset didn’t exactly cut it in her world.

But she’d gotten the older one’s attention, at least. Now that he understood just how tough she was, maybe he’d toe the line a little better.

“I hate you.”

Okay, maybe not.

Nick’s face went straight back to utter amazement. He twisted in the swing to better see Aiden. “Now you said a bad word, too.”

“So what?” Aiden scrabbled the ground again, this time his dirt thrusts moving ever closer to Cress, missing her bare legs by a hair. “I can say it if I want. I’m five.”

Briefly Cress wondered at what age kids could enter juvie hall in Chippewa County, but she was pretty certain five was too young. Pity. “You can’t hate me, you don’t even know me,” she retorted. “And if you kick that dirt on me you’re going to be one sorry kid. Now either get your butt onto the playground with the hordes of other children, or sit down and be quiet. Your brother and I are having fun.”

Nick looked slightly uncertain, but Cress figured he was having way more fun than his attitude-bearing brother. She nodded toward the playground equipment. “Head over there and play with the bigger kids. Before you know it, football practice will be over and
Alex can take you home.”

“Not you?”

In a pig’s eye
. She shook her head. “Nope. I’m off duty as soon as the last player is picked up.”

“You won’t have ice cream with me?” Nick’s gentle voice gave her a stab of guilt. He’d been a good little kid, all in all.

“Maybe another time.”

“You’re going to watch us another time?” Aiden’s look of disgust showed his opinion on that. “Do you have to?”

No, brat.

She kept that to herself and shrugged. “I wanted to help your dad out, Aiden. He had to be gone and
Alex and Cruz are both coaching. I thought I could help.” Maybe appealing to his good side would help her cause.

Um. No.

“You’re not even pretty.”

A smack upside the head was sounding pretty good to Cress right now.

Nick turned in righteous indignation. “She is so.”

“Is not.”

“Is so.”

“Is not.”

“Is—”

“Knock it off, you two.”
Alex’s voice took a stern edge and Cress had to pretend not to be eternally grateful that he’d shown up. His tone alone knocked Aiden down a peg. Nick’s arms went up immediately.

“Hewwo,
Uncle Awex.”

Alex
lifted him out of the safety swing and gave him a noogie. “Were you good?”