Home to Sparrow Lake (Harlequin Heartwarming)
Read Home to Sparrow Lake (Harlequin Heartwarming) Online
Authors: Lynn Patrick
Falling in love is not the plan
Police chief Alex Novak is exactly the kind of man Kristen Lange could fall for—if she were staying in Sparrow Lake. But she can’t fall. And she can’t stay. Moving home was a temporary setback, not a life choice! As soon as she lands a job in Chicago, Kristen will be packing her Manolo shoes and hopping back on the fast track.
If she’s going to meet her goals, she can’t afford distractions—or involvement. Not in her aunt’s quilting store, not in her widowed sister’s life, and certainly not with Alex. No matter how intriguing—and determined—he is. No matter what she’s starting to feel.
Pulse humming, Kristen came face-
to-face with the man who’d arrested her the night before.
“Is there a problem, Chief?”
“Alex, please.”
He was wearing a uniform today, looking unbelievably good in stark black. She almost wished she could see the soft gray of his eyes through his dark sunglasses. Not wanting to be attracted to him, she swallowed hard. “Okay, Alex, do you have a problem with me?”
“Why would you think that?”
“This is the second time today you stopped in front of the store like you were casing it. Or maybe you’re expecting me to be doing something not to your liking. Maybe you just want to arrest me again.”
The way he was staring at her so intently, as if he wanted to say something but was reluctant, made her mouth go dry.
Then a slow easy grin lit his face. “Will you have dinner with me?”
Kristen swallowed hard. She’d had a purpose in moving to Sparrow Lake, and it certainly wasn’t romance. No matter how tempting this man in uniform was, getting involved would just complicate things.
Dear Reader,
Lynn Patrick is a writing team—Linda and Patricia being our real first names.
Linda’s middle sister liked to quilt. While Linda was visiting the small town in which she grew up, her sister took her to a specialized quilting store with creative projects hanging on the walls, yards of fabrics, and friendly local personnel who also offered classes on weekends and evenings. She found the place inspiring and, though she’s a city person now, she couldn’t help imagining the story of a burned-out urban dweller returning to her roots to find love and happiness.
Linda’s sister also had small twin granddaughters, some of whose escapades inspired scenes in
Home to Sparrow Lake.
We hope you fall in love with these characters just as we did. And be sure to look for us on Facebook!
Lynn Patrick
Lynn Patrick
Home to Sparrow Lake
LYNN PATRICK
is the pseudonym for two best friends who started writing together a few decades ago. Linda is a professor with a reading specialty, and Patricia writes as Patricia Rosemoor. Together they enjoy creating worlds that are lightened by the unexpected, fun and sometimes wonderful vagaries of real life.
Books by Lynn Patrick
HARLEQUIN HEARTWARMING
SHALL WE DANCE
THE MARRIAGE ASSIGNMENT
HARLEQUIN SUPERROMANCE
343—GOOD VIBRATIONS
SILHOUETTE ROMANCE (as Jeanne Rose)
26—THE PRINCE OF AIR AND DARKNESS
55—HEART OF DREAMS
64—GOOD NIGHT, MY LOVE
HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE (Patricia Pinianski writing as Patricia Rosemoor)
707—VIP PROTECTOR
745—BOYS IN BLUE
785—VELVET ROPES
791—ON THE LIST
858—GHOST HORSE
881—RED CARPET CHRISTMAS
924—SLATER HOUSE
958—TRIGGERED RESPONSE
1031—WOLF MOON*
1047—IN NAME ONLY?*
1101—CHRISTMAS DELIVERY
1128—RESCUING THE VIRGIN*
1149—STEALING THUNDER*
1200—SAVING GRACE*
1261—BRAZEN*
1292—DEAL BREAKER*
1345—PUREBRED*
*The McKenna Legacy
For Linda’s sisters and their families, where we got some great and also fun details for this story.
CHAPTER ONE
B
EING
BONE
TIRED
for a change felt good.
Kristen Lange knew she was driven when it came to work, and it had been nearly a year since she’d had the opportunity to satisfy her type A personality. But thanks to Aunt Margaret, she’d spent a long day going over Sew Fine’s records to acquaint herself with the business. She knew nothing about shops that sold quilting materials and offered quilting classes. But she was a quick learner.
When her eyes began to water and she couldn’t stop herself from yawning, she knew it was time to call it quits. There was always tomorrow.
She checked her watch. One in the morning. Sheesh, it already
was
tomorrow.
Enough. Even a type A needed some sleep.
And food, her noisy stomach reminded her. She remembered having lunch halfway through the day, and she’d meant to order in dinner, but she’d been so preoccupied going over the store’s accounts and various orders—mostly handwritten on scraps of paper—that she’d simply forgotten she needed to eat. Her growling stomach was doing a fine job of reminding her. When she got back to the house, she would have to raid Aunt Margaret’s refrigerator.
She closed down the computer and searched under the desk for her high heels. Designer shoes were her weakness, but four-inch stilettos weren’t meant to be worn for so many hours, and she’d taken them off once the store had closed for the night.
Yawning again, she shoved her swollen feet into her shoes and headed for the back door, where she shut down the store’s lights.
She was so tired she might not bother with the fridge after all.
It wasn’t until she’d closed the door and heard the automatic lock click into place that she realized she’d left her purse—
and keys!—
by the register inside.
Drat! She couldn’t get into her car. Now what was she supposed to do? She guessed she could walk home—crawl nearly a mile was more like it—but then she had no keys to the house. They, too, were inside the locked store. She didn’t want to wake her aunt, who’d stayed home all day trying to fight off a sinus infection, so she figured she’d just have to find some way back into Sew Fine.
Unfortunately, the windows facing the alley were too high. She could reach them, but there was no way to get herself in a position to climb inside from the ground. And, of course, the store had an alarm system. But if she could figure out how to get in through a window, she could quickly drop to the floor and shut down the alarm, which was next to the back door.
The downtown area of Sparrow Lake was nearly deserted at night, so who was going to hear?
Kristen looked around for something to climb on. The Dumpster would get her high enough, but it was shoved to one side of the building, not directly under the window.
Too tired to cry, she made an unhappy face and then got to work.
If, a year ago, someone had told her that she would be stuck in her small hometown, living on her aunt’s charity, trying to make sense of a business that she didn’t understand, she would have laughed at the sheer ridiculousness of the idea. Now here she was, dressed in a designer business suit and heels, pushing a Dumpster along the back of a building so she could climb on top of it to break in.
You can’t go home again.
That thought had been echoing through her mind since Aunt Margaret had invited her to do so. At the moment, she wondered if she’d made the biggest mistake of her life by trying.
Kristen wearily set the Dumpster in place and struggled to get on top of it. Good thing she still worked out. Only three tries and she hiked herself up with her arms like she would to get out of a swimming pool. Throwing her upper body forward, she grabbed onto the side of the Dumpster and squirmed sideways until she could get a knee under her.
One look down at her filthy, snagged suit told her it was ruined.
What else could go wrong?
Kristen got to her feet and checked the closest window. Of course it was locked tight. Groaning, she checked the other window, knowing what she would find before even trying to open it.
Wearily, she assessed her options. She could walk that mile and sleep on the front porch swing, or she could sleep atop the Dumpster. Neither idea appealed to her.
So she told herself that a girl had to do what a girl had to do, and, with apologies to Christian Louboutin, picked up one of her precious shoes and used it to break a single glass pane, immediately setting off the alarm.
Nearly on her last nerve, she gritted her teeth at the shrieking sound that pierced the night, and after taking a furtive look around to make sure no one was out there with a shotgun aimed at her, used the heel of the shoe to clear the glass so she wouldn’t cut herself. Then she stuck in an arm and found the lock. Once she released it, she opened the window and raised the sash. The sill was about three feet higher than the Dumpster, and she was wearing a tight skirt, so it would take some fancy maneuvering to get inside.
After making certain there was no glass on the sill, she hitched her skirt high and started to climb in when, half in, half out of the window, she was nearly blinded by a brilliant beam from a flashlight below.
Then a deep voice said, “Lady, you’re under arrest.”
Speechless, she froze.
The light moved up and down over her, and the man added, “You know, you really ought to dress more appropriately when you’re robbing a place.”
Okay,
that
struck her last nerve.
* * *
P
OLICE
C
HIEF
A
LEX
N
OVAK
appreciated the length of leg he got to admire for a moment before yelling, “Come on down now!” above the still-screeching alarm.
“You don’t understand!” the woman hanging on the window sill returned.
“I understand you’re trying to break into the place.”
“Because my keys are inside!”
“Sure. Like I haven’t heard that one before.”
“How do I know you’re a cop? You’re not wearing a uniform,” she said, looking over her shoulder at him as she balanced on the sill.
“I’m not on duty.”
“Then why are you being such a pain in the—”
“If you don’t come down voluntarily, I’ll have to come up to get you. I don’t think you want that.”
He could hear her muttering under the sound of the alarm, but she slid her legs back down to the Dumpster. He admired them all the way up to her thighs revealed by her skirt catching on the window sill. She muttered some more and he thought he heard a rip when she freed the material.
Then she turned to glare down at him. She appeared a little crazed, with tufts of dark blond hair sticking out around her face emphasizing her outraged expression.
“I can’t believe you have nothing better to do than cruise alleys in the middle of the night!” she shouted over the blaring noise.
Alex clenched his jaw. “I heard the alarm go off and knew someone was up to no good!” He flicked a switch on his radio and connected with the night desk at the station. “Call Margaret Becker and tell her there’s been an attempted break-in at Sew Fine. Someone needs to come and turn off the blasted alarm.”
“No, don’t call her and wake her!” the woman protested. “I can turn off the alarm if you let me get inside.”
Figuring that would give her the opportunity to give him the slip by going out the front way, he said, “Just come on down.”
She grabbed up her shoes and moved to the edge of the Dumpster. “Your arresting me is absolutely ridiculous.”
His irritation level shot up a notch. “Casting aspersions on my job isn’t going to win you any points.”
He could see her face clearly now. One cheek was smeared with dirt, but it was her sour expression that detracted from her softly rounded cheeks, thick-lashed blue eyes and full lips. A sour expression aimed at him.
Even so, he stretched out his free arm. “Let me give you a hand.”
She ignored it and got herself down, planting both stockinged feet in the alley. She started to put on her shoes, then stopped and straightened. She was a few inches shorter than he, but if she was wearing those stilts, she could meet him eye-to-eye.
“You’re not going to put those on?”
“After planting my feet in muck?”
Her way of saying “are you crazy?” Her voice went up so high that it, along with the alarm, scraped down his spine.
“C’mon.” He took her arm and led her to the edge of the alley where he’d left the patrol car.
“You’re not even going to ask me to explain first?”
“Explain all you want at the station.”
“But Margaret Becker is my aunt!”
“That remains to be seen.”
He really should handcuff her, but she looked close to tears, and he thought things might not be exactly as they’d first seemed. He’d never seen her around town before, but if Margaret truly was her aunt...
The raucous alarm was driving him crazy.
Nope. This wasn’t the place to have any kind of conversation. And he did want to talk to her. A woman wearing designer everything breaking into the back of a store was the most intriguing thing that had happened around here in the two years since he’d moved to Wisconsin from Chicago.
Opening the rear door of the squad, he said, “Get in and watch your head.”
