They were passing through town now, traffic was normal, and people were going about their usual business.

When Eli pulled into a slot in front of the restaurant, there were several old-timers gathered on the sidewalk, stomping their feet and rubbing their hands together to keep warm.

“The breakfast club has arrived,” Brynne said, smiling and waving at the half-dozen men clad in overalls, heavy boots and Carhartt coats. Retired farmers and ranchers all. “Just in time for a late lunch.”

Eli chuckled, waved to the group with a salute-like gesture.

Frank, one of the fry cooks, who doubled as a bartender, was just unlocking the door. He’d already turned the Closed sign to Open, and he gave Brynne a curious glance before he let the men inside.

Eli got out of the truck, came around to Brynne’s side, and opened the door for her. Helped her down.

“Thanks, Sheriff,” she said lightly. “I might have forgotten how to open a door for myself.”

He grinned. “I’m a gentleman. Get over it.”

“Come in for coffee and pie?” It was a simple, ordinary invitation, and yet offering it made Brynne feel bold, maybe even a little brazen.

“Can’t,” Eli said, with polite regret. “I’ve got to check in with the Creek’s PD and then head on over to my office for a while. The battle against crime never ceases.”

“Right,” Brynne said, giving him a little push.

She turned, peered in at Festus sitting impatiently in the back seat.

“You’re invited, too,” she said. “I have another canine customer, and I’ll bet you’ve met him. His name is Trooper.”

Festus yipped happily.

Brynne smiled and stepped onto the sidewalk.

Eli opened the restaurant door for her, and the breakfast club, lining the counter now, all turned to look.

They were jumping to conclusions, Brynne knew, and they’d share those conclusions with their wives when they got home.

Something going on between Sheriff Garrett and the Bailey girl, they’d say. They were off someplace in the sheriff’s truck, in the middle of the gosh-darned day, too. Mark my words, Doris/Ruth/Margaret/Annie/Stella/Betty, something’s going on with those two.

CHAPTER FIVE

FOR BRYNNE, THE NEXT two days raced by, she was so busy preparing for the community New Year’s Eve party, a tradition in Painted Pony Creek for over a quarter of a century.

The decorations—strings of small twinkly lights, a mirrored disco ball and large tinsel banner hung with the numerals of the coming year—were easy enough to put up; Brynne and Miranda took care of the job, taking turns on the high stepladder while the other directed placement.

Planning the menu, ordering cases of champagne and coordinating a team of volunteer designated drivers to ferry home those who’d had too much to drink took more doing.