Timber Creek (Sierra Falls 2)

Maybe this would be the day Robbie would answer. Sometimes he did. Maybe this time something had happened, and maybe he was worried she was mad and was too nervous to call. Maybe he needed her to make the first move. She dialed.

It went straight to voice mail.

“Stupid. ” She blew out a breath. “No princes in my world. ”

Holding her purse on her lap, she stared at the tavern’s front door, gathering herself. Forget her favorite new bra—some days she wished she had a full suit of armor to face the place. It was getting to feel like a real love nest.

The new sheriff was so smitten with Sorrow, you’d have thought she was the only woman on earth. And then, just a couple of weeks ago, Sully had taken off with Marlene, though Helen had a hard time resenting that. She didn’t know Marlene well, and the woman hadn’t always been exactly warm with her, but it was hard to resent someone whose husband had ditched her for his mistress.

Though, maybe if Rob ditched her, she could get on with her life. She was only thirty-two, after all.

She frowned. What was she thinking? She was stuck. As stuck as stuck could be.

And now Laura Bailey was back in town, acting bossier than ever, making her life a nightmare. Control freak, exercise freak, diet freak…the girl was wound up tight, not that anyone judged those things. If anything, every man in a sixty-mile radius was coming by to ogle her, though Laura probably had her head so far up her own butt she didn’t even register the attention.

What Helen wouldn’t do to be noticed. She didn’t want any of those other men, though. She just wanted her husband to step up. She’d been a hot number in her day—not that she was so ancient now—and Rob had once looked at her like that, with all those hungry, lusty looks. All she wanted was for him to be there, with her, just once in a while.

Nobody knew where he went when he disappeared, or if anybody did, they weren’t telling. He still had his job at the hardware store, miracle of miracles, but the paycheck was erratic at best. It seemed the man showed up for work even less frequently than he showed up in their bed.

It certainly didn’t make him enough to be able to provide alimony. Not enough cushion for her to break out and suppo

rt the kids on her own.

Someone rapped on her hood, and she startled. It was Bear, the tavern owner. She glowered at him through the windshield.

“Gotta work to earn that break time,” he hollered from outside.

With a roll of her eyes and one last sigh, she got out. “Easy, boss. ” She made an elaborate show of checking the time on her cell. “I’ve still got two minutes before I have to clock in. ”

“This always happens on the holiday weekends,” he said, beginning the same rant she’d heard a dozen times over the years. “All those fireworks and beers. People get too loose. ”

“I did two things yesterday. ” She held up a hand to count it out for him. “One: I minded my kids. And two: I minded your tent. So don’t talk to me about beers. And anyway, maybe you should try a little loosening up. Might do you some good. ” She passed him, headed into the tavern, and didn’t need to look back to imagine the scowl on his face.

She tucked her purse behind the bar, doing a quick scan of the place. A few men sipped coffee at the counter. An elderly couple sat in one of the booths, working on their breakfast specials. Eddie Jessup was there, too, taking up a whole booth himself, sipping coffee, reading some book—and wasn’t that odd?

The clattering of pans got her attention, and she peeked at the pass-through window, into the kitchen. Glimpses of two blond heads told her she had both Bailey sisters to contend with today.

Helen snagged her apron, tying it on with a sigh. Catching the eye of one of the men at the bar, she said, “Another day, another dollar, huh?”

Her autopilot kicked on, and she did her usual morning jobs—refilling coffees, putting up a fresh pot of decaf and one regular, wiping down the bar, filling a pitcher of water and topping off the tables—eventually making her way into the kitchen to continue her routine in there.

The Bailey sisters spoke over each other, saying, “Morning, Helen. ” And, “Hi, Helen. ”

“Morning yourselves. ” She emptied a fresh bag of English muffins into the bread bin.

Sorrow stood at the stove, frying up hash browns. She might’ve had a talent for making fancy gourmet stuff, but sometimes people just wanted good, old-fashioned home cooking—especially at breakfast.

“That for Eddie?” Helen asked, with a nod toward the frying pan.

Laura narrowed her eyes. “How did you know?”

“Easy. He’s a man. Men like big breakfasts. Especially the Jessups. ” She couldn’t help goading the girl and smiled to herself as she ducked into the fridge to snag a jug of OJ. “He’ll be having a large juice, too, if I know our Eddie. ”

“Our Eddie. Whatever. ”

Helen smirked. “You sure seem prickly on the topic of Jessups. Especially the youngest one. ”

She and Laura weren’t too far apart in age, but while Laura drove a fancy car and wore fancy clothes, she spent her days dealing with stubborn kids and stopped-up toilets. The girl was acting like a child. It was a wonder how she’d ever gotten so successful.