Heartwishes (Edilean 5)
“It’s part of my job,” he answered as he pulled into the parking lot of a grocery store. But it wasn’t the usual glass-doored concoction. The building was long and low, with a roof that extended out over the front to form a porch. It looked like a retreat for rich hunters in the Adirondacks. If there hadn’t been half a dozen people coming out with big metal carts, Gemma wouldn’t have known it was a grocery.
Colin had turned off the engine and was sitting behind the steering wheel, looking at her as though he meant to stay there until she answered him.
Gemma shrugged. “Let’s just say that I’ve had to learn a lot about birth control and the consequences of not using any. The boys’ reading assignments are often pamphlets on the basics of being away from home for the first time. Sometimes I feel like a sex education teacher.”
“If you have any really creative things to teach, let me know,” Colin said seriously.
“So you can pass them on to your constituents?”
“Of course,” Colin said. “As an elected official, they’re all I care about, and I believe it’s my duty to educate them.” Smiling, he got out of the car, then waited until she was beside him. Together they went into the store.
The inside of the grocery was dim and cool, and to the right was a huge produce area that glistened with colors and seeming perfection. She followed Colin as he headed for the back of the store.
“Colin!” a woman said, and he halted. She was young and looked as though she hadn’t had a lot of sleep lately—which was understandable. She was holding a two-year-old boy by the hand, and he was dancing about in the age-old pantomime of “bathroom quick!” On her hip was a six-month-old girl chewing on a bagel.
With a movement that seemed as though he’d done it many times, Colin took the little girl in his arms. With a smile of thanks, the mother lifted the boy and started running.
“And how are you, Miss Caitlyn?” Colin asked the little girl he was holding, and she grinned at him.
With a glance at Gemma, Colin kept walking toward the back, little Caitlyn secure and quite happy in his big arms.
As they walked, Gemma looked around the store. The items on the shelves were very high-end, and she thought the place was much too upscale for her to afford. She wondered where the local giant-size, cheap market was.
She followed Colin to a tall, glass-fronted case that was full of fresh-looking seafood. Yes, definitely out of her price range.
“Colin!” said a good-looking older woman from behind the counter. “You’re just the man I wanted to see.”
Before he could speak, a little boy, about four, came running up. He held up a toy truck in one hand and the wheels to it in the other. There were dried tears on his face, and he was looking up at Colin as though he were Superman. “Sheriff?” he whispered, a catch in his voice.
Colin started to reach for the truck but his arms were full with the baby.
Without a thought, Gemma took the little girl from him, and Colin squatted to eye level with the boy an
d snapped the wheels back into place. The child ran off just as his mother rounded the corner.
“There you are, Matthew. Do not run off like that again. Oh, Colin! Thank you.”
“Any time,” he said to the woman as she picked up the boy and left. The first woman came back and Gemma handed her daughter to her.
Through all this, the woman behind the counter had been watching. “Same as always, huh, Colin?” she said, smiling.
“Not much different. So what did you want to see me about, Ellie? You have a break-in?”
“You’re funny. Can you make a delivery for me?”
“To our favorite little man?”
“Certainly my favorite, since he helped my daughter. Can you take a couple of boxes out to the farm?”
“Why isn’t he coming in to get what he needs?”
“The club ladies are after him again.”
Colin grinned. “Okay, pack it up. Anyway, I’m sure Gemma would like to see Merlin’s Farm.”
“Am I to take it that Gemma is your fellow babysitter? The young woman behind you?”
Colin turned to see Gemma inspecting the chickens that had just been taken off the rotisserie. “Gemma, this is Ellie Shaw, my . . . What are you?”