6

 

Mason spun the SUV around, skidding on the slick road and almost taking out a willow tree as he spun back toward Posts and Pages. Stewart Simms had just crossed his path in a salt-spattered Escalade, heading toward Magnolia. Something wasn’t stirring the Kool-Aid, because there was only one reason Simms would drive that way on a day such as this, when all the shops along Magnolia were closed due to the storm.

Josie.

The snow-drifted street was clear of people and cars, except for the one parked at the curb of Posts and Pages. Mason knew that Josie had walked from her house to the shop that morning. So the crooked presence of the Escalade confirmed Mason’s worst fears.

Josie was in danger.

His pulse rocketed as the SUV fishtailed to a stop outside the shop. He leapt from the driver’s seat and sprinted toward the door. Through the glass, he saw Josie backed up to the coffee counter. The expression of utter fear in her wide, rounded blue eyes as Stewart Simms closed in on her caused Mason’s fingers to clench into tight fists.

When Simms’s hand clamped down on Josie’s upper arm, Mason jumped a snow bank as he gave a warning shout. “Back off, Simms!” It was enough to distract the thug. In a single, fluid motion, Josie lunged, grabbed the coffee carafe, and unleashed the scalding brew on Simms. He stumbled back and spun away from her, crying out as the coffee rained down over his neck and shoulders.

Mason raced through the door and tackled Simms to the ground. Boxes tumbled, scattering books across the floor. The carafe slipped from Josie’s hand as Simms flailed, kicking her squarely in the forearm. Glass exploded like shrapnel as it slammed into the tile.

“Josie, get out of here.” Mason waved her off with one hand as he secured Simms in a headlock with his other. “Go to the stock room.”

“I have to call the police.”

“You do that, but head to the stock room first.” He tightened his grip as Simms squirmed, begging for release. “You’re not wearing your boots and the glass will shred your feet if you step on it.”

She scooted back, her eyes wide and wild. “Don’t do anything foolish, Mason. Please.”

“Just get out of here.” Mason grunted as he and Simms wrestled into a magazine rack. It toppled, missing Mason’s head by a hair’s-breadth. “And stay out. Simms and I are going to have a little heart-to-heart while we wait on the law.”

 

****

 

“Roll up your sleeve. Let me see your arm.” Mason held a small zippered bag full of ice in one hand as he crossed toward Josie. She shook her head, ignoring the dull throb along her forearm. “I’m fine. It doesn’t hurt too much. Not as much as looking at the mess in here.” Cartons were toppled and the pastry trays lay in a smashed heap. She just hoped he didn’t notice her foot was injured, as well. Blood stained her pale pink sock.

“Simms clipped you good—hard enough to knock the carafe from your grip.” Mason wasn’t taking no for an answer. “And, that sock will have to go, too. You’re bleeding.”

So, he had noticed. “Mason, please.”

He set down the ice pack as he knelt at her feet and began to push back the sleeve of her sweater, exposing an apple-sized purplish bruise. His tone softened to melted butter. “Oh, Josie…”

“It’s not as bad as it looks.” But her heart was at risk of exploding as Mason’s fingers gently stroked the length of her arm. Finally, thankfully, he eased back and pressed the ice to her scorched skin. The cold masked the throbbing. “That feels good, though.”

“I should have rung Simms’s neck while I had the chance yesterday. We would have avoided this whole ugly situation.”

“I’m glad you didn’t. I’m kind of short on bail money this month.” Josie attempted a smile, but it fell flat. “Besides, the police will take care of him now. Even his cousin, good old John Larder, can’t save him from the law now.”

“I’m going to photograph these bruises anyway, just in case.” Mason slipped his cell phone from the back pocket of his jeans. “Are there any others?”

“He grabbed my arm.”

Mason’s oath was muffled through clenched teeth. “Did you mention that in the police report?”

“I did.” But against Mason’s insistence and that of the officer who’d arrived at Posts and Pages to take the incident report, she’d refused an ambulance. She wasn’t that hurt, at least not physically. Emotionally, well…

“You’d better take the sweater off.”

The words were an electric shock to her system. “What?”

“Relax.” Mason’s lips curled into a frown. “I assume you have a T-shirt on underneath?”

“Yes.” She nodded slightly, biting her lip to keep it from trembling. “But, really, Mason…is that necessary?”

“It is.”

Josie forced back tears while she did as she was told, tugging the sweater over her head to expose a cap-sleeved white T-shirt. “Just get it over with.”

“Turn toward me. Relax your arms.” Mason snapped half-a-dozen photos as the icepack melted in her hands, dripping water along the tile floor. Finally, he eased back on his haunches, satisfied. “Now, hold that pack on your forearm while I take a look at your foot.”

“That’s really too much, Mason.” Josie wiggled back on the box that served as a seat. “I can take care of it myself.”

“Pigheaded and stubborn, that’s what you are.” Mason wrapped his hands around her waist and tugged her toward him, planting her rear end firmly back on the box. “Just sit still and be quiet for a full two minutes, will you?”

“Mason—”

“There you go again.” He glanced up, his dark eyes like smoldering embers as he peeled back her sock to expose toes polished in a sassy neon pink. “Do I need to get the duct tape?”

Josie pursed her lips and held her tongue as his fingers skimmed gently over her skin, brushing the butterfly tattoo she’d received on a dare the evening of her eighteenth birthday. “You still have it…nice, tasteful,” Mason murmured as he smoothed a single finger over the tiny wings. Then, just as quickly, he cleared his throat and refocused on the task at hand. “The cut’s not too bad. A little antiseptic and a Band-Aid and you’ll be good as new. Do you have a first aid kit?”

“Stock room, mounted to the wall near the door.”

“Don’t move.” He wagged a finger at her. “I’ll be right back.”

Mason quickly returned with his hands full. He dumped supplies on the floor beside her and dropped to his knees.

Josie grimaced. “Is this really necessary?”

“Yes.”

Josie wiggled her toes, squirming as he swabbed the wound with a chill of peroxide. “That tickles.”

“Good, then it means it isn’t hurting.” He unwrapped a Band-Aid and smoothed it over the cut before looking up, his gaze capturing hers. His brown eyes were dark with concern and a touch of fury. There was something else, too, something Josie couldn’t quite put her finger on. “Did he hurt you…anywhere else?”

The question hung between them, bringing tears to Josie’s eyes. Simms could have hurt her more, most certainly intended to hurt her badly enough to take what he wanted. If Mason hadn’t returned…

“No.” Josie shook her head, her voice little more than a gasp. “I’m OK.”

But the tears came harder as reality set in, choking her. She melted into Mason, and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into the shelter of his embrace.

“It’s OK now. You’ll be fine, honey.” His words were a warm breath against her cheek, his touch a gentle assurance as the ice pack slipped to the floor. “He won’t come around anymore. I promise.”

“He just scared me.” Her tears dampened the front of his flannel shirt. “I thought he would—”

“It’s over.” Mason cut off the sentence with short, clipped words. “Like you said, the police will handle things now.”

The shop door slammed open, jarring the overhead bell and startling Josie as a blast of frigid air swirled into the room.

“Josie, oh my baby.” Ali rushed over, followed closely by Maci and Hunter. “Are you OK?”

“Yes.” She eased from Mason’s arms and gazed up at the trio of friends, her vision blurred by hot tears. “But, how did you know?”

“The emergency radio.” Hunter tapped the small black box at his side. “Distress call came in about half an hour ago. I’m off duty today so, without the emergency vehicle, we got here as quick as we could through the snowdrifts. Everything OK?”

“It is now.” Mason rose to face Hunter, extending a hand. The years seemed to melt away as Josie watched them acknowledge each other. “It’s good to see you, man.”

“You, too.” Hunter surveyed the war-zone around the room—shattered glass and the broken coffee carafe. “Good grief. What happened?”

As Mason dove into the story Ali and Maci slipped from their snow-dusted coats and huddled around Josie, wrapping her in tender comfort. Josie let her tears fall, realizing once again how very blessed she was to have friends such as these.

“Stewart Simms is no better than his evil cousin.” Maci retrieved the ice pack from the tile and draped it back over Josie’s bruise. Her eyes, grey-blue as stonewashed denim, narrowed as her lips dipped to a frown. “Bad news…both of them. You’re pressing charges, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Good, then.” Ali leaned in. “Your glasses are broken.”

“I know.” And just like that, she was reduced to her gawky high school days once again. She pressed the slipping frames back onto her nose. “I have another pair in my office. I just have to fetch them.”

“I’ll go,” Maci offered.

“Where’s Rory?” Josie asked with a start.

“Back at the inn with Ryder.” Ali hugged Josie and stroked tear-dampened hair from her cheek as Maci slipped into her office for the glasses. “Ryder’s tossing together a pot of his soon-to-be famous chicken gumbo for the guests braving the storm.”

“Sounds yummy.”

“Yes, it does.” Maci returned with the sassy floral frames and leaned in, handing them to Josie. “The symphony’s concert has been canceled for tonight. I say we all head toward the inn and take a break from this craziness. What do you think?”

“I don’t know…I still have a lot of work to do.” Josie’s gaze drifted over the mess of coffee splatter, stacked magazines and unopened boxes. “And I should probably go in search of a new coffee carafe.”

“Stock can wait, and coffee, too.” Mason stepped forward to take Josie’s hand. “I’ll mop up this mess for you and then work is done for today. I think heading back to the inn is a great idea.” He handed Josie her boots. “My SUV is loaded down with sleds I picked up from Peterson’s Five and Dime on the way into town this morning.”

“Let’s break them in.” Hunter handed Maci her jacket. “Remember that giant hill back behind the inn, Mason?”

“The one with the wicked dip and hairpin curve?”

“Yeah. We used to grab some huge air there.” Hunter’s comment was embedded with a dare. “Bet I can still fly higher than you.”

“You’re on.” Mason handed Josie her mittens, winking. “If I remember right, our two-person sled used to race the fastest. Think you’ve still got it in you?”

“You’d better believe it.” Josie rose to the challenge. She swiped her tears and watched as Mason wadded paper towels and knelt to mop up the coffee mess. “And, as I remember, I lobbed a pretty mean snowball, too. Good aim. If I’m going to pack up work for the day, I might as well make it worth my while.”

“Have you just issued a challenge?” He tossed the soiled towels into a trash can.

“Take it or leave it.”

“Perfect.” Maci flipped her braided long, black hair over her shoulder and tugged on a thick, wool hat. “My violin’s in Hunter’s Land Rover. After we sled and wage all-out war with mounds of packed slush, we can enjoy a little after-dinner music. Ali’s asked me to play for the inn’s guests.”

“And we have several who’ve decided to extend their stay through the storm because they aren’t used to these mountain roads.” Ali tugged the zipper on her jacket and slipped her hands into leather gloves. “Come on, Josie. Rory will love seeing you again.”