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By the next morning—Sunday, the last, half-day of the fête—the visitors and townspeople alike were still buzzing about the sheriff’s arrest. Despite the one murder and a near miss, the general opinion seemed to be that great entertainment had been had by all.
While this breezy attitude toward murder rather left Di shaking his head, he was mostly too eyebrow-deep in happiness to notice much of anything else.
After a general round of congratulations to MacBeth on her skillful baiting of the sheriff and several high fives to Di on his takedown, what was left of the department had sent Di and Mac on their merry way, more than capable of looking after the last night of the fête. Mayor Velveteen had even come by their booth to back up this opinion, as well as telling Di and Mac to be in her new office by 8 a.m. the next morning, and putting Alex in temporary charge of the booth and the boys.
Although Spencer sulked, everyone else sort of rolled with it, as at least it meant that they didn’t have to think very much, which was sort of the Prospector’s Rest Sheriff Department’s official goal.
As they made their way back to Di’s rented house—mostly because it was closer—with Sgt. Peewee following along happily, Di had already been more contented than he’d ever been before.
But, by the next morning, he was pretty much defining “elated.” All in all, he decided that he’d gone from “big pile of goo” to “giant puddle of squishy affection.”
While it was embarrassing, he wouldn’t have given it up for anything.
Therefore, as Di and Mac walked hand-in-hand together Sunday morning toward their appointment with the new mayor—with Sgt. Peewee now dressed like a dragon, for no reason Di could figure out, although he wouldn’t question any decision which made Mac happy—he couldn’t stop staring at her with what Boomer always referred to as his “stunned mullet” look.
Being me is embarrassing, but if Mac wants me, I’m not crazy enough to argue.
Chuckling, as she met his besotted look, Mac wondered, picking up on a conversation which had been rather passionately interrupted the night before, “Really, Di. You think I didn’t know how you felt?”
“Um, I never wanted to push my feelings on you.”
Mac gave a tremendous eye roll.
“Di, sweetie, if you’d been doing that, I’d have been a whole lot happier. Instead, you just stared at me like Peewee does when he knows there’s steak to be had.”
Laughing loudly, Di couldn’t even begin to deny it.
“You’re much better than steak,” he whispered—and then heard what he’d said. “But, as that statement just proved, I’m not exactly cut out for romance.”
Shaking his head, he still wondered.
“Not that I at all want to talk you out of this, but what did you ever see in me?”
Sighing, Mac stopped and turned, crossing her arms on his chest. Around them, others who were headed to the fête gave them occasional cheers of “Good for you!” or sometimes a “Finally, someone got that bastard!”
It was an odd combination of applause for their arrest and their relationship, but, with Mac’s dark eyes staring deep inside him, it definitely wasn’t where his mind was.
“Okay, Di.”
She poked his chest with her finger.
“Let me make this clear. I’ve been in love with you ever since you offered your stuffed blue doggie to me back when we were a year and a half old.”
“Um, that’s my story,” Di tried to interject.
But Mac waved her hand.
“Yeah, yeah. Anyway, it’s true. I’d had a bad day. I’d just had to put up with that idiot Spencer.”
When Di looked confused, she explained.
“Remember his uncle, the town drunk?”
Di sort of did. He was pretty much the poster boy for redneck stereotypes.
“Yeah, well, when his family were bailing him out for the fiftieth time, I’d had the misfortune of being stuck in a playpen with him. He pulled my hair, tried to beat me with plastic building blocks, and was generally the obnoxious jerk he’s been since the day he was born. I’d pretty much formed the opinion that anyone dressed in a blue onesie was simply bad, bad news.”
Her smile was a thing of beauty and always had been, which meant he couldn’t think enough to come up with any words to interrupt her—not that he wanted to.
“And then you arrived. Despite the blue onesie, you not only didn’t hit, punch, or mistreat me. You shared your stuffed animal with me and helped me try to build something with the blocks. When it fell over, and I was sad, you patted me gently on the head. By the time your mother took you away, I’d already decided what the man I was going to marry looked like.”
Her gaze ran along him.
“Although I’m thankful you lost the onesie.”
Laughing, Di gave up on propriety and held her close.
“I love you,” he whispered, kissing her on the side of the head.
He’d never been able to say it out loud before, and he was treasuring the opportunity. A few idiots yelled a “Whoo-hoo!” at them, but he figured they could learn to deal.
Still, smiling, Mac pulled back.
“I think my point, Di, was that I love you, and I always have.”
Shaking her head and gazing at him in wonder, he could see that she was amazed he hadn’t seen it, and she explained before he could ask.
“Even when you’re frustrated, you’re never mean or petty or vindictive. You always look out for others, especially when they can’t do so for themselves.”
Looking down at Sgt. Peewee—who stared up at them with deep interest, the plush, green dragon on his head turning with him—she went on.
“It was even you who made sure that our little dragon pal here and his siblings were safe and found homes.”
Not quite able to deny this, Di still worried.
“I’m not sure that my not being a jerk is reason enough for you to keep me.”
But Mac only rolled her eyes before she kissed him—which was a very effective way to shut him up.
Once she refocused on him, she added, “You’re a good man, Di, and you always have been. And you’re funny and smart and talented and I like being around you as much as possible.”
Sort of accepting this—mostly because he would have been crazy not to—Di sighed, giving a crooked smile.
“You coulda told me.”
She laughed.
“What fun was that? Instead, I joined every club at school you were in and even took up that moron Pommelroy’s offer to join the department, ‘cause I knew you were going to sign up.”
Feeling as though the scales were falling from his eyes, Di stared at her—and realized what a fool he’d been not to at least ask her to coffee or something much, much earlier.
But Mac went on.
“But, hey, that’s the danger of good men. They tend to doubt themselves. They’re definitely not the sort to sidle up and say, ‘Hey baby.’”
She shrugged.
“So I waited.”
Feeling extremely foolish but also incredibly happy and sort of wanting to send out a group text to all his friends from the Men Who Stitch to update them on this very fortunate change in his life, Di smiled.
“Um, sorry about that.”
Mac shrugged.
“Now, do you get it, or do we keep the mayor waiting even longer?”
Eyes widening, Di glanced at his watch.
“Um, no.”
He kissed her.
“Let’s go.”
All of this settled, a few blocks later, they were at the town hall. While relatively small by civic building standards, it had been built in 1901 out of granite and was in the seriously impressive style of all the public buildings from that time.
Of course, the place had been divided and subdivided inside over the decades, so that about twenty town offices could function in room for maybe five. Everybody who worked there knew each other pretty well.
The mayor’s office was right at the back of the building. Passing by the other administrative sections, Di and Mac got quite a few cheers, whistles, and applause.
Finally, they made it back to the mayor’s secretary, Candice. She was a pretty 20-something white woman with dyed platinum blonde hair who, so the department gossip ran, the mayor had found hanging upside down from a pole at a strip club in Asheville.
Right now, she looked happier than Di had ever seen her.
“You two can go right in,” she smiled—and, for the first time, it was genuine.
Still, Di decided to ask.
“Liking the new boss?”
She held up both her hands to the heavens.
“Oh, hallelujah, Jesus, yes!”
Shaking her head, as she refocused on them, she whispered, “Do you have any idea how nice it is not to have my butt commented on every day?”
Pulling back in her chair a bit, she showed them the rest of her outfit.
“And Velveteen’s letting me wear pants!”
Mac grinned at her.
“If you want to burn the short skirts, I’ll help you create a safe bonfire.”
For a moment, Candice looked so moved she might cry. Then her hand came down on Mac’s, her smile enormous.
“Girl, I am so holding you to that!”
Then, seeming to remember herself, she pushed a button on her intercom.
“Mayor Velveteen, the saviors are here.”
As they entered, they heard Velveteen’s chuckle.
“Ah, finally the happy couple arrives.”
Glancing at the clock, Di saw they were at least 10 minutes late.
Whoops.
But Velveteen just shook her head, as she motioned Di to close the door and began without preamble.
“Okay, I’ve got a lot to do, and I still want to get back to my stall for the last few hours of the fête. Besides, I’ve got some announcements to do there, so let’s get to it.”
Pointing at Mac, she commanded, “Mac, I’m making you the new temporary, interim sheriff.”
Both Mac and Di stared at each other, as she went on.
“The next election is in six months, so you’ve got till then to show everyone what you can do, just like I do. Di . . .”
Not waiting for a reaction, she pointed at him.
“. . . I’m appointing Alex Martinez as the Deputy Sheriff. Any objections?”
Actually, Di couldn’t think of a single one, but Mac looked at her.
“Wait. Di helped figure this out and take down Pommelroy. So . . .”
But Velveteen held up a hand. Her Indian textile dress today was a garnet color and matched her velvet headband, which brought out the silver of her hair.
“Di, how much do you actually like being an officer?”
He didn’t even have to think about it.
“Other than being near Mac and maybe Peewee? I hate it. It’s all belligerent drunks and black bear incursions and occasional crafters’ showdow—. . .”
Suddenly, he remembered whom he was talking to.
“Um, anyway, the job stinks. And, other than Mac and Alex and Peewee, so does the company.”
Watching them all in his costume, Peewee and the dragon paid close attention to all these new changes.
Sagely, Velveteen nodded.
“Exactly. You’ve got a new job now.”
Worried, Di stared at Mac and back to the mayor.
“Um . . .”
“I’m going to make you our department crafts coordinator.”
Blinking, he didn’t get it and waited to see if there was more, which, fortunately, there was.
“Those yokels could use a bit of relaxation. You’re going to teach them . . .”
Now, Di did interrupt, leaning forward onto her desk—which, since it had started as Pocket’s, was seriously oversized. He felt desperate.
“Wait. You don’t mean . . .”
“New department policy. Men’s stitching circle.”
She nodded at Mac.
“Although the sheriff can join if she’d like.”
Watching her wide-eyed, Di swallowed heavily, his voice a whisper.
“They’ll murder me.”
“Nah, Alex’ll keep them in line. Besides, that punch you gave Pommelroy has gone viral around town.”
She shook her head.
“They are not gonna be giving you any more trouble after that.”
When he was too stunned to speak, she waved her hands at them.
“Now, shoo!”
She pressed the button on her intercom.
“Ms. Worthy, show the lady and gentleman out, would you?”
“Of course, Mayor Velveteen,” Candice agreed readily, quickly opening the door. “This way.”
As they went, she handed a package to Mac.
“Your badge and the information for the tailor to get your uniform started is all in here. So’s my home number, in case you need anything else. And I’m holding you to that bonfire!”
“See you at Mac’s swearing-in in an hour!” Velveteen said to their backs, as her door closed with Candice on the other side. Just before it did, Di heard her say, “Now, about that Mystery Weekend we’re going to be coordinating around town in a few months . . .”
Still in a daze, Di allowed Mac to lead him down the long, marble hallway and outside, Peewee watching them with interest all the way, to where the sound of the closest stage—a cover band doing songs from the musical, Hair, complete with a side of bagpipes—filled all available space with a truly odd sound.
But Di barely noticed.
For a while, he merely stood there, blinking. Finally, he said, “Did I just get kicked off the force to become an arts and crafts teacher?”
Nodding, Mac filled in, “To as rowdy a group of kindergarteners as any, yes.”
Now, Di was feeling desperate, his voice rising.
“I don’t want to try to teach Miles Spencer how to sew!”
Peewee’s look—at least what could be seen of it beneath the cloth, green dragon head—was sympathetic. He’d never been Spencer’s biggest fan, either. Since the man had threatened to drown him back when Peewee was just a newborn puppy, this wasn’t exactly a surprise.
But Mac moved in on him, smiling.
“Di, sweetie, you’re one of the Men Who Stitch. If you’ve ever met a group who needs the lessons in precision and care that requires more than the men of the Prospector’s Rest Sheriff’s Department, I’d like to hear it.”
And, still amazed and more than a little worried, he stared at her.
But, really, he knew it would be all right, especially when Mac said, “There’s only one question left. Do we move into your house or mine?”
And, suddenly seriously refocused, Di kissed her, giving in, as Peewee watched them stoically.
After all, with Mac by his side full time, he might even be able to handle whiny officers with needles.
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