“You got who to help me? You mean Mrs. Beth Otis?”
“No, no. Bethany Brown.”
Stan Ellison knew that the grimace on his face was telling, but he didn’t care. There were some things a man shouldn’t have to accept, even if his job security might depend upon it.
Anybody who had a clue about his past would never have assigned Amy Brown’s sister to work with him. Never. Which was just one more reason why he felt the department should have hired a chief from High Plains instead of bringing in a man who had no idea about the internal politics of the small town.
“She said she was free this morning and I see here she’s helped us out before,” the chief reminded him as he checked the paperwork on the clipboard he held. “Besides, who better to take the money and make change than a bank teller?”
“Right.” There was nothing more Stan could say. Not a thing. He was stuck and he knew it.
He muttered to himself as the chief hurried away. “Okay. I can do this. After all, Bethany isn’t responsible for what her big sister did. She’s actually not a bad kid.”
If only her appearance didn’t tie his gut in knots, he added, chagrined. Poor Bethany was really a pretty girl, which was part of his problem. She and Amy shared many of the same features, from their long, silky, reddish hair and hazel eyes to their stature and even the graceful way they moved. Catching sight of Bethany from a distance never failed to make his heart race and his throat go suddenly dry, thinking for an instant that Amy had returned.
He knew he didn’t still love Amy, not after the way she had treated him, but there was enough emotion left over to make him decidedly uneasy with regard to her slightly younger sister.
Looking up, he realized with a jolt of awareness that it was happening again. Bethany was approaching and his pulse had quickened at the mere sight of her. This was not good. Not good at all.
He forced a smile and tried to act nonchalant. “Hey, kiddo. I heard you got drafted. Sorry about that.”
She smiled so broadly in return that Stan’s cheeks warmed.
“No problem. You know how I love cookies. There’s no booth I’d rather work at than this one.”
“You plan to eat up all our profits, is that it?”
She giggled. “Don’t worry. I’ll pay for whatever I nibble on.”
“Aren’t you afraid of getting fat?”
“Like Amy always said she was, you mean? Nope. I figure, if the Good Lord wants a few curves on me I’m not going to argue. Besides, He made chocolate so He must want us to enjoy it.”
“I’ve never heard anybody put a spiritual spin on food before,” Stan said with a smile.
“Not all food,” Bethany replied. “Just chocolate.”
“I stand corrected.” He backed away to give her plenty of room to squeeze between the tables and join him before he pointed to a folding chair. “You can sit over there and manage the cash box if you want. The chief said you’d be best at it because you’re used to handling money.”
“Well, I can count—as long as I don’t run out of fingers and toes. That has to be a plus, right?”
“Right.”
Something about her attitude, her very presence, cheered Stan so much he was flabbergasted.
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