“Because I have a job and a life in Columbus.”
“Can you build a better life in Columbus than here? I bet not.”
“I-I…” She paused, unable to answer the question because she knew nothing about Goldie Maraschino’s 1942 life in Columbus, Ohio.
“Just think about it,” he said. “Things happen for a reason.”
The horse’s hooves clopped onto the covered bridge, where volunteers had shoveled snow over the plank floor so the sleighs could continue. They passed another sleigh on the opposite side of the bridge, where the driver had stopped so passengers could look out the window at the downriver view. They slowed down to take in the upriver view, and by the time they reached the other end of the bridge and turned the horse around, the other sleigh had moved on, so they could stop next, since it was the better of the two views.
“Would you like to stop for a moment and look at the river?” he offered. “Or would it just remind you of Claude Bolton?”
“I would like to stop. It probablywillremind me of that poor soul, but it’s also a great view.”
“That it is,” he agreed.
They pulled up to the window and Eli called, “Whoa,” as another sleigh approached on the other side of Bridge Street. Goldie looked out at the river and the beautiful night, then back toward the street. All the flickering candles in the windows on the first and second floors in the distance looked like dozens of golden fireflies.
“Thanks for arrangin’ this,” she smiled. “This is seriously cool!”
He reciprocated with a smile, then, in a surprise move, leaned over and kissed her. Although caught off guard, she didn’t pull away. The embrace lasted about seven seconds, but in its tender warmth was the whisper of much longer implications.
After their mouths separated, Goldie squinted her green eyes and looked at the lawman, not knowing what to conclude.
“I’ve wanted to do that since the first moment I saw you walking around River Street without a coat,” he confessed.
She cocked her head slightly, still squinting and thinking about the kiss.
He looked at her, unsure. “W-would you say something, please?” he urged.
“You used your tongue,” she noted.
“Yeah. It was something I heard about in the service and wanted to try. But only with someone special. Sorry if it?—”
“No. Tongue is good. I… I just…” she looked toward the approaching sleigh now coming onto the bridge. “We’d better go,” she suggested.
Eli nodded, turned toward the horse, and jerked the reins.
It was mostly a quiet ride back to the end of the street. He wondered if he’d upset her, and she wondered if a subconscious attraction to Eli was a contributing factor to how she often felt bugged by him.
After what seemed like a long time, she asked, “If you’ve wanted to do that since I first came to town, why did you wait until I’m on the verge of leaving?”
“On your first day, the afternoon you sat down at my table in the hotel restaurant, you told me your boyfriend had cheated on you for several months, and you’d just found out about it the day before.”
She thought for a moment, recalling.
“It makes more sense to me now because he was in New York, you live in Columbus, and are frequently on assignment,” he explained. “But the wound was brand new, and there are rules about that. A gentleman doesn’t play on a young woman’s emotions when she’s hurting. I wouldn’t have kissed you now, except we’re out of time and I was gonna bust if you didn’t know how I felt.”
She compared his answer with things that Peter said and did, and began to look at Eli in an entirely new light.
Thirty
CHOICES
Fifty-five minutes later, the Tour of Homes was long over, the stores were closed, and most of the street vendors were either gone or packing up their trailers. Only a few people still lingered on River Street while the local Boy Scout troop patrolled the streets to pick up litter. The two hired off-duty state policemen were taking down barricades, Eli was driving an inebriated city council member home, and Goldie was slowly strolling back to her hotel from the post office and community Christmas tree, thinking about the kiss Eli had given her in the sleigh.
As she was approaching the Sparkledove Arms, she saw Stu Frey putting his Santa costume in the back of his truck parked on the street in front of the hotel. It had two swing-open back doors, no side windows, and he used the vehicle for his meat deliveries.
“Ay, Stu,” she greeted. “How ya doin’?”
