If it sounded like something that could happen only in a book or movie, that is exactly what Natalie had thought, too. Until hockey player Mick Evans walked into her perfectly wonderful, boring, and normal life four years ago and made her believe it.
She’d never been able to watch hockey again without a shudder, which, coming from Minnesota—or the USSR for that matter—was something akin to sacrilege.
Mick can’t find you, she reminded herself.Relax.
Natalie forced herself to return the broad smile of theother woman, who she could see was just being friendly; the ballet teacher wasn’t a hit man sent to kill her. Again.
“I am new to town,” Natalie said. “I’m renting the old Lewis farm and moved in a couple weeks ago.”
The other woman’s brows shot up. “I’m surprised that place is habitable. It hasn’t been lived in full-time since Mrs. Lewis died a few years back.”
More like five. And she was right. The place was horribly run-down. But Natalie had agreed to fix it up in exchange for a minuscule rent. The four children who’d inherited it had no desire to be farmers, but they hadn’t been able to sell it. They were just happy to have someone living in it so its value didn’t depreciate further.
Natalie’s chest squeezed. She loved the place. It was perfect—or would be if she had the chance to do everything she wanted. But she knew she probably wouldn’t have the opportunity. She couldn’t stay long. She had to keep moving.
But maybe one day she would find a place just like it to continue the artisanal cheese business that she’d just been getting started when her father had been forced to sell the family farm. That was when she’d made the fateful decision to go to Washington and the nightmare had begun.
If only she could go back. She would be safe and secure in her nice boring and ordinary life, instead of feeling as if she’d woken up in some sort of bad James Bond movie.
And the man she loved would still be alive. They might never have met, but at least he would be alive. The squeezing in her heart turned to the familiar ache that she suspected she would carry with her forever.
Realizing the other woman was waiting for her reply, she said, “I’m doing some work on it—fixing it up a little.”
“A little? I’m surprised the place even has water.”
Natalie smiled, which felt odd from disuse. She hadn’thad much to smile about in months. “It was a little rusty at first, but once I got the water heater going again, I’ve even been able to manage hot showers.”
“Wow! You know how to fix a water heater? I’m impressed. But you might not want to let Joe Randall hear you say that. He’s the town’s plumber, and he’s protective of his territory.” The woman smiled again, her eyes crinkling. She was older than Natalie had thought—probably a few years past Natalie’s twenty-nine—but her diminutive figure and tidy build coupled with delicate, dark features made her appear much younger. “I’m sorry. I haven’t introduced myself.” She held out her hand. “I’m Becky Randall.” Her grin deepened at Natalie’s reaction to the last name. “Yep, the plumber’s daughter who can’t even fix a leaky toilet.”
In the face of such overt friendliness, there was nothing else Natalie could do but return the shake. “Jennifer,” she said. “Jennifer Wilson.”
“Welcome to Kensington,” Becky said. “Are you a dancer or just a ballet fan?”
Natalie tried not to startle, but the question hit too close to home. “Uh,” she stumbled awkwardly, “just a fan.”
“Too bad. I’m looking for help with our annual ChristmasNutcrackerproduction.” Natalie wanted to bite but forced herself not to say anything. “Well, if you are looking for work, the diner needs a new waitress, the hotel a bookkeeper, and the middle school a new psychologist.”
Natalie gave a sharp bark of relieved laughter. “Are you the town’s job recruiter?”
Becky grinned back at her. “Nope, just its manager.”
Natalie couldn’t hide her shock. She took in the pink tights, black leotard, toe shoes, and the thin, short black dancer’s sweater that crossed in the front. “You’re the mayor?”
“Town manager in these parts, but the job isessentially the same. You aren’t the only one who is surprised. I didn’t sign up for it, but no one else would agree to step up after our previous manager was caught dipping into the community fund to take his girlfriend on fancy vacations. They moved to the city before anyone figured it out.”
Natalie assumed she meant Burlington, which was Vermont’s most populous city at forty-five thousand. Tiny by most American comparisons, but big compared to the six thousand in Kensington. Burlington was about forty miles to the south from Kensington, which was on the Vermont-Canada border. Her picking a town so close to the border hadn’t been a coincidence.
“What do you do?” the other woman asked. “Other than fix water heaters and put my inheritance in jeopardy?”
Natalie laughed. It felt good. Unfamiliar, but good. Despite her initial reserve, she found herself liking the ballet teacher/mayor—manager, she corrected herself—and responded truthfully. “I guess you could say I get things done.” My Girl Friday. That was what the deputy secretary had called her. The wistful smile fell from her face. Her handle-everything reliability had been her downfall. If she’d been less sure of herself, less the starry-eyed millennial who thought she could change the world, maybe they would have left her alone.
She shook off the what-ifs that didn’t help and explained, “I was a legal assistant for a law office in New Jersey the past five years.”
It wasn’t a complete lie. That’s what Jennifer had been doing before...
Natalie forced away the memory of her best friend before the tears in her throat rose to her eyes.
Becky’s eyes gleamed as if she’d just won the lottery. “I could use exactly that kind of help if you’re interested. You should see the mess the former manager left of the files.”
