Sweet and Salty (Marshall My Heart #1)

51. Chapter Fifty-One

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

J esse

Harbor parks in the overflow lot near the library. “I hope you know my wife is very upset that she could not accompany me today.”

“I’m sorry about that, Harbor.” I open the door and step out into the Wisconsin sunshine. My shoulder aches from the hours of inactivity, but I don’t care. Finally. Florida weather–whatever your barometer–is a fucking beast in the summer. St. Olaf, though? Clear skies, eighty degrees, light humidity. Hell, even the bugs seem disinclined to ruin the day’s festivities. Except, obviously, for ants. Those bastards will outlive Twinkies in an apocalypse. “Next time she’ll have to meet us at the airport.”

Harbor stands beside me, in a light blue polo shirt and seersucker shorts. A US Marshal in seersucker. Who would have thought? “I can’t believe you did the one thing I told you not to do.”

“I know.” I grin and mimic his posture. “But Laura’s special.”

Harbor starts down the street toward the Lutheran church. “They’re always special.”

This place is way bigger than I anticipated. I thought it would be a small church carnival, like the ones in my grandma’s town in Georgia. This is a whole event.

Trust St. Olaf to turn a fruit into an extravaganza. There’s even a guy—nope, not just any guy, that’s Rove the sanitation guy—walking around in a red-and-yellow clown costume and stilts. It’s terrifying. Children run from him like he’s carrying boiled Brussels sprouts instead of three worn juggling balls.

Harbor claps me on the back. “Have fun and good luck, Jesse.” I don’t need it. Laura is all the luck I want. “Thank you for being the one non-mob asshole I’ve had to relocate. I’ll let you know when it’s time to testify, and I spoke with Rory, who will keep you updated on Chris’s trial.” Esme was arrested last month, too, on conspiracy charges. I thought I’d enjoy seeing the woman who dragged me into the mess imprisoned, but I only felt numb. I don’t care about Esme any more. She was a part of my past, but she has no place in my future. “Don’t get into trouble again, okay? I really don’t want to see you unless it’s at Snow Angel Fest.”

Harbor walks away, whistling to himself, never letting on that he has a service pistol in a holster hidden beneath his polo.

How to find Laura?

I walk toward the duck pond first, knowing her affinity for animals. There is a little dog and cat adoption tent set near the concession stands, but no Laura.

“Dr. Vargas!” Opal Larson waves me over to where she and Maddy Olmstead have set up lawn chairs. Their twin Labradoodles sleep at their feet, curled on each other like nesting dolls. “Welcome back! Will you do me a favor and check out Peaches’s paw? She got something stuck in there last week and I’m worried about her.”

“Opal.” Maddy slaps her friend’s arm playfully. “He’s barely recovered from getting shot. And he hasn’t seen Laura. What if she’s changed her mind? Two months is a long time, dontcha know.” With sparkling eyes, she turns to me. “And if you’re looking at Peaches, can you check out Cream’s teeth? No matter what I try, she gets the tartar so bad.”

Surprise, surprise. I missed St. Olaf. “Sure. I’ll stop by later, okay? I want to find Laura.”

“Oh yeah, you betcha.” Maddy and Opal wave and I pass them right by.

Only to be stopped by Moe, who, despite handing out bratwurst with the reticence of a monk who’s taken a vow of silence, calls out to me. “Jesse!”

“Hi, Moe.” We’ve never been hugging-type people, so I lift a hand to him instead.

“Have a brat.” He hands me a plate with a bratwurst in a bun, drenched in beer-scented onions. “Good to have you back. I was thinking about going fishing again.”

“Any time, Moe. Any time. It will be a while before my vet license gets approved, and I don’t know if you’ve found someone else to help—”

“You’re hired. See you Tuesday. Enjoy the picnic.” Moe turns to the next customer.

Surprise, surprise. I really did miss this town.

I nod at him and the ladies staffing the popcorn and pretzels and continue toward the picnic-cloth-covered tables laden with homemade food.

I like bratwurst just fine, especially with onions and maybe some sauerkraut. But not before I see Laura.

Because there she is, laughing and smiling with her family. She looks gorgeous. Eight weeks of video chats while I was doing rehab at a safe house was not enough.

With Moe’s bratwurst brandished in hand like a bizarre gift, I walk toward them all. Nervous? Why the fuck am I nervous? I have to get over myself.

After all, I’m home for a reason.