Free The Christmas Thief by Julie Carobini

suction, and opened it wide. “It’s that one up there,” she said, pointing to a box identical to the last five she’d lugged down the hall. She would have liked to use a dolly, but the only one in the building was in service upstairs.
    Ignoring the step stool, Jeremy climbed the metal shelving and pulled at the box with one hand. He hopped down with the box of bread on his shoulder as if it were as light as a sack of rags.
    Together they walked back down the hall. When they reached the kitchen, Lorena nodded back toward the break room again. Tasha caught his eye. “You can just set it in there on top of the other one.”
    After he set the box squarely on top of the other, he leaned toward her, touching the small of her back lightly. “Anything else you need, darlin’?”
    “Not a thing, Superman,” she said, laughing.
    She was still laughing when the door to the outside slammed shut. Marc filled the door frame, his rough hands resting on the hip pockets of his worn denim, his expression undecipherable.
    “Howdy, Marc,” Jeremy said with a chuckle. “Wasn’t aware of a wood delivery. Or are you looking for work?”
    “Might be. You leaving soon?”
    Jeremy’s mustache twitched. “You never know.”
    “You never do.”
    Tasha cut in, uninterested in finding out Marc’s real purpose for showing up unannounced at camp. “I’ll let you boys sort it all out.” She cast Jeremy a smile. “Thanks a bunch for the help. Appreciate it.”
    “Sure thing,” he said with a wink.
    “Tasha,” Lorena called out from her post at the stove top, “put that man to work. We need the help!”
    Marc hung his hat and trailed into the hot kitchen, his brows lifted.
    “Don’t just stand there gaping at me,” Lorena said, “start drying those wet pots and pans.”
    “My, this is a pretty hostile work environment you’ve got here,” Marc said, obliging Lorena by tossing a towel over his shoulder, picking up a pot, and shaking out the excess water. “Wanna help me here, Tasha?”
    “Not a chance.” She had begun laying out narrow loaves of bread, face up. She would butter them before sending them into the oven for browning. Why was Marc Shepherd here anyway—to spy on her? To keep close tabs on her in case she suddenly “broke”? She hadn’t forgotten the way he had looked at her when he’d found her apron—like he was expecting some kind of confession. She slathered butter onto bread with excessive force. If anyone was going to find out what was going on—and without Marc or his crew’s help—it would be her.
    Lorena’s voice broke through Tasha’s barrage of mental talk. “I supposed you’ve hauled a bunch of wood up here again, Marcus.”
    “You guessed correctly. The truck’s full of clean wood for burning. Enough to get the camp through the holidays.” He dried off another pot and hung it on the rack above his head. “If only the tyrannical boss around here would give me my release papers, I’d go find myself a helper and unload it all.”
    “Okay then. Don’t let me stop you a minute more. All I ask is that you find someone other than that wily Jeremy to help you. He’s after my help,” she said, flicking a nod in Tasha’s direction, “and I don’t want to give him one more reason to bring his sorry bum back in here again.”
    Tasha scoffed.
    For his part, Marc didn’t comment on Lorena’s remark at all. Instead, he grabbed his hat from the hook by the door, and with barely a glance in Tasha’s direction, he simply said, “Ladies,” before stepping outside.
    ~~~
    She didn’t go home after work, because if Tasha had allowed herself to sit on her couch for even a moment, she would not have been able to get up. Instead, she kept on driving, rolling past her property on the canyon side, rounding the corner, and taking the winding, narrow road that led into the mountain that she could see from deck. She had hiked this way before, but her car took her much farther than she had ever gone