Free Cole in My Stocking by Jessi Gage Page A

throat. “Cleaning and estate stuff, mostly. Max set up an account I’ve been using to pay outstanding bills. He thinks he found a buyer for the property. It’s a guy in Vermont with a chain of gun stores. He’s interested in Dad’s equipment and might be willing to buy the business and property in one lump sum, vehicles, trailer and all.”
    While dealing with the entire estate at once would simplify the transaction, I would have a far smaller chance of inheriting anything than if I sold it piecemeal. I couldn’t make up my mind which I wanted more, the express route out of Dad’s estate—and therefore out of Newburgh—or the scenic route, which would require a lot more time and effort than I was inclined to invest. I’d told Max I’d think about it and let him know whether to move forward with the Vermont guy after Christmas.
    “How about you?” I was pretty sure he’d worked a couple of shifts, since I’d recognized his Oakleys through the windows of the state patrol cruiser that had coasted by a few times on Monday and Tuesday. Knowing Cole was at least keeping an eye on Dad’s place had lifted some of my melancholy at his not paying attention to me. Which was exactly what I told myself I wanted: Cole’s inattention. “Do any more Christmas shopping?”
    “Some,” he said, keeping his eyes on the road. “Worked the last two days. Have today and tomorrow off.”
    “Nice. Christmas Eve and Christmas off? Did you have to sell your soul to a coworker to get that deal?”
    He chuckled. “Not this time. Got lucky. That’s just how the schedule fell this year. Don’t worry, though. I’ll make up for it working a double shift on the thirty-first. A friend of mine wanted New Year’s Eve off, so I said I’d work for her even though I’m already doing the day shift.”
    “What kind of hours does a statie work? What does a double shift mean? Like sixteen hours? Twenty-four?” I asked because I didn’t want to think about whether this friend he was doing a favor for might be Officer Busty. Also, if a double shift meant twenty-four hours on the clock, I worried that wasn’t healthy.
    “Staties in New Hampshire work in two-week rotations. Week one, you’re on duty five days out of seven, twelve hour shifts. The next week, you’re only on duty two days out of seven. Those weeks, you get a three day weekend, which, I’m not going to lie, is pretty sweet. It works out to eighty-four hours every two weeks. I do two weeks of days then two weeks of nights. This is week one on days. Today and tomorrow are my two-off. Rest of the week, I’m on duty six a.m. to six p.m., but next week is my light week. I’ll have plenty of time to help you with your dad’s estate stuff. If you want.”
    My heart leapt at the possibility of seeing a lot of Cole next week. “I want,” I said before I could run it through the filter of appropriateness. Shoot. I covered my eagerness with, “I’ll take all the help I can get.” A little voice in my head added, And all the Cole I can get.
    Shut up, stupid voice. We don’t do relationships, remember? We especially don’t do relationships with anyone from Newburgh.
    “So, when’d you become a statie?” I asked.
    “Oh-eight,” he said. The year I graduated high school and booked it out of Newburgh.
    That was weird. I hadn’t heard anything about him wanting to be statie, not that I would have been privy to Cole’s career goals. “Why the change?” I asked.
    He shot me a glance behind those shades, and the air in the truck got heavy. He was quiet for so long, I thought he hadn’t heard me. Then he blew out a breath and said, “You don’t know?”
    “Know what?”
    “About me leaving Newburgh PD? Your dad didn’t tell you?”
    “Dad and I didn’t talk. Like ever. I sent him cards a couple times a year. That’s how he knew all my news. But I never heard from him. Not about you or anything else. I didn’t even know he was sick.”
    A muscle in his jaw ticked. I