Caught in the Frame Read Online Free

to hear it from me.” Hot blood rushed to her cheeks. She’d rather stick her arm in a bag of rattlesnakes than try to follow the tangled threads of her emotions when it came to Dalton Burnsoll. Right now, she couldn’t remember which one of them had suggested putting their relationship on hold for the time being.
    “Thank you for letting me know.” The words sounded stilted and stupid to Dalton, but they were the best he could do at the moment, so he turned the conversation to the work aspect. “Nate will be in constant contact; I’ll stay here to hold down the fort and tug what few lines we have on Remy. If I don’t see you again before you leave...” Dalton stood, reached to give her a hug, but halfway there thought better of it and lamely patted her arm instead. He cleared his throat to finish the statement, but nothing came out.
    “I’ll let you get back to work, then.” EV injected a healthy dose of sarcasm into the word, but softened the rebuke with a tentative smile. With a few notable exceptions, Ponderosa Pines was pretty quiet from a law enforcement standpoint. Dalton could easily handle things while they were gone.
    * * *
     
    Late to knitting group after her detour into Awkwardville with Dalton, EV took a seat beside Chloe, whose nimble fingers worked a flashing set of needles to produce stitch after perfect stitch. It was enough to make EV want to stab her own eye out. Chloe smirked when EV pulled the elephant gray blob of inexpertly rendered work from her bag. “Laugh it up, Missy, but this is going to be your Christmas present.” EV muttered.
    “What’s it supposed to be?” Chloe asked with a pained expression on her face. “Looks like a pile of gargoyle crap.”
    “It’s a hat.”
    “Well, you should shoot it and put it out of its misery.” Chloe grinned. The truth was, if EV gave her the hat, Chloe would wear it. That’s what you did when your best friend made something for you. Even if it was the ugliest garment in the history of knitting.
    “Keep it up, and I’ll make you a matching pair of mittens.”
    Priscilla Lewellyn’s quiet chuckle did not go unnoticed, but it was her outfit that earned her a raised eyebrow from EV. Owner of Thread, the fabric store where knitting group was held, Priscilla’s everyday wardrobe consisted of items worked by her own hand—generally using specialty yarns with a fuzzy or nubby texture. Today’s dress, exquisitely crafted from variegated boucle yarn in a mix of fall colors, would have been fine on its own. It was the addition of some sort of collar apparatus that made the outfit go wrong. Ruffled around the edges, it looked like an old fashioned doily knit from the feathers pulled off of a wild pheasant. From that bit of fluff rose Priscilla’s slim-to-the-point-of-skinny neck, which, along with her prominent nose, conjured the vision of a Thanksgiving turkey in EV’s head. It wasn’t the most charitable of thoughts, and yet she couldn’t shake the image.
    “Speaking of mittens,” Talia Plunkett took the opportunity to change the subject, “I was thinking it might be a good idea to add a few pairs of stockings to the borrow boxes this year.” The borrow boxes, a Ponderosa Pines innovation, held books for trade during summer months, and hats, mittens, and scarves during the winter—no trade necessary. “I’d be happy to donate several pairs to kick things off.”
    With a little too much time on her hands after her husband’s accidental death, Talia had turned to knitting. With a vengeance. Now she had a plastic tote filled with two dozen pairs of orphaned stockings.
    “How is that speaking of mittens?” Talia’s sister, Lottie Calabrese, sneered.
    “Shut up, Lottie.” Luther’s death had somehow shortened Talia’s patience and strengthened her spine. Once inclined to kowtow to her sister’s acid tongue, she now waded in with a will. Stories of their epic public battles were gaining legendary status.
    To stop this one in its