Page 2 of Mountain Man's Christmas Star
I blinked. “Why bother hiring you to run security, then?”
Confusion marred his features for a moment, but finally he seemed to get what I was saying. Then he gestured to the patch on his sleeve. Upon closer inspection, it wasn’t a security logo at all. It looked military—some kind of unit insignia with an eagle and stars.
“I’m not security,” was all he said.
Heat flooded my cheeks. Of course. Because my morning wasn’t humiliating enough already.
“I’m sorry, I just saw the jacket and assumed?—”
“Military surplus,” he said. “It’s warm.”
“Right. Of course.” I wanted to disappear. “I should go. Sorry to bother you.”
I’d taken exactly two steps when his voice stopped me. “I could take a look around, though.”
I turned back. “What?”
“Your booth. See what I can figure out.” He shrugged, the movement making his broad shoulders strain against the dark fabric. “I’ve got time, and theft is theft.”
“You don’t have to?—”
“Gunnar Erickson.” He held out a hand that completely engulfed mine when I shook it. “And you’re the soap maker with the stars.”
“Ivy Shaw.” His hand was warm and callused, completely steady, while mine was still trembling with residual frustration. “How did you know about the stars?”
“Walked by your setup yesterday afternoon. Hard to miss someone who arranges soap like it’s fine art.”
Something about the way he said it made my pulse skip. “You walked by my booth?”
A hint of color crept up Gunnar’s neck. “I made the rounds. Guess you weren’t around at the time. And you do arrange it all very…creatively.”
Despite everything, I found myself almost smiling. “They are kind of like art. Three generations of soap-making recipes.”
“Then we should figure out who’s taking them.” Gunnar started walking toward my booth. “Tell me exactly what’s missing.”
As I rushed to keep up with him, I tried not to notice how other vendors looked up when Gunnar passed. The man had presence—quiet, but commanding in a way that made people pay attention.
“Here,” I said, pulling back the tarp to reveal my entire display. “Three stars from the sample section. These are the ones customers can pick up and smell.”
Gunnar crouched down, examining my setup with the same focused attention he’d given me earlier. His fingers traced the edge of the table, then he studied the ground around my booth.
“So they just pulled back the tarp and reached in,” he said, straightening up.
“Exactly. The tarp was shifted slightly when I got here this morning. Like someone had pushed it aside to reach the left side of my display.”
“And they only took the sample pieces? Not the wrapped ones for sale?”
“Just the three display stars people could handle and smell.” I frowned. “Who steals soap samples?”
“Someone who really likes how they smell, apparently.” Gunnar’s expression was thoughtful. “Or someone who likes stars.”
The way he said it made me look at him more closely. “You think this is about the star shape specifically?”
“Could be. Mind if I ask around? See if other vendors had any issues?”
I nodded, surprised by how much better I felt just having someone take this seriously. “That would be amazing. Thank you.”
“Can you meet me back here around five? After the fair closes for the day?”
