It was supposed to snow today. Snow. On Christmas Eve. I was supposed to show up at my parents’ house in a few hours for our annual family dinner. But that felt so monumental. And the nerves that I had bubbling up inside me.

I was meeting Scarlett, a little reluctantly, downtown for lunch. I had her Christmas present—a snazzy, custom-made tool belt with a beer bottle holder—tucked inside a cheerful holiday gift bag. She was going to help me with my speech. My “lay it all on the line and put my heart in Bowie’s hands” speech.

I’d give him the words tonight, face-to-face if I had to break down the door between our halves.

My heart skipped a beat or two at the thought of putting it all out there. All on the line.

Scarlett had asked me what I wanted to save first, my job or my relationship. I’d surprised the hell out of myself by choosing Bowie. I could get another job, probably. I could be a security guard at the courthouse or maybe work with Leah Mae at her boutique when it opened. Or I could venture outside of Bootleg and look for a law enforcement job.

But I couldn’t find myself another Bowie Bodine.

I meandered down Lake Drive, scarf wrapped high around my neck, hat pulled low. I wasn’t eager to see or be seen. Not yet. The station was up ahead. But I couldn’t make myself look at it. It hurt too much. I’d mourn that loss and mourn it fiercely. But first things first. I needed to see if I could salvage things with Bowie. There were other jobs. Other ways to serve. But there was only one Bowie.

I’d done a lot of soul searching on how I’d come to be in this predicament. I had wanted to blame Connelly or Bowie or Misty Lynn, because—let’s face it—she was a terrible human being. But I just kept coming back to all the ways I’d screwed up.

I’d let Connelly chase me out of a job I loved because, in the beginning, I was too chickenshit to stand up and demand respect. I’d let Bowie walk away from me twice now without laying it all on the line. And I’d omitted and outright lied to my best friend using the law as well as my own self-preservation as excuses.

I’d drawn a distinct line dividing my personal and professional lives and refused to tip-toe over it. And maybe that could work in a bigger city where no one knew their neighbors and cops didn’t personally know the people they served. But that did not work in Bootleg Springs. That did not work for me.

Maybe I was too rigid? My father made it look easy. Mending fences, laying down the law, or bending it when the situation required it. Because he cared. He served.

He doesn’t just try to solve. He’s there to serve, Bowie had said. I felt the truth of it in my bones. Solving was what brought me to the law. But I was starting to realize that it was the serving part that fulfilled me. I would find a way to serve. Find a way to walk that line of personal and professional.

I glanced up and spotted someone in a blue winter coat that reminded me of Bowie’s and felt the pang. I missed him, with a physical ache so acute I thought I was coming down with the flu. I’d been furious that he let someone else come between us, yet I’d done the exact same thing, allowing Connelly to call the shots. I’d been trying to protect my job, choosing it as my priority. That choice had cost me both job and man.

I looked around at the holiday bunting over shop windows, the inflatable nativity scene set up in front of the courthouse, the big red bows tied to the lamp posts. I was supposed to love this time of year. But I couldn’t even muster the energy to wrap the presents I’d bought.

Would I have ignored my hunch at an accident scene to save the family heartache like my father? Or would I have investigated it, picked it apart, held it up to the light just so I could check all the right boxes in my report?

Was I more like Connelly or my father? The question seemed important more now than ever.

What was the point of protecting if I wasn’t also serving?

I spotted Scarlett up ahead, cozy in a work jacket and ski cap over her dark brown hair. She raised her hand in greeting. We both heard the yell and turned in the same direction.

“Someone help!” It came from a small crowd gathering across the street at the park’s entrance.

“The baby’s not breathing!” someone yelled.

I was in a dead run, dodging a pickup truck carrying a bunch of snow inner tubes and freaking Mona Lisa McNugget out for her afternoon stroll.

“Cassidy! Come quick,” Sallie Mae Brickman called from the circle.

I slammed my knees into the concrete so hard I thought I might have dented the sidewalk. A baby. Not breathing. I was already assessing while the crowd around us shouted information.

They’d been shopping. She was fine and then went stiff and started turning blue.

So tiny. Her perfect little cupid’s bow lips were blue. Oh, God.

It was Christmas Eve.

Her name was Melinda Leigh. Melly for short. I remembered the birth announcement delivered to the police station. There was a welcome wall that we pinned all the baby pictures to. My father liked to say he and his deputies knew everyone in town from birth on.

Because they were family. We were family.

“Please! Please!” Melly’s mama sobbed. Sybil Crabapple, at least she had been until she married Cody Wyatt a few years back. They’d gone through fertilization treatments for three years before being blessed with little Melly.

She couldn’t be more than four months old.

“Everybody back up a step. Give Cass some room,” Scarlett ordered shooing everyone back before hunkering down next to Sybil and wrapping the woman in a hard hug.

“Ambulance is six minutes out,” Mrs. Morganson said, holding her phone to her ears.

“Goddammit.” I shed my jacket. Six minutes was infinity when there was no oxygen. “Stay on the line with the dispatcher,” I told Mrs. Morganson. “Someone call Cody for Sybil.”

As quick as I could, I unzipped Melly’s powder pink snowsuit. Shout Tap. My training kicked in as I called Melly’s name and tapped her shoulder. No response. I freed one of her tiny feet from the suit and flicked it. Nothing. No breath.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Sybil was silent now, tears rolling down her cheeks, hands clasped under her chin as Scarlett rocked with her on the sidewalk.

It was up to me and the man upstairs. And I was gonna do everything in my power to make sure Melly got whatever was in her stocking from Santa. Thirty compressions. One, two, three…

I could feel the crowd around us growing, could hear the growing concern, but my focus was Melly and her blue lips.

Thirty.

I stopped, checked for breath. Nothing. Nothing. Ten seconds of nothing.

I delivered two rescue breaths. God, it was so different doing this on an actual human baby instead of the weird dolls we certified on. I was infusing her with my breath, my prayers, every fucking ounce of hope I had left in my body. Please, Melly. Please, God.

“You got this, Cass,” someone whispered tearfully above me.

It was raining tears in this tiny circle. A half-dozen hands rested on Sybil’s back and shoulders. I heard a commotion. Cody was here. But it was time to count again.

Thirty compressions. One, two, three… I never took my eyes off Melly’s face. Nothing in this world existed but me, her, and my desire to see her take a breath. It was hard and fast. Was it too hard? Was it fast enough? Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine. Thirty.

I was sweating. It was running down my back. Steaming off my head.

“I’ll spell you if you need it,” Scarlett said. She was the calm in the center of a circle of fear.

I shook my head. “Not yet.”

Two rescue breaths. Gentle. Goddammit. Why didn’t we have AEDs in storefronts?

Wait! Was that—

“She took a breath!” someone hovering above me said, confirming what I thought I saw.

I leaned down, listening.

“Shut the hell up, everyone!” Scarlett ordered, and I swear the entire town held its breath with me.

A second later Melly gave a little gasp followed by another. In another second, she was shrieking and crying like she’d just been born. A roar went up around me, and Sybil and Cody were sobbing all over their beautiful, breathing baby girl. I could hear the sirens now, feel the pats on my back.

But all I saw were little Melly’s teary brown eyes.

This was why I was here. To serve my town, my family.

I sat down on the concrete, and someone draped my coat over my shoulders. I needed a drink and a hug. A pair of boots approached me, and then someone was crouching down in front of me.

Bowie.

I don’t know if he pulled me or if I climbed right in. But I was wrapped up tight in his arms, and everything felt a little bit better.