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Snowbound Bride
Cathy Gillen Thacker


Not only was Nora Hart Kingsley stranded in a blizzard, but she was stuck in her wedding gown! Furthermore, her galoshes were attracting the attention of the far-too-good-looking lawman at the country roadside rest stop.Nora blew into Sheriff Sam Whittaker's county–and into his life–with the same gale force of the swirling snowstorm–and as surely took his bachelor breath away. Now it looked as though he and Nora would be holed up for the duration. Only Sam aimed to convince her to stay with him for good. But first, he'd have to get her out of that dress….









Snowbound Bride

Cathy Gillen Thacker







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




CATHY GILLEN THACKER


is married and a mother of three. She and her husband spent eighteen years in Texas and now reside in North Carolina. Her mysteries, romantic comedies and heartwarming family stories have made numerous appearances on bestseller lists, but her best reward, she says, is knowing one of her books made someone’s day a little brighter. A popular Harlequin author for many years, she loves telling passionate stories with happy endings, and thinks nothing beats a good romance and a hot cup of tea! You can visit Cathy’s Web site at www.cathygillenthacker.com for more information on her upcoming and previously published books, recipes and a list of her favorite things.




Contents


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen




Chapter One


“I CAN’T BELIEVE we’re going to get hit with the snowstorm of the century, today of all days, when Gus is bringing his bride-to-be home to meet us!” seventy-four-year-old Clara Whittaker said, worry etching her face.

Sam Whittaker watched as his grandmother rushed around before going off to work at the family-owned department store, putting her spotless country kitchen in order.

“Now, Gran. I’m sure Gus’ll make it to Clover Creek intact,” he reassured her. “Though as for his bringing a woman…” Sam paused, not sure how to put this, only knowing he didn’t want to break his hopelessly romantic grandmother’s heart. “Gus didn’t exactly say he was getting married, you know. Only that he had a surprise that was going to be presented to all of us around three or four o’clock this afternoon.” He held up a hand, effectively silencing his grandmother before she relayed her concerns. “And again, you’ve no reason to worry. Storm or no storm, I’m sure Gus’s surprise’ll be here.”

Sam only hoped Gus didn’t break any laws this time. The situation with the borrowed Humvee, the Santa, the faux reindeer and the damaged parking meters during the Christmas holidays had been a little sticky. At least until Gus had agreed to pay for all damages, in lieu of the citation and fine Sam had had no choice but to impose.

“Well, I don’t know what the rest of you think, but I know what Gus said and what he didn’t say, and I still think he’s bringing home a bride,” Clara said emphatically as she strode to the bay window to look out at the pale gray storm clouds obscuring the early-morning sun.

“You may have a point,” Harold Whittaker murmured thoughtfully as he brought out galoshes for himself and his wife. “Gus always said he was going to be married by the time he was thirty-five. He’s been hinting at a satisfying new romance in his life for weeks now. Not to mention debated—in theory only, of course—the virtues of having a wedding right here in Clover Creek, West Virginia, as opposed to the more metropolitan New York City. And, let’s not forget, his thirty-fifth birthday is Saturday.”

“The only question is how is Gus planning to introduce the woman of his dreams,” Sam’s seventeen-and-a-half-year-old sister, Kimberlee, said as she, too, cast a glance at the wintry gray sky before gathering her book bag, coat, earmuffs and gloves into her arms. She swept the length of her long golden-brown hair over her shoulder, away from her face. “You know Gus would never do it in any normal way.”

“That’s the understatement of the year.” Sam thought about his older brother’s penchant for distinctly un forgettable fanfare as he chugged the last of his coffee. He noticed the first intermittent snowflakes starting to float down from the sky. The white specks were almost too tiny and far apart to even be called flurries, but they were a definite harbinger of the storm to come. They looked so peaceful and delicate, serene, even. Hard to believe the weather forecasters expected the seemingly harmless flakes to whip up an all-out wicked winter blizzard. As a law officer, he’d have his hands full in a few hours. And so would everyone else up and down the East Coast, although the storm would likely wreak havoc differently in each locale. Some cities would lose electricity. Others would be inundated with ice and sleet, as well as snow. Unlucky travelers would get stranded—probably in the worst possible place, at the worst possible time. And school would be cancelled everywhere.

Mentally shaking himself, Sam turned back to his grandparents and sister. “Clover Creek still hasn’t gotten over Gus’s parachuting onto Main Street when he arrived for that impromptu visit last fall,” he recalled. Never mind the two minor auto accidents and the painting mishap caused by his unheralded descent from the sky. And that day, Gus had had nothing in particular to announce to the world, save his unannounced homecoming. Sam didn’t want to imagine what spectacle Gus would decide a wedding needed.

Clara smiled and shook her head. “That grandson of ours always knew how to get attention, even before he became as rich and famous as his celebrity clients.” Clara slid the rest of the breakfast dishes into the dishwasher and looked at Sam. “You know, Sam, you ought to take a page from your brother’s book and snag yourself a bride, too.”

Sam rolled his eyes at his grandmother’s matchmaking tendencies and leaned over to slide his own coffee cup into the machine. He’d only been back in West Virginia for a year and a half. During that time, his grandmother had fixed him up more times than he could count. Always against his will and without his knowledge. And always with poor results. He’d been hoping she’d eventually cease and desist. Not a chance.

Gran continued to counsel him. “You’re not getting any younger.”

“I’m thirty. Hardly a candidate for the bachelor hall of fame,” Sam murmured, moving closer to the space-saving television set mounted underneath the kitchen cabinet.

“You’d never know that to hear the ladies around here talk!” Kimberlee teased as Sam strained to hear the latest weather report coming from the TV. He frowned, realizing it did not look good. They were predicting two to three feet of snow across the entire eastern seaboard, from South Carolina to Maine, and in some places, ice and sleet. “They say there hasn’t been a woman around here who’s held your interest for more than five seconds yet!” Kimberlee continued, in a voice that was both amazed and impressed.

Sam shrugged, his gaze focused on the weather map. Right now, the radar map showed the storm moving slowly over the southernmost tip of South Carolina. It wasn’t predicted to hit West Virginia full force until much later in the day, which meant they still had hours to get the local emergency management forces—most of whom were volunteers—ready.

“When the chemistry’s right, I’ll know it,” Sam replied distractedly, switching the set off with a decisive click.

Impatient to get to work and do what needed to be done, he buttoned the top button of his starched khaki shirt and knotted his regulation black tie.

“Until then, why waste each other’s time, pretending it might amount to something, when I already know in here—” Sam paused to thump his chest over his heart “—it won’t?”

Sam’s grandparents and sister exchanged skeptical looks as they, too, prepared to head off to work and school.

“I know what I want when it comes to a woman,” Sam continued as he pinned his name tag and silver badge that proclaimed him sheriff of Clover Creek on his shirt. The four of them pulled on their coats in unison and headed out the door of the rambling old Victorian home to their cars. “When—” and if, he added uncomfortably to himself “—I find my Ms. Right, I won’t let her go.”

“I would hope not,” his grandfather murmured, opening the door of their four-wheel-drive minivan for Sam’s grandmother.

Sam wanted the same kind of enduring, loving relationship his parents had had while they were still alive. The kind his grandparents still did. He wanted all the sacred vows offered. A marriage that nothing and no one could tear asunder.

“Until then, I’ve got a job to do,” Sam said determinedly, casting another look at the fine, sparse flakes falling from the sky above.

And he knew that would not be any easier than finding a mate would be. As the chief law enforcement officer in a growing but predominantly rural area of West Virginia, filled with serenity-seeking yuppies, young families looking for a great place to raise their kids, senior citizens looking for a great place to retire and original residents, also known as “country folk,” he would have his hands full attending to whatever calamities the storm engendered.

Sam’s heartbeat picked up, and he grinned, already anticipating the challenges ahead. Whatever the next few days and the snowstorm of the century brought, Sam had a feeling it would definitely not be easy, and it would definitely not be dull.



NORA KINGSLEY couldn’t believe it. It was starting to snow outside, with—she’d just heard moments ago on the car radio—what was being dubbed as the snowstorm of the century on its way. If she knew her over bearing father and equally controlling ex-fiancé, she probably had half the law enforcement officials along the eastern seaboard on the lookout for her by now. And, worst of all, she was stuck in this darn dress! No matter what she did, the zipper on her wedding gown was not moving up, and it was not moving down. And that left her literally trapped in the exquisite floor-length confection of satin and lace.

Giving up on the frozen zipper of her off-the-shoulder gown with a groan, Nora picked up her skirts, moved to the sink and took stock of herself in the mirror. She had absolutely no lipstick left on her lips. Her heart-shaped face was flushed humiliation pink and streaked with the remnants of her tears. Her dark brown hair was a curling, windswept mess. Of course, it was no surprise that she was a wreck, Nora thought disparagingly, as she quickly washed her face and blotted it dry with a tissue from the dispenser. It had been one heck of a day and, sad to say, at only two in the afternoon, it was far from over yet.

Not that she should be surprised about that, either, Nora thought as she smoothed on moisturizer and lip gloss to protect her face from the bitterly cold winter air outside and then quickly redid her makeup.

She’d known from the get-go that she shouldn’t marry someone she’d liked and known forever but wasn’t entirely sure she loved. Yet she’d foolishly allowed herself to be talked into it by her father and fiancé anyway. Only to find out fifteen minutes before the ceremony was to begin, when she inadvertently stumbled onto a secret pre-wedding meeting between her father and Geoffrey, that Geoff had stood to gain more than just a wife from the arrangement!

Nora grimaced, recalling how stunned she’d felt at the betrayal. Then shocked and hurt and furious. Okay, maybe she should have con fronted the two of them right then, she thought as she began removing the tiara and veil that had been intricately pinned and interwoven into her once immaculately upswept dark brown hair. But with a churchful of people waiting for the ceremony to begin, she hadn’t seen the point in confrontation. Nor had she wanted to be pressured into listening to the explanations her father and Geoffrey undoubtedly had at the ready.

The bottom line was, she hadn’t needed to read the exceedingly generous prenuptial agreement her father had given Geoff to sign to know she was about to make the biggest mistake of her life.

So…she’d done the only thing she could. She’d excused herself for “a moment alone,” and written a note telling everyone—including Geoff—in no uncertain terms that the marriage was off. Then she’d grabbed her street clothes and snuck out through the rear exit of St. Paul’s Cathedral and jumped into the car her father had given her as a wedding gift.

From there, it was pretty much a blur.

Nora remembered she’d been crying as she negotiated the familiar Pittsburgh streets. And with good reason. And that it had been incredibly hard to drive in a dress with such a voluminous skirt and train, even when she hiked it up over her knees and spread the beautiful lace-edged material all the way across the front seat of her brand-new Volvo station wagon.

Yet eventually she had composed herself enough to know she was not going to return to her father’s home, or any other place he and Geoff would think to look for her, for quite some time—if ever! Figuring as long as she was running away, it would be nice to be somewhere warm, too, she had turned onto I-79, southbound. And despite the odd looks she kept getting from other motorists—after all, how often did anyone see a bride in her wedding dress driving herself anywhere, never mind one in a Volvo station wagon who was still wearing her tiara and veil?—she’d just kept right on going. Out of Pittsburgh. Past the Pennsylvania state line, into West Virginia. Only when it began to snow and she was a good hour or so into the state had she realized she was going to have to stop and change into some warmer clothes, and probably look for some place to wait out the storm.

But first, Nora thought, removing the last of the pins—and finally the tiara and veil—from her hair, she wanted to get a little farther south.

And, Nora thought, as she swiftly brushed out her shoulder-length hair, she wanted to get out of this dress, and away from all the reminders of how she had almost wrecked her life.

Dropping her brush and makeup bag in her purse, Nora snatched up the bundle of clothes she had hoped to change into and dashed out into the lobby of the tourist information center, looking for a woman who might aid her with the jammed zipper. Unfortunately, the weather being what it was, and with motorists driving like mad to get to their destinations before the snow, which was just now starting to accumulate, the building was deserted. Or at least it had been, Nora thought, taken aback as she stared in mute dismay at the only other person in the lobby.

It would have to be a lawman, she thought with a half disparaging, half wistful sigh. And a breathtakingly handsome one, at that…



SAM WHITTAKER had figured he’d run into a lot of wild and crazy things in the blizzard ahead, but a bride in a wedding dress at an interstate highway tourist information station was not one of them. Never mind one so breathtakingly beautiful she could have stepped off the cover of Brides magazine.

The glossy bittersweet-chocolate hue of her dark brown hair was in compelling contrast to the naturally golden hue of her skin; the mane framed her heart-shaped face and fell softly to her shoulders, like a mantle of unruly silken curls. She had a stubborn chin, a pert, turned-up nose, and softly luscious, well-shaped lips. Her dark green eyes were both spirited and innocent and flanked by a thick fringe of velvety sable lashes.

And, to Sam’s consternation, her attractiveness did not end there. Tall and willowy, she was nonetheless curved in all the right places, with softly swelling breasts, a slender waist and sleekly proportioned hips.

The intricately beaded bodice of her off-the-shoulder white satin wedding gown revealed a graceful neck and elegant shoulders just right for kissing, and a collarbone that was, Sam admitted on a wave of uncensored desire, unspeakably sexy. It was a good thing she was already spoken for and he didn’t believe in love at first sight, Sam thought on a wistful sigh, because if he did…he’d be tempted to whisk her away himself.

Unless… Sam stared at the woman in front of him.

No. It couldn’t be, he reassured himself firmly. This woman couldn’t in any way be connected to his brother, Gus, could she?

Irked that he might have been having libidinous thoughts about his future sister-in-law, Sam glanced out the plate-glass windows of the deserted lobby and worked to calm his pounding heart. Though he could see other cars slowly moving on the freeway beyond, there was only one other car in the parking lot in front of the comfort station, aside from his own black-and-white sheriff’s four-wheel-drive vehicle. And that was a Volvo station wagon, which could not possibly have been Gus’s, since Gus would never be caught dead in such a practical car. Gus much preferred his Lamborghini. Plus, Gus was from New York City, not Pennsylvania.

Sam breathed a sigh of relief as he turned back to the bride. Maybe this woman had nothing to do with his brother after all. Deeply ingrained manners dictating his actions, he swept off his snow-dusted Stetson hat and held it against his chest. He met her eyes. Damned, if she didn’t have the most beautiful eyes and the softest lips he’d ever seen. “Ma’am.”

She lifted her head and simultaneously jerked in a breath that told him she was every bit as electrifyingly aware of him as he was of her. “Hello,” she murmured in a cordial, throaty whisper.

“Are you on your way to or from your wedding?” Sam inquired, with an easy grace meant to put her immediately at ease.

She slanted him a wary glance as she sat down on a wooden bench in the lobby, hiked up her skirt a foot off the floor and dutifully exchanged a pair of wet white satin high heels for a pair of sturdy dark green rubber galoshes. “Neither, actually. The wedding’s been called off,” she said in a low tone.

“On account of the weather,” Sam guessed, his heart pounding at the brief glimpse of her spectacular stocking-clad legs.

She hesitated, for a moment seeming almost relieved, but said only, “It’s complicated.” She nodded at the bulletin board next to the floor-to-ceiling map of West Virginia that had been provided by the state to help tourists find their way. “What was that notice you were posting just now?” she asked.

Sam noted that she suddenly looked a little nervous—as she should be, given the weather. Especially if she was, as he was beginning to sense, running away from something. Like maybe the groom she’d been supposed to marry today…?

“It’s a travelers’ advisory, from the National Weather Service,” Sam told her, stepping a little closer. “We’re closing down the interstate, and asking everyone to take shelter as soon as possible.” He’d already been advised to be on the lookout for a schoolteacher and seven schoolchildren, last seen near the Virginia–West Virginia border. And there were reports of a young mother and a baby from Maryland being tracked down, too.

The bride bit her lower lip and cast a wary look at the dark gray sky. “It’s going to be that bad?”

Sam nodded gravely. “It already is, in the mountains one hundred miles south of here, next to the North Carolina border.”

“When’s the storm likely to hit here?” she asked, her green eyes darkened with concern. “Full force, I mean.”

Sam glanced back at the snow, which was coming down in steady but moderate fashion. “It’ll increase gradually during the next few hours, with maybe three to four inches on the ground at sunset. The forecasters expect it to snow steadily through out the night. By morning, we should be really socked in.”

Her slender shoulders sagged at the news.

Figuring this was not the first bit of bad news she’d had today, Sam felt his heart go out to her, and he hastened to reassure her. “The next exit is about five miles up the interstate from here. There are four hotels, two gas stations and several fast-food restaurants there. Last I heard, a few minutes ago, they still had rooms available. It’s not a bad place to seek shelter, and I’m sure you’ll be quite comfortable.”

“And it’s right off the interstate?” she asked in consternation.

“Yes,” Sam retorted helpfully, though why that should bother her, he didn’t know.

She bit her lip and gathered her skirts in her hand in order to rise. “I see.”

For some reason Sam could not understand, the convenient location did not seem to please her. He stepped a little closer and offered her a hand. “Listen, I hate to rush you, but given the increasing slipperiness of the roads, you and your groom should really be on your way,” Sam said.

“I don’t have a groom with me,” she announced, with equal parts truculence and relief, as she slid her slender hand in his.

“You’re here alone?” Sam asked, stunned, as she rose gracefully to her feet.

“Completely,” she admitted, with a beleaguered sigh and no small amount of chagrin, as she removed her hand from his.

As the two of them stood facing each other, it was all Sam could do not to shake his head. If she was his woman, she wouldn’t be running around alone—in her wedding dress—in this weather! If she was his woman, he’d see she was protected, no matter what. Especially on what was supposed to have been her wedding day. And the same went for his sister, or daughter… Where the heck were this woman’s family and friends? Her maid of honor?

Her eyes lifted to his. She seemed to intuit what he was thinking but not to want to dwell on it. “Look, for obvious reasons, I really need to get out of this dress,” she told him, fixing him in her sights with a pretty smile and an airy wave of her ringless left hand. “Normally, I wouldn’t ask a complete stranger for assistance, but since I’m here by myself and the weather is not really conducive to satin and you are an officer of the law…”

Sam paused as his eyes locked with hers, his heart pounding against his ribs. “You want me to give you a hand?” he asked, a little hesitantly.

“Just with the zipper,” she con firmed, her cheeks flushing self-consciously. “I can’t see it, but it seems to be stuck.” Her satin skirts rustling provocatively, she turned around in a drift of perfume, impatiently offering him her slender back. “If you could just get it started for me,” she urged him anxiously, “I’m sure I can handle the rest.”

“No problem,” Sam murmured. Despite the easy disclaimer, his throat was as dry as the Sahara as he stepped forward to assist her. This was harder than she could imagine, but not for the reasons she’d think, Sam thought as he tried, ever so gently, to work the twisted bit of satin out of the teeth of the zipper without ripping the fine fabric. Normally, he could unkink a jammed zipper in record time. Suddenly, he was all thumbs, as he tried once again to get a better grip and wound up, instead, coming in brief, mesmerizing contact with her silky skin. And she seemed to be trembling, whether from the cold or from the inadvertent brush of his hands against her skin, he couldn’t tell.

She moved from foot to foot impatiently, her breasts rising and falling beneath the beaded décolletage of her dress. Sam grimaced and forced himself to concentrate on his task, aware that his hands were tingling like crazy where they’d come in contact with her. And that she was wearing the most incredible perfume—delicate, light, floral. Like a bouquet of West Virginia wildflowers, on the first brisk day of spring…

“Can you get it?” she asked impatiently after a moment, in a low, quivering voice that did even more to his ravaged senses.

“No,” Sam replied gruffly, making a low, frustrated sound in the back of his throat as he struggled with both his rising awareness of her and his blithely assigned task. “Not like this, not without ripping your dress.” He dropped his hands regretfully and stepped back, aware that his pulse was pounding. And that his thoughts were not nearly as chaste or as gallant as they should be under the circumstances.

“Sorry,” he growled. He paused and slanted her a sympathetic look, able to imagine how aggravating it would be to be stuck in a wedding gown in a snowstorm. “Maybe when you get to a hotel…” he offered.

Their eyes met, and the color in her delicately sculpted cheeks deepened from a pale pink to a delicate rose. “Right.” She swallowed hard. “Of course. I’ll find someone—a woman—to help me there. Thanks just the same,” she said hurriedly. Frowning, she reached for the bundle of clothes on the bench, then stopped and, almost as an afterthought, paused to tug a pale gray bulky-knit fisherman’s sweater over her head.

Looking infinitely warmer, if a bit hilarious, with the full skirt of her wedding dress and long flowing train hanging from beneath the hem of her casual sweater, she gathered her belongings in one hand and swept up her skirt and train in the other.

Sam moved to hold the doors open for her as she swept regally toward the exit in another whisper-soft swish of satin, yards of fabric crumpled in one hand so that they wouldn’t drag along the snow covering the ground.

And suddenly Sam knew he couldn’t let it end there. “Let me help you to your car.” Aware that he hadn’t felt this gallant in a long time, Sam waited for her to pass, then strode with her out into the snow.

“Thanks, but it really isn’t necessary.” She tossed the words back over her shoulder, stomping determinedly past his black-and-white truck to her Volvo station wagon.

Sam saw that she was already shivering in the cold. “I insist,” he said. He followed her to the driver’s-side door of the car and waited for her to press the electronic door unlock button on her key chain. When it clicked, he stepped forward to open the car door for her.

“Thanks,” she murmured, bristling somewhat can-tankerously, still looking as if she would much rather have done it all herself.

“You’re welcome,” Sam replied.

Still a little mesmerized, he watched as she tossed her bundle of belongings into the backseat, then, hitching her skirts even higher, climbed in the driver’s seat. It took some doing, but finally she had pulled the gown above her knees and scrunched the fabric down enough to enable her to drive.

Sam tipped back the brim of his hat and regarded her cautiously. Though she had to be warmer with the sweater on, she couldn’t possibly be comfortable behind the wheel in that dress, no matter how she squished it down or spread it out. “You sure you’re going to be okay?” he asked, more sure than ever now that she was a runaway of some sort.

“I’ll be just fine, Officer. Thanks for the assistance.” The bride sent him a brisk, efficient smile that Sam decided was more dutiful than sincere, then shut her car door, put her key in the ignition and turned it, revving the engine.

Sam stepped back onto the curb as the motor rumbled to life with a powerful purr and the wipers moved steadily across the windshield. Out of habit, his glance lowered to the tags on the car.

A sticker on the trunk said the car had been purchased at a dealership in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. The vanity license plate read NO1-DATR. Sam swiftly sounded it out and decided it was meant to read Number One Daughter. He wondered whether she had chosen the slogan herself or it was a gift from a parent or parents who found it impossible to let go.

Somehow, he found himself betting it was the latter. He felt a little sorry for the parents. Because, in his estimation, this was one runaway bride who was just aching to bust free. And maybe, he thought with a grin, recalling her statement about the wedding being called off, she already had broken out and started her run for freedom.



NORA HAD NEVER BEEN ONE to swoon over a man in a uniform, but there was no denying that the handsome stranger in the snow-dusted Stetson, starched khaki uniform and thick shearling coat had made an impression on her she wasn’t likely to forget. From the moment she laid eyes on his ruggedly handsome face, with its unutterably masculine features, she’d felt a peculiar electricity zigzagging through her. And that giddy awareness had only intensified when he blasted her with his boy-next-door smile.

She guessed him to be a couple years older than her own twenty-nine years. Like herself, she mused as she guided her car onto the freeway, he seemed to have a mind of his own. Plus, an easygoing nature, and the most compelling and understanding golden brown eyes she’d ever seen.

His chestnut-colored hair had been clean and soft and cut in short layers. It had also been rumpled by either his hands or the wind and creased by his hat.

His sturdy six-foot-three-inch—if her guess was right—frame had looked athletically fit, his shoulders broad enough for a woman to lean on, more than strong enough to serve and protect.

It was too bad he was a lawman, Nora thought. Had she spent any more time with him, he’d have been bound to ask her questions she did not want to answer.

Unfortunately, right now she had worse things to worry about as she upped the speed on her windshield wipers another notch. Like how and where she was going to weather the brunt of this storm.

All she had with her, she realized, as she spotted a tow-truck driver helping a motorist whose car had slid off the road, was a suitcase full of clothes meant for a ski vacation in Vermont in the trunk, her wedding gown, and the sweater, jeans and shirt she’d worn to the salon that morning to get her hair done. Somewhere along the way, she’d lost her scarf and gloves—maybe back at the church—but she figured those could be easily replaced.

Thank goodness she had the traveler’s checks and cash she’d brought along for her honeymoon, Nora thought with relief, slowing down when she saw the Road Closed Ahead signs that prevented her from going any farther on the interstate. She didn’t want to use her credit cards; it would be too easy for her father to track her that way.

What she needed was to find a safe place to stay before the already slick roads became impassable. With that in mind, Nora headed down the exit ramp at a sedate speed. Knowing it would not be wise to stay somewhere directly off the interstate freeway, as those were the very first places her father would look for her, Nora bypassed two medium-size inns, four fast-food restaurants and a gas station, all congregated together, and headed for the major intersection up ahead. Once there, she paused at the directional signs marking the two-lane county road.

Clover Creek 30.

Pleasantville 15.

Nora had never vacationed in West Virginia and knew nothing about either town. Although, for some odd reason, the name Clover Creek did seem vaguely familiar. She searched her mind for what she knew, but could only recall someone—to her frustration, she had no idea who—once saying something about it at a party.

Look, it’s a nice place to visit, a very nice place, but as far as I’m concerned, being in Clover Creek is like being at the ends of the earth….

Wasn’t that what she wanted? Nora thought as a huge orange snowplow rumbled past her, in the direction of Clover Creek. A nice place so far off the beaten path that no one would think to look for her there?

Her decision made, Nora turned left and fell in behind the snowplow. She was now traveling west, not south, but she figured it was probably the best she could do under the circumstances. The main thing was to find a place to bed down, where no one would think to look for her, until the storm passed.

And since Clover Creek was only thirty miles away, the snow coming down still allowed a fair amount of visibility and the snow tires on her station wagon were gripping the pavement well, she figured she could make it, particularly with the snowplow directly in front of her, clearing the way.



TO NORA’S DELIGHT, Clover Creek was a perfect blend of old and new. A couple of inches of snow covered immaculately kept-up red brick buildings with white trim and glossy multicolored doors. From what she could tell, all the businesses were located on Main Street. On one side were a grocery store, art gallery, fabric shop, pharmacy, unisex beauty salon, hardware store, two restaurants, movie theater, news paper and video store. On the other were a gas station, library, post office, clinic, antique shop, department store, law offices, real estate broker and police and fire stations. On streets perpendicular to Main were schools and churches. Beyond that, a number of sprawling Victorian homes on tree-lined streets.

With an inch or two of snow already on the ground, Nora had half expected the main drag in town to be deserted.

Instead, it was bustling with activity, with vehicles crowding the streets and overflowing the behind-the-building parking lots. People of all ages hurried out of the grocer’s, their faces red with excitement and their arms full of bags. Others hurried out of the hardware store carrying sacks of rock salt, snow shovels, camping lanterns and chains. Still others appeared to be stocking up on books and videos. Nora did not see a hotel anywhere, but she figured a small town this busy probably had a bed-and-breakfast somewhere. Nora figured she’d get directions on where to go just as soon as she purchased a scarf and mittens for herself and found someone to help free her from her wedding dress!

As she’d expected, her presence in the gown, sweater and galoshes caused a stir. No sooner had Nora swept into the homey, shopper-laden chic of Whittakers Clothing and Department Store than she was immediately approached by three salespeople. A pretty sixty-something woman with a petite, matronly figure and a halo of fluffy pale gold curls. An equally pretty and vivacious-looking teenage girl with long golden-brown hair that fell nearly to her waist. And an older gentleman with neat salt-and-pepper hair and a matching, well-trimmed beard.

Wasting no time, the woman greeted Nora with a warm smile and a twinkle in her eyes. “I’m Clara Whittaker.” She extended a hand, then made introductions briefly. “This is my husband, Harold, and my grand-daughter Kimberlee.”

“Hello. It’s nice to meet you all. You can call me Nora.” She’d prefer not to use last names, but clearly, Nora thought, they were so friendly and so informal, something in the way of a greeting was required.

“That’s a lovely wedding dress….” Kimberlee said.

“Thanks.” Nora smiled at the teen as she selected a warm green-and-black wool scarf and matching insulated mittens and carried them to the counter.

“Getting married soon?” Clara Whittaker asked, smiling all the more.

“I was hoping to…” Nora said honestly. Someday, when I met my Mr. Right.

Smiling broadly, Clara Whittaker looked behind Nora. While her husband began ringing up Nora’s purchase, Clara smoothed a hand down the folds of her neat corduroy shirtdress. Her light brown eyes twinkling merrily, she said, “I don’t see your groom.”

Nora gave them all an it’s-a-long-story, one-I’m-really-not-at-liberty-to-reveal look. “My…er…um…groom is not here with me right now,” she said finally, after a great deal of wrestling with her conscience.

“Do you know when he’ll be here?” Kimberlee asked inquisitively, taking the sensors off Nora’s purchases.

“No, I don’t know when—” or even if, Nora amended silently “—he’ll catch up with me. Probably not before the storm descends upon us full blast, though.”

Deciding to change the subject before any more questions were asked of her that required honest—if uncomfortable—replies, Nora turned to the framed poster of Gus Whittaker and two of the New York Knicks displayed on the wall. “Are you related to the Gus Whittaker?”

Clara and Harold nodded proudly as Harold bagged Nora’s purchases. “He’s our grandson.”

“Really,” Nora said. So Gus Whittaker was the one who’d been talking about Clover Creek. That was why she remembered it. Why was everyone grinning as though they knew a secret or something? she wondered.

Nora searched through her billfold and extricated enough cash to pay for her purchases. “I met him several years ago, when I was working for Leland and Brooks, an advertising agency in New York City. Several of Gus’s clients were—are—celebrity spokespersons for L and B’s key accounts. Hence, Gus and his celebrity clients were invited to all the L and B parties. And, well, you know Gus.” Nora smiled and gestured inanely. “He makes it a point to seek out all the young, available females.”

“Did the two of you hit it off, right from the first moment you met?” Kimberlee asked, stars in her eyes.

Nora flushed; she didn’t know quite how to answer that. Clearly, Gus’s whole family adored him, and they seemed to have already decided that was what had happened. “Well, yes,” Nora replied carefully after a moment. Then she hastened to add, “Although that first meeting was pretty hectic, with all the people at the party, the noise and the confusion…”

“Of course…” Everyone nodded.

A bell sounded, signaling that someone else had come into the store. Nora turned, her jaw dropping open slightly as she saw the sexy sheriff she’d met earlier stride toward the group. She stared at the lawman as he walked across the polished wood floor, hardly able to believe they’d crossed paths again!

“But later you got to know Gus better…?” Clara asked.

Nora had temporarily lost her hearing, her sense of sight draining all her other faculties.

Her heart pounding, she turned away from the sexy sheriff, who was heading her way. “Um, yes, I guess you could say that.” Nora smiled at Gus’s family, wanting to say something pleasant about the Whittakers’ grandson. “Everyone in the sports management business tries to emulate Gus these days—he’s that successful.” If unconventional in the extreme… “And a very nice guy, as well.”

Again, everyone beamed proudly at the compliments Nora bestowed on Gus.

A quick glance revealed that the sheriff was talking to other shoppers in the store, but he still had Nora in his sights. Whether he was on to the particulars of her plight or not, Nora could not tell.

“So, when’s Gus arriving in Clover Creek?” Harold asked as the sheriff eventually came to a halt beside Nora and the others.

Nora blinked, as thrown by the abrupt switch in topics as she was by the lawman’s deliberate pursuit of, and proximity to, her. “I really couldn’t say,” she replied, somewhat hoarsely, not sure why they were asking her that. “I haven’t talked to Gus lately.”

“But you will soon?” Clara pressed. As the lawman stepped even closer to her, Nora was inundated by the clean, woodsy scent of his cologne.

“I—don’t know,” Nora hedged slowly, not wanting to hurt or offend any of Gus’s family.

Harold smiled, looked at the sheriff, and then back at Nora. “Have you met Sam yet?”

Nora blinked. “Who?”

Harold winked at Nora slyly, even as he gestured at the sheriff warmly. “Our other grandson!”

Nora took a calming breath as she and the sheriff stared at each other in contemplative silence. Oh, no—no! “You’re—?”

“Gus Whittaker’s younger brother, Sam,” he confirmed with a tantalizing grin as he swaggered closer and his gaze moved across her upturned face. “And you’re…?”

Suffused with heat everywhere his eyes had roved, Nora swallowed and stepped back. “Nora,” she said simply, deciding to leave it at that. Dear heaven, this was a complication she did not need. Especially now!

“Nora,” Sam repeated, as if liking the sound of her name. He studied her, then asked, in a soft, low voice laced with laughter, “Do you have a last name?”

“Yes,” Nora replied, as she looked into his golden-brown eyes with all the directness she could muster. “It’s…”

“She’s one of Gus’s very good, shall we say, friends, from New York City,” Harold supplied helpfully.

“Wait,” Nora corrected hastily, holding up a palm in traffic-cop fashion. “I never said Gus and I were actually, you know, buddies—” She and Gus were more like acquaintances. Remote acquaintances.

“We know you didn’t, dear,” Clara patted her arm forgivingly.

“We know Gus would want to tell us himself,” Harold beamed.

“Tell you what?” Nora wheezed, perplexed.

“About his plans, of course,” Clara said.

Nora regarded the Whittakers cautiously. She felt as if she’d landed in a TV sitcom. One of the wacky, humor-filled kinds that didn’t necessarily have to make a lot of sense. “What are you talking about?” she demanded warily, already dreading the reply.

“Sweetheart, it’s all right, we know,” Harold counseled her warmly.

Sensing that whatever they were talking about, they were deadly serious, Nora fought to contain her mounting exasperation. “Know what?” she cried, upset.

Clara beamed, her own happiness evident. “You’re Gus’s fiancée!”




Chapter Two


NORA TOOK A deep breath and tried, as nicely as possible, to explain. “I know there’s been a lot of confusion today, what with the storm and all, but Gus and I are not getting married, today or any other day.”

All around her, faces fell in obvious disappointment.

“Then why are you in that dress?” Kimberlee Whittaker asked, perplexed, as she propped her hands on her waist. “And why did you come to Clover Creek at precisely 3:30 this afternoon?”

Good question, Nora thought. She could just as easily have gone the other way back at the crossroads. What had brought her here to Clover Creek? she wondered. Destiny?

Sam’s eyes held hers. “I’d like to hear the answer to that myself,” he drawled.

Nora knew she was not going to get anyone to help her unjam the zipper and get out of the dress until she explained. “I’m afraid there’s been some misunderstanding,” Nora said, looking straight at Sam. Who seemed, oddly enough, to be the only one not harboring a hope that she would change course and marry Gus. She paused to draw a bracing breath. “I don’t know where everyone got the idea I’m in love with your brother,” she began, uncomfortably embarrassed, “but I assure you, nothing could be further from the truth! Gus and I are…” Nora groped for a way to explain. “Well, friends, sort of, and that’s all!”

At that, everyone regarded her so skeptically that it was all Nora could do not to groan out loud. “No one believes me, do they?” she asked Sam as a curious group of customers gathered round.

“Wouldn’t appear so, no.” Sam paused, his glance sliding over her approvingly before returning to focus on the self-conscious flush in her cheeks. “But there’s a simple way to clear this up. Just explain who you are, where you’re from and who you were really planning to marry today.”

Nora was tired of men telling her what to do! She crossed her arms in front of her and stubbornly dug in her heels. “I don’t see why I have to explain anything,” she retorted mutinously. Hadn’t she already revealed enough of her private life?

Sam shrugged. “Then don’t.”

“Fine.” Nora shrugged right back at him. Deciding she’d looked into the depths of his eyes long enough, she turned her glance away. “I won’t.”

“But if you want to calm all the questions about you and Gus and what might or might not be going on,” Sam continued, “you will.”

And have someone then take it upon himself to decide to play hero and call her father? As much as the dutiful-daughter part of her wanted to allay her father’s worries, the part of her that had had enough knew she could not deal with her dad, not yet. Forgetting for a moment all the others gathered around them, Nora regarded Sam sternly. “Look, I already told you my wedding was called off,” she said, making no effort to hide her exasperation with him.

“When did this happen?” Clara asked, as even more customers gathered round to hear.

“At the tourist station on the freeway, an hour ago,” Nora replied in an aside.

“You two met?” Harold gasped.

“Briefly,” Sam acknowledged reluctantly, his glance still heating her like a fleece blanket.

“And what little I said to you then is really all I intend to say on the matter,” Nora continued firmly. Like it or not, Sam and the Whittakers and everyone else in Clover Creek were all just going to have to accept that.

Fortunately for her, just then the phone began to ring.

Her stunned gaze still on Nora, Clara picked up the receiver. “Whittakers Department Store,” Clara said, then broke into a broad grin. “Gus, darling! We’ve all been waiting to hear from you! Hang on a minute, dear, while I put you on the speakerphone,” Clara said. She punched a few buttons and paused to confirm that he was still there before continuing, “Now, where are you, sweetheart?”

“Stuck in the city!” Gus Whittaker shouted from the other end. In the background, a horn blared and brakes squealed. The moment the background noise subsided, Gus lowered his voice and asked, somewhat anxiously, “Listen, Gran, did the pretty lady arrive okay?”

Everyone turned to Nora and grinned, as if her “secret” had been revealed.

She couldn’t help it; she blushed.

“I’m happy to report the pretty lady is here, and all in one piece!” Clara replied cheerfully. “But I must say we’d all be a little happier if you had only been here to witness her arrival, too!”

“I know, but—” Gus uttered a wistful sigh, then chuckled. “Isn’t she a beaut?”

“And then some,” Sam replied, with no hint of irony, as he turned back to Nora.

Her pulse automatically increased.

“You’ll take good care of her until I can arrive?” Gus continued to worry on the other end. “Find some place safe and warm and dry for her to stay? Maybe over at your house, Gran?”

“Don’t you worry, Gus. We’ll make room for her,” Sam said.

“Great.” On the other end, Gus breathed an audible sigh of relief. “When I get there, we’ll see about changing her name.”

At that, winks and nods were exchanged all around. Sam regarded her intently. Nora, helpless to prevent what they were all concluding, could only roll her eyes.

More horns sounded in the background, on the other end of the line. “Well, listen, I better go—” Gus said.

Clara frowned. “Wait. Don’t you want to talk to anyone else?” she asked her grandson quickly. Meaning me, of course, Nora thought.

“Gee, I’d love to, Gran,” Gus replied, “but…” A horn blared, obliterating his voice. Gus swore as the sounds of sirens increased in the background. “There’s an…” Static crackled. “…ambulance…” Brakes squealed. “…trying to…” Another horn blared. “…get through…” The siren rose to an earsplitting shriek before it faded slightly. “…later,” Gus said in a muffled tone.

The click of the connection being severed was followed by utter silence, as once again all eyes turned Nora’s way.

“I really don’t know what to say,” she said, blushing. She knew what they were thinking. She could hardly blame them. It had sounded as if Gus were talking about a woman arriving, as a surprise to his family, and since she was the only newcomer around, for the moment, anyway, they were assuming—quite wrongly, as it happened—that it was her.

“That’s all right, dear, you don’t have to say another word,” Clara Whittaker said, patting Nora’s hand gently. “I think we’ve all figured out what’s going on.”

Everyone looked at each other. After a moment, they all began to grin and talk at once. “It really is obvious,” someone put in finally.

A farmer in overalls and a bill cap chuckled merrily. “The pretty lady here and Gus had a fight—”

“He was probably late getting out of the city—like he said on the phone just now,” added a woman in a parka and jeans.

“And then, naturally, their plans got all messed up—” a teen Kimberlee’s age said.

“Who wouldn’t be ticked off?” a white-haired woman put in indignantly. “Gus should have put her—and their impending nuptials—first on their wedding day.”

“Typical Gus, though,” said a nicely dressed young woman with a toddler in tow. “Business first, then pleasure.”

Another woman, in an upscale running suit and sneakers, chuckled. “’Course, he makes up for it when he does party. There’s no one who can throw a bash like Gus!”

Nora threw up her hands in frustration and broke into the conversation. “For the last time, everyone! I am not engaged to Gus Whittaker!”

“Not anymore,” a handsome young man in construction clothes said, grinning and nodding at the bare ring finger on Nora’s left hand.

“Don’t worry, honey, when he shows up and proposes all over again, I’m sure he’ll bring you your ring,” an older man added.

“Unless…” Clara paused, a worried look on her face. “You didn’t throw it away in a fit of pique, did you?”

“No, I didn’t throw it away!” Nora exclaimed stiffly as she tightened her grip on her package and started to brush by Sam. “Because I never had a ring from him in the first place.”

Kimberlee Whittaker gasped as Sam stepped back slightly to allow Nora to pass.

“All the more reason to delay the nuptials, then,” Kimberlee said indignantly.

“Really,” another woman added fervently, in support. “Gus should get you a ring, and we—his friends and neighbors—will make sure he does.”

Nora groaned, and shot a glance at Sam, who was still regarding her with an interest that had little, if anything, to do with local law enforcement. With an effort, she tore her eyes from his and turned back to the crowd gathered round her. “Trust me. If Gus shows up before I leave Clover Creek, and that in itself is doubtful, given the fact Gus’s still in New York City as we speak, Gus is not going to ask me to marry him. Not in a million years,” she promised them all firmly.

Sam Whittaker continued to contemplate her—and her current predicament. “The breakup was that harsh?” Sam asked, in a low, sexy voice that sent shivers down Nora’s spine.

“There was no breakup,” Nora said, looking straight at Sam, before finishing in utter exasperation, “We were never together.”



SAM KNEW no one else in the store did, but he believed Nora, for a variety of reasons. He also thought, from the guilty way she was flushing and the slightly nervous way she was behaving, that she was hiding a lot more than she was telling, and that she might need help. His help. In any case, it was almost certain that there were a lot of people worried about her.

Unlike Nora, however, he did not believe in running from problems; he knew predicaments were best dealt with directly. He hoped, before she left Clover Creek, to convince her of that, too. And perhaps reunite her with her friends and family, as well.

“Then who were you engaged to?” Sam asked Nora, aware that he really wanted to know not just that, but everything about her. Furthermore, he hoped she’d tell him more about herself, now that she’d seen firsthand how insatiably curious the small, friendly West Virginia community could be.

“I’d rather not say, Sam.”

“How about your last name, then?”

She glared at him for a moment. “I don’t see what that matters—”

“It does if you’re going to be staying here. Unless there’s a reason you don’t want any of us to know who you really are.” He was baiting her, anxious to see her reaction to that.

Nora’s mouth opened in a round O of surprise then snapped shut. She paused, looking as reluctant as any runaway would, but in the end, as he’d figured she would, came through.

“It’s Hart-Kingsley. Nora Hart-Kingsley. My mother’s name was Hart, my father’s Kingsley. I ended up with both family names. Satisfied?”

Sam grinned. “It’s a start,” he said. Although he would need a lot more than that, if he was going to be able to help her.

Dr. Ellen Maxwell stepped between Sam and Nora, swiftly introducing herself as the town physician before saying, “If you want me to put my two cents in, I think it’s just as well the nuptials get delayed awhile, anyway. The weather would not make it easy for any out-of-town guests—never mind the groom—to get here.”

“And besides, if you’re going to be a part of the Whittaker clan, you need time to get to know the rest of us, too,” Kimberlee said.

Nora regarded the people gathered around her. “Isn’t anyone going to listen to me?” she demanded, in obvious exasperation. Though they obviously meant well.

The group replied in unison. “No.”

Harold patted Nora’s shoulder in a comforting manner. “It’s okay, honey. We all know how to act stunned and amazed. We can do that for Gus. We won’t ruin his surprise for us.”

Clara smiled. “In the meantime, maybe you’d like to get out of that dress, and see about doing something to dry the hem and train—it looks a little damp, from where I’m standing.”

Good idea, Nora thought, if only because it’d stop all the wedding talk.

“The only problem is, there’s something wrong with the zipper,” Nora confided. “We may have to cut me out of it. So if I could borrow some scissors and enlist a little help, after I dash out to my car to get a change of clothes, I’ll—”

Clara patted her arm. “Now, now, I’m sure we can fix it without making any cuts in this beautiful fabric. Kim, darling, help Nora get her clothes out of her car and then show Nora to a dressing room and help her out of that gown.”

“Right, Gran,” Kimberlee said, giving a thumbs-up sign before leading the way.



“YOU’RE just going to have to ignore Sam,” Kimberlee told Nora as she worked on the jammed zipper in the back of Nora’s dress.

Nora turned, the trailing satin hem of her wedding gown swishing softly across the parquet floor of the large, old-fashioned fitting room. “What do you mean?”

Kimberlee tossed the length of her golden-brown hair off her shoulders. She paused and took a tiny drop of liquid soap and ever so delicately worked it into the teeth of the zipper. “I saw those looks he was giving you,” Kimberlee said, catching Nora’s glance in the three-way mirror before peering down at the zipper seam. “The way he questioned you.”

Nora flushed. “I think he’s just curious.”

Kimberlee shook her head. In an electric-purple jumper and ribbed white turtleneck, purple tights and cute leather ankle boots, she looked pretty enough to be on the cover of a teen magazine. “It’s more than that. He thinks it’s his job to take care of everyone!”

Alarm bells went off in Nora’s head. Perspiration broke her skin. “Because he’s the sheriff?” Nora asked warily—aware that she was flushing again, an even brighter pink.

“Because he’s Sam.”

“You’re saying he’s controlling?” Nora asked, as casually as possible.

“To the max,” Kimberlee affirmed emotionally. “It’s because of Mom and Dad and the way they—” At the sound of footsteps in the hallway outside the fitting room, Kimberlee stopped short and stuck her head out into the hall to see who was there. Almost immediately, she flushed a bright red. “Sam!”

Sam looked at his younger sister grimly as he stepped inside the spacious fitting room. Obviously, Nora thought, Sam did not appreciate whatever it was his younger sister had been about to reveal. Which was too bad, because Nora found herself wanting to know everything there was to know about Sam that Sam didn’t want revealed.

“You’re needed out front to help ring up the purchases,” Sam told Kimberlee firmly.

Kimberlee gave her older brother a pouty look. “Can’t you help out? After all, you used to work in the store, too, when you were my age. You know how to do it.”

Sam leaned against the door frame, clearly in no hurry to go anywhere. “I’m not disputing that, but Gran wants you.”

“Ha!” Kimberlee said. “I think you just want to be back here with Nora.” Kimberlee gave Nora a commiserating look as she flounced out. “Good luck. You’re going to need it with Mr. Impossible here!”

“Mr. Impossible?” Nora echoed when Kimberlee had left.

“It’s one of the nicer things she’s called me lately,” Sam said dryly as Nora surreptitiously measured the dwindling distance between them as he advanced all the way into the room.

He had dispensed with the Stetson and shearling coat and brushed the snow from his pants and shoes. And though Nora should’ve expected that—if Sam Whittaker were spending any time at all inside the heated building—she hadn’t expected the way he would look in the snug-fitting khaki uniform. He had an all-business stance that suggested he didn’t take trouble from anyone, but it was more than just that, and the come-hither look in his eyes, that had her pulse racing. It was his commanding height, the dwarfing width of his shoulders. The muscular tightness of his lean hips and long legs. And, most of all, the way he was looking at her now that made her tingle from head to toe.

“Still stuck, hmm?” he drawled, looking over at her almost insolently.

In this town, in her dress, in her whole life, Nora thought. “Maybe we should just give up and cut me out of this dress,” Nora suggested.

Sam continued to look her up and down as Nora grew ever warmer. “Oh, I think we can do better than that,” he quipped. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

Nora barely had time to draw a brush through the wind-mussed layers of her dark hair before he returned with a button hook and a pair of tweezers.

“Don’t look so worried,” Sam said cheerfully as he stepped behind Nora. His eyes met and held hers in the mirror. “I’m an experienced hand at this. I’m sure I can free you from this dress.”

Something about the utterly male way he was looking at her made Nora sure he could, too. And that might be even more dangerous. “You didn’t have much luck earlier, back at the tourist station,” she said breathlessly as he placed his hands lightly on her shoulders.

“Ah, but I didn’t have the right tools then,” he told her. “Now I do.”

Nora raised a skeptical brow as the back of his hand brushed the bare skin at the nape of her neck. She froze beneath the onslaught of his touch, the warmth and gentleness of his skin pressed against hers. He had just come close to her, and she was ablaze already. She could barely breathe.

Aware that her heart was beating wildly in her chest, she forced herself to concentrate not on what they shouldn’t be doing—ever—but on what he was actually doing now. Aloud, she asked, “A button hook and tweezers are the right tools for an occasion such as this?”

Sam’s gaze met hers, and his handsome golden-brown eyes lit enthusiastically. “You’d be surprised what can be accomplished with these two items, under the right circumstances,” he said with mock grave ness, as he bent his head and once again concentrated on his task.

Nora hitched in a breath, realizing that, friend or foe, it didn’t seem to matter. With every second that passed, she became even more extraordinarily aware of him.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” she told him defiantly, as she noticed that her knees were trembling, and that the shiver ghosting down her spine had nothing to do with the cold weather outside and everything to do with the heat generated by Sam.

“Actually,” Sam drawled, as he ever-so-carefully grasped the jammed fabric with the tweezers and slid the end of the button hook between the fabric and the teeth of the zipper to gently move them in tandem. “I do.”

Nora’s brow lifted as he continued to labor over the back of her dress with delicate finesse. What did he know that she didn’t?

“I came in here on a mission,” he explained.

Nora waited until he’d finished whatever it was he was doing to her zipper, then spun around to confront him face-to-face. “That mission being?”

“To find out if you need help of some sort. Because if you do,” Sam vowed, setting both button hook and tweezers aside, “I’m here to give it.”



EVEN KNOWING what Nora did about the error of her ways, she was tempted to let herself be rescued. But letting a man jump in to save her from all life’s hard ships was what had gotten her into this mess in the first place. It was high time she stood on her own two feet and said adios to all well-meaning, overbearing men. Her chin took on a challenging tilt. “And if I don’t need help?” she asserted calmly, her heart pounding.

Sam shrugged. “Then you don’t,” he retorted mildly, though it was clear he did not think that was the case.

Nora sighed. She could see Sam was not going to be an easy man to dissuade. No doubt he would shadow her as long as she remained in Clover Creek. “You know,” she said, stepping back to lean against the far wall, her hands pressed flat behind her, “since we’re alone, I have a bone to pick with you.”

Sam took up a post against the opposite wall, only a few feet away. He folded his arms in front of him and kept his eyes trained on her face. “That bone being?”

Nora tilted her face up to his and drew a deep breath. “So far, this has been one of the worst days of my life. And you are not making things any easier on me with all your prying questions.”

He nodded, accepting that. Then said, with a devilish gleam in his eyes, “It was never my intention to make it easy on you.”

Her heartbeating all the harder, Nora met his eyes.

“Why not?”

Sam dropped his hands to his sides and continued regarding her steadily. “’Cause my gut instinct tells me it’s the fact you’ve been way too sheltered in the past that has you running away now.”

Nora struggled to hold her rising temper in check. She hated it when a man presumed to know—via ESP or, worse, experience with other women!—what was on her mind. “How do you know I’m running away?” she demanded.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Sam straightened and pushed away from the wall. “You’ve been acting like you had something to hide since the first moment we met. Now, I don’t know what hurt you so. And don’t bother to deny it. You have been hurt. I can see it in your eyes whenever the subject of your wedding comes up. But I’d like to find out,” he told her as he slowly stepped toward her.

“So I’ve been hurt,” Nora retorted nervously, straightening as he neared. “Everyone has.”

“That’s true.” Sam planted a hand against the wall on either side of her. “But not everyone takes off in their wedding dress in the midst of what will soon be a blizzard—”

Nora interrupted hotly, in self-defense. “I didn’t know it was going to snow!”

Sam looked down at her as if he found that very hard to swallow. He shook his head wordlessly and leaned in even closer. “How could you not have known that?” he asked, very, very softly, the heat of his body emanating to hers.

Nora flushed and responded wryly, “Because, Mr. I-Gotta-Have-All-the-Answers, I wasn’t listening to the weather reports this morning, or last night, for that matter!”

“Why not?” His voice was hushed, seductive, his breath warm on her skin, as he placed his hands on the bare curves of her shoulders and forced her to look up at him.

Nora ignored the sensual feeling of his palms on her bare skin. They were slightly chapped and callused, as though he knew firsthand the value of hard physical work, but tender, too, as if he knew how to love. Irritated with herself—after all, she had no business thinking like that!—Nora shook off the sensual image of her body, in his hands.

“Because I had a ton of other important things to do!” she answered, with a regal toss of her head. “I had to get up early and shower and go to the hairdresser, and then over to the church, to dress and get my official wedding portrait done.” She stopped and bit her lip, aware that he was suddenly looking very much as though he wanted to do a whole lot more than simply hold her in front of him. He wanted to kiss her! Not just once, but probably again and again and again!

Sam grinned and lifted a skeptical golden-brown brow. “Are you saying the rest of your wedding party didn’t know it was going to snow, either?”

“Maybe not.” Nora swallowed around the sudden tightness of her throat. Looking deep into Sam’s eyes, she could almost believe he wanted only to help her. “After all, the snowstorm is not supposed to hit Pi—uh…” She made a strangled sound, as she realized she’d inadvertently said far too much, and cut herself off in midsentence.

“Pittsburgh?” Sam supplied, his hands following the curve of her shoulders and caressing her bare arms.

Nora glared at him defiantly and tried to ignore the enticing scent that was him. “What makes you think the wedding was supposed to take place in Pittsburgh?”

“The license plates on your car,” Sam replied, looking so abruptly earnest and helpful and forth right, it was all she could do not to melt into the warmth of his embrace.

“Also,” he said frankly, “the geography fits. If the wedding was supposed to take place sometime this morning, as I am guessing it was, you had time to drive from Pittsburgh down to West Virginia. You did not have time to drive from, say, New York City to West Virginia since this morning.”

She stared at him, the concern on his face unnerving her more than she wanted to admit. “You noticed the plates on my car?” she asked, feeling the color drain from her face. That meant he could trace her origins quicker than she could say “One-two-three.” And from there go directly to her father and Geoff!

Sam shrugged and, dropping his hands from her shoulders, stepped back slightly. “I’m a lawman,” he explained matter-of-factly. “I’m trained to notice everything.”

And that seemed to go triple where she was concerned, Nora thought, her insides in explicably heating all the more.

Nora sighed. Maybe this initial mix-up wasn’t as bad as she’d thought—especially if it kept her from being traced back to her father and Geoff. She studied Sam. “You don’t think I’m engaged to your brother,” she stated, rather than asked.

“You know I don’t,” Sam replied with a seductive half grin.

“Why not?” Nora demanded, shocked to find things suddenly going her way. Or were they? “Everyone else does.”

Sam shrugged his impossibly broad shoulders and kept his eyes on hers. “You’re not his type,” Sam said, in a very low, very definite tone of voice.

His confidence in his ability to analyze and understand her was supremely irritating, as was the way she melted at his slightest touch or look. Nora cautioned herself to keep her defenses up or suffer the consequences.

“Oh, really.” Nora bristled at the sexy stranger who was fast proving to be her nemesis. “Then whose type am I?” she demanded archly.

Sam hooked an arm about her waist and pulled her into the tantalizing warmth of his embrace. “Mine.”




Chapter Three


“YOU’RE NOT JUST NOSY,” Nora sputtered. “You’re nuts!”

Sam grinned victoriously, his hot glance skimming her from head to toe. “Can I help it if I know what I want?”

“You also know I was supposed to get married today.”

“And yet, when you talk about not getting married,” he scoffed, using the arm anchored around her waist to bring her even closer, “you look nothing but relieved.”

“So maybe my fiancé was not my Mr. Right,” Nora theorized hotly.

He grinned at her display of temper, his glance taking in the bare curves of her shoulders before returning with sensual deliberation to her eyes. He stared at her with taunting intensity. “And maybe in running away the way you did, even if it was at the very last minute, you stopped yourself from making the biggest mistake of your life.”

Suffused with heat everywhere Sam’s eyes had gazed, as well as everywhere they had not, Nora swallowed. She wished she was wearing anything but this beaded white satin wedding dress, with its flirtatiously full skirt and long, closely fitted drop sleeves and bosom-revealing neckline.

Determined not to let Sam get the better of her, in conversation or anything else, she made herself take a tranquilizing breath.

“As it happens,” Nora told Sam, glad at last that someone understood she’d prevented a mistake in running away, not made one, “that’s precisely what I did.”

Slowly he lowered his face to hers. His golden-brown eyes glittered rapaciously. “Then I’ve got nothing to worry about, even if your groom does show up here to reclaim you, do I?” he asked in a soft, silken voice.

Fighting the electric heat Sam’s touch elicited, Nora relaxed slightly in the comforting cradle of his arms. “I don’t think he’ll come after me,” Nora replied sadly. “And even if he did, it wouldn’t make any difference.”

“Good.” Satisfaction filled his eyes as he dropped one hand from around her back and lifted her chin to his.

“Why do you say that?”

Still gazing deep into her eyes, he curved his hand around her cheek and chin. “Because I’m old enough to know that chemistry like this comes but once in a lifetime, and I want my own chance with you,” he said softly.

Nora threw up her hands. She’d never met anyone more persistent. Furthermore, she knew by the confident, controlled way Sam held himself that he would never be satisfied unless he held the upper hand. And wasn’t that what she was trying to get away from? Men who would rule her life?

“Don’t you care that I’m on the rebound?” She pushed the words through clenched teeth, finding it hard to hang on to her cool.

Sam merely grinned from ear to ear. “Are you?” Sam asked, leaning forward. As he did so, his lips touched her temple. “’Cause I could’ve sworn by the way you’ve been acting today that you never really loved this Mr. Wrong of yours in the first place.” He paused and looked deep into her eyes.

He hadn’t even tried to kiss her lips, though he could have, and he was merely touching her face, yet Nora’s nipples tightened painfully beneath her lacy bridal corset. Lower still, there was a definite pressure building, and a new weakness in her knees. And the startling desire to feel his lips on hers—not just in a momentary experiment, but in a passionate explosion of feeling that went on…well, indefinitely.

And that, Nora thought, was crazy. She didn’t even know this man! Furthermore, she was not the kind of woman who could be swept off her feet. Not ever. And yet it appeared, she thought as she drew a shaky breath, that Sam Whittaker was doing just that.

“You didn’t love him, did you?” Sam probed.

Nora’s eyes widened at the low, masculine promise in his voice. “N-no,” she said as color poured into the high, sculpted planes of her face.

“Good,” Sam replied in a low, gravelly voice. “Then that’s all I need to know,” he said, pulling her against him. He threaded one hand through her hair. His lips grazed hers, tenderly at first, then with building passion. Nora was engulfed by so many sensations and feelings at once. The woodsy scent of him, the minty taste of his mouth. His lips were sure and sensual, his body was hard and warm. The man knew how to kiss! Knew how to draw a thrilling, incredibly sensual response from her, the kind she had read about but never really dreamed existed. And it was only then, when Nora realized what Sam had done to her, in getting her to respond that way to him, that he slowly drew back.

Not sure she could stand unassisted, Nora wreathed her arms about his shoulders and held on tight. Her heart slammed against her ribs, and she could barely catch her breath as she stared up at him.

He looked down at her, breathing just as erratically, appearing just as stunned, just as pleased. He smiled at her then, ever so softly and reluctantly, released his grip on her. “You’re free now.”

Nora blinked up at him dizzily, aware that she’d never felt more lovestruck than she did at that moment. “To love again?” she asked.

Sam ran his fingertips down the open wedge of the back of her gown, eliciting another series of tingles—and the realization that her trouble some zipper was no longer jammed. “To get out of the dress.”

“Oh.” Embarrassed at the unspeakably ardent direction of her thoughts, Nora started to step away from the dressing room wall.

Sam planted a hand on either side of her and leaned in close. “But don’t give up on the other,” he told her softly. “You’re free to do that, too.”

Looking deep into Sam’s eyes, Nora could almost believe that it was all that simple. She wanted Sam—at least for now; she should have him. But common sense prevailed, telling her this was not the type of diversion she should be allowing herself, not when she still had so much about her life to sort out. Like where she was going to live, and how she was going to get her father to listen to her and stop meddling in her life. And she had to do all that without completely destroying the only familial relationship she had left in her life in the process.

Determined to put first things first, Nora flattened a hand across Sam’s chest and pressed against the solid male warmth. But before she could speak, the pager attached to his belt began a steady, insistent beep.

The edges of Sam’s mouth tightened into a frown. As he reached down to turn off the pager, his eyes met hers. “Guess I’ll see you later,” he drawled.

Nora sighed. Whether it was wise or not, she had been afraid that would be the case.



WHEN NORA CAME OUT of the dressing room some fifteen minutes later, her wedding gown folded and looped over her arms, the crowd in Whittakers had barely thinned. People were still lined up in droves, purchasing gloves, hats and snow boots, chatting excitedly about the three or so inches of snow that were now on the ground.

Before Nora could do more than smile a hello at another group of curious townspeople, her wedding dress was taken from her—for drying and pressing, Clara said—and she was introduced all around. As a “special friend” of Gus’s. After which the conversation promptly returned to—what else?—the weather, and the effect it was likely to have on the town in the days to come.

“I hope this storm doesn’t interfere with our silent auction for the EMS Fund,” Wynnona Kendrick, the florist, said.

“We’re saving up for a new ambulance,” Doc Ellen explained to Nora as her five-year-old daughter, Katie, tried to decide between two pairs of insulated ski mittens. “We’ve been working on it for almost a year, and so far we’ve only raised five thousand dollars. Unless we can find a way to raise money more quickly, at the rate we’re going it’ll take us five more years to get one.”

“What are you auctioning off?” Nora asked, wondering if there was any way she could be of help.

“Quilts, crafts, paintings, homemade jams, candies, hand crafted furniture and cookbooks. You name it, we’ll probably have it over at the high school gym come Wednesday evening,” Doc Ellen replied, putting the mittens Katie had selected on the counter for ringing up.

“Unless the snow still has the roads impassable,” Clara Whittaker interjected, with a worried look.

“In which case, we’ll simply delay it.” Doc Ellen searched Nora’s face. “You’ll come, won’t you?”

“Sure, if I’m still here,” Nora promised. If not, I’ll make a donation. She smiled, adding, “It sounds like a worthy cause.”

“It is. And it’ll be fun, too, ’cause we’ve got the whole community involved.” Silence fell.

Afraid the talk was going to turn to her canceled wedding again, Nora asked, “Where did Sam go?” And why did she have the feeling he could save her from all this?

“Fender bender at the high school,” Harold Whittaker replied, as he rang up a pair of long johns for a customer. “No one hurt, and only one car involved, but there’s a stop sign and park bench that used to be in better shape. Why?” Sam’s grandfather peered at her curiously from over the rim of his old-fashioned spectacles. “Did you need to talk to Sam?”

What Nora needed was to find out whether her father and Geoffrey had set up the alarm for her in West Virginia. If they had, it was probably through the police departments of the state. And the key to that information was Sam. “Yes, I do,” she replied.

“Well, he should be back in the sheriff’s office soon.” Harold smiled warmly. “If you want to go over there and wait on him, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”



SAM GOT BACK to the office seconds before Nora breezed in.

“So, this is what a small-town sheriff’s office looks like,” Nora said breathlessly as she tugged her mittens off with her teeth, unfastened the wooden toggle buttons on her coat and took a moment to look around.

While Sam watched Nora with the same unabashed curiosity with which she was studying everything else, Nora’s glance moved quickly over the two battered oak desks, set several feet apart, and several black metal file cabinets in the small square room.

She paused before a computer and printer, looked over the bulletin board covered with Wanted posters, the fax machine and copier. If she noted that the equipment was more functional than state-of-the-art, she made no comment. And, instead, turned her attention to the enormous shortwave radio system that Sam and the other deputies used to communicate with each other and other law enforcement agencies around the state.

Finished with her survey of the reception area and office that spanned the front of the brick building, Nora peeked out the doorway, into the hall that ran the length of the middle of the building. She turned back to Sam. “May I?” He nodded.

There was no one else there. It wouldn’t hurt for her to look around. Everyone else in town had, at one time or another.

He followed her past the rest rooms and the soda and coffee machines, to the single jail cell, with its two cots. Both were unoccupied, as was usually the case.

Nora studied the metal cots, which were outfitted with white cotton sheets and blue wool blankets, then turned back to Sam. Together, they walked out into the front office again.

“I’m surprised,” Nora murmured, as she took off her green wool parka and hung it on the tree rack next to the door. “I didn’t expect so much modern equipment.”

Sam hadn’t expected Nora to look every bit as ravishingly beautiful in a white shirt, pewter-gray sweater and jeans as she had in her elegantly beaded white satin wedding dress.

“I had to fight for every piece of it.”

She flashed him an appreciative smile. “You must’ve been pleased to get it,” she said.

“I was. It’s hard to do my job effectively without it.”

Nora’s glance moved once again to the Wanted notices on the bulletin board as Sam assumed a seat. “What sort of things do you get on the fax?” she asked.

Sam kicked back in his chair and propped his feet on the edge of his desk. “Between the insurance companies and the state and federal government, there’s never any shortage of paper work. And, of course, notices from other law enforcement agencies.”

“Is your computer connected into the Internet?” Nora asked.

Sam nodded, his mind drifting back to the kiss they’d shared in the dressing room over at Whittakers. He knew he’d been out of line, putting the moves on her so quickly, but with her leaving as soon as the blizzard blew over, he had to act fast. Besides, he had wanted to put the considerable sparks flying between them to the test, and considering the white-hot intensity of their embrace, he wasn’t sorry he had.

Noting Nora was still waiting for an answer, Sam said, “Yes, we’re hooked up to the Net, as well as an information system that lets me interact with other law enforcement agencies via computer.”

Nora paled slightly. “I see.”

She seemed edgy, nervous. Why, he wasn’t sure. Unless she was worried he was going to kiss her again? Sam stood. “Everything okay?” he asked.

“Sure, of course.”

He studied her, knowing something was up. Moved closer. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

“Oh, well, your grandparents wanted you to know—what with the snow coming down harder now—that they were closing the store an hour early this evening and would be going home around five. I volunteered to come over and tell you. Plus, I wanted to see a little of the town while I could still walk around.”

Sam looked out the window. “It’s coming down pretty good now, isn’t it?”

Nora nodded. Though the brunt of the blizzard still seemed seven or eight hours away, it had really started to pick up in the past hour or so. She’d heard on the car radio that it was now snowing steadily in Kentucky, Maryland, Pennsylvania and New York state and that “record blizzard” conditions had virtually shut down all roads in the mountains of Virginia. If the forecasters were right, it would soon be that bad here, too. “I’d say we have at least four inches on the ground now,” she said. And the latest forecast indicated their area of West Virginia might get sleet and ice, too. Sleet and ice knocked out power lines.

The phone rang. Sam reluctantly tore his eyes from Nora’s face and picked up the receiver. “Sheriff’s office.” He listened, and was clearly not happy with the report on the other end. “I’ll be right down,” he promised, then hung up.

“Another wreck?” Nora asked curiously as he reached for his shearling coat and shrugged it on.

Sam searched for his keys and finally found them on his desk, beneath the state accident report he’d started to fill out before Nora walked in. “Worse. Domestic disturbance,” he explained as Nora sauntered closer, her eyes glued to his. Sam grimaced, wishing he had time for another kiss, then continued explaining. “Clyde Redmond is down at the hardware store trying to buy a snow shovel, and his wife Charlene is there with him, pitching a fit.”

Nora blinked, still not understanding. She watched as he retrieved his Stetson and adjusted the brim low across his brow. “She has something against her husband shoveling snow?”

Sam nodded, explaining, “And with good reason, since Clyde had his first heart attack two months ago, doing just that.” He brushed a hand down her cheek, gave her one last lingering glance and strode out the door. “Hold down the fort here,” he called over his shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”



THE DOOR BANGED behind Sam, leaving her very much alone.

Well, this was her chance to look around. And see if anything from her father had come in, Nora thought as she noticed a stack of recently received faxes in the tray.

Her heart pounding, Nora picked up the stack and quickly began to look through it. The first fax sought information on a young widow from Maryland and her baby. They’d allegedly gone out to run errands early that morning and never returned home, even after it began to snow. Her in-laws were frantic for information of any kind. Next was a report on a burglary ring operating out of Charleston, West Virginia, that had hit elegant homes and various businesses all over the state. Third, came a query about a schoolteacher and seven children who had never made it to the next destination of their field trip. Could they have had car trouble or been involved in an accident? the headmistress of the Peach Blossom Academy For Young Women wanted to know. If so, she asked that the school and the parents of the students, age 6 to 14, please be alerted ASAP. After that came a weather warning, stating that as of 4:00 p.m. that afternoon, all West Virginia freeways would be closed until further notice. On the bottom was what she had dreaded—a photo of herself in her wedding gown, and a faxed alert from Round The Clock Investigations, advising all law enforcement officials in the state to be on the lookout for Nora Hart-Kingsley.




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