An Allegheny Homecoming
An Allegheny Homecoming
T. R. McClure
What happens when you do go home again?One mistake cost Josh Hunter almost everything. Burning his bridges was easier than coming home. Yet here he is, eight years—and one family crisis—later, back in his Pennsylvania town playing unlikely rescuer to a blizzard-stranded stranger.Local newscaster Wendy Valentine is looking for the story that will make her name as a serious journalist. The tragic secret Josh is concealing could be her stepping-stone. Funny then that Wendy seems more interested in the sizzling personal dynamics playing out between them!
What happens when you do go home again?
One mistake cost Josh Hunter almost everything. Burning his bridges was easier than coming home. Yet here he is, eight years—and one family crisis—later, back in his Pennsylvania town playing unlikely rescuer to a blizzard-stranded stranger.
Local newscaster Wendy Valentine is looking for the story that will make her name as a serious journalist. The tragic secret Josh is concealing could be her stepping-stone. Funny then that Wendy seems more interested in the sizzling personal dynamics playing out between them!
“Are you running away?”
The words came as if from a distance. Josh tore his gaze from the blue flames and stared into her big brown eyes. “Excuse me?”
She propped a hand on her hip and moved so she could look directly at him. “You can’t bear to see your parents fighting, so you’re running away.”
He placed his palm on her cheek and ran his thumb along her chin. “Always thinking. I don’t want to talk about the past and I don’t want to talk about the future. Why don’t we just stay in the moment, Miss Valentine?” And with that he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
Thanksgiving night, a fire in the fireplace, together with a woman he liked and respected. This was all he wanted for now. Because once Miss Wendy Valentine found out the truth about him, there would be no more kisses. Once Miss Wendy Valentine found out what he’d done, she would have her big story and she would be on her way.
Dear Reader (#u75935347-a55b-5bd4-a421-e704fd629f34),
You’re reading my second book! For whatever reason this book ended up in your hands, I thank you for reading this story. I strive to improve with each work, to write a story impossible to put down and to keep you reading long into the night. Thank you for the positive words and encouragement on this writing journey. Again I thank the crew at Harlequin, without whom this story would not be told. Again I am honored to be part of the Harlequin Heartwarming group of authors.
In An Allegheny Homecoming, Wendy and Josh leave the foothills of the Alleghenies. Josh because he’s hiding a secret and Wendy because she seeks an opportunity she can’t find in a small town. This exodus happens every day in small towns across the country. Whether one joins the military, seizes a job opportunity, or just craves adventure and new horizons, the urge to travel and explore is common to everyone.
But sometimes you just need to come home, to a place as familiar and comfortable as an old sweatshirt from your high school days.
Return to Bear Meadows with Josh Hunter.
As always...enjoy the read.
T.R.
An Allegheny Homecoming
T. R. McClure
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
T. R. McCLURE wrote her first story when she was ten years old. A degree in psychology led to a career in human resources. Only after retirement did she pick up her pen and return to fiction.
T.R. lives in central Pennsylvania with her husband of thirty-seven years. They share their country home with one horse, one cat, four beagles and Sunny the yellow Lab. T.R. is always up for travel adventures with her grown twin daughters.
To my parents, Clyde and Stephania, >who gave me a loving and supportive family environment but left this earth much too soon.
And to my husband’s parents, Elmer and Mary, who gave me the opportunity to be a daughter again.
Contents
Cover (#u7b9eabdd-9b4e-57e8-a7ce-b7401ca20f40)
Back Cover Text (#u45df08c5-9a9f-5105-82f4-6cec87ca3819)
Introduction (#ub30bf051-1370-53a1-8c18-6d9ae5ce4fee)
Dear Reader (#udea16938-e0fa-5784-9d7e-6c26684729e8)
Title Page (#u8ff69f7c-b4f2-5979-b117-3a7c2269535f)
About the Author (#ucfd1219d-eef3-5a6c-82c2-14728212296a)
Dedication (#udcc2bc0a-5c30-5152-a9e6-082b71ab6b6a)
CHAPTER ONE (#u52ad9deb-70b2-513c-8ad4-e346ab5e6b8f)
CHAPTER TWO (#ub3441912-59ee-533a-815e-cf4873f1ee7e)
CHAPTER THREE (#ubef900f8-e679-5007-ad02-c37c4ee4153b)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u857f1284-8889-5881-9567-e1ba92863ffd)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#u75935347-a55b-5bd4-a421-e704fd629f34)
“A COLD FRONT coming in from the north gives our area a dusting of snow for the overnight forecast.” Wendy Valentine turned toward the camera with a smile. “So far this week it’s been mild, but then into the weekend it becomes colder.” Eyes on the monitor, she waved a hand over the center of the green screen. “Tuesday we’ll have 44 degrees with a few passing clouds. High Wednesday only 37 with a few snow showers Thursday morning.”
From his position behind the anchor desk, Casey Knight flashed bright, white teeth in her direction. His thick blond hair gleamed under the lights. “Thanks, Wendy, what a nice way to start the week, with a few more warm days before winter sets in. Not bad for central Pennsylvania in November.”
“But don’t forget it looks like snow later in the week!” Elbows tucked, Wendy linked her fingers and rested her hands at her waist as the camera pulled back. “Better dig out your snow boots, Casey.”
“This will be my first experience with snow since I moved here. I’m not sure I’m ready.” With a charming grin and a sly wink, Casey spoke to camera one. “Well, that does it for us this morning. Stay tuned for national news. Our chief meteorologist, Mark Murphy, and I will see you at noon.”
Wendy bit the corner of her lip to stop her frowning as she gazed at the new anchor. This was who she had lost the position to? This Mr. Perfect? Navy blazer, crisp white shirt, blue-and-gray-striped tie. No one should look that good, even if he was the new morning anchor for WSHF. “And we’re clear.” The voice of their college intern came out in a high-pitched squeak.
Wendy hadn’t taken two steps before Casey was at her side. “Join me for a cup of coffee, Wendy? We should get to know each other.” He winked.
“I’m going home. But maybe another time.”
Casey looked her up and down. “You have a nice camera presence. You should try for an anchor position sometime. Catch ya later.” Another wink and he was gone.
Wendy shrugged off the comment and her blazer just as a bead of sweat rolled down the side of her face. No matter how cold her forecast, under these lights the temperature was usually hot. Yet she always wore a suit in an attempt to be taken seriously by her peers. So far it hadn’t worked.
She weaved through the collection of television equipment and thick cables strung across the floor to get to the hallway, en route to the tiny office she shared with the chief meteorologist. With more seniority than she, Mark had the cushy working hours of noon and six, leaving Wendy with early morning and late evening. The man wouldn’t show at the station until shortly before the noon report. On the plus side, Wendy had all day to search for that one perfect story that would shoot her to the top and far away from this small-town television station.
“Wendy, could I see you for a minute?” Another new addition to the station, Walt Crosby stuck his head into the hallway. The station manager’s thick white hair appeared perpetually tousled. Red blotches colored his cheeks. Rumors of an incident on the West Coast that chased him east had accompanied his recent arrival.
On her way to the coffee station for her first cup, Wendy resisted the urge to frown. She couldn’t afford to antagonize the man. Part of her plan involved doing something, anything, other than weather, and she needed his approval. “Sure, boss.” She made a U-turn and followed Walt into a cluttered office, which no longer smelled of the former station manager’s perfume but of smoke. “What’s up?”
The husky man lifted a pile of newspapers from the single chair in front of his desk and motioned for her to sit. He settled into his own chair with a heavy sigh. Rolled-up shirtsleeves displayed hairy, muscular forearms. “We haven’t had a chance to talk yet. Did you know Mark will be gone for the next three days?” He didn’t sound pleased with the chief meteorologist.
Wendy was curious. “He is? Since when?”
“Since he had Sharon approve it before he left. Apparently the man has an uncanny knack for predicting snowfall. He’s headed to Vermont to ski.”
Wendy slumped in her chair. She knew what that meant. She would be doing the early morning, noon, evening and eleven o’clock weather. In other words, she would be living at the station. She hadn’t complained when Mark had married last year and spent a month in Cancun for his honeymoon. But skiing? “So I’ve got it all.”
“You have a problem with that?” At the end of the sentence, his bushy eyebrows rose, almost meeting in the middle.
Wendy bristled at the man’s tone. She kept her answer short. “I can handle it.” She had seen Mark just last Friday. Funny the man hadn’t bothered to mention he had planned to take a few weekdays off, but then, ever since the news of her Atlanta offer had made the rounds at the station he had distanced himself.
The wooden desk chair creaked in protest as Walt leaned back and cupped his hands behind his head, as if trying to figure out if she were telling him the truth. “He already had the leave approved by the time I arrived. Sharon must have thought you could do it.”
“To be honest, the three years I’ve been here Mark has always taken off for fresh powder. Early this year, though.” Wendy drummed her fingers on the arm of her wooden chair. Her chair didn’t tilt back.
Walt stared at the tile ceiling. Then he stretched and brought his chair forward with a thump. “The station had additional staff then.”
Wendy nodded. “Budget cuts.” She looked around the small office and wondered how much, if any, the previous station manager had shared with Walt. Sharon knew all about Wendy’s drive to the big time. And she had almost made it. “How often did you talk with Sharon before she left?”
He pulled a cigar from his center desk drawer and stuck it in one corner of his mouth. “In the thirty seconds she had to tell me everything I needed to know, she might have mentioned you had an offer from an Atlanta affiliate last year.” He held her gaze. “I understand the job didn’t materialize.”
Wendy squirmed. “That’s one way to put it.” She had been mortified, after telling everyone and his brother she was leaving, the deal had fallen through. Walt seemed to be waiting for more. She was well aware of the technique. Don’t say anything, until the person across from you felt compelled to fill the silence and blurted out the information you’re looking for. She never seemed to have an opportunity to use it. Lips pressed tightly together, she met the gaze of the blue-eyed newsman sitting across the messy desk.
Walt smiled. He rested muscular forearms on top of the papers strewed across the desk. The cigar bounced up and down. “And then the news anchor job came open, and they brought in Casey from Georgia. I’ll bet that rattled you, eh?”
Wendy squirmed some more. If Sharon hadn’t told the man how hard she had lobbied for the position, then she was better off if Walt never knew. “Casey has a great on-air personality. I’m totally on board.” She had been so sure the anchor position was hers. Casey’s sparkling white teeth had won over the higher-ups and here she was, still doing the weather for WSHF in rural central Pennsylvania.
“Hmm. I’d wondered how you felt about the shake-up.” Walt’s mouth tilted in what Wendy assumed was a grin. “Did you ask your sister for advice?”
Shock ricocheted through her body. “What sister?”
“What sister?” Walt laughed out loud, a big booming laugh that seemed to ricochet around the small office. “How could I not know about your sister? She’s famous in this business. Anchor on a national news desk at twenty-five, interviewer of the rich and famous for the last ten years. Not to mention you share the same last name.” He tapped his forefinger on his head.
Wendy’s heart thumped in her chest as she fought to calm her breathing. She and her sister looked nothing alike. Katie was tall and blond. Wendy was short and dark. Each took after her mother. “I want to make it on my own merit.”
Walt nodded. “Sure you do. You majored in broadcasting, minored in journalism and took six credits in meteorology. And your first job is in your hometown. As a weather girl.”
Wendy bit her tongue to keep from correcting the man. He was in the news business, and he still used the term weather girl? “This was the first offer I got. I didn’t think I’d be here this long but, hey, the economy.”
“The economy.” He picked up a painted shot glass and held it with two fingers. “Which is why I expect you to stick with the weather. If I want interviews, I’ll send Casey. Is that going to be a problem?”
The new station manager was giving her a warning. He didn’t care if she wanted a different job or not. He had a station to look after. “Of course not.” Wendy readjusted her position on the hard wooden chair. “Look, Walt, I have to run home and get back by noon. Was there anything else you wanted to discuss?” She didn’t say she had hoped for a few minutes of respite at The Wildflower, the local coffee shop in Bear Meadows, where the baristas made the perfect nonfat vanilla latte.
Walt didn’t seem to have heard her. He continued to play with the shot glass for several seconds. “You live about twenty miles from here, right?”
She shouldn’t have been surprised he knew where she lived. He was, after all, a newsman. “A few miles outside of Bear Meadows.”
“You know how to operate the camera?” One bushy eyebrow raised as he finally set the shot glass next to the desk lamp and caught her gaze.
She nodded. “Absolutely.” Part of her internship had been setting up the camera and then doing her own reporting without the help of a camera operator.
“Why don’t you take one of the smaller cameras with you and do the weather from a remote location? Pick something picturesque. You can email the report in, and at least you’ll be out of the studio.” A flash of teeth again.
To avoid the sharp-eyed gaze, Wendy stared at the floor. Framed photographs filled a cardboard box. The one on top looked like Walt in front of... She squinted. Mount Kilimanjaro? What was he doing in little Shadow Falls? She wondered if the shot glass had anything to do with it. “Um, if you say so.” Carting a piece of camera equipment around with her sounded like a pain; on the other hand, she wouldn’t have to drive back to Shadow Falls for the noon report. She could go straight home. “Anyplace in particular you have in mind?”
Walt directed his attention to the television overhead, dismissing her. The low murmurings of the national news filled the silence. “You know this area better than I do. You decide.”
Wendy’s mind started spinning. She pictured the perfect spot. The bridge over Little Bear Creek. It was on the way home. And she would still have time for a latte. She deserved one, extra-large.
* * *
JOSH HUNTER FINISHED securing the fence that had been pressed to the ground by a fallen tree. The cattle had already been moved into the lower pastures for the winter, but there could be a few strays still wandering the high mountains of the northern Montana ranch. It was hard, but satisfying work. Although he still wasn’t sure they actually needed a ranch hand here, or if his friend Matt hadn’t convinced his uncle to find a job for Josh.
Four months out of the military and Josh still didn’t know what he was doing next. But no matter. He had saved every penny of his army paycheck, so had enough money to get by for quite a while.
Giving a final pull to the fencing tool, he leaned back onto his heels and looked out over the plains. The mountains beyond were already covered with snow. He wondered if Bear Meadows had seen snow yet.
The last time he had gone home, over three years ago, his mother had made halupkis. Even now, thoughts of a roasting pan filled with the rolls of cabbage stuffed with hamburger and rice made his mouth water. She had cooked Easter dinner, like she always did. He thought everything had been fine. With his parents, that was.
But in his mind, every person he saw on the street seemed to know what he had done, albeit that was impossible. So he’d returned to base as soon as he could. Of course his guilty conscience probably had a lot to do with his paranoia.
A twig snapped, pulling him out of his daydreaming. Still crouched by the fence, he half turned and caught a glimpse of tawny eyes peering at him from behind a fir tree.
Josh’s breathing stilled. Pennsylvania born and raised, he had never been to Montana before. He knew all the critters in the eastern woods, but Montana was a different story. He reached for his rifle, then remembered he had left it in the truck, certain the wire fence would be a quick fix.
His knee dropped to the ground, the better to support the shift of his upper body. A big cat. A mountain lion. Rarely seen back east, but still plentiful in the west. The animal was beautiful. Long, sinewy body. A muted solid gold. The long tail brushed the ground.
“I’m just passing through, buddy.” Josh’s voice was low.
One tawny ear twitched. He couldn’t seem to look away from the unblinking amber eyes.
“Take it easy, fella.” Josh kept his breathing shallow, afraid of startling the animal. Being mauled by a mountain lion wouldn’t be the worst way to go. His last vision would be of the endless Montana sky. Yes, it could be worse. “You’re a beautiful animal. What do you want with me?”
The sound of hoofbeats reached his ears. The cat’s ears pricked. Josh’s gaze shifted right. When he looked back, the cat was gone.
“How you makin’ out, buddy?” Matt MacDougal trotted up on the other side of the fence and reined in his horse. A compact man, he looked right at home on the big ranch horse. He lifted off his cowboy hat and ran a hand over short-cropped red hair.
Josh stood. His right knee cracked. “I just saw a mountain lion.”
“No kidding? You have your rifle with you?”
“It’s in the truck.”
“Good place for it. You know a horse would’ve been able to carry you down that rocky slope, so you’d have your rifle handy. And Blue’s in the barn getting fat. He could use some exercise.”
“I told you the first day of boot camp I prefer my horses under the hood. Just because you can ride anything on four legs doesn’t mean the rest of us can.”
“If you say so, but the day is gonna come when the only way you can get somewhere is on one of these fellas. It’s not that hard. You just sit here and let the horse do all the work.” He ran a hand down the crown of the thick mane.
“You make it sound easy.”
“Riding is easy.” Matt grunted. “Aunt Steff wants you to come over to the main house for lasagna. She said tell him no arguments.”
His stomach grumbled. He had been eating food out of a can for weeks. “I’ll be there in a bit.”
“That’s what you said yesterday. You missed Sunday roast. You’re gonna lose your social skills if you stay up here in this cabin much longer.”
“What social skills?” Josh grinned and stared past his friend into the valley below. He could just make out the roof of the large barn.
“Got a point there, brother.” He leaned on the saddle horn and looked up at the screech of a hawk. His sweat-stained Stetson dangled from his fingers. “You know, we should cut the rest of these dead trees before they fall.”
Josh rubbed his right knee, which only bothered him when he put weight on it for extended periods of time. “I can do it.”
“Why don’t you wait until I can give you a hand? It’s a two-man job.” Matt fiddled with a rope hanging from the saddle horn. “You okay up here by yourself? You know, we have room at the house. Because there’s no signal up here. If you need a hand...”
“Thanks, but I love it here in the mountains.” Josh filled his lungs with a deep breath of the cool, crisp air and released it before answering. He gave his friend a confident stare. “I’ll be fine.”
“Well, you ever need to talk you know where to find me.”
Josh met his gaze and nodded before glancing away. “Thanks.” If he talked to anyone it would be to Matt, a man he trusted with his life. But Josh had managed to stay quiet for eight years; no sense dragging up the past at this late date.
Matt slapped his hat back on and tilted his head. “You know, you’re starting to look like a crazy mountain man. You ever gonna shave? I can hardly recognize you.” Matt’s grin dissipated the tension in the air.
Josh propped an elbow on a fence post and ran a hand over the dark, bushy beard. Four months with no rules and regulations to follow with regard to shaving. For the first time in eight years, his hair touched his collar. “Maybe I don’t want to be recognized.”
“Oh, I almost forgot. You had some mail at the house.” Matt pulled an envelope from inside the heavy duster and waved it in the air. “You keepin’ secrets from me, bro? You got a girlfriend back home?”
“Nope.” A shiver ran down his spine at Matt’s timely question. He wished his secrets were as innocent as a girl back home. Taking the piece of mail from Matt’s outstretched hand, he stuck the envelope in the back pocket of his jeans, wondering who he knew who would write a letter in this day of texts and emails. “Thanks.”
“So we’ll see you for dinner?” Matt leaned forward on the saddle horn and waited.
Josh had promised twice already this month to come for dinner and had apologized by saying he had fallen asleep. He nodded. “I’ll be there.”
“Sounds good.” Matt pulled on the reins, and his horse whirled around on his hind legs. The clatter of the hooves on the rocky hillside faded into the distance.
Josh clambered up the bank to the old ranch truck, a forty-year-old mechanical miracle. A sturdy wooden bed had replaced the original, which had probably rusted away years ago. His own truck was parked in the garage at the main house. After years of owning a vehicle for a year at the most, selling and then moving on, he had purchased a new dark green truck with an extended cab to store his things, and a short bed for anything else he might have to carry.
The job here at the MacDougal Ranch, as much as he appreciated working in the outdoors, was temporary. He just hadn’t decided on his next step.
He looked around. The big cat had disappeared. He maneuvered the truck up the hill, washed in the stream, changed his shirt and jeans for the only clean pair he had and settled down by the empty fireplace to read his mail.
He ripped open the envelope. A news clipping and a piece of pink notepaper fell out. The pink paper was decorated with a picture of scissors, the Hair Today logo and Megan Martin’s name.
Hi Josh, I thought you would want to see this. Text or call if you want to talk. Megan.
Josh smiled, thinking of the woman with the curly ponytail who could argue sports statistics with him all day. Neither had a romantic interest in the other, but when they had worked together backstage on the senior class play, they had discovered a common interest in sports of all kinds. He unfolded the newspaper clipping. A group of people stood in front of a business. Why would Megan think he cared about this?
He brought the paper closer and peered at the faces. He still didn’t recognize anyone. He had been gone from home too long. He read the caption: Local Businesses Plan Holiday Party. Holly McAndrews, proprietor of The Wildflower. Now he remembered. She had been a few years ahead of him in school. Three years in a row she and her bay quarter horse had won the barrel racing contest at the county fair. He grinned at the sight of the pregnant belly. Didn’t look like she was doing any barrel racing these days.
Next to Holly was Megan. And next to Megan...he did a double take, before reading the caption beneath. Suzanna Campbell, proprietor of The Cookie Jar. He almost didn’t recognize his own mother. Her formerly bright yellow hair was more of a platinum blond, and she must have lost at least forty pounds. And she was using her maiden name. What was going on?
He took a deep breath and stared into the ashes of the old stone fireplace. He had stayed away, focusing on his own demons. Eight years as a medic, patching up his fellow soldiers, had done little to assuage his guilt about what had happened in Bear Meadows. He’d even finally gotten out of the military, hoping to find the answers elsewhere.
But the picture indicated something else was wrong. Was his mother sick? The weight loss... The white hair...
He was only half joking when he told Matt he didn’t want to be recognized. He had no desire to return to Bear Meadows, especially after his last visit. He had burned that bridge. What he wanted was to be left alone to sort out his thoughts. How did the last eight years figure into the direction of the rest of his life? How would he move on from the incident that kept him away from his hometown?
But something had happened at home. Maybe he wasn’t the only one having trouble figuring out what to do next. His parents had been married twenty-five years. Didn’t they know by now?
Apparently they didn’t. He had to get back to Pennsylvania.
But first he had a date with a plate of lasagna.
CHAPTER TWO (#u75935347-a55b-5bd4-a421-e704fd629f34)
“NONFAT VANILLA LATTE. And make it a double.” She deserved it after the morning she’d had. Standing at The Wildflower counter, Wendy swiped her debit card and studied the woman behind the cash register. “Are you still working out? You don’t look like you’ve gained an ounce.”
Holly Hoffman McAndrews grinned as she pushed Wendy’s latte across the counter. The sweet scent of vanilla wafted from the ceramic cup. “I can do limited exercise. And I walk a lot.” She patted the round protrusion underneath the brown apron. “But I gave up riding horses for a while.” Her smile got wider as the bell jingled over the door. “It’s all his fault.”
“What are you blaming me for now?” Mac McAndrews, the chief of police and Holly’s husband, strode across the floor.
Wendy looked from one to the other. She may as well have been invisible.
She’d never spotted the love affair coming, what with Mac having a little girl from his first marriage and Holly thinking she wasn’t the maternal type. But somehow things had worked out for the couple and, two years after they laid eyes on each other, they were a happy family, with Mac’s seven-year-old daughter, Riley, and a baby on the way.
Wendy carried her cup to the low table in front of the picture window and settled into an overstuffed chair. Brown-and-yellow plaid, the colors of the local high school. Rather than go home to an empty house, Wendy had decided to research job opportunities on her laptop in the comfort of the cozy coffee shop. She would do the noon report from the bridge, with a couple shots of a still unfrozen creek, and then go home.
She sipped her latte as she waited for her laptop to connect. Ever since Holly had opened the coffee shop the previous year, Wendy had been a steady customer. She had watched Mac date a series of women, looking for the perfect partner for himself and mother for his daughter. He had even taken Wendy out to dinner, but they both knew before they finished their salads they were going in completely opposite directions.
Wendy watched the two former military members hold hands across the counter. Holly had been a great choice for Mac and vice versa. It just took them a while to figure that out.
Glancing down at the computer screen, she typed television news jobs in the search bar. How long would it take for her to figure things out? She couldn’t stay at WSHF past January. She had to find something else. A year was long enough to wait for an opportunity. She clicked on the first listing. Broadcast Technician, Shipboard, Worldwide. Get ready for an exciting life at sea!
She skimmed the job requirements—which she met—and then the long list of responsibilities. The any other job-related duties assigned moved her finger to the delete button. She pictured herself swabbing the deck with a smelly mop. She was reading about a TV Spot Producer in Burbank when the bell jingled over the door.
“Hello, all, what a nice day out there with the sun shining. And there’s our own weather girl to give me the latest weather report.” Mrs. Hershberger, first-grade teacher to half the town, beamed her a sunny smile as she closed the door.
Wendy bit the inside of her cheek and gave the teacher a tight grin. Two times in one day. First Walt, now the teacher. The funny thing was, she believed they thought they were paying her a compliment. Local girl makes good, and all.
“Hello, John.” The plump, recently retired teacher was one of the few in town, besides his mother and wife, to refer to the chief of police as John. Dropping her big purse onto the floor, she plopped into the chair opposite Wendy. “I’ll try one of your special lattes, Holly. The one with pumpkin.”
With a last glimpse at the Burbank job, Wendy clicked off the screen and shut her laptop. She would get no more work done with Mrs. Hershberger nearby. “Terrible storm coming in later this week, Mrs. Hershberger.”
“Oh, dear, I was hoping the snow would hold off until Christmas.” The sound of the steamer filled the shop.
“Six weeks?” Wendy glanced at the coffeepot clock over the counter. If she wanted to get the remote to Walt by noon, she had better get moving. “No such luck.” Her phone dinged with a message. A picture popped up on the screen. Central Park. View from Katie’s window! Having a great time! The message was from her father. The photo was taken from high above the park. Obviously, her sister had an expensive apartment. She had made the big time at twenty-five, as her father never ceased to remind her.
“Wendy?”
She looked up to find the teacher staring at her expectantly. “Did you say something?”
The woman’s gaze dropped briefly to the phone in Wendy’s hand.
Wendy slipped the phone into her briefcase. She would save her father’s exclamations of joy at being with his older daughter for later, when she had a full glass of red wine in one hand and a slice of pizza with everything but the kitchen sink on it in the other. Her mouth watered at the thought.
“I asked if Mark Murphy had done the long-range winter forecast yet.”
She shook her head, partly in answer and partly to dispel the pizza image. “He’s skiing in Vermont this week. The winter forecast is scheduled for next Monday’s six o’clock report.” Guilt over ignoring the older woman prompted her to stick with the conversation. “Are you enjoying retirement, Mrs. Hershberger?”
“I suppose.” The wide smile faded. She twisted a band around her left ring finger. A single diamond winked on each rotation. “I miss the kids, and my retirement check doesn’t seem to go as far as I thought it would, so I substitute when they need someone. That’s why I was hoping the bad weather would hold off. My little car doesn’t get around in the snow very well.”
Holly chose that moment to deliver the latte. “One pumpkin spice latte. Maybe you should go to Florida, Mrs. Hershberger. My mom and dad talk about it every year but never seem to make it there.”
The smile returned when Holly sank into the chair between them. “Winters in Pennsylvania usually aren’t too bad. This is my second winter being retired, and I’m just not accustomed to having so much free time.”
Finishing her latte, Wendy slipped her laptop into her briefcase. She remembered the school had honored the older woman for forty-five years of teaching. Mrs. H had to be in her late sixties. Why had she worked so long? Everyone Wendy came across always talked about retiring as soon as possible. Didn’t Mrs. H have family? Grandchildren? She thought everybody around here had grandchildren.
Mrs. Hershberger focused on Holly. “I read in the paper you and the other merchants are planning a holiday party and I want to hear all about it, but first...how is Riley adapting to the idea of having a baby brother or sister?”
Holly let out a burst of laughter, her green eyes dancing. She launched into a story about Riley insisting on decorating the nursery in a superhero theme.
Shaking her head, Wendy drummed her fingers on the arm of the heavily cushioned chair. At one time, Holly, world traveler, barrel racer, independent woman, had been a resource for discussing issues facing trailblazing women in the workplace, but now she was firmly entrenched in motherhood. Holly had gone over to the dark side.
* * *
JOSH DIDN’T HIT snow until Pennsylvania. Almost a week had gone by since he’d received the letter. He wanted to finish things on the ranch before taking off, and to thank Matt’s aunt and uncle for everything and to let them know he’d be back soon. Driving for twenty hours straight out Interstate 80 from Montana, he’d stopped only for coffee, snacks and gas. And once for ice cream. Water he carried in a gallon jug behind the seat. He planned to continue on with no breaks, but by the time he reached Chicago his eyes were drifting closed. He pulled off at a roadside rest stop, unwrapped his sleeping bag and pillow, and crashed for a couple hours in the cramped backseat of his truck cab.
He reached Bear Meadows late Friday. Dusk had fallen. High winds heralded the approaching storm front. The streets were dark, indicating power was out for most of the town. He considered going home, seeing his father, but concern for his mother kept him going through town to the east side, where the bakeshop listed in the newspaper article anchored one end of a five-store strip mall. He hadn’t even known his mother had gone through with her plans to open a bakery and thought belatedly he should’ve called home more often. Once he made sure she was okay, he would stay at the family’s cabin a few miles away. Facing his father would be easier after a night’s sleep.
Both sides of Main Street were dark, although emergency lights in the hardware store and the bank lit the interiors. The hardware store held happy memories. Every April he and his father descended on the place, list in hand for supplies for the first day of trout season. They’d gather up their equipment, and then, with bologna sandwiches made with his mother’s homemade bread and her perfectly round sugar cookies for dessert, he and his father would be on the stream at the crack of dawn. He angled his truck into the space in front of the bakery and glanced at the window in the second floor. Dark. Maybe she hadn’t moved out of their home. Maybe she was using her maiden name for business purposes.
The last time he had been home his mother had mentioned taking an early retirement from the university and opening a bakery. Whenever she had brought up the subject, his father had laughed and told her to keep her day job. Obviously his mother had gone forward with her plans. Had his father’s opposition forced a separation? How did the sudden weight loss enter into the equation?
For the umpteenth time, Josh weighed the possibility that his mother was sick. He would find out soon enough.
As he got out of his truck, the door was almost pulled from his hand by the gusting wind. Slamming the door, he stared at the hanging sign. The Cookie Jar. Black letters on a white background. Black and white—that was his mother. A no-nonsense kind of person.
He stomped up the snow-covered steps to the wooden porch stretching the length of the strip mall, his footprints the only disturbance in the pristine snow. He knocked lightly on the pane of glass and then turned the door handle. It was unlocked. His soldier’s internal alarm sounded as he opened the door into a quiet store. The faint scent of just-baked bread filled the room. He pulled his cell phone from his inside coat pocket and turned on the flashlight app. A long pink counter filled the half of the store to his right. To his left, racks filled with loaves of bread and boxes of baked goods filled the shelves. “Mom?”
No answer. Something brushed his leg and he jerked away. A brown tail disappeared around the counter. “Another cat. At least you’re small enough to handle.” He followed the tail through the door into the kitchen. The old Formica table from their house occupied the center of the room. Counters covered two walls. A computer filled most of a small table in the corner near the back door. He ran a hand over the bulky monitor. “How can you keep track of a business on this antiquated thing?”
Peering into the darkness, heading for the staircase, he slowed his breathing, the better to hear if someone was in the building. Ice crystals pinged on the windows. “Mom, are you upstairs?”
No response. As he mounted the wooden steps, he stomped his boots in case she was asleep. “I’m coming up.”
At the top of the staircase, he aimed the beam of light in a slow arc around the small area. A simple cot. Folded clothes in cardboard boxes on the floor. A table with a jewelry box and an alarm clock. He looked out the window at the desolate street. A basket of dried petals sat on the windowsill. He picked it up and sniffed. Rose petals. His mother had always been crazy about roses. Was she living here full-time?
He checked under the bed. No sign of the cat. Josh would have to warn his mother, a woman who had refused to allow a dog or a cat in the house, that an animal was loose in her place of business.
But he would have to find her first.
* * *
THE LONG WEEK was almost over.
Mark had returned just ahead of the big storm and, in an unexpected moment of civility, had taken the early morning show. Wendy wasn’t needed at the station until the last broadcast at 11:00 p.m.
Grabbing a yogurt container from the refrigerator and a spoon from the silverware drawer, she walked out onto the enclosed back porch. The storm she had warned Mrs. Hershberger about on Monday had indeed finally arrived. Though only late afternoon, the sky was already getting dark. Fat, fluffy flakes danced in the gathering wind. The still-green grass was almost completely covered. A blue jay chirped from the bare maple tree. She settled into the rocking chair to watch as he hopped onto a higher branch.
If her mother were home, she would be stalking the bird with a telephoto lens. But her parents had gone to New York City almost a week ago, leaving Wendy alone in the sprawling ranch house tucked back on ten acres of wooded property.
She shivered. She had dressed in comfortable sweats when she got up that morning, but maybe she needed something warmer. She settled into the chair, the only sound the scraping of the rocker on the porch floor and the still-squawking blue jay.
She was used to her parents going off on some adventure or other, but she found herself missing her mother’s Yorkshire terrier, despite the insistent barking when he wanted to be picked up. Since her mother spoiled the bright-eyed ball of fluff, Oliver was usually held immediately.
Not even a pet. Meaning, no dog. Ms. King, the headhunter who’d found her the Atlanta anchor job that had unfortunately not happened, the woman who was still out there searching for Wendy’s big chance, had left Wendy with a mantra. The words echoed in her head. Oliver had filled the need for a pet, but now he was gone, leaving her with the blue jays and cardinals in the backyard.
She stared at the overcast sky. Mrs. Hershberger had referred to Wendy as “our weather girl,” but the truth was, the Valentine family had been part of the Bear Meadows population for less than ten years. Before that, her father’s computer security business had kept them in Philadelphia, but after selling and settling into an early, comfortable retirement, her parents had decided to move to central Pennsylvania. Wendy had been at Penn State by then and one of the few people in town the first-grade teacher hadn’t taught.
Unlike her father, who had retired in his mid fifties, Mrs. Hershberger had continued to teach into her late sixties. The warm, friendly teacher would have made a great mom, possibly better than her own mother, who’d found herself pregnant at forty and not that interested in motherhood. Wendy sometimes felt her parents had been a couple so long that they forgot they had a child.
The blue jay hopped farther up the tree.
“If you had a story to tell, I’d interview you, but I think you’re safe, Mr. Jay.” Wendy laughed as the blue-and-white-striped bird with the crested head chirped in reply.
She had to think of something to draw the attention of the big affiliates. Would Walt ever allow her time to interview someone? And if he did, who would she interview? Her parents? Her parents may like living in the rural countryside of central Pennsylvania, but they craved the excitement of exotic places. Maybe a series on unusual travel destinations? Atlanta had been tantalizingly close. Katherine King had been as disappointed as she when the offer didn’t materialize. “Keep doing what you’re doing, Wendy. Try to break out from weather. It’s only a matter of time.”
She had tried. Last fall she had covered every game of the Bear Meadows football team. Her one attempt to dig deeper into a story had almost cost her a friendship. She had been interviewing the chief of police after some teenagers were caught stealing from stores in the strip mall. Something had prompted her to ask him about his dismissal from the Raleigh police force, which she had only come upon after looking the new police chief up on the internet. His normally pleasant demeanor had turned to stone.
Only later did she find out he had blamed himself for the death of his wife. Rather than going for milk himself, his wife had driven, unaccustomed to snow-covered roads, and crashed the car. He began drinking, and was asked to leave the police force. That was all behind him now, but no, she would not be interviewing Chief McAndrews.
She could interview the Smith brothers. Their farm was just a few miles from her parents’ property. The seventy-year-old twin brothers had never married and lived on the family homestead all their lives. Two years ago they had begun selling handmade turkey calls and become an internet sensation. Skinny would be the easier of the two to interview. Hawkeye rarely said a word. Hawkeye remained a mystery. What was his story?
Her thoughts of potential interviewees was interrupted by the ringing of her phone from inside the house. When she jumped out of the rocker, the blue jay flew off, squawking in alarm. The phone lay on the edge of the kitchen’s island countertop. “Hello?” she answered.
“I need you to do the six o’clock.” No greeting, just Walt’s gravelly voice.
“Where’s Mark?” Glancing out the window, she noted the fluffy flakes of a few minutes earlier had increased in size and intensity. She could no longer see the garden shed from the kitchen window.
“You can do a remote.”
Apparently Mark’s whereabouts were none of her business. “Did you have something in mind?”
“The power’s out in Bear Meadows. They’re opening the church basement for people. Go there, report the weather and how people are coping. Don’t try to get fancy.”
“I don’t have—”
“Phil will meet you. He’ll do the camera work. I want him to get some shots of the roads, maybe go up to the interstate and see how traffic is moving. Then he can bring everything back for the late report.”
Wendy breathed a sigh of relief. Sending the cameraman would make the assignment much easier. “Sure thing, Walt. Thanks.”
“You got it, kid. Be careful driving.” And without another word he was gone.
Wendy clicked off. She glanced at the cuckoo clock over the sink, a souvenir her parents had brought back after a trip to Bavaria two years earlier. She had just enough time to change, so without a moment to spare she dashed upstairs. She stared into her closet and debated the best look for outdoor reporting in a blizzard. Or should she report from inside the church? Figuring she wouldn’t be outside long, she pulled on skinny jeans and a royal blue sweater. Her tall black boots and the station’s monogrammed quilted jacket should get her from her car to the church basement.
Given the front-wheel drive, her car did fairly well in the snow. But who knew how quickly the roads would be plowed? The latest forecast indicated a crazy storm was on its way. And who knew that better than she?
* * *
HE TRIED EACH of the other four shops next to the bakery. A computer shop, a consignment shop, the coffee shop and finally his friend Megan’s hair salon. He peered into the window and could barely make out the two chairs and mirrors. He strolled along the boardwalk, his attention now on the other side of the street. The bank and the hardware store were, of course, closed. Despite the covering of snow, he could tell the vacant lot had been renovated. Three benches were scattered among the new landscaping. This end of town had certainly improved since his last trip home.
He retraced his steps to his truck and brushed off the snow that had already accumulated on his windshield. Bank, hardware store, new park, library. Leaning on his truck bed, he studied the facade of the former carriage house that had been the home of the library for all the years he was a student. As he looked closer at the window, he could make out the design of a large cup with a thin handle. Crossing the slippery street, he glanced to his right. At the end of the street, the stoplight swung wildly in the blustery wind.
Someone had converted the old library into a tea shop. Tea for You. He wondered if he should try the door and then knew he would question himself if he didn’t. Grasping the doorknob, he turned the handle and pushed. The door swung open. Snow blew past him and landed on the runner leading from the door to a counter. He quickly shut the door behind him. “Hello?”
At least in his mother’s place of business his presence had been justified. Here, he felt like an interloper. He came farther into the room. The checkout counter had been refinished. A stained-glass lamp graced the top. Round tables and chairs were scattered through the space. Continuing through the shop, he passed a wall of loose teas in glass jars. He entered a kitchen area. The interior back door was wide open.
Josh stepped onto the back porch. Through the massive oak grove on the far side of the parking lot, the outline of the old mansion was barely visible. Dr. Reed’s home.
One car remained in the parking lot, covered with at least six inches of snow. He remembered his father telling him the building had been a carriage house, with horses and carriages on the ground floor, while the upper floor had been living quarters for the grooms. When they created the parking lot, they had to provide a basement entrance to the original ground floor. Josh walked to the edge of the porch.
A large silver maple grew at the edge of the parking lot. One of its branches had fallen from the weight of the snow and lay squarely across the cellar doors leading to the ground floor. If anyone had been in the basement when the limb broke off, he or she was trapped. He listened. Nothing, just the skitter of snow. He could barely make out anything in the darkness until a flicker of light caught his eye. Grabbing the railing, he eased down the steps. Looking under the porch, he noticed a bit of light coming through a small cellar window. Maybe the proprietor of the tea shop had been trapped below. And maybe he or she would know where his mother had gone.
Grabbing the thick branch, he tugged. Heavier than it appeared. He pulled again and felt a pinch in his right knee. Giving his leg a shake, he grabbed the branch again and finally uncovered the cellar doors. He opened one and slid the anchoring support into the slot so it wouldn’t come down on his head. Carefully descending steep stairs, he pushed open the door at the bottom and was hit with chilled air.
Boxes and supplies lined the shelves to his left. In the center of the room sat a square table, similar to the ones in the shop overhead. Lit votive candles sat on the table. Something glistened in the background. Josh stepped forward and directed his light into the recesses of the dark basement. The light landed on a brass bedpost, and then on a form on the bed, partially huddled under a quilt. He directed the light upward until he could make out a face.
“Mom?”
CHAPTER THREE (#u75935347-a55b-5bd4-a421-e704fd629f34)
“THANK YOU, OFFICER WILLIAMS.” Wendy turned to the camera and gave a curt nod. “That was Officer Robert Williams with the Bear Meadows Police Department. They have their hands full tonight. Back to you, Casey.”
Phil’s smiling face appeared from behind the camera. “I’m headed up to the interstate for some more footage and then to the station.”
“Wendy, interview me, Wendy, interview me!” A child in purple coat and leggings ran through the deepening snow. A car door slammed.
As the little girl looked up into Wendy’s face, Wendy recognized Riley McAndrews, the police chief’s daughter. The girl was dressed in purple snow pants, and a matching jacket. She wore a white knit cap with cat ears made out of felt. Riley’s ever-present blond ponytail bounced from a hole in the top of the knit hat, custom-made for her. “Hi, Riley. Sorry, but we’re finished here. Phil has to leave.”
“You have to interview me. I have a big story!” She tugged the fringes of Wendy’s red knit scarf.
Wendy mostly knew the girl from Holly’s coffee shop after school. A desk had been set up in the corner especially for Riley while Holly worked. “I’m sorry, Riley, but—”
“I have time, Wendy.” With a hint of a smirk and giving Wendy no chance to respond, Phil repositioned the camera. “In three, two, one...”
The camera light blinked on.
Wendy knew Phil was a sucker for stories with kids, having two children of his own. “Okay, Riley.” She positioned the girl so they both faced the camera. “I’m here with Riley McAndrews, daughter of Bear Meadows’s chief of police. Tell our viewers about your big story, Riley.”
The girl’s light blue eyes fixed on the lens and the red light. “The baby is coming.” With a tilt of her head, she smiled at the camera.
“I know. How exciting for you.” Riley had spent the past eight and a half months announcing to anyone who would listen that she’d soon have a baby brother or sister. Wendy smiled back. “How old are you, Riley?”
“I’m seven years old and I’m in second grade at Bear Meadows Elementary. I’m going to be a big sister. Today.” She threw out her arms and turned her face to the falling snow.
Wendy waited a beat, entranced by the child’s beaming face, then remembered Phil and the camera. “Wait. You mean Holly’s having the baby now? Apparently snow isn’t the only big story in town. Can you share any more details with our viewers, Riley?” She crouched in the gathering snow so her face was even with Riley’s. She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Is Holly at the hospital?”
With a sheepish grin, Riley nodded. “Holly’s in labor. Daddy was supposed to work because of the blizzard, but he said he can’t be in two places at one time and Holly said if he knew what was good for him he better stay with her.” Riley crossed her arms and nodded as if agreeing with her stepmother. Then she pointed at the camera.
Wendy dutifully stood and addressed the camera. “Riley’s stepmother is the owner of The Wildflower Coffee Bar and Used Book Store. As I mentioned earlier, her father is the chief of police for Bear Meadows, which is busier than usual, even for a Friday night.” She glanced at Riley. “Anything you’d like to add, Miss McAndrews?”
“Well—” she rubbed her chin with fingers covered with a white mitten “—do you want to know a secret?”
Not accustomed to being around seven-year-olds, Wendy couldn’t imagine the type of secret the girl was about to divulge. “I sure would. What’s your secret?” She held the microphone close to Riley’s chin.
“I always called my daddy’s new wife Holly. But the new baby will call her Mommy. So I’m thinking I should call her Mommy, too, just to avoid confusion.” Blue eyes wide, Riley looked up at Wendy. “Don’t you think? Daddy said it would be okay.”
Wendy threw a glance at Phil. He just shook his head and smiled. “I think that would be nice, too, Riley.”
Riley bounced on the spot in satisfaction. “Good.” She placed her hand over Wendy’s, the one wrapped around the mike. “Can I interview you now?”
Wendy laughed. “Another time.” She looked at the camera. “So ends a tumultuous evening in Bear Meadows, Pennsylvania, where the snow is piling up at the rate of an inch an hour, babies are being born and television news reporters are in the making.” She wrapped her arm around the girl’s shoulders and whispered in her ear.
Riley put her mittens around the microphone and stared straight into the camera. “Back to you, Casey.”
Smiling at the little girl’s earnest delivery, Wendy took the mike and flipped off the switch. She shot another look at Riley. “So are you staying here tonight?”
“No, Grandma and Grandpa Hoffman just stopped by to drop off ham sandwiches for everybody. We’re going to the hospital because Grandpa has a big truck, and he says he can go anywhere in that truck.” Catching sight of Rose Hoffman, Riley left Wendy and sprinted through the snow to her grandparents.
Wendy took in the chaos still occurring in the parking lot. Cots and blankets were being unloaded from the back of a pickup truck, and Officer Williams seemed to be all over the place, directing volunteers and those seeking shelter.
Riley ran back to Wendy. “I almost forgot,” the girl said. She held out her hand. “Daddy is passing out cigars. I don’t like cigars, so I’m doing Hershey’s Kisses.” She placed a single silver foil-wrapped candy in Wendy’s palm and then ran off.
Wendy noticed just then the light on the camera blinked off when Phil slung it off his shoulder. “Wow. You just never know what kids are going to say.”
“Just delete it now, Phil. I don’t want to hold you up any longer.”
“Delete? Are you kidding? That was great.” He made to pack up his equipment. “Let’s go inside and grab a cup of coffee before we take off. You know, maybe you should consider staying here tonight. Aren’t your folks out of town and isn’t your house pretty far out in the country?”
Wendy laughed. “A cup of coffee I’ll do. But no way am I sleeping on a cot tonight.”
* * *
“JOSH? JOSHUA ORION HUNTER. Is that really you?”
Great. His own mother didn’t recognize him. Josh wiped a hand over his face, as if by doing so he would erase the dark beard and longish hair. “Mom, what are you doing—” he waved one hand in the direction of the candles on the table “—here?”
Suzanna Campbell Hunter threw back the quilt. She wore a pair of khakis and a white cotton blouse. “We got locked in.” She glanced to her left.
Only then did Josh notice the man on the couch under a wool blanket.
His mother continued. “This is Joe Kowalsky. He owns the tea shop.” She paused, took a few hesitant steps in Josh’s direction, and then raced forward. “What am I thinking? Oh, Joshua, I’m so glad to see you.” She threw her arms around his neck.
With a hard look at the man on the bed, Josh wrapped his arms around his mother and squeezed. He was shocked. What had happened to the soft, plump woman he remembered her being his whole life? This woman was slight and small. The mop of hair under his chin was almost white. He eased out of her tight hold and touched an errant curl. “What happened to your blond hair?”
Sue’s mouth tightened, and she let out a sigh. “This is my natural color. I stopped dyeing my hair.” She lifted her chin. “I only did it to please your father, and now I just have to please myself.”
When Josh’s gaze dropped from the almost white hair to the pale blue eyes, she stopped talking. Although Josh knew why they separated, neither of his parents had talked to him about it. He still couldn’t believe his mother lived above the bakery. “How are you, Mom?”
The defiant look in her eyes dropped, and she smiled. “I’m fine, honey.” There was his mother. She had one of the prettiest smiles he had ever seen. He remembered the stranger on the couch. He strode across the room, hand outstretched. “I’m Josh Hunter.”
Throwing back the dark blanket, the man stood and reached for Josh’s hand. He was tall and thin, with brown hair and hazel eyes. He wore a pair of rectangular black glasses. Although he didn’t appear muscular, his grip was strong. “Joe Kowalsky. Your mother came down to help me carry up some supplies, and the branch broke off that silver maple in the parking lot. We were stuck. All we did was play a couple of games of checkers. Neither of us had a phone and—”
Josh held up his hand. “Why don’t we hold the explanations until later? That snow out there is coming down hard. Let me get you to shelter. My truck’s parked across the street.”
His mother gripped his arm. “But, Josh, what are you—”
“Later, Mom.” He looked around. “Do either of you have a coat?”
With a shy glance at the tall man, his mother chuckled. “I don’t usually need a coat.”
Josh puzzled over the faint pink flush on his mother’s cheeks. He shrugged. “Let’s lock up and find out where there’s shelter set up.”
“Probably the church basement. They have a generator.”
He blew out two of the votive candles. “Does Dad still have one at the house?” When he didn’t hear a reply, he turned around.
Her mouth tight, his mother folded the quilt. He dismissed any possibility of going home. He glanced in Joe’s direction. “I guess you don’t have a coat, either, then.”
“Upstairs. I just came down here for a minute.”
“Let’s make sure all these candles are out, get packed up and lock the doors.” He glanced around at the stacks of sealed boxes. “I wonder if they’ll have food at the church.”
Joe and his mother looked at each other before Joe reached for one of the boxes. “Good point, Josh. You say you have a truck?”
“I have a cake that the Foxes ordered for an anniversary party. We’ll take that, too.” Sue started toward the back door.
“Wait for me, Mom, I have a light.” He opened the door, and a gust of cold air blew into the basement. “Oh, by the way, I think I let a cat into your bakery.”
His mother shrugged. “That’s just Mister Cee.” She started up the steps.
“Excuse me?”
She turned. “Cappuccino Cat. We call him Mister Cee.” She disappeared up the steps into the darkness.
Josh shook his head. As if his parents’ separation weren’t enough of a surprise, now he discovered that his animal-avoiding mother had no problem with a cat living in the bakery. He shook his head. What else had happened in the time he had been gone?
* * *
PHIL HAD PRACTICALLY gulped down his hot coffee and had one arm in his monogrammed station jacket before Wendy could say much. She lifted her own cardboard cup of steaming coffee. “How did you finish your coffee so fast, Phil?”
He shrugged. “Working father of two. I do everything fast. See ya later, champ.” Empty jacket sleeve trailing behind him, Phil disappeared out the door.
“Wendy, would you like a ham sandwich?” Holly’s mother came up to the table with a tray.
Wendy remembered Holly’s mom was meant to be on her way to the hospital. “Sure. But can I help you out, Mrs. Hoffman?”
The petite woman smiled, lifted the tray and said, “Have your sandwich first, dear.”
Wendy quickly bit into the sandwich, relishing the fresh bread and spicy mustard. The church basement was warm and smelled of fresh coffee. She had two bites to go when Mrs. Hoffman returned with an empty tray and sat opposite her. “Don’t you have to get to the hospital?”
“I do.” Mrs. Hoffman nodded toward the kitchen. “But Fritz is helping with a clogged sink.” She gestured to where a pair of jean-clad legs stuck out from the cabinet below the sink. “We have plenty of time.” Lowering her voice, she leaned across the table. “I was in labor with Holly for nine hours. I doubt anything’ll happen before morning.”
Wendy was so focused on her career, she couldn’t imagine having a baby now and settling down. She finished her sandwich. “Thanks for the snack. Apart from some yogurt and my dad’s snacks, I think the fridge is empty at home.”
“You should stay the night. I hope somebody picks up Vera Hershberger. She’s all by herself. That little house will get cold quickly.”
Wendy realized if anybody knew the former teacher’s history it would be Rose Hoffman, who had lived in Bear Meadows all her life. “Has she been a widow a long time?”
Mrs. Hoffman’s green eyes caught her gaze and then slid away. “You should stay here tonight, Wendy. Your road probably hasn’t been plowed.”
Studying the older woman, Wendy could see where Holly and her three older brothers got their black hair. Mrs. Hoffman was as thin as Holly, although not as tall. Wendy tried another tack. “I was talking with Mrs. Hershberger the other day. Did you two go to school together?”
“Heavens, no. She’s years older than I am.” Mrs. Hoffman pressed her lips together. “But Vera is a lovely woman. And she’s been through so much.” She fixed her gaze on something over Wendy’s shoulder. “There’s Fritz. I’ve got to go, dear.”
Wendy zipped her coat and followed the Hoffman couple and Riley through the kitchen, into the parking lot. Someone had left a broom by the door. She grabbed it and carried it to her car, which was covered with two inches of snow in the hour she had been inside. Maybe she should consider the job in Burbank. At least she wouldn’t be freezing to death. Ten minutes later most of the snow had been removed from the windshield. She returned the broom, got into the car and put on her seat belt.
She stopped at the end of the driveway and checked both directions. A looming truck idled in the street, its signal indicating it was turning into the church parking lot. She waved and pulled out. Time to go home.
* * *
AFTER WAITING FOR a small car to exit, Josh pulled into the crowded church parking lot. The massive stone structure with its high bell tower loomed over the neighborhood. The front of the church was dark, but bright lights came from the back door. A generator ran noisily by the side of the building.
“Are you coming in?” With an anxious look, his mother placed a hand on his arm.
“No, Mom.” He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll stay at the cabin tonight. The key still over the door?”
“Oh, Josh, it’s too cold—”
“I’ll be fine, Mom.”
Sue reached into a paper bag on her lap and slipped a package into his jacket pocket. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow then.”
He was about to get out and help his mother from the truck, but Joe was already assisting Sue. He would leave his mother safe at the church, but he had no intention of walking into the brightly lit crowded place. Bad enough that he was home at all. He saw a burly patrolman approach his mother and glance in his direction. It was time to make a quick exit.
He shifted into first gear and was about to take his foot off the brake when he saw the man standing in front of his truck. How did a guy that big move that quickly? Holding up a gloved hand, the officer rounded the truck. He tapped on the driver’s window. “Sergeant Hunter?”
Josh sighed. The last thing he wanted was attention from the local police. He rolled down the window. “Yes, sir?”
“Your mom said you’re home on leave from the army.”
Josh didn’t see the need to say otherwise. He would be gone soon. What did it matter if people thought he was still in the military? “What can I do for you, Officer?” Up close, the policeman was much younger than he had appeared at a distance. His face was round and the reddened cheeks appeared smooth. Not a whisker to be seen, as if he had shaved just minutes earlier.
“I’ve kind of got my hands full.” One eyebrow raised with an unspoken question.
Josh knew what was coming. “I’m sorry, but I can’t stay.” Josh moved his hand to the gearshift lever.
The young man stuck his hand through the window. “I’m Bob Williams. Most folks call me Moose.”
Removing his hand from the gearshift, Josh gripped the other man’s hand. He resisted wincing. “Is Stone still the chief of police?”
“No. He died two years ago come January. Mac McAndrews is chief now. Good man.”
Josh didn’t recognize the name. “Well, good luck but—”
“Mac’s wife went into labor tonight.” His broad shoulders lifted in a massive shrug as he grinned. “Figures, huh? And I just heard about an accident on the interstate. The plow trucks can’t keep up with the snow.”
Josh suppressed a groan as he felt himself getting pulled into the town’s crisis. His mother’s empty cabin beckoned. A quiet place in the woods. A fire in the fireplace. A shot of whiskey. A single shot.
“Look, all I need is for someone to pick up Mrs. Hershberger and bring her back to the church. She lives a block from your mom’s bakery. Has a Go Cubs sign in the yard. She doesn’t have family so...” His words trailed off.
Josh drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and pictured snow falling around the cabin, the stack of logs waiting by the door.
Moose’s grin faded. “Look, man, just forget it. I’ve got to keep moving.” He backed away.
The disappointed look on the young man’s face convinced Josh he was being a heel. “Sure, Moose. I know where she lives. I’ll take care of her. Don’t worry.” He hesitated, and then thought if he was in for a dime he was in for a dollar. “Anything else?”
“Looks like this truck of yours can go anywhere. Maybe you could check on the Smith brothers. They’re two old guys—”
“Yeah, I remember. They still live on the farm on the other side of Little Bear Creek? That all?”
“I don’t suppose you’re familiar with Last Chance Farm. Two elderly people there, too.”
Josh felt his breath catch in his chest. “I’ve heard of it. Anyone else?”
Moose shook his head, but his gaze was on a caravan of cars turning into the parking lot. “Thanks, man.” His last words were shouted as he moved toward the new arrivals. “Your mom said I could count on you.”
Josh peered out the passenger window and saw his mother outlined in the open door of the church basement. He knew she had a lot of questions for him, but then, he had a lot for her, too. Though with the man from the tea shop in the cab with them, the questions, and the answers, would have to wait. He pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward his mother’s bakery. He hoped the retired teacher wouldn’t recognize him, that she would be so concerned with getting to the church she wouldn’t pay attention to the driver.
No such luck.
“Joshua Hunter, what are you doing here?” Mrs. Hershberger stood in the doorway of her small ranch house. Wearing a pink tracksuit, she clutched a heavy shawl draped over her shoulders.
His own mother had barely recognized him, how had the teacher? “Taking you to the church, ma’am. The power’s out.”
“I’ll be fine here. Besides, I’m not presentable.” Leaving the door open, she walked into her living room.
Hesitating, Josh looked down at the threshold. He really shouldn’t be here. He stepped into the hall and closed the door. “This blizzard’s forecast to continue through the night, Mrs. Hershberger. Are you sure you don’t want to go over to the church for a while? If you don’t like it, I’ll bring you back home.” Officer Williams had made a simple request, and if there was one thing Josh knew how to do, it was to follow orders.
She stood at the window, holding back the curtain so she could see. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll need a few minutes to get ready.”
Waiting for the older woman as she gathered her belongings, he looked around the living room. The retired teacher lived comfortably, but she certainly wasn’t well-to-do. The matching couch and chair were of a style at least twenty years old. An upright piano stood in one corner of the room. He walked over to look at the pictures on top. Multiple class pictures. First graders. Individual pictures of toothless children were stuck along the edges of the frames. A wedding photo. Josh picked it up. Mrs. Hershberger had been a beautiful woman, her curly hair short and dark. She wore a long white dress. Next to her stood a barrel-chested, muscular man, his hair cut in the buzz-cut style of the sixties.
“My wedding photo.”
Josh jumped. He hadn’t heard the woman return. Putting the picture back in its place, he turned. “Do you need a hand with anything?”
She passed him an overnight bag. “I’m ready.”
Two hours later he was finally on his way to the cabin, wondering if he would be as stubborn as Mrs. Hershberger and the Smith brothers when he got old. He grinned. With his mother’s and father’s genes? Probably.
The Smith brothers had been fine, a generator rumbling outside the rear kitchen door. Although they would soon be snowed in, they wouldn’t have a problem once the snowplows hit the back county roads probably in the morning. The elderly couple at Last Chance Farm had been fine as well, comfortable in the kitchen with a fire in the cookstove. They refused to go with him.
He was glad in a sense that they had the blizzard to talk about. It took the pressure off them possibly asking more questions about why he was in town.
He slowed as he approached the turn onto the suspension bridge over Little Bear Creek. The water ran dark between the snow-covered banks, the temperature not yet having been cold enough for freezing. As he crossed the bridge, the wooden boards rumbled under his tires.
At the end of the bridge, he turned right onto the unplowed road that passed in front of the cabin. As his headlights swung in a circle, a movement caught his eye. He slammed on the brakes. The truck skidded and came to a stop.
Josh peered into the curtain of falling snow. He must have imagined it. Or maybe he had seen a deer. But no deer in its right mind would be out on a night like this. No other wildlife, either.
Still...
Leaving the truck running, he stepped out into the darkness. “Hello?” The cold wind took the word and spun it into the sky.
CHAPTER FOUR (#u75935347-a55b-5bd4-a421-e704fd629f34)
WITH THE FLASHLIGHT app on, he pointed his cell phone in the direction he had seen movement. The combination of the heavy snow and the high winds rendered the light practically useless. He tromped to the opposite side of the bank and saw her.
She was crouching by the left rear tire, removing snow with a large broken stick, so engrossed in her task she didn’t even notice his light. “Hey.”
Her head jerked up. At the same time her feet went out from under her and she slipped under the bumper. Josh lunged forward and pulled her out from under the still-running car. Exhaust swirled around them. They landed in a pile of snow.
They managed to stand. She was shivering violently, but not so much that she couldn’t bat at his hands as he attempted to brush snow off her shoulders. His gaze swept over her attire. Nice boots, but more suited for the runway than snowbanks. He grasped her elbow. Her boot must’ve caught on some obscured object because as she tried to gain her balance, she was impeded and fell forward. He swept her up into his arms.
“Whoa, there, mis...mister, I can walk.” Her teeth chattering, she could barely utter the words. She elbowed his chest.
“I’m sure you can. But I don’t particularly want to be out in this blizzard waiting while you take baby steps. Hang on.” He hiked up the bank double-time, causing her to throw her arms around his neck. Depositing her in his truck, he returned to shut off her car.
“My family’s cabin is not far from here. Do for now, okay?”
She looked like she was about to argue, but then she gave a quick nod. He couldn’t leave her out here to freeze, could he?
Bear Meadows was determined not to leave Josh alone.
* * *
WENDY COULDN’T FEEL her toes. The thin black leather and the even thinner socks weren’t doing a very good job of keeping her warm. But then again, she hadn’t worn them thinking she’d be wrestling her five-year-old car out of a snowdrift. But this nice, new truck threw out tons of heat. Wrapping her arms around herself, she hazarded a glance at the stranger settling into the driver’s seat and backing the truck onto the road. A fur-lined hood covered half his face and a dark beard the other, concealing his age. He could be twenty-five or forty-five.
Did she know him? Someone from the station? The shivering in her body seemed to be bouncing her brain around so much she couldn’t think straight.
Maybe she should buy a truck. But she wouldn’t need a truck in Burbank, right? Why was she thinking about Burbank? She didn’t want to be a producer, did she? The truck eased forward. “Do I...” She had to stop and think for a minute. She lifted a hand to her frozen cheeks. Closing her eyes, she leaned her head back. “I’m... I’m... I’m so-o-o cold.”
His gaze didn’t waver from the white curtain before them as the truck navigated a small hill. A gloved hand reached out and wiped the condensation from the windshield. “We’ll be at the cabin in a few minutes.”
A spasm of alarm shot through her at the words from the bearded giant. The makeup assistant at the station had told her of a long ago incident not far from here. A man had come down from the mountains and kidnapped a girl. The FBI had actually been called in. Had the man been caught? She couldn’t remember. She edged closer to the door and wrapped her fingers around the handle. She was considering launching herself into the high drifts when he made a sharp turn and the lights revealed a cozy cabin with a swing on the front porch. Somehow the swing eased her fears a bit.
“I’ll go in and start a fire.” The man turned and fixed her with a stare.
In the darkness of the cab, she couldn’t tell the color of his eyes. Just a glint, a spark of life—
“I’ll leave the truck running for heat.”
Before she could answer, he opened the door, letting in a blast of wind and flurries. Just as quickly the door slammed, and she watched as his long legs ran through the deep snow and carried him up onto the porch. He fumbled around above the door and then disappeared into the cabin.
She eyed the ignition, where the fob hung from the key still inserted. Nothing personal to clue her in to the kind of man who had rescued her. No sports memorabilia, no cartoon figure. Just a black fob. She could drive away. She could drive home. The man’s footprints had almost already disappeared in the rapidly falling snow. Who was she kidding? She again leaned her head back and closed her eyes. If worse came to worst she’d have a heck of a story. Local Woman Captured by Mountain Man in Blizzard of the Century. No, that was too many words for a headline. Local Woman Disappears. There, short, concise, attention grabbing. She smiled, pleased, then the grin faded.
Interesting story, for sure...but only if she lived to tell about it.
* * *
SHE WAS ASLEEP. Looking through the window at the young woman huddled in the cab of his truck, Josh frowned. He had no way of knowing how long she had been outside working to free her car from the snow, and she certainly wasn’t dressed for the frigid temperatures. No hat. Straight dark hair curved perfectly under her chin. Bright red lipstick and heavy mascara, as if she had just come from an event. Or maybe a date. His main concern was hypothermia, followed by frostbite. She had been wearing thin driving gloves. That was one reason why he left her in the truck while he started a fire. But the heat had been too much for her.
Despite his less than friendly appearance and the fact he had brought her to a strange place, the woman had fallen asleep, her cheek pressed against the glass.
When he opened the door she fell into his arms. Which would have been fine, considering he planned to carry her through the deep snow, but she woke with the sudden movement and immediately began thrashing.
When a fist connected with his jaw, he stumbled backward. She might have made her escape then, except he had one arm half around her so as he fell he pulled her with him. For a second time, they both landed in the snow. “What the heck, lady?”
She pushed off him and blurted, “Who...who are you?”
“I—”
“And wh-wh-why did you bring me here?”
“Well—”
“I...I live across the creek, but now I’m...at this...” Finally taking a breath, she waved a hand at the cabin. “...place.”
“The road is impassable on the other side of the creek.” Josh propped himself on his elbows. “You’re safe here...and you can get warm. I think you might have hypothermia, and if we don’t get you inside, you’ll have frostbite for sure.”
Her gaze flicked between him, the truck and the cabin. Mumbling, she rested her forehead on her hand. The snow had already made her black jacket white.
He wasn’t sure, but Josh thought he heard something about going home. Lifting himself to his feet, he held out a hand. “Do you mind if we continue this conversation inside?”
She looked at his hand. “I can walk by myself.”
He withdrew. “Fine. You go on in, and I’ll shut off the truck.” He slammed the door and watched the petite woman lift one leg at a time from the deep snow. She teetered to one side, and he held his breath until she managed to right herself. She dragged herself onto the porch and then disappeared into the cabin.
Josh shut his eyes and lifted his face skyward. Snowflakes melted on his skin and gathered in his beard. He wished he hadn’t been the one to find the woman stuck in the drift. Maybe if he had kept going, one of the snowplow drivers would have found her. But by then, she could have frozen to death.
Josh didn’t want to be drawn into any small-town drama. He was still struggling with his parents and their issues. He didn’t feel like he had the full story yet about his mother’s weight loss, and why she and his father couldn’t work things out.
Through the cabin window, he could see the flicker of the fire he had started in the fireplace. The sight might be welcome to someone else, but not to Josh. He didn’t want to be here. The first glance he had of the cabin in years made him face the reality that the building was hardly fit for habitation, just as his mother had said. Maybe he should have driven her to the church. At least the flue was clear and able to take the smoke out into the storm. He opened the truck door again and retrieved the sleeping bag, pillow and his small duffel bag. He would help the lady warm up, but first thing tomorrow he was taking her home and going about the business that had brought him to Bear Meadows.
Supplies under his arm, he tromped through the snow. One foot on the first step, he paused at the sight of a few spindly branches sticking out of the pile of snow to the left. Something new since the last time he was home. The thorns on the branches indicated a rosebush, and knowing his mother, he bet she had rescued an heirloom shrub from somewhere and given it a new home at the cabin.
Stomping his boots on the porch, he opened the door. She sat cross-legged on the hearth, close to the roaring fire. Working as a medic in the desert didn’t give him much experience on frostbite, but he remembered a little bit from his training. One of the most important things was to warm the victim up slowly.
Hanging his parka on a hook by the door, he surveyed the space. The kitchen had a small fridge that, he remembered, needed a generator to run. A folded blanket, a quilt and camp supplies sat on the counter. There was an unfinished flight of stairs that led to a loft that looked out over the creek. But only two treads had been laid. The rest were stacked nearby. Obviously, his parents had stopped working on the cabin. But for now, the structure offered him and the lady a roof over their heads, protection from the winds and a fire for warmth. He had been lucky to find a pack of matches in a kitchen drawer. His gaze finally landed on the woman. Her chin rested on her chest. Walking toward the counter, he took the quilt and spread it on the floor in front of the fireplace. He lay his sleeping bag over top. She didn’t move, so he rested one hand on the woman’s shoulder. Her eyes flickered. She kept silent.
Josh knelt in front of her and reached for the zipper on one pretty black boot. One of the first signs of hypothermia was confusion. He glanced at her face, registering her breathing. He hoped she wasn’t too far along. At some point people needed medical care.
He removed both of her boots, and then her wet socks. Her feet were ice cold. He chanced a glimpse, but she said nothing. He found a pair of thick socks in his duffel bag. When he removed her coat and took off her gloves, he noticed the tips of her fingers were white. She was going to be in pain when the blood started circulating again. Warm her up slowly. He checked her face for signs of distress. Dark eyelashes lay upon white cheeks. Then he eased her onto the blanket and checked her pulse. She moaned and brought her hands close to her chest.
He looked around the cabin and found a two-burner camp propane stove and a metal coffeepot. His mother had probably been coming to the cabin to get away. And from what he remembered, she wasn’t often without a cup of coffee in her hand. Starting the propane heater, he poured water from the gallon jug into a pan and placed it on the stove. He was surprised to find a box of chamomile tea in a paper bag.
When the tea was ready, he carried the cup over to his visitor and jostled her shoulder. He knelt. “Wake up. You should drink this.”
Her eyelids fluttered as she struggled to sit. Finally he placed an arm around her back for support. Brown eyes blinked. For the first time he noticed dark circles under her eyes. “What is it?”
“It’s hot tea. Can you hold the cup?” He handed it to her. Her shivers had reduced to an occasional shudder, but she was able to wrap her hands around the mug and sip.
She should be okay. Her pulse was strong. She was alert. He had done his civic duty.
* * *
THE STINGING IN her fingers and toes woke her. Then the growling of her empty stomach. When her eyes popped open, the first thing she saw, lying on her side as she was, was a log glowing in a stone fireplace. The rest of the room was pitch-black. She pressed her fingers against her lips. Despite the pins and needles feeling, the rest of her was warm and comfortable. But she had no memory of where she was or how she got here.
Her gaze flicked upward. A single box of matches lay on one corner of the carved mantel. No clues there. A broom, the kind witches were known to fly, stood in the far corner. Her monogrammed quilted jacket from the station hung over the back of a wooden chair a few feet back from the fire, next to a small table. Her boots had been placed neatly on the floor. She wiggled her toes and could feel heavy loose socks.
Then she noticed the weight across her middle. She ran her hand along an arm wrapped in flannel. Her breath hitched as she rolled halfway over. When she saw the dark beard, everything came rushing back. The interview at the church, the coffee with Phil, the drive home with snow coming down so thick she could barely see two feet in front of her, and then just as she drove up the slight incline to the bridge, her car sliding backward into a ditch.
Her car was in a snowdrift near the bridge over Little Bear Creek. And she didn’t know who had rescued her. She hazarded another look at the bearded face. If he had indeed rescued her. She lifted his arm and placed it on his hip. He continued to sleep, his breathing even. She threw back the covers and slowly stood. Despite the fire, the floor was freezing. She tiptoed over to the window and looked out on the darkness. The snow was still coming down. She could barely make out the hulking form of the pickup. She chose the wooden chair by the fire and took in her surroundings.
Apparently the cabin was a work in progress.
Her stomach rumbled again, and she remembered all she had eaten that day was a container of yogurt and the ham sandwich at the church. She reached around for her coat and laid it across her lap so she could check the pockets for food.
“I hope you’re not thinking about going back out into the blizzard.”
She jumped at the words coming from the sleeping bag. She glanced down, barely able to make out the glint from his eyes as they reflected the fire. “I was looking for food.”
One hand, then both arms emerged from under the sleeping bag. “You and me both. I missed supper.”
“I had a ham sandwich at the church.” The bearded man wore a wrinkled blue plaid shirt. The third button down hung by a few threads. She still didn’t know who or what she was dealing with here. She closed her fingers around the house key in her coat pocket. If he threatened her, she could always stab him. With the house key.
“I thought you were going into hypothermia. You were a little confused earlier.” He reached overhead and stretched with a loud yawn.
Somehow he didn’t look as intimidating yawning. But criminals yawned. “I was?”
“Uh-huh.”
She remembered considering jumping out of the truck. “I thought you were a mountain man.” She looked at him. “You’re not, are you?”
“A mountain man?” Leaning back on both elbows, he grinned. “No. No, I’m not a mountain man.”
“But I don’t even know who you are.”
His smile grew wider. “We’re even then.”
She waited. But Walt’s journalist trick didn’t work on this guy. He didn’t seem to be much of a talker. “My name is Wendy.”
Even white teeth flashed from the dark beard. “Nice to meet you, Wendy. Did you have any luck with those pockets?” She looked down at the coat in her lap. Her fingers still clutched the house key. She flexed her fingers and felt something else. Withdrawing her hand, she held up Riley’s baby gift. “One Hershey Kiss. Want to split it?”
He laughed, a deep, rumbling laugh and suddenly she felt better than she had since he had pulled her from underneath the car. “You need the energy more than I do.” Crawling onto the floor just as she had minutes before, he stood. “I’ll see if I can find something to go with a single Hershey Kiss.”
Ten minutes later she sat on the chair, the quilt around her shoulders. Coffee bubbled in the glass top of an old-fashioned percolator tucked close to the fire. Using one of his gloves as a hot pad, Josh picked up the pot and poured each of them a coffee. “I have no idea how old this coffee is.” He walked over to where his coat hung on a hook by the door and reached into a pocket. When he returned he handed her a cookie and placed the bag between them.
Wendy picked up the mug covered with pink roses and sipped. “Is this your cabin?”
His mug was dark green with the words Army Mom on the side. “Belongs to my family.”
Funny, but she didn’t remember ever seeing the man across from her around town. She set down her cup, reached for a cookie and took a bite. “Not bad. Try one.” The man carried homemade sugar cookies around in his coat pocket. The treat reminded her of something, but she couldn’t recall what. Her mother certainly wasn’t a baker, even during the holidays. She watched the man, roughly her own age, she decided, devour his cookie in two bites. “You must be starved. You can have the rest. I’m still working on this one.”
“No, we share. That’s fair.” He reached for another cookie. “But I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone eat a cookie as slowly as you.”
“My father says I eat slowly because I like to savor my food.” She smiled, thinking of her parents’ exasperation with her dawdling over dessert as a child.
“Speaking of parents, aren’t yours worried about you? I grabbed your purse from the car. Maybe you should call somebody? A boyfriend? A coworker, even.”
Wendy laughed at the thought of calling Phil away from his family. Only then did Wendy notice her purse next to her boots. Reaching over, she searched the contents for her phone. She held the screen next to the fire to see. “Dead. I was wondering what time it is.”
“Oh dark thirty.”
Smiling at his response, she dropped the phone back in the purse. “No boyfriend. And my parents are away, not that they would notice. Dad is with his other daughter. His favorite.” She forced a smile and decided to change the subject. She held up the rose cup. “Seems like an odd choice for a manly man such as yourself.”
He laughed. “That’s my mom’s.”
She took a deep breath and felt a little better. Although plenty of serial killers had mother issues. “This has been quite the adventure.” She tilted her head toward the back corner of the room. “What’s behind that door?”
The man twisted to see where she was looking. “The bathroom. Green.”
“Green?”
“Compostable.”
“Oh. Well, at least there’s a bathroom.”
“I have my priorities.” His grin disappeared when he picked up the two remaining cookies. “You should eat these. Your body needs to manufacture heat to make up for your drop in body temperature.”
“I’ll make you a deal. I’ll eat one more if you eat the other.” She held up the Hershey Kiss. “And we split this.”
His teeth flashed behind the beard. “Deal.”
She picked up the tiny pyramid of chocolate, bit off half and handed her companion the remainder.
“Thank you.”
She shivered. The half of her body next to the fire was warm, but the other half was freezing.
“You should get back under the blanket. This cabin wasn’t intended for winter occupation.” Taking her empty cup with the roses, he carried both over to the counter.
Wendy slithered under the covers and rolled over so she faced the fire. She heard him use the bathroom, then walk over to the chair that she’d just vacated. A heavy silence filled the room. Military. Oh dark thirty was a military reference. She shivered again.
“Still cold, huh?”
“I can’t sleep,” she whispered.
“Me neither. Must be the caffeine in the coffee.” Josh shifted in his seat, staring at the fire. “I could go for a bowl of ice cream.”
Wendy rolled her eyes. “There’s a blizzard right outside that door, and you want ice cream?”
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T. R. McClure
What happens when you do go home again?One mistake cost Josh Hunter almost everything. Burning his bridges was easier than coming home. Yet here he is, eight years—and one family crisis—later, back in his Pennsylvania town playing unlikely rescuer to a blizzard-stranded stranger.Local newscaster Wendy Valentine is looking for the story that will make her name as a serious journalist. The tragic secret Josh is concealing could be her stepping-stone. Funny then that Wendy seems more interested in the sizzling personal dynamics playing out between them!
What happens when you do go home again?
One mistake cost Josh Hunter almost everything. Burning his bridges was easier than coming home. Yet here he is, eight years—and one family crisis—later, back in his Pennsylvania town playing unlikely rescuer to a blizzard-stranded stranger.
Local newscaster Wendy Valentine is looking for the story that will make her name as a serious journalist. The tragic secret Josh is concealing could be her stepping-stone. Funny then that Wendy seems more interested in the sizzling personal dynamics playing out between them!
“Are you running away?”
The words came as if from a distance. Josh tore his gaze from the blue flames and stared into her big brown eyes. “Excuse me?”
She propped a hand on her hip and moved so she could look directly at him. “You can’t bear to see your parents fighting, so you’re running away.”
He placed his palm on her cheek and ran his thumb along her chin. “Always thinking. I don’t want to talk about the past and I don’t want to talk about the future. Why don’t we just stay in the moment, Miss Valentine?” And with that he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
Thanksgiving night, a fire in the fireplace, together with a woman he liked and respected. This was all he wanted for now. Because once Miss Wendy Valentine found out the truth about him, there would be no more kisses. Once Miss Wendy Valentine found out what he’d done, she would have her big story and she would be on her way.
Dear Reader (#u75935347-a55b-5bd4-a421-e704fd629f34),
You’re reading my second book! For whatever reason this book ended up in your hands, I thank you for reading this story. I strive to improve with each work, to write a story impossible to put down and to keep you reading long into the night. Thank you for the positive words and encouragement on this writing journey. Again I thank the crew at Harlequin, without whom this story would not be told. Again I am honored to be part of the Harlequin Heartwarming group of authors.
In An Allegheny Homecoming, Wendy and Josh leave the foothills of the Alleghenies. Josh because he’s hiding a secret and Wendy because she seeks an opportunity she can’t find in a small town. This exodus happens every day in small towns across the country. Whether one joins the military, seizes a job opportunity, or just craves adventure and new horizons, the urge to travel and explore is common to everyone.
But sometimes you just need to come home, to a place as familiar and comfortable as an old sweatshirt from your high school days.
Return to Bear Meadows with Josh Hunter.
As always...enjoy the read.
T.R.
An Allegheny Homecoming
T. R. McClure
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
T. R. McCLURE wrote her first story when she was ten years old. A degree in psychology led to a career in human resources. Only after retirement did she pick up her pen and return to fiction.
T.R. lives in central Pennsylvania with her husband of thirty-seven years. They share their country home with one horse, one cat, four beagles and Sunny the yellow Lab. T.R. is always up for travel adventures with her grown twin daughters.
To my parents, Clyde and Stephania, >who gave me a loving and supportive family environment but left this earth much too soon.
And to my husband’s parents, Elmer and Mary, who gave me the opportunity to be a daughter again.
Contents
Cover (#u7b9eabdd-9b4e-57e8-a7ce-b7401ca20f40)
Back Cover Text (#u45df08c5-9a9f-5105-82f4-6cec87ca3819)
Introduction (#ub30bf051-1370-53a1-8c18-6d9ae5ce4fee)
Dear Reader (#udea16938-e0fa-5784-9d7e-6c26684729e8)
Title Page (#u8ff69f7c-b4f2-5979-b117-3a7c2269535f)
About the Author (#ucfd1219d-eef3-5a6c-82c2-14728212296a)
Dedication (#udcc2bc0a-5c30-5152-a9e6-082b71ab6b6a)
CHAPTER ONE (#u52ad9deb-70b2-513c-8ad4-e346ab5e6b8f)
CHAPTER TWO (#ub3441912-59ee-533a-815e-cf4873f1ee7e)
CHAPTER THREE (#ubef900f8-e679-5007-ad02-c37c4ee4153b)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u857f1284-8889-5881-9567-e1ba92863ffd)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#u75935347-a55b-5bd4-a421-e704fd629f34)
“A COLD FRONT coming in from the north gives our area a dusting of snow for the overnight forecast.” Wendy Valentine turned toward the camera with a smile. “So far this week it’s been mild, but then into the weekend it becomes colder.” Eyes on the monitor, she waved a hand over the center of the green screen. “Tuesday we’ll have 44 degrees with a few passing clouds. High Wednesday only 37 with a few snow showers Thursday morning.”
From his position behind the anchor desk, Casey Knight flashed bright, white teeth in her direction. His thick blond hair gleamed under the lights. “Thanks, Wendy, what a nice way to start the week, with a few more warm days before winter sets in. Not bad for central Pennsylvania in November.”
“But don’t forget it looks like snow later in the week!” Elbows tucked, Wendy linked her fingers and rested her hands at her waist as the camera pulled back. “Better dig out your snow boots, Casey.”
“This will be my first experience with snow since I moved here. I’m not sure I’m ready.” With a charming grin and a sly wink, Casey spoke to camera one. “Well, that does it for us this morning. Stay tuned for national news. Our chief meteorologist, Mark Murphy, and I will see you at noon.”
Wendy bit the corner of her lip to stop her frowning as she gazed at the new anchor. This was who she had lost the position to? This Mr. Perfect? Navy blazer, crisp white shirt, blue-and-gray-striped tie. No one should look that good, even if he was the new morning anchor for WSHF. “And we’re clear.” The voice of their college intern came out in a high-pitched squeak.
Wendy hadn’t taken two steps before Casey was at her side. “Join me for a cup of coffee, Wendy? We should get to know each other.” He winked.
“I’m going home. But maybe another time.”
Casey looked her up and down. “You have a nice camera presence. You should try for an anchor position sometime. Catch ya later.” Another wink and he was gone.
Wendy shrugged off the comment and her blazer just as a bead of sweat rolled down the side of her face. No matter how cold her forecast, under these lights the temperature was usually hot. Yet she always wore a suit in an attempt to be taken seriously by her peers. So far it hadn’t worked.
She weaved through the collection of television equipment and thick cables strung across the floor to get to the hallway, en route to the tiny office she shared with the chief meteorologist. With more seniority than she, Mark had the cushy working hours of noon and six, leaving Wendy with early morning and late evening. The man wouldn’t show at the station until shortly before the noon report. On the plus side, Wendy had all day to search for that one perfect story that would shoot her to the top and far away from this small-town television station.
“Wendy, could I see you for a minute?” Another new addition to the station, Walt Crosby stuck his head into the hallway. The station manager’s thick white hair appeared perpetually tousled. Red blotches colored his cheeks. Rumors of an incident on the West Coast that chased him east had accompanied his recent arrival.
On her way to the coffee station for her first cup, Wendy resisted the urge to frown. She couldn’t afford to antagonize the man. Part of her plan involved doing something, anything, other than weather, and she needed his approval. “Sure, boss.” She made a U-turn and followed Walt into a cluttered office, which no longer smelled of the former station manager’s perfume but of smoke. “What’s up?”
The husky man lifted a pile of newspapers from the single chair in front of his desk and motioned for her to sit. He settled into his own chair with a heavy sigh. Rolled-up shirtsleeves displayed hairy, muscular forearms. “We haven’t had a chance to talk yet. Did you know Mark will be gone for the next three days?” He didn’t sound pleased with the chief meteorologist.
Wendy was curious. “He is? Since when?”
“Since he had Sharon approve it before he left. Apparently the man has an uncanny knack for predicting snowfall. He’s headed to Vermont to ski.”
Wendy slumped in her chair. She knew what that meant. She would be doing the early morning, noon, evening and eleven o’clock weather. In other words, she would be living at the station. She hadn’t complained when Mark had married last year and spent a month in Cancun for his honeymoon. But skiing? “So I’ve got it all.”
“You have a problem with that?” At the end of the sentence, his bushy eyebrows rose, almost meeting in the middle.
Wendy bristled at the man’s tone. She kept her answer short. “I can handle it.” She had seen Mark just last Friday. Funny the man hadn’t bothered to mention he had planned to take a few weekdays off, but then, ever since the news of her Atlanta offer had made the rounds at the station he had distanced himself.
The wooden desk chair creaked in protest as Walt leaned back and cupped his hands behind his head, as if trying to figure out if she were telling him the truth. “He already had the leave approved by the time I arrived. Sharon must have thought you could do it.”
“To be honest, the three years I’ve been here Mark has always taken off for fresh powder. Early this year, though.” Wendy drummed her fingers on the arm of her wooden chair. Her chair didn’t tilt back.
Walt stared at the tile ceiling. Then he stretched and brought his chair forward with a thump. “The station had additional staff then.”
Wendy nodded. “Budget cuts.” She looked around the small office and wondered how much, if any, the previous station manager had shared with Walt. Sharon knew all about Wendy’s drive to the big time. And she had almost made it. “How often did you talk with Sharon before she left?”
He pulled a cigar from his center desk drawer and stuck it in one corner of his mouth. “In the thirty seconds she had to tell me everything I needed to know, she might have mentioned you had an offer from an Atlanta affiliate last year.” He held her gaze. “I understand the job didn’t materialize.”
Wendy squirmed. “That’s one way to put it.” She had been mortified, after telling everyone and his brother she was leaving, the deal had fallen through. Walt seemed to be waiting for more. She was well aware of the technique. Don’t say anything, until the person across from you felt compelled to fill the silence and blurted out the information you’re looking for. She never seemed to have an opportunity to use it. Lips pressed tightly together, she met the gaze of the blue-eyed newsman sitting across the messy desk.
Walt smiled. He rested muscular forearms on top of the papers strewed across the desk. The cigar bounced up and down. “And then the news anchor job came open, and they brought in Casey from Georgia. I’ll bet that rattled you, eh?”
Wendy squirmed some more. If Sharon hadn’t told the man how hard she had lobbied for the position, then she was better off if Walt never knew. “Casey has a great on-air personality. I’m totally on board.” She had been so sure the anchor position was hers. Casey’s sparkling white teeth had won over the higher-ups and here she was, still doing the weather for WSHF in rural central Pennsylvania.
“Hmm. I’d wondered how you felt about the shake-up.” Walt’s mouth tilted in what Wendy assumed was a grin. “Did you ask your sister for advice?”
Shock ricocheted through her body. “What sister?”
“What sister?” Walt laughed out loud, a big booming laugh that seemed to ricochet around the small office. “How could I not know about your sister? She’s famous in this business. Anchor on a national news desk at twenty-five, interviewer of the rich and famous for the last ten years. Not to mention you share the same last name.” He tapped his forefinger on his head.
Wendy’s heart thumped in her chest as she fought to calm her breathing. She and her sister looked nothing alike. Katie was tall and blond. Wendy was short and dark. Each took after her mother. “I want to make it on my own merit.”
Walt nodded. “Sure you do. You majored in broadcasting, minored in journalism and took six credits in meteorology. And your first job is in your hometown. As a weather girl.”
Wendy bit her tongue to keep from correcting the man. He was in the news business, and he still used the term weather girl? “This was the first offer I got. I didn’t think I’d be here this long but, hey, the economy.”
“The economy.” He picked up a painted shot glass and held it with two fingers. “Which is why I expect you to stick with the weather. If I want interviews, I’ll send Casey. Is that going to be a problem?”
The new station manager was giving her a warning. He didn’t care if she wanted a different job or not. He had a station to look after. “Of course not.” Wendy readjusted her position on the hard wooden chair. “Look, Walt, I have to run home and get back by noon. Was there anything else you wanted to discuss?” She didn’t say she had hoped for a few minutes of respite at The Wildflower, the local coffee shop in Bear Meadows, where the baristas made the perfect nonfat vanilla latte.
Walt didn’t seem to have heard her. He continued to play with the shot glass for several seconds. “You live about twenty miles from here, right?”
She shouldn’t have been surprised he knew where she lived. He was, after all, a newsman. “A few miles outside of Bear Meadows.”
“You know how to operate the camera?” One bushy eyebrow raised as he finally set the shot glass next to the desk lamp and caught her gaze.
She nodded. “Absolutely.” Part of her internship had been setting up the camera and then doing her own reporting without the help of a camera operator.
“Why don’t you take one of the smaller cameras with you and do the weather from a remote location? Pick something picturesque. You can email the report in, and at least you’ll be out of the studio.” A flash of teeth again.
To avoid the sharp-eyed gaze, Wendy stared at the floor. Framed photographs filled a cardboard box. The one on top looked like Walt in front of... She squinted. Mount Kilimanjaro? What was he doing in little Shadow Falls? She wondered if the shot glass had anything to do with it. “Um, if you say so.” Carting a piece of camera equipment around with her sounded like a pain; on the other hand, she wouldn’t have to drive back to Shadow Falls for the noon report. She could go straight home. “Anyplace in particular you have in mind?”
Walt directed his attention to the television overhead, dismissing her. The low murmurings of the national news filled the silence. “You know this area better than I do. You decide.”
Wendy’s mind started spinning. She pictured the perfect spot. The bridge over Little Bear Creek. It was on the way home. And she would still have time for a latte. She deserved one, extra-large.
* * *
JOSH HUNTER FINISHED securing the fence that had been pressed to the ground by a fallen tree. The cattle had already been moved into the lower pastures for the winter, but there could be a few strays still wandering the high mountains of the northern Montana ranch. It was hard, but satisfying work. Although he still wasn’t sure they actually needed a ranch hand here, or if his friend Matt hadn’t convinced his uncle to find a job for Josh.
Four months out of the military and Josh still didn’t know what he was doing next. But no matter. He had saved every penny of his army paycheck, so had enough money to get by for quite a while.
Giving a final pull to the fencing tool, he leaned back onto his heels and looked out over the plains. The mountains beyond were already covered with snow. He wondered if Bear Meadows had seen snow yet.
The last time he had gone home, over three years ago, his mother had made halupkis. Even now, thoughts of a roasting pan filled with the rolls of cabbage stuffed with hamburger and rice made his mouth water. She had cooked Easter dinner, like she always did. He thought everything had been fine. With his parents, that was.
But in his mind, every person he saw on the street seemed to know what he had done, albeit that was impossible. So he’d returned to base as soon as he could. Of course his guilty conscience probably had a lot to do with his paranoia.
A twig snapped, pulling him out of his daydreaming. Still crouched by the fence, he half turned and caught a glimpse of tawny eyes peering at him from behind a fir tree.
Josh’s breathing stilled. Pennsylvania born and raised, he had never been to Montana before. He knew all the critters in the eastern woods, but Montana was a different story. He reached for his rifle, then remembered he had left it in the truck, certain the wire fence would be a quick fix.
His knee dropped to the ground, the better to support the shift of his upper body. A big cat. A mountain lion. Rarely seen back east, but still plentiful in the west. The animal was beautiful. Long, sinewy body. A muted solid gold. The long tail brushed the ground.
“I’m just passing through, buddy.” Josh’s voice was low.
One tawny ear twitched. He couldn’t seem to look away from the unblinking amber eyes.
“Take it easy, fella.” Josh kept his breathing shallow, afraid of startling the animal. Being mauled by a mountain lion wouldn’t be the worst way to go. His last vision would be of the endless Montana sky. Yes, it could be worse. “You’re a beautiful animal. What do you want with me?”
The sound of hoofbeats reached his ears. The cat’s ears pricked. Josh’s gaze shifted right. When he looked back, the cat was gone.
“How you makin’ out, buddy?” Matt MacDougal trotted up on the other side of the fence and reined in his horse. A compact man, he looked right at home on the big ranch horse. He lifted off his cowboy hat and ran a hand over short-cropped red hair.
Josh stood. His right knee cracked. “I just saw a mountain lion.”
“No kidding? You have your rifle with you?”
“It’s in the truck.”
“Good place for it. You know a horse would’ve been able to carry you down that rocky slope, so you’d have your rifle handy. And Blue’s in the barn getting fat. He could use some exercise.”
“I told you the first day of boot camp I prefer my horses under the hood. Just because you can ride anything on four legs doesn’t mean the rest of us can.”
“If you say so, but the day is gonna come when the only way you can get somewhere is on one of these fellas. It’s not that hard. You just sit here and let the horse do all the work.” He ran a hand down the crown of the thick mane.
“You make it sound easy.”
“Riding is easy.” Matt grunted. “Aunt Steff wants you to come over to the main house for lasagna. She said tell him no arguments.”
His stomach grumbled. He had been eating food out of a can for weeks. “I’ll be there in a bit.”
“That’s what you said yesterday. You missed Sunday roast. You’re gonna lose your social skills if you stay up here in this cabin much longer.”
“What social skills?” Josh grinned and stared past his friend into the valley below. He could just make out the roof of the large barn.
“Got a point there, brother.” He leaned on the saddle horn and looked up at the screech of a hawk. His sweat-stained Stetson dangled from his fingers. “You know, we should cut the rest of these dead trees before they fall.”
Josh rubbed his right knee, which only bothered him when he put weight on it for extended periods of time. “I can do it.”
“Why don’t you wait until I can give you a hand? It’s a two-man job.” Matt fiddled with a rope hanging from the saddle horn. “You okay up here by yourself? You know, we have room at the house. Because there’s no signal up here. If you need a hand...”
“Thanks, but I love it here in the mountains.” Josh filled his lungs with a deep breath of the cool, crisp air and released it before answering. He gave his friend a confident stare. “I’ll be fine.”
“Well, you ever need to talk you know where to find me.”
Josh met his gaze and nodded before glancing away. “Thanks.” If he talked to anyone it would be to Matt, a man he trusted with his life. But Josh had managed to stay quiet for eight years; no sense dragging up the past at this late date.
Matt slapped his hat back on and tilted his head. “You know, you’re starting to look like a crazy mountain man. You ever gonna shave? I can hardly recognize you.” Matt’s grin dissipated the tension in the air.
Josh propped an elbow on a fence post and ran a hand over the dark, bushy beard. Four months with no rules and regulations to follow with regard to shaving. For the first time in eight years, his hair touched his collar. “Maybe I don’t want to be recognized.”
“Oh, I almost forgot. You had some mail at the house.” Matt pulled an envelope from inside the heavy duster and waved it in the air. “You keepin’ secrets from me, bro? You got a girlfriend back home?”
“Nope.” A shiver ran down his spine at Matt’s timely question. He wished his secrets were as innocent as a girl back home. Taking the piece of mail from Matt’s outstretched hand, he stuck the envelope in the back pocket of his jeans, wondering who he knew who would write a letter in this day of texts and emails. “Thanks.”
“So we’ll see you for dinner?” Matt leaned forward on the saddle horn and waited.
Josh had promised twice already this month to come for dinner and had apologized by saying he had fallen asleep. He nodded. “I’ll be there.”
“Sounds good.” Matt pulled on the reins, and his horse whirled around on his hind legs. The clatter of the hooves on the rocky hillside faded into the distance.
Josh clambered up the bank to the old ranch truck, a forty-year-old mechanical miracle. A sturdy wooden bed had replaced the original, which had probably rusted away years ago. His own truck was parked in the garage at the main house. After years of owning a vehicle for a year at the most, selling and then moving on, he had purchased a new dark green truck with an extended cab to store his things, and a short bed for anything else he might have to carry.
The job here at the MacDougal Ranch, as much as he appreciated working in the outdoors, was temporary. He just hadn’t decided on his next step.
He looked around. The big cat had disappeared. He maneuvered the truck up the hill, washed in the stream, changed his shirt and jeans for the only clean pair he had and settled down by the empty fireplace to read his mail.
He ripped open the envelope. A news clipping and a piece of pink notepaper fell out. The pink paper was decorated with a picture of scissors, the Hair Today logo and Megan Martin’s name.
Hi Josh, I thought you would want to see this. Text or call if you want to talk. Megan.
Josh smiled, thinking of the woman with the curly ponytail who could argue sports statistics with him all day. Neither had a romantic interest in the other, but when they had worked together backstage on the senior class play, they had discovered a common interest in sports of all kinds. He unfolded the newspaper clipping. A group of people stood in front of a business. Why would Megan think he cared about this?
He brought the paper closer and peered at the faces. He still didn’t recognize anyone. He had been gone from home too long. He read the caption: Local Businesses Plan Holiday Party. Holly McAndrews, proprietor of The Wildflower. Now he remembered. She had been a few years ahead of him in school. Three years in a row she and her bay quarter horse had won the barrel racing contest at the county fair. He grinned at the sight of the pregnant belly. Didn’t look like she was doing any barrel racing these days.
Next to Holly was Megan. And next to Megan...he did a double take, before reading the caption beneath. Suzanna Campbell, proprietor of The Cookie Jar. He almost didn’t recognize his own mother. Her formerly bright yellow hair was more of a platinum blond, and she must have lost at least forty pounds. And she was using her maiden name. What was going on?
He took a deep breath and stared into the ashes of the old stone fireplace. He had stayed away, focusing on his own demons. Eight years as a medic, patching up his fellow soldiers, had done little to assuage his guilt about what had happened in Bear Meadows. He’d even finally gotten out of the military, hoping to find the answers elsewhere.
But the picture indicated something else was wrong. Was his mother sick? The weight loss... The white hair...
He was only half joking when he told Matt he didn’t want to be recognized. He had no desire to return to Bear Meadows, especially after his last visit. He had burned that bridge. What he wanted was to be left alone to sort out his thoughts. How did the last eight years figure into the direction of the rest of his life? How would he move on from the incident that kept him away from his hometown?
But something had happened at home. Maybe he wasn’t the only one having trouble figuring out what to do next. His parents had been married twenty-five years. Didn’t they know by now?
Apparently they didn’t. He had to get back to Pennsylvania.
But first he had a date with a plate of lasagna.
CHAPTER TWO (#u75935347-a55b-5bd4-a421-e704fd629f34)
“NONFAT VANILLA LATTE. And make it a double.” She deserved it after the morning she’d had. Standing at The Wildflower counter, Wendy swiped her debit card and studied the woman behind the cash register. “Are you still working out? You don’t look like you’ve gained an ounce.”
Holly Hoffman McAndrews grinned as she pushed Wendy’s latte across the counter. The sweet scent of vanilla wafted from the ceramic cup. “I can do limited exercise. And I walk a lot.” She patted the round protrusion underneath the brown apron. “But I gave up riding horses for a while.” Her smile got wider as the bell jingled over the door. “It’s all his fault.”
“What are you blaming me for now?” Mac McAndrews, the chief of police and Holly’s husband, strode across the floor.
Wendy looked from one to the other. She may as well have been invisible.
She’d never spotted the love affair coming, what with Mac having a little girl from his first marriage and Holly thinking she wasn’t the maternal type. But somehow things had worked out for the couple and, two years after they laid eyes on each other, they were a happy family, with Mac’s seven-year-old daughter, Riley, and a baby on the way.
Wendy carried her cup to the low table in front of the picture window and settled into an overstuffed chair. Brown-and-yellow plaid, the colors of the local high school. Rather than go home to an empty house, Wendy had decided to research job opportunities on her laptop in the comfort of the cozy coffee shop. She would do the noon report from the bridge, with a couple shots of a still unfrozen creek, and then go home.
She sipped her latte as she waited for her laptop to connect. Ever since Holly had opened the coffee shop the previous year, Wendy had been a steady customer. She had watched Mac date a series of women, looking for the perfect partner for himself and mother for his daughter. He had even taken Wendy out to dinner, but they both knew before they finished their salads they were going in completely opposite directions.
Wendy watched the two former military members hold hands across the counter. Holly had been a great choice for Mac and vice versa. It just took them a while to figure that out.
Glancing down at the computer screen, she typed television news jobs in the search bar. How long would it take for her to figure things out? She couldn’t stay at WSHF past January. She had to find something else. A year was long enough to wait for an opportunity. She clicked on the first listing. Broadcast Technician, Shipboard, Worldwide. Get ready for an exciting life at sea!
She skimmed the job requirements—which she met—and then the long list of responsibilities. The any other job-related duties assigned moved her finger to the delete button. She pictured herself swabbing the deck with a smelly mop. She was reading about a TV Spot Producer in Burbank when the bell jingled over the door.
“Hello, all, what a nice day out there with the sun shining. And there’s our own weather girl to give me the latest weather report.” Mrs. Hershberger, first-grade teacher to half the town, beamed her a sunny smile as she closed the door.
Wendy bit the inside of her cheek and gave the teacher a tight grin. Two times in one day. First Walt, now the teacher. The funny thing was, she believed they thought they were paying her a compliment. Local girl makes good, and all.
“Hello, John.” The plump, recently retired teacher was one of the few in town, besides his mother and wife, to refer to the chief of police as John. Dropping her big purse onto the floor, she plopped into the chair opposite Wendy. “I’ll try one of your special lattes, Holly. The one with pumpkin.”
With a last glimpse at the Burbank job, Wendy clicked off the screen and shut her laptop. She would get no more work done with Mrs. Hershberger nearby. “Terrible storm coming in later this week, Mrs. Hershberger.”
“Oh, dear, I was hoping the snow would hold off until Christmas.” The sound of the steamer filled the shop.
“Six weeks?” Wendy glanced at the coffeepot clock over the counter. If she wanted to get the remote to Walt by noon, she had better get moving. “No such luck.” Her phone dinged with a message. A picture popped up on the screen. Central Park. View from Katie’s window! Having a great time! The message was from her father. The photo was taken from high above the park. Obviously, her sister had an expensive apartment. She had made the big time at twenty-five, as her father never ceased to remind her.
“Wendy?”
She looked up to find the teacher staring at her expectantly. “Did you say something?”
The woman’s gaze dropped briefly to the phone in Wendy’s hand.
Wendy slipped the phone into her briefcase. She would save her father’s exclamations of joy at being with his older daughter for later, when she had a full glass of red wine in one hand and a slice of pizza with everything but the kitchen sink on it in the other. Her mouth watered at the thought.
“I asked if Mark Murphy had done the long-range winter forecast yet.”
She shook her head, partly in answer and partly to dispel the pizza image. “He’s skiing in Vermont this week. The winter forecast is scheduled for next Monday’s six o’clock report.” Guilt over ignoring the older woman prompted her to stick with the conversation. “Are you enjoying retirement, Mrs. Hershberger?”
“I suppose.” The wide smile faded. She twisted a band around her left ring finger. A single diamond winked on each rotation. “I miss the kids, and my retirement check doesn’t seem to go as far as I thought it would, so I substitute when they need someone. That’s why I was hoping the bad weather would hold off. My little car doesn’t get around in the snow very well.”
Holly chose that moment to deliver the latte. “One pumpkin spice latte. Maybe you should go to Florida, Mrs. Hershberger. My mom and dad talk about it every year but never seem to make it there.”
The smile returned when Holly sank into the chair between them. “Winters in Pennsylvania usually aren’t too bad. This is my second winter being retired, and I’m just not accustomed to having so much free time.”
Finishing her latte, Wendy slipped her laptop into her briefcase. She remembered the school had honored the older woman for forty-five years of teaching. Mrs. H had to be in her late sixties. Why had she worked so long? Everyone Wendy came across always talked about retiring as soon as possible. Didn’t Mrs. H have family? Grandchildren? She thought everybody around here had grandchildren.
Mrs. Hershberger focused on Holly. “I read in the paper you and the other merchants are planning a holiday party and I want to hear all about it, but first...how is Riley adapting to the idea of having a baby brother or sister?”
Holly let out a burst of laughter, her green eyes dancing. She launched into a story about Riley insisting on decorating the nursery in a superhero theme.
Shaking her head, Wendy drummed her fingers on the arm of the heavily cushioned chair. At one time, Holly, world traveler, barrel racer, independent woman, had been a resource for discussing issues facing trailblazing women in the workplace, but now she was firmly entrenched in motherhood. Holly had gone over to the dark side.
* * *
JOSH DIDN’T HIT snow until Pennsylvania. Almost a week had gone by since he’d received the letter. He wanted to finish things on the ranch before taking off, and to thank Matt’s aunt and uncle for everything and to let them know he’d be back soon. Driving for twenty hours straight out Interstate 80 from Montana, he’d stopped only for coffee, snacks and gas. And once for ice cream. Water he carried in a gallon jug behind the seat. He planned to continue on with no breaks, but by the time he reached Chicago his eyes were drifting closed. He pulled off at a roadside rest stop, unwrapped his sleeping bag and pillow, and crashed for a couple hours in the cramped backseat of his truck cab.
He reached Bear Meadows late Friday. Dusk had fallen. High winds heralded the approaching storm front. The streets were dark, indicating power was out for most of the town. He considered going home, seeing his father, but concern for his mother kept him going through town to the east side, where the bakeshop listed in the newspaper article anchored one end of a five-store strip mall. He hadn’t even known his mother had gone through with her plans to open a bakery and thought belatedly he should’ve called home more often. Once he made sure she was okay, he would stay at the family’s cabin a few miles away. Facing his father would be easier after a night’s sleep.
Both sides of Main Street were dark, although emergency lights in the hardware store and the bank lit the interiors. The hardware store held happy memories. Every April he and his father descended on the place, list in hand for supplies for the first day of trout season. They’d gather up their equipment, and then, with bologna sandwiches made with his mother’s homemade bread and her perfectly round sugar cookies for dessert, he and his father would be on the stream at the crack of dawn. He angled his truck into the space in front of the bakery and glanced at the window in the second floor. Dark. Maybe she hadn’t moved out of their home. Maybe she was using her maiden name for business purposes.
The last time he had been home his mother had mentioned taking an early retirement from the university and opening a bakery. Whenever she had brought up the subject, his father had laughed and told her to keep her day job. Obviously his mother had gone forward with her plans. Had his father’s opposition forced a separation? How did the sudden weight loss enter into the equation?
For the umpteenth time, Josh weighed the possibility that his mother was sick. He would find out soon enough.
As he got out of his truck, the door was almost pulled from his hand by the gusting wind. Slamming the door, he stared at the hanging sign. The Cookie Jar. Black letters on a white background. Black and white—that was his mother. A no-nonsense kind of person.
He stomped up the snow-covered steps to the wooden porch stretching the length of the strip mall, his footprints the only disturbance in the pristine snow. He knocked lightly on the pane of glass and then turned the door handle. It was unlocked. His soldier’s internal alarm sounded as he opened the door into a quiet store. The faint scent of just-baked bread filled the room. He pulled his cell phone from his inside coat pocket and turned on the flashlight app. A long pink counter filled the half of the store to his right. To his left, racks filled with loaves of bread and boxes of baked goods filled the shelves. “Mom?”
No answer. Something brushed his leg and he jerked away. A brown tail disappeared around the counter. “Another cat. At least you’re small enough to handle.” He followed the tail through the door into the kitchen. The old Formica table from their house occupied the center of the room. Counters covered two walls. A computer filled most of a small table in the corner near the back door. He ran a hand over the bulky monitor. “How can you keep track of a business on this antiquated thing?”
Peering into the darkness, heading for the staircase, he slowed his breathing, the better to hear if someone was in the building. Ice crystals pinged on the windows. “Mom, are you upstairs?”
No response. As he mounted the wooden steps, he stomped his boots in case she was asleep. “I’m coming up.”
At the top of the staircase, he aimed the beam of light in a slow arc around the small area. A simple cot. Folded clothes in cardboard boxes on the floor. A table with a jewelry box and an alarm clock. He looked out the window at the desolate street. A basket of dried petals sat on the windowsill. He picked it up and sniffed. Rose petals. His mother had always been crazy about roses. Was she living here full-time?
He checked under the bed. No sign of the cat. Josh would have to warn his mother, a woman who had refused to allow a dog or a cat in the house, that an animal was loose in her place of business.
But he would have to find her first.
* * *
THE LONG WEEK was almost over.
Mark had returned just ahead of the big storm and, in an unexpected moment of civility, had taken the early morning show. Wendy wasn’t needed at the station until the last broadcast at 11:00 p.m.
Grabbing a yogurt container from the refrigerator and a spoon from the silverware drawer, she walked out onto the enclosed back porch. The storm she had warned Mrs. Hershberger about on Monday had indeed finally arrived. Though only late afternoon, the sky was already getting dark. Fat, fluffy flakes danced in the gathering wind. The still-green grass was almost completely covered. A blue jay chirped from the bare maple tree. She settled into the rocking chair to watch as he hopped onto a higher branch.
If her mother were home, she would be stalking the bird with a telephoto lens. But her parents had gone to New York City almost a week ago, leaving Wendy alone in the sprawling ranch house tucked back on ten acres of wooded property.
She shivered. She had dressed in comfortable sweats when she got up that morning, but maybe she needed something warmer. She settled into the chair, the only sound the scraping of the rocker on the porch floor and the still-squawking blue jay.
She was used to her parents going off on some adventure or other, but she found herself missing her mother’s Yorkshire terrier, despite the insistent barking when he wanted to be picked up. Since her mother spoiled the bright-eyed ball of fluff, Oliver was usually held immediately.
Not even a pet. Meaning, no dog. Ms. King, the headhunter who’d found her the Atlanta anchor job that had unfortunately not happened, the woman who was still out there searching for Wendy’s big chance, had left Wendy with a mantra. The words echoed in her head. Oliver had filled the need for a pet, but now he was gone, leaving her with the blue jays and cardinals in the backyard.
She stared at the overcast sky. Mrs. Hershberger had referred to Wendy as “our weather girl,” but the truth was, the Valentine family had been part of the Bear Meadows population for less than ten years. Before that, her father’s computer security business had kept them in Philadelphia, but after selling and settling into an early, comfortable retirement, her parents had decided to move to central Pennsylvania. Wendy had been at Penn State by then and one of the few people in town the first-grade teacher hadn’t taught.
Unlike her father, who had retired in his mid fifties, Mrs. Hershberger had continued to teach into her late sixties. The warm, friendly teacher would have made a great mom, possibly better than her own mother, who’d found herself pregnant at forty and not that interested in motherhood. Wendy sometimes felt her parents had been a couple so long that they forgot they had a child.
The blue jay hopped farther up the tree.
“If you had a story to tell, I’d interview you, but I think you’re safe, Mr. Jay.” Wendy laughed as the blue-and-white-striped bird with the crested head chirped in reply.
She had to think of something to draw the attention of the big affiliates. Would Walt ever allow her time to interview someone? And if he did, who would she interview? Her parents? Her parents may like living in the rural countryside of central Pennsylvania, but they craved the excitement of exotic places. Maybe a series on unusual travel destinations? Atlanta had been tantalizingly close. Katherine King had been as disappointed as she when the offer didn’t materialize. “Keep doing what you’re doing, Wendy. Try to break out from weather. It’s only a matter of time.”
She had tried. Last fall she had covered every game of the Bear Meadows football team. Her one attempt to dig deeper into a story had almost cost her a friendship. She had been interviewing the chief of police after some teenagers were caught stealing from stores in the strip mall. Something had prompted her to ask him about his dismissal from the Raleigh police force, which she had only come upon after looking the new police chief up on the internet. His normally pleasant demeanor had turned to stone.
Only later did she find out he had blamed himself for the death of his wife. Rather than going for milk himself, his wife had driven, unaccustomed to snow-covered roads, and crashed the car. He began drinking, and was asked to leave the police force. That was all behind him now, but no, she would not be interviewing Chief McAndrews.
She could interview the Smith brothers. Their farm was just a few miles from her parents’ property. The seventy-year-old twin brothers had never married and lived on the family homestead all their lives. Two years ago they had begun selling handmade turkey calls and become an internet sensation. Skinny would be the easier of the two to interview. Hawkeye rarely said a word. Hawkeye remained a mystery. What was his story?
Her thoughts of potential interviewees was interrupted by the ringing of her phone from inside the house. When she jumped out of the rocker, the blue jay flew off, squawking in alarm. The phone lay on the edge of the kitchen’s island countertop. “Hello?” she answered.
“I need you to do the six o’clock.” No greeting, just Walt’s gravelly voice.
“Where’s Mark?” Glancing out the window, she noted the fluffy flakes of a few minutes earlier had increased in size and intensity. She could no longer see the garden shed from the kitchen window.
“You can do a remote.”
Apparently Mark’s whereabouts were none of her business. “Did you have something in mind?”
“The power’s out in Bear Meadows. They’re opening the church basement for people. Go there, report the weather and how people are coping. Don’t try to get fancy.”
“I don’t have—”
“Phil will meet you. He’ll do the camera work. I want him to get some shots of the roads, maybe go up to the interstate and see how traffic is moving. Then he can bring everything back for the late report.”
Wendy breathed a sigh of relief. Sending the cameraman would make the assignment much easier. “Sure thing, Walt. Thanks.”
“You got it, kid. Be careful driving.” And without another word he was gone.
Wendy clicked off. She glanced at the cuckoo clock over the sink, a souvenir her parents had brought back after a trip to Bavaria two years earlier. She had just enough time to change, so without a moment to spare she dashed upstairs. She stared into her closet and debated the best look for outdoor reporting in a blizzard. Or should she report from inside the church? Figuring she wouldn’t be outside long, she pulled on skinny jeans and a royal blue sweater. Her tall black boots and the station’s monogrammed quilted jacket should get her from her car to the church basement.
Given the front-wheel drive, her car did fairly well in the snow. But who knew how quickly the roads would be plowed? The latest forecast indicated a crazy storm was on its way. And who knew that better than she?
* * *
HE TRIED EACH of the other four shops next to the bakery. A computer shop, a consignment shop, the coffee shop and finally his friend Megan’s hair salon. He peered into the window and could barely make out the two chairs and mirrors. He strolled along the boardwalk, his attention now on the other side of the street. The bank and the hardware store were, of course, closed. Despite the covering of snow, he could tell the vacant lot had been renovated. Three benches were scattered among the new landscaping. This end of town had certainly improved since his last trip home.
He retraced his steps to his truck and brushed off the snow that had already accumulated on his windshield. Bank, hardware store, new park, library. Leaning on his truck bed, he studied the facade of the former carriage house that had been the home of the library for all the years he was a student. As he looked closer at the window, he could make out the design of a large cup with a thin handle. Crossing the slippery street, he glanced to his right. At the end of the street, the stoplight swung wildly in the blustery wind.
Someone had converted the old library into a tea shop. Tea for You. He wondered if he should try the door and then knew he would question himself if he didn’t. Grasping the doorknob, he turned the handle and pushed. The door swung open. Snow blew past him and landed on the runner leading from the door to a counter. He quickly shut the door behind him. “Hello?”
At least in his mother’s place of business his presence had been justified. Here, he felt like an interloper. He came farther into the room. The checkout counter had been refinished. A stained-glass lamp graced the top. Round tables and chairs were scattered through the space. Continuing through the shop, he passed a wall of loose teas in glass jars. He entered a kitchen area. The interior back door was wide open.
Josh stepped onto the back porch. Through the massive oak grove on the far side of the parking lot, the outline of the old mansion was barely visible. Dr. Reed’s home.
One car remained in the parking lot, covered with at least six inches of snow. He remembered his father telling him the building had been a carriage house, with horses and carriages on the ground floor, while the upper floor had been living quarters for the grooms. When they created the parking lot, they had to provide a basement entrance to the original ground floor. Josh walked to the edge of the porch.
A large silver maple grew at the edge of the parking lot. One of its branches had fallen from the weight of the snow and lay squarely across the cellar doors leading to the ground floor. If anyone had been in the basement when the limb broke off, he or she was trapped. He listened. Nothing, just the skitter of snow. He could barely make out anything in the darkness until a flicker of light caught his eye. Grabbing the railing, he eased down the steps. Looking under the porch, he noticed a bit of light coming through a small cellar window. Maybe the proprietor of the tea shop had been trapped below. And maybe he or she would know where his mother had gone.
Grabbing the thick branch, he tugged. Heavier than it appeared. He pulled again and felt a pinch in his right knee. Giving his leg a shake, he grabbed the branch again and finally uncovered the cellar doors. He opened one and slid the anchoring support into the slot so it wouldn’t come down on his head. Carefully descending steep stairs, he pushed open the door at the bottom and was hit with chilled air.
Boxes and supplies lined the shelves to his left. In the center of the room sat a square table, similar to the ones in the shop overhead. Lit votive candles sat on the table. Something glistened in the background. Josh stepped forward and directed his light into the recesses of the dark basement. The light landed on a brass bedpost, and then on a form on the bed, partially huddled under a quilt. He directed the light upward until he could make out a face.
“Mom?”
CHAPTER THREE (#u75935347-a55b-5bd4-a421-e704fd629f34)
“THANK YOU, OFFICER WILLIAMS.” Wendy turned to the camera and gave a curt nod. “That was Officer Robert Williams with the Bear Meadows Police Department. They have their hands full tonight. Back to you, Casey.”
Phil’s smiling face appeared from behind the camera. “I’m headed up to the interstate for some more footage and then to the station.”
“Wendy, interview me, Wendy, interview me!” A child in purple coat and leggings ran through the deepening snow. A car door slammed.
As the little girl looked up into Wendy’s face, Wendy recognized Riley McAndrews, the police chief’s daughter. The girl was dressed in purple snow pants, and a matching jacket. She wore a white knit cap with cat ears made out of felt. Riley’s ever-present blond ponytail bounced from a hole in the top of the knit hat, custom-made for her. “Hi, Riley. Sorry, but we’re finished here. Phil has to leave.”
“You have to interview me. I have a big story!” She tugged the fringes of Wendy’s red knit scarf.
Wendy mostly knew the girl from Holly’s coffee shop after school. A desk had been set up in the corner especially for Riley while Holly worked. “I’m sorry, Riley, but—”
“I have time, Wendy.” With a hint of a smirk and giving Wendy no chance to respond, Phil repositioned the camera. “In three, two, one...”
The camera light blinked on.
Wendy knew Phil was a sucker for stories with kids, having two children of his own. “Okay, Riley.” She positioned the girl so they both faced the camera. “I’m here with Riley McAndrews, daughter of Bear Meadows’s chief of police. Tell our viewers about your big story, Riley.”
The girl’s light blue eyes fixed on the lens and the red light. “The baby is coming.” With a tilt of her head, she smiled at the camera.
“I know. How exciting for you.” Riley had spent the past eight and a half months announcing to anyone who would listen that she’d soon have a baby brother or sister. Wendy smiled back. “How old are you, Riley?”
“I’m seven years old and I’m in second grade at Bear Meadows Elementary. I’m going to be a big sister. Today.” She threw out her arms and turned her face to the falling snow.
Wendy waited a beat, entranced by the child’s beaming face, then remembered Phil and the camera. “Wait. You mean Holly’s having the baby now? Apparently snow isn’t the only big story in town. Can you share any more details with our viewers, Riley?” She crouched in the gathering snow so her face was even with Riley’s. She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Is Holly at the hospital?”
With a sheepish grin, Riley nodded. “Holly’s in labor. Daddy was supposed to work because of the blizzard, but he said he can’t be in two places at one time and Holly said if he knew what was good for him he better stay with her.” Riley crossed her arms and nodded as if agreeing with her stepmother. Then she pointed at the camera.
Wendy dutifully stood and addressed the camera. “Riley’s stepmother is the owner of The Wildflower Coffee Bar and Used Book Store. As I mentioned earlier, her father is the chief of police for Bear Meadows, which is busier than usual, even for a Friday night.” She glanced at Riley. “Anything you’d like to add, Miss McAndrews?”
“Well—” she rubbed her chin with fingers covered with a white mitten “—do you want to know a secret?”
Not accustomed to being around seven-year-olds, Wendy couldn’t imagine the type of secret the girl was about to divulge. “I sure would. What’s your secret?” She held the microphone close to Riley’s chin.
“I always called my daddy’s new wife Holly. But the new baby will call her Mommy. So I’m thinking I should call her Mommy, too, just to avoid confusion.” Blue eyes wide, Riley looked up at Wendy. “Don’t you think? Daddy said it would be okay.”
Wendy threw a glance at Phil. He just shook his head and smiled. “I think that would be nice, too, Riley.”
Riley bounced on the spot in satisfaction. “Good.” She placed her hand over Wendy’s, the one wrapped around the mike. “Can I interview you now?”
Wendy laughed. “Another time.” She looked at the camera. “So ends a tumultuous evening in Bear Meadows, Pennsylvania, where the snow is piling up at the rate of an inch an hour, babies are being born and television news reporters are in the making.” She wrapped her arm around the girl’s shoulders and whispered in her ear.
Riley put her mittens around the microphone and stared straight into the camera. “Back to you, Casey.”
Smiling at the little girl’s earnest delivery, Wendy took the mike and flipped off the switch. She shot another look at Riley. “So are you staying here tonight?”
“No, Grandma and Grandpa Hoffman just stopped by to drop off ham sandwiches for everybody. We’re going to the hospital because Grandpa has a big truck, and he says he can go anywhere in that truck.” Catching sight of Rose Hoffman, Riley left Wendy and sprinted through the snow to her grandparents.
Wendy took in the chaos still occurring in the parking lot. Cots and blankets were being unloaded from the back of a pickup truck, and Officer Williams seemed to be all over the place, directing volunteers and those seeking shelter.
Riley ran back to Wendy. “I almost forgot,” the girl said. She held out her hand. “Daddy is passing out cigars. I don’t like cigars, so I’m doing Hershey’s Kisses.” She placed a single silver foil-wrapped candy in Wendy’s palm and then ran off.
Wendy noticed just then the light on the camera blinked off when Phil slung it off his shoulder. “Wow. You just never know what kids are going to say.”
“Just delete it now, Phil. I don’t want to hold you up any longer.”
“Delete? Are you kidding? That was great.” He made to pack up his equipment. “Let’s go inside and grab a cup of coffee before we take off. You know, maybe you should consider staying here tonight. Aren’t your folks out of town and isn’t your house pretty far out in the country?”
Wendy laughed. “A cup of coffee I’ll do. But no way am I sleeping on a cot tonight.”
* * *
“JOSH? JOSHUA ORION HUNTER. Is that really you?”
Great. His own mother didn’t recognize him. Josh wiped a hand over his face, as if by doing so he would erase the dark beard and longish hair. “Mom, what are you doing—” he waved one hand in the direction of the candles on the table “—here?”
Suzanna Campbell Hunter threw back the quilt. She wore a pair of khakis and a white cotton blouse. “We got locked in.” She glanced to her left.
Only then did Josh notice the man on the couch under a wool blanket.
His mother continued. “This is Joe Kowalsky. He owns the tea shop.” She paused, took a few hesitant steps in Josh’s direction, and then raced forward. “What am I thinking? Oh, Joshua, I’m so glad to see you.” She threw her arms around his neck.
With a hard look at the man on the bed, Josh wrapped his arms around his mother and squeezed. He was shocked. What had happened to the soft, plump woman he remembered her being his whole life? This woman was slight and small. The mop of hair under his chin was almost white. He eased out of her tight hold and touched an errant curl. “What happened to your blond hair?”
Sue’s mouth tightened, and she let out a sigh. “This is my natural color. I stopped dyeing my hair.” She lifted her chin. “I only did it to please your father, and now I just have to please myself.”
When Josh’s gaze dropped from the almost white hair to the pale blue eyes, she stopped talking. Although Josh knew why they separated, neither of his parents had talked to him about it. He still couldn’t believe his mother lived above the bakery. “How are you, Mom?”
The defiant look in her eyes dropped, and she smiled. “I’m fine, honey.” There was his mother. She had one of the prettiest smiles he had ever seen. He remembered the stranger on the couch. He strode across the room, hand outstretched. “I’m Josh Hunter.”
Throwing back the dark blanket, the man stood and reached for Josh’s hand. He was tall and thin, with brown hair and hazel eyes. He wore a pair of rectangular black glasses. Although he didn’t appear muscular, his grip was strong. “Joe Kowalsky. Your mother came down to help me carry up some supplies, and the branch broke off that silver maple in the parking lot. We were stuck. All we did was play a couple of games of checkers. Neither of us had a phone and—”
Josh held up his hand. “Why don’t we hold the explanations until later? That snow out there is coming down hard. Let me get you to shelter. My truck’s parked across the street.”
His mother gripped his arm. “But, Josh, what are you—”
“Later, Mom.” He looked around. “Do either of you have a coat?”
With a shy glance at the tall man, his mother chuckled. “I don’t usually need a coat.”
Josh puzzled over the faint pink flush on his mother’s cheeks. He shrugged. “Let’s lock up and find out where there’s shelter set up.”
“Probably the church basement. They have a generator.”
He blew out two of the votive candles. “Does Dad still have one at the house?” When he didn’t hear a reply, he turned around.
Her mouth tight, his mother folded the quilt. He dismissed any possibility of going home. He glanced in Joe’s direction. “I guess you don’t have a coat, either, then.”
“Upstairs. I just came down here for a minute.”
“Let’s make sure all these candles are out, get packed up and lock the doors.” He glanced around at the stacks of sealed boxes. “I wonder if they’ll have food at the church.”
Joe and his mother looked at each other before Joe reached for one of the boxes. “Good point, Josh. You say you have a truck?”
“I have a cake that the Foxes ordered for an anniversary party. We’ll take that, too.” Sue started toward the back door.
“Wait for me, Mom, I have a light.” He opened the door, and a gust of cold air blew into the basement. “Oh, by the way, I think I let a cat into your bakery.”
His mother shrugged. “That’s just Mister Cee.” She started up the steps.
“Excuse me?”
She turned. “Cappuccino Cat. We call him Mister Cee.” She disappeared up the steps into the darkness.
Josh shook his head. As if his parents’ separation weren’t enough of a surprise, now he discovered that his animal-avoiding mother had no problem with a cat living in the bakery. He shook his head. What else had happened in the time he had been gone?
* * *
PHIL HAD PRACTICALLY gulped down his hot coffee and had one arm in his monogrammed station jacket before Wendy could say much. She lifted her own cardboard cup of steaming coffee. “How did you finish your coffee so fast, Phil?”
He shrugged. “Working father of two. I do everything fast. See ya later, champ.” Empty jacket sleeve trailing behind him, Phil disappeared out the door.
“Wendy, would you like a ham sandwich?” Holly’s mother came up to the table with a tray.
Wendy remembered Holly’s mom was meant to be on her way to the hospital. “Sure. But can I help you out, Mrs. Hoffman?”
The petite woman smiled, lifted the tray and said, “Have your sandwich first, dear.”
Wendy quickly bit into the sandwich, relishing the fresh bread and spicy mustard. The church basement was warm and smelled of fresh coffee. She had two bites to go when Mrs. Hoffman returned with an empty tray and sat opposite her. “Don’t you have to get to the hospital?”
“I do.” Mrs. Hoffman nodded toward the kitchen. “But Fritz is helping with a clogged sink.” She gestured to where a pair of jean-clad legs stuck out from the cabinet below the sink. “We have plenty of time.” Lowering her voice, she leaned across the table. “I was in labor with Holly for nine hours. I doubt anything’ll happen before morning.”
Wendy was so focused on her career, she couldn’t imagine having a baby now and settling down. She finished her sandwich. “Thanks for the snack. Apart from some yogurt and my dad’s snacks, I think the fridge is empty at home.”
“You should stay the night. I hope somebody picks up Vera Hershberger. She’s all by herself. That little house will get cold quickly.”
Wendy realized if anybody knew the former teacher’s history it would be Rose Hoffman, who had lived in Bear Meadows all her life. “Has she been a widow a long time?”
Mrs. Hoffman’s green eyes caught her gaze and then slid away. “You should stay here tonight, Wendy. Your road probably hasn’t been plowed.”
Studying the older woman, Wendy could see where Holly and her three older brothers got their black hair. Mrs. Hoffman was as thin as Holly, although not as tall. Wendy tried another tack. “I was talking with Mrs. Hershberger the other day. Did you two go to school together?”
“Heavens, no. She’s years older than I am.” Mrs. Hoffman pressed her lips together. “But Vera is a lovely woman. And she’s been through so much.” She fixed her gaze on something over Wendy’s shoulder. “There’s Fritz. I’ve got to go, dear.”
Wendy zipped her coat and followed the Hoffman couple and Riley through the kitchen, into the parking lot. Someone had left a broom by the door. She grabbed it and carried it to her car, which was covered with two inches of snow in the hour she had been inside. Maybe she should consider the job in Burbank. At least she wouldn’t be freezing to death. Ten minutes later most of the snow had been removed from the windshield. She returned the broom, got into the car and put on her seat belt.
She stopped at the end of the driveway and checked both directions. A looming truck idled in the street, its signal indicating it was turning into the church parking lot. She waved and pulled out. Time to go home.
* * *
AFTER WAITING FOR a small car to exit, Josh pulled into the crowded church parking lot. The massive stone structure with its high bell tower loomed over the neighborhood. The front of the church was dark, but bright lights came from the back door. A generator ran noisily by the side of the building.
“Are you coming in?” With an anxious look, his mother placed a hand on his arm.
“No, Mom.” He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll stay at the cabin tonight. The key still over the door?”
“Oh, Josh, it’s too cold—”
“I’ll be fine, Mom.”
Sue reached into a paper bag on her lap and slipped a package into his jacket pocket. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow then.”
He was about to get out and help his mother from the truck, but Joe was already assisting Sue. He would leave his mother safe at the church, but he had no intention of walking into the brightly lit crowded place. Bad enough that he was home at all. He saw a burly patrolman approach his mother and glance in his direction. It was time to make a quick exit.
He shifted into first gear and was about to take his foot off the brake when he saw the man standing in front of his truck. How did a guy that big move that quickly? Holding up a gloved hand, the officer rounded the truck. He tapped on the driver’s window. “Sergeant Hunter?”
Josh sighed. The last thing he wanted was attention from the local police. He rolled down the window. “Yes, sir?”
“Your mom said you’re home on leave from the army.”
Josh didn’t see the need to say otherwise. He would be gone soon. What did it matter if people thought he was still in the military? “What can I do for you, Officer?” Up close, the policeman was much younger than he had appeared at a distance. His face was round and the reddened cheeks appeared smooth. Not a whisker to be seen, as if he had shaved just minutes earlier.
“I’ve kind of got my hands full.” One eyebrow raised with an unspoken question.
Josh knew what was coming. “I’m sorry, but I can’t stay.” Josh moved his hand to the gearshift lever.
The young man stuck his hand through the window. “I’m Bob Williams. Most folks call me Moose.”
Removing his hand from the gearshift, Josh gripped the other man’s hand. He resisted wincing. “Is Stone still the chief of police?”
“No. He died two years ago come January. Mac McAndrews is chief now. Good man.”
Josh didn’t recognize the name. “Well, good luck but—”
“Mac’s wife went into labor tonight.” His broad shoulders lifted in a massive shrug as he grinned. “Figures, huh? And I just heard about an accident on the interstate. The plow trucks can’t keep up with the snow.”
Josh suppressed a groan as he felt himself getting pulled into the town’s crisis. His mother’s empty cabin beckoned. A quiet place in the woods. A fire in the fireplace. A shot of whiskey. A single shot.
“Look, all I need is for someone to pick up Mrs. Hershberger and bring her back to the church. She lives a block from your mom’s bakery. Has a Go Cubs sign in the yard. She doesn’t have family so...” His words trailed off.
Josh drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and pictured snow falling around the cabin, the stack of logs waiting by the door.
Moose’s grin faded. “Look, man, just forget it. I’ve got to keep moving.” He backed away.
The disappointed look on the young man’s face convinced Josh he was being a heel. “Sure, Moose. I know where she lives. I’ll take care of her. Don’t worry.” He hesitated, and then thought if he was in for a dime he was in for a dollar. “Anything else?”
“Looks like this truck of yours can go anywhere. Maybe you could check on the Smith brothers. They’re two old guys—”
“Yeah, I remember. They still live on the farm on the other side of Little Bear Creek? That all?”
“I don’t suppose you’re familiar with Last Chance Farm. Two elderly people there, too.”
Josh felt his breath catch in his chest. “I’ve heard of it. Anyone else?”
Moose shook his head, but his gaze was on a caravan of cars turning into the parking lot. “Thanks, man.” His last words were shouted as he moved toward the new arrivals. “Your mom said I could count on you.”
Josh peered out the passenger window and saw his mother outlined in the open door of the church basement. He knew she had a lot of questions for him, but then, he had a lot for her, too. Though with the man from the tea shop in the cab with them, the questions, and the answers, would have to wait. He pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward his mother’s bakery. He hoped the retired teacher wouldn’t recognize him, that she would be so concerned with getting to the church she wouldn’t pay attention to the driver.
No such luck.
“Joshua Hunter, what are you doing here?” Mrs. Hershberger stood in the doorway of her small ranch house. Wearing a pink tracksuit, she clutched a heavy shawl draped over her shoulders.
His own mother had barely recognized him, how had the teacher? “Taking you to the church, ma’am. The power’s out.”
“I’ll be fine here. Besides, I’m not presentable.” Leaving the door open, she walked into her living room.
Hesitating, Josh looked down at the threshold. He really shouldn’t be here. He stepped into the hall and closed the door. “This blizzard’s forecast to continue through the night, Mrs. Hershberger. Are you sure you don’t want to go over to the church for a while? If you don’t like it, I’ll bring you back home.” Officer Williams had made a simple request, and if there was one thing Josh knew how to do, it was to follow orders.
She stood at the window, holding back the curtain so she could see. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll need a few minutes to get ready.”
Waiting for the older woman as she gathered her belongings, he looked around the living room. The retired teacher lived comfortably, but she certainly wasn’t well-to-do. The matching couch and chair were of a style at least twenty years old. An upright piano stood in one corner of the room. He walked over to look at the pictures on top. Multiple class pictures. First graders. Individual pictures of toothless children were stuck along the edges of the frames. A wedding photo. Josh picked it up. Mrs. Hershberger had been a beautiful woman, her curly hair short and dark. She wore a long white dress. Next to her stood a barrel-chested, muscular man, his hair cut in the buzz-cut style of the sixties.
“My wedding photo.”
Josh jumped. He hadn’t heard the woman return. Putting the picture back in its place, he turned. “Do you need a hand with anything?”
She passed him an overnight bag. “I’m ready.”
Two hours later he was finally on his way to the cabin, wondering if he would be as stubborn as Mrs. Hershberger and the Smith brothers when he got old. He grinned. With his mother’s and father’s genes? Probably.
The Smith brothers had been fine, a generator rumbling outside the rear kitchen door. Although they would soon be snowed in, they wouldn’t have a problem once the snowplows hit the back county roads probably in the morning. The elderly couple at Last Chance Farm had been fine as well, comfortable in the kitchen with a fire in the cookstove. They refused to go with him.
He was glad in a sense that they had the blizzard to talk about. It took the pressure off them possibly asking more questions about why he was in town.
He slowed as he approached the turn onto the suspension bridge over Little Bear Creek. The water ran dark between the snow-covered banks, the temperature not yet having been cold enough for freezing. As he crossed the bridge, the wooden boards rumbled under his tires.
At the end of the bridge, he turned right onto the unplowed road that passed in front of the cabin. As his headlights swung in a circle, a movement caught his eye. He slammed on the brakes. The truck skidded and came to a stop.
Josh peered into the curtain of falling snow. He must have imagined it. Or maybe he had seen a deer. But no deer in its right mind would be out on a night like this. No other wildlife, either.
Still...
Leaving the truck running, he stepped out into the darkness. “Hello?” The cold wind took the word and spun it into the sky.
CHAPTER FOUR (#u75935347-a55b-5bd4-a421-e704fd629f34)
WITH THE FLASHLIGHT app on, he pointed his cell phone in the direction he had seen movement. The combination of the heavy snow and the high winds rendered the light practically useless. He tromped to the opposite side of the bank and saw her.
She was crouching by the left rear tire, removing snow with a large broken stick, so engrossed in her task she didn’t even notice his light. “Hey.”
Her head jerked up. At the same time her feet went out from under her and she slipped under the bumper. Josh lunged forward and pulled her out from under the still-running car. Exhaust swirled around them. They landed in a pile of snow.
They managed to stand. She was shivering violently, but not so much that she couldn’t bat at his hands as he attempted to brush snow off her shoulders. His gaze swept over her attire. Nice boots, but more suited for the runway than snowbanks. He grasped her elbow. Her boot must’ve caught on some obscured object because as she tried to gain her balance, she was impeded and fell forward. He swept her up into his arms.
“Whoa, there, mis...mister, I can walk.” Her teeth chattering, she could barely utter the words. She elbowed his chest.
“I’m sure you can. But I don’t particularly want to be out in this blizzard waiting while you take baby steps. Hang on.” He hiked up the bank double-time, causing her to throw her arms around his neck. Depositing her in his truck, he returned to shut off her car.
“My family’s cabin is not far from here. Do for now, okay?”
She looked like she was about to argue, but then she gave a quick nod. He couldn’t leave her out here to freeze, could he?
Bear Meadows was determined not to leave Josh alone.
* * *
WENDY COULDN’T FEEL her toes. The thin black leather and the even thinner socks weren’t doing a very good job of keeping her warm. But then again, she hadn’t worn them thinking she’d be wrestling her five-year-old car out of a snowdrift. But this nice, new truck threw out tons of heat. Wrapping her arms around herself, she hazarded a glance at the stranger settling into the driver’s seat and backing the truck onto the road. A fur-lined hood covered half his face and a dark beard the other, concealing his age. He could be twenty-five or forty-five.
Did she know him? Someone from the station? The shivering in her body seemed to be bouncing her brain around so much she couldn’t think straight.
Maybe she should buy a truck. But she wouldn’t need a truck in Burbank, right? Why was she thinking about Burbank? She didn’t want to be a producer, did she? The truck eased forward. “Do I...” She had to stop and think for a minute. She lifted a hand to her frozen cheeks. Closing her eyes, she leaned her head back. “I’m... I’m... I’m so-o-o cold.”
His gaze didn’t waver from the white curtain before them as the truck navigated a small hill. A gloved hand reached out and wiped the condensation from the windshield. “We’ll be at the cabin in a few minutes.”
A spasm of alarm shot through her at the words from the bearded giant. The makeup assistant at the station had told her of a long ago incident not far from here. A man had come down from the mountains and kidnapped a girl. The FBI had actually been called in. Had the man been caught? She couldn’t remember. She edged closer to the door and wrapped her fingers around the handle. She was considering launching herself into the high drifts when he made a sharp turn and the lights revealed a cozy cabin with a swing on the front porch. Somehow the swing eased her fears a bit.
“I’ll go in and start a fire.” The man turned and fixed her with a stare.
In the darkness of the cab, she couldn’t tell the color of his eyes. Just a glint, a spark of life—
“I’ll leave the truck running for heat.”
Before she could answer, he opened the door, letting in a blast of wind and flurries. Just as quickly the door slammed, and she watched as his long legs ran through the deep snow and carried him up onto the porch. He fumbled around above the door and then disappeared into the cabin.
She eyed the ignition, where the fob hung from the key still inserted. Nothing personal to clue her in to the kind of man who had rescued her. No sports memorabilia, no cartoon figure. Just a black fob. She could drive away. She could drive home. The man’s footprints had almost already disappeared in the rapidly falling snow. Who was she kidding? She again leaned her head back and closed her eyes. If worse came to worst she’d have a heck of a story. Local Woman Captured by Mountain Man in Blizzard of the Century. No, that was too many words for a headline. Local Woman Disappears. There, short, concise, attention grabbing. She smiled, pleased, then the grin faded.
Interesting story, for sure...but only if she lived to tell about it.
* * *
SHE WAS ASLEEP. Looking through the window at the young woman huddled in the cab of his truck, Josh frowned. He had no way of knowing how long she had been outside working to free her car from the snow, and she certainly wasn’t dressed for the frigid temperatures. No hat. Straight dark hair curved perfectly under her chin. Bright red lipstick and heavy mascara, as if she had just come from an event. Or maybe a date. His main concern was hypothermia, followed by frostbite. She had been wearing thin driving gloves. That was one reason why he left her in the truck while he started a fire. But the heat had been too much for her.
Despite his less than friendly appearance and the fact he had brought her to a strange place, the woman had fallen asleep, her cheek pressed against the glass.
When he opened the door she fell into his arms. Which would have been fine, considering he planned to carry her through the deep snow, but she woke with the sudden movement and immediately began thrashing.
When a fist connected with his jaw, he stumbled backward. She might have made her escape then, except he had one arm half around her so as he fell he pulled her with him. For a second time, they both landed in the snow. “What the heck, lady?”
She pushed off him and blurted, “Who...who are you?”
“I—”
“And wh-wh-why did you bring me here?”
“Well—”
“I...I live across the creek, but now I’m...at this...” Finally taking a breath, she waved a hand at the cabin. “...place.”
“The road is impassable on the other side of the creek.” Josh propped himself on his elbows. “You’re safe here...and you can get warm. I think you might have hypothermia, and if we don’t get you inside, you’ll have frostbite for sure.”
Her gaze flicked between him, the truck and the cabin. Mumbling, she rested her forehead on her hand. The snow had already made her black jacket white.
He wasn’t sure, but Josh thought he heard something about going home. Lifting himself to his feet, he held out a hand. “Do you mind if we continue this conversation inside?”
She looked at his hand. “I can walk by myself.”
He withdrew. “Fine. You go on in, and I’ll shut off the truck.” He slammed the door and watched the petite woman lift one leg at a time from the deep snow. She teetered to one side, and he held his breath until she managed to right herself. She dragged herself onto the porch and then disappeared into the cabin.
Josh shut his eyes and lifted his face skyward. Snowflakes melted on his skin and gathered in his beard. He wished he hadn’t been the one to find the woman stuck in the drift. Maybe if he had kept going, one of the snowplow drivers would have found her. But by then, she could have frozen to death.
Josh didn’t want to be drawn into any small-town drama. He was still struggling with his parents and their issues. He didn’t feel like he had the full story yet about his mother’s weight loss, and why she and his father couldn’t work things out.
Through the cabin window, he could see the flicker of the fire he had started in the fireplace. The sight might be welcome to someone else, but not to Josh. He didn’t want to be here. The first glance he had of the cabin in years made him face the reality that the building was hardly fit for habitation, just as his mother had said. Maybe he should have driven her to the church. At least the flue was clear and able to take the smoke out into the storm. He opened the truck door again and retrieved the sleeping bag, pillow and his small duffel bag. He would help the lady warm up, but first thing tomorrow he was taking her home and going about the business that had brought him to Bear Meadows.
Supplies under his arm, he tromped through the snow. One foot on the first step, he paused at the sight of a few spindly branches sticking out of the pile of snow to the left. Something new since the last time he was home. The thorns on the branches indicated a rosebush, and knowing his mother, he bet she had rescued an heirloom shrub from somewhere and given it a new home at the cabin.
Stomping his boots on the porch, he opened the door. She sat cross-legged on the hearth, close to the roaring fire. Working as a medic in the desert didn’t give him much experience on frostbite, but he remembered a little bit from his training. One of the most important things was to warm the victim up slowly.
Hanging his parka on a hook by the door, he surveyed the space. The kitchen had a small fridge that, he remembered, needed a generator to run. A folded blanket, a quilt and camp supplies sat on the counter. There was an unfinished flight of stairs that led to a loft that looked out over the creek. But only two treads had been laid. The rest were stacked nearby. Obviously, his parents had stopped working on the cabin. But for now, the structure offered him and the lady a roof over their heads, protection from the winds and a fire for warmth. He had been lucky to find a pack of matches in a kitchen drawer. His gaze finally landed on the woman. Her chin rested on her chest. Walking toward the counter, he took the quilt and spread it on the floor in front of the fireplace. He lay his sleeping bag over top. She didn’t move, so he rested one hand on the woman’s shoulder. Her eyes flickered. She kept silent.
Josh knelt in front of her and reached for the zipper on one pretty black boot. One of the first signs of hypothermia was confusion. He glanced at her face, registering her breathing. He hoped she wasn’t too far along. At some point people needed medical care.
He removed both of her boots, and then her wet socks. Her feet were ice cold. He chanced a glimpse, but she said nothing. He found a pair of thick socks in his duffel bag. When he removed her coat and took off her gloves, he noticed the tips of her fingers were white. She was going to be in pain when the blood started circulating again. Warm her up slowly. He checked her face for signs of distress. Dark eyelashes lay upon white cheeks. Then he eased her onto the blanket and checked her pulse. She moaned and brought her hands close to her chest.
He looked around the cabin and found a two-burner camp propane stove and a metal coffeepot. His mother had probably been coming to the cabin to get away. And from what he remembered, she wasn’t often without a cup of coffee in her hand. Starting the propane heater, he poured water from the gallon jug into a pan and placed it on the stove. He was surprised to find a box of chamomile tea in a paper bag.
When the tea was ready, he carried the cup over to his visitor and jostled her shoulder. He knelt. “Wake up. You should drink this.”
Her eyelids fluttered as she struggled to sit. Finally he placed an arm around her back for support. Brown eyes blinked. For the first time he noticed dark circles under her eyes. “What is it?”
“It’s hot tea. Can you hold the cup?” He handed it to her. Her shivers had reduced to an occasional shudder, but she was able to wrap her hands around the mug and sip.
She should be okay. Her pulse was strong. She was alert. He had done his civic duty.
* * *
THE STINGING IN her fingers and toes woke her. Then the growling of her empty stomach. When her eyes popped open, the first thing she saw, lying on her side as she was, was a log glowing in a stone fireplace. The rest of the room was pitch-black. She pressed her fingers against her lips. Despite the pins and needles feeling, the rest of her was warm and comfortable. But she had no memory of where she was or how she got here.
Her gaze flicked upward. A single box of matches lay on one corner of the carved mantel. No clues there. A broom, the kind witches were known to fly, stood in the far corner. Her monogrammed quilted jacket from the station hung over the back of a wooden chair a few feet back from the fire, next to a small table. Her boots had been placed neatly on the floor. She wiggled her toes and could feel heavy loose socks.
Then she noticed the weight across her middle. She ran her hand along an arm wrapped in flannel. Her breath hitched as she rolled halfway over. When she saw the dark beard, everything came rushing back. The interview at the church, the coffee with Phil, the drive home with snow coming down so thick she could barely see two feet in front of her, and then just as she drove up the slight incline to the bridge, her car sliding backward into a ditch.
Her car was in a snowdrift near the bridge over Little Bear Creek. And she didn’t know who had rescued her. She hazarded another look at the bearded face. If he had indeed rescued her. She lifted his arm and placed it on his hip. He continued to sleep, his breathing even. She threw back the covers and slowly stood. Despite the fire, the floor was freezing. She tiptoed over to the window and looked out on the darkness. The snow was still coming down. She could barely make out the hulking form of the pickup. She chose the wooden chair by the fire and took in her surroundings.
Apparently the cabin was a work in progress.
Her stomach rumbled again, and she remembered all she had eaten that day was a container of yogurt and the ham sandwich at the church. She reached around for her coat and laid it across her lap so she could check the pockets for food.
“I hope you’re not thinking about going back out into the blizzard.”
She jumped at the words coming from the sleeping bag. She glanced down, barely able to make out the glint from his eyes as they reflected the fire. “I was looking for food.”
One hand, then both arms emerged from under the sleeping bag. “You and me both. I missed supper.”
“I had a ham sandwich at the church.” The bearded man wore a wrinkled blue plaid shirt. The third button down hung by a few threads. She still didn’t know who or what she was dealing with here. She closed her fingers around the house key in her coat pocket. If he threatened her, she could always stab him. With the house key.
“I thought you were going into hypothermia. You were a little confused earlier.” He reached overhead and stretched with a loud yawn.
Somehow he didn’t look as intimidating yawning. But criminals yawned. “I was?”
“Uh-huh.”
She remembered considering jumping out of the truck. “I thought you were a mountain man.” She looked at him. “You’re not, are you?”
“A mountain man?” Leaning back on both elbows, he grinned. “No. No, I’m not a mountain man.”
“But I don’t even know who you are.”
His smile grew wider. “We’re even then.”
She waited. But Walt’s journalist trick didn’t work on this guy. He didn’t seem to be much of a talker. “My name is Wendy.”
Even white teeth flashed from the dark beard. “Nice to meet you, Wendy. Did you have any luck with those pockets?” She looked down at the coat in her lap. Her fingers still clutched the house key. She flexed her fingers and felt something else. Withdrawing her hand, she held up Riley’s baby gift. “One Hershey Kiss. Want to split it?”
He laughed, a deep, rumbling laugh and suddenly she felt better than she had since he had pulled her from underneath the car. “You need the energy more than I do.” Crawling onto the floor just as she had minutes before, he stood. “I’ll see if I can find something to go with a single Hershey Kiss.”
Ten minutes later she sat on the chair, the quilt around her shoulders. Coffee bubbled in the glass top of an old-fashioned percolator tucked close to the fire. Using one of his gloves as a hot pad, Josh picked up the pot and poured each of them a coffee. “I have no idea how old this coffee is.” He walked over to where his coat hung on a hook by the door and reached into a pocket. When he returned he handed her a cookie and placed the bag between them.
Wendy picked up the mug covered with pink roses and sipped. “Is this your cabin?”
His mug was dark green with the words Army Mom on the side. “Belongs to my family.”
Funny, but she didn’t remember ever seeing the man across from her around town. She set down her cup, reached for a cookie and took a bite. “Not bad. Try one.” The man carried homemade sugar cookies around in his coat pocket. The treat reminded her of something, but she couldn’t recall what. Her mother certainly wasn’t a baker, even during the holidays. She watched the man, roughly her own age, she decided, devour his cookie in two bites. “You must be starved. You can have the rest. I’m still working on this one.”
“No, we share. That’s fair.” He reached for another cookie. “But I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone eat a cookie as slowly as you.”
“My father says I eat slowly because I like to savor my food.” She smiled, thinking of her parents’ exasperation with her dawdling over dessert as a child.
“Speaking of parents, aren’t yours worried about you? I grabbed your purse from the car. Maybe you should call somebody? A boyfriend? A coworker, even.”
Wendy laughed at the thought of calling Phil away from his family. Only then did Wendy notice her purse next to her boots. Reaching over, she searched the contents for her phone. She held the screen next to the fire to see. “Dead. I was wondering what time it is.”
“Oh dark thirty.”
Smiling at his response, she dropped the phone back in the purse. “No boyfriend. And my parents are away, not that they would notice. Dad is with his other daughter. His favorite.” She forced a smile and decided to change the subject. She held up the rose cup. “Seems like an odd choice for a manly man such as yourself.”
He laughed. “That’s my mom’s.”
She took a deep breath and felt a little better. Although plenty of serial killers had mother issues. “This has been quite the adventure.” She tilted her head toward the back corner of the room. “What’s behind that door?”
The man twisted to see where she was looking. “The bathroom. Green.”
“Green?”
“Compostable.”
“Oh. Well, at least there’s a bathroom.”
“I have my priorities.” His grin disappeared when he picked up the two remaining cookies. “You should eat these. Your body needs to manufacture heat to make up for your drop in body temperature.”
“I’ll make you a deal. I’ll eat one more if you eat the other.” She held up the Hershey Kiss. “And we split this.”
His teeth flashed behind the beard. “Deal.”
She picked up the tiny pyramid of chocolate, bit off half and handed her companion the remainder.
“Thank you.”
She shivered. The half of her body next to the fire was warm, but the other half was freezing.
“You should get back under the blanket. This cabin wasn’t intended for winter occupation.” Taking her empty cup with the roses, he carried both over to the counter.
Wendy slithered under the covers and rolled over so she faced the fire. She heard him use the bathroom, then walk over to the chair that she’d just vacated. A heavy silence filled the room. Military. Oh dark thirty was a military reference. She shivered again.
“Still cold, huh?”
“I can’t sleep,” she whispered.
“Me neither. Must be the caffeine in the coffee.” Josh shifted in his seat, staring at the fire. “I could go for a bowl of ice cream.”
Wendy rolled her eyes. “There’s a blizzard right outside that door, and you want ice cream?”
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T. McClure
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: What happens when you do go home again?One mistake cost Josh Hunter almost everything. Burning his bridges was easier than coming home. Yet here he is, eight years—and one family crisis—later, back in his Pennsylvania town playing unlikely rescuer to a blizzard-stranded stranger.Local newscaster Wendy Valentine is looking for the story that will make her name as a serious journalist. The tragic secret Josh is concealing could be her stepping-stone. Funny then that Wendy seems more interested in the sizzling personal dynamics playing out between them!