Читать книгу Snowbound Bride - Cathy Thacker Gillen - Страница 5

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

From there, it was pretty much a blur.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her slender shoulders sagged at the news.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re welcome,” Sam replied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Clover Creek 30.

Pleasantville 15.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course…” Everyone nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nora blinked. “Who?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tell you what?” Nora wheezed, perplexed.

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

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

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

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

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