"Home. I've got some wood to unload and a dog that's been cooped up all afternoon."
"Well, you better get going then. Give Dash a scratch behind the ears for me, will yah?"
Smiling, I nodded. "I'll do that."
"Merry Christmas, Clara." Sheriff Henderson tipped his hat to me. "Get home safely."
"Merry Christmas, Sheriff." I put the truck into drive, then back into park. "Hey, Sheriff. There's a truck on route 3, just before Hanson's woodlot. The driver spun out and took a trip into the rhubarb. I pulled him out, but didn't stick around to see if his car was drivable."
"I'll go take a look and make sure they can get into town." Sheriff Henderson tilted his head. The snowfall had returned and was accumulating on the plastic cover wrapped around his cowboy hat. "Why didn't you stick around? That's not like you."
I was the town's unofficial tow truck. Shrugging, I put the truck into drive. "It's Beckett Shepherd."
"Roger." He nodded and patted the truck. Even if he hadn't picked up on the ice in my voice, like everyone else in Chance Rapids, he knew our backstory. "Keep your eyes on the road, kiddo."
Focusing on the road ahead, I turned on the radio, back to the twangy country, and by the timeSilent Nightwas over, I was turning into my driveway. All was calm and bright.
Beckett had train-wrecked me enough that I'd driven through the only stoplight in town. It took me years to get over him, years that I would never get back. I wasn't going to give him one more minute of my life or space in my brain.
My cabin was the bunkhouse for an old ranch, but it had been abandoned for years. The last owner had been a kooky off-grid hermit who disappeared and the bank foreclosed on the property. When mom died, her life insurance was enough for me to put down a payment, and if I worked full-time at Sugar Peaks Coffee Shop, I could make ends meet.
The door creaked open and the last of the coals in the wood-stove cast a glow through the one-room cabin. I didn't have to see Dash lounging on my quilt to know that he was on my bed. I heard his tail whacking on the blankets as I kicked the snow off my boots and unzipped my coat. "Are you on the bed, buddy?"
The tail thumping sped up. I couldn't be mad at him, though. He was getting older, and after our long walks, he needed somewhere soft to rest until I got home. I stoked the fire and put on another log, waiting for it to catch before shutting the door. Dash sniffed around the truck while I pulled an armload of wood from the bed. After the long day and run-in with Beckett, I was exhausted. The wood could stay in the back for one night before I stacked it in the shed. Leaving it covered in a tarp, Dash and I headed inside.
It was only eight o'clock, but when it gets dark at four in the afternoon, it tends to feel a lot later. "It's never too early for pajamas,” I justified to no one and stepped into my favorite pair of red flannel pants. Unbuttoning my Sugar Peaks Bakery logo shirt, I tossed it on the chair, unclipped my bra beneath the white tank top and pulled it out of the armhole. It landed on top of the work shirt then slithered to the floor. I'd pick it up tomorrow.
Christmas tree ornaments hung from the potted fern in the front window, gifts from the kids I coached. "What do you think, Dash? Should we get a tree on my next day off?"
His tail thumped in response, but it likely had more to do with the bowl of cereal I had poured and was eating in bed. I let him lick the last of the milk and set the bowl on the nightstand. My eyelids felt like they were made of lead. Giving in to the exhaustion, I wrapped my arm around Dash's gray and black flecked coat and tried not to think about how Beckett had aged. The jerk looked good.
So he'd thrown me off a little. At least this time I didn't cry. Hopefully he'd finish whatever 'business' he was in town for and leave again, and in that time, I would do my best to make sure our paths wouldn't cross again.
3
BECK
The bedat the Snowy Peaks Inn was perfectly comfortable, so why did my back feel like I'd passed out on the floor?
The accident had seemed minor, but waking up to a purple eye and a red slash across the bridge of my nose had still been a surprise. I rubbed my fist in circles on my aching lower back.
I'd told myself the adrenaline from the accident and the excitement of the upcoming business deal had kept me tossing and turning all night, but I was lying to myself. The coldness that took over Clara's eyes when she realized that the man in the ditch was… me, had kept me awake. By dawn, I gave in to my insomnia and sat on the cushion in the bay window, watching as snowflakes, big ones, swirled in the glow of the iron streetlamp in front of the Inn.
It had been so many years. Why did she still care enough to hate me?
It shouldn't have bothered me, at least that's what the businessman in me said. But the small-town boy inside, the one who had just run into his first true love, was bothered a lot.
Shaking my head, I tried to get Clara out of my mind. I couldn't let the past derail my future. This deal was a bigone, one that could make or break my career with the King Corporation.
The realtor was waitingfor me outside the Inn. She looked to be in her late thirties. Her teeth were white and perfect behind red lipstick and a genuine smile. She had kind eyes, and long black hair hung from beneath a wool hat covered in snow.
"Good morning," I said, removing my leather glove and extending my hand. "Charlotte, I presume?"
"You presume correctly."
Her hand was warm, and her handshake was firm. "I'm glad you decided to walk. This storm caught everyone by surprise."
"I didn't really have a choice.” I laughed. "My rental is at the G-Spot garage getting the airbags replaced. I sent it right into the prickles last night."
