Snowbound Bride

by Cathy Gillen Thacker

  Nora looked as if she’d been struck by a bolt of lightning, and her glance shifted to the radio he carried on his belt. Her mouth opened in a round O of surprise. Her face paling, she looked up at him, “Did you hear it go off, too?”

  “No,” Sam replied. “I didn’t.” What was going on with her? Was she afraid to be alone with him, after the conversation they’d had this afternoon about the possibility of the two of them making love sometime soon? Had she had a change of heart and was afraid to tell him? Or was she still thinking along the same lines and nervous about the idea of making love?

  Noting she still looked confused, Sam continued explaining, “The radio in the office is kept on a different frequency than the portable units we use. Since we’re such a small operation, doing that saves a lot of con fusion and keeps the portable units open for emergency use, the one here in the office available for more pedestrian matters. When the phone lines are up and running, we sometimes put the radio units all on one frequency, and use the phone for the routine stuff. Sort of depends on how much is going on. Obviously, today there’s a lot going on, so we keep as many frequencies as possible monitored, so people can get ahold of us. We make the judgment on a day-by-day basis.”

  “So tonight the one in the office—?”

  “Is only being monitored here,” Sam verified. “Though it seems my deputy is out on a call.”

  “Oh.” To Sam’s consternation, Nora practically sagged with relief.

  Which blew his theory that she was worried, on a romantic basis, about being alone with him. His jaw tautening, Sam advanced on Nora. “Back to my question, were you talking on the radio just now?” And if so, why don’t you want to tell me about whatever it was that was said?

  “Oh, that.” Nora flushed and waved an idle hand as she accidentally bumped into the edge of a desk. “I don’t know much about how these shortwave radios work, and as I was trying to figure out how to call your grandparents’ home, I accidentally picked up a transmission meant for someone else. It took me a moment to shut it off.”

  Sam studied her bluntly, his gut instinct telling him that was only a select portion of the truth. Curious as to what she was going to come up with next, Sam folded his arms in front of him. “So who was it?”

  Nora tossed her hair and adopted an air that was even more girlishly innocent. “Who was what?”

  Sam closed the distance between them. “That you overheard,” he explained.

  “Uh, I don’t know.” Nora zipped by him in a drift of floral perfume. Appearing distracted, she busied herself collecting her coat, mittens and hat. “I didn’t hear enough to really be able to tell,” she finished nonchalantly.

  Sam tipped his head to the side and studied her relentlessly. He knew in his heart that Nora was no criminal. That didn’t mean she wasn’t up to something. And it didn’t mean that she didn’t need his help—because right now he had the feeling she did, in the worst way.

  He stepped forward and wordlessly took her coat, mittens, and hat from her and set them on his desk. He slid his hands behind her and overlapped them, then drew her against him. “It sounded like you were talking, too,” he said.

  “Probably,” Nora conceded in a soft, matter-of-fact voice as she splayed her hands across his chest and ducked her head, ignoring the questions in his eyes. “Whenever I get frustrated with my inability to do something, I try and talk myself through it.”

  Sam could believe that. She’d demonstrated from the very first second he laid eyes on her that she was a very headstrong woman. Just as she was demonstrating now, by the way she was melting against him, that there was more than unanswered questions between them. There was also a sizzling, uncontrollable desire that was not likely to ever go away. And, Sam thought on a wave of distinctly male satisfaction as their glances met and Nora drew in a trembling breath, she knew it, too.

  “And speaking of frustration, have you given some thought to what we talked about earlier?”

  “Yes, I want to make love to you,” Sam said gruffly, knowing that was one fact not likely to change, no matter what the future heralded.

  Nora flushed and rolled her eyes. “Not that. The other,” she insisted softly, stepping out of the circle of his arms.

  Now it was Sam’s turn to be confused. “What other?” he demanded.

  She answered him in one word. “Susan.”

  Sam loosened his tie, as if it were choking him, keeping his eyes on her face all the while. Not sure whether to resent or respect her persistence about discovering the most intimate details of his life before they did what they both wanted to do—and made love—he asked mildly, “You’re really not going to let go of that, are you?”

  Nora shot him a wickedly feminine smile and, clearing a swath of papers with her hand, perched on the edge of his desk. “Not as long as it holds the key to understanding your heart.”

  Sam thrust his hands in his pockets and leaned back against a nearby wall, his legs crossed at the ankles, his body at a comfortable slant. While he could have done without some of her persistent questions, it pleased him that she not only wanted to make love with him—without matrimonial guarantees of any kind—but wanted to really understand him, too. “You really think it does?” he asked softly.

  Nora smiled with a sweet sexiness all her own and held his eyes. “Don’t you?” she retorted softly.

  Sam realized that, as reluctant as he was to discuss his failed romance, he didn’t want any secrets between him and Nora. Not about anything. And maybe the way to get her to confide more in him was to confide more in her first. Certainly, it was worth a try. “What do you want to know?” he asked casually, as she strolled across the room and stood next to him.

  Nora leaned a slender shoulder against the wall and slanted her head back beneath his. “Everything,” she said softly. “How you met her, why you fell in love with her, what happened to break it off.”

  “Susan was a TV reporter for the local news in Chicago,” Sam said, pushing his fingers through the tousled layers of his golden-brown hair. “We met while she was doing a story.”

  “Was it love at first sight?”

  “I don’t know.” Sam shrugged. “Can you love someone without really knowing them?” That was a question the two of them needed to answer, too.

  Nora swallowed. “Nevertheless, you were going to marry her.”

  Sam nodded without remorse. “And I probably would’ve, had I not caught her going through the files on my laptop computer late one night when she thought I was asleep.”

  “What was she looking for?”

  Sam sighed. Pushing away from the wall, he began to pace the office wearily. “Leads on potential stories for the TV station where she worked.” Worse than his anger had been the betrayal he’d felt.

  “What did she say when you caught her?”

  Sam shrugged and turned his gaze back to Nora. “Pretty much what you would expect someone to say in that situation. That she was sorry. That her ambition had gotten the better of her.”

  “And yet you couldn’t forgive her,” Nora guessed, her green eyes narrowing.

  “Actually, I probably could’ve,” Sam allowed, “if she’d promised me she would never do it again.”

  “But she didn’t,” Nora said sorrowfully.

  Sam shook his head, recalling without wanting to how hurt and disillusioned he had been. “Susan expected me to understand that the extraordinarily successful journalists always did whatever they had to do to get a story. And that she was one who always, always, went the extra mile in the course of her work.” Even if that meant destroying her relationship with me in the process, Sam thought.

  “And she said that, even though she knew how much she’d hurt you?” Nora looked both shocked and incensed.

  Sam nodded. “And it was her stubborn refusal to change, even in the face of the realization that her actions had damn near destroyed our relationship, that made me realize she wasn’t the woman I had thought—hoped—she was.” He shrugged again,
knowing he’d had no other choice. “And so I broke it off.”

  Nora studied Sam. In his own way, he was just as stubborn and single-minded as her father. The difference was, Sam was much more inclined to let her do things her own way. That meant a lot to her. More than she could have said. Because she didn’t think she could get involved with someone who would go behind her back to manipulate her again—even if he thought, as first her father and now Geoff had, that it was for her own good.

  Before she could comment further, the phone rang. It took a moment for it to register what a wondrous sound that was—after nearly twenty-four hours of doing without. Realizing service had been restored, Nora and Sam looked at each other. “Well, what do you know? Civilization is returning.” Sam grinned as he reached for the receiver.

  “Hi, Gran.” He listened a moment. “That’s good news. Hang on a second and let me tell Nora.” He covered the receiver with his hand. “Gus just called. He’s in Indianapolis.”

  Nora blinked and tried not to let herself think how the just-restored phone service could swiftly ruin everything about her stay in Clover Creek. Working to keep her anxiety in check—the last thing she wanted was her father’s detectives catching up with her now!—she inquired casually, with a smile she knew did not quite reach her eyes, “What’s Gus doing there?”

  “It was the only flight he could get out of New York City last night before the storm hit and they closed all the airports. He told Gran he figured he’d go west of the storm and then head back to us that way, as the roads cleared. So far he’s made it as far as Indianapolis. Even though they weren’t hit nearly as hard as us over there—I think they only got about seven inches of snow and no sleet in Indiana—it’s still pretty slow going. What, Gran?” Sam paused. “Gran says Gus still hopes to be here tomorrow, but Gran thinks he’s being overly optimistic.” Sam listened again, frowning. “Now, Gran, there’s no need to panic just yet. Yes, I promise, I’ll bring Nora home with me when I come, but it won’t be for a while yet. I’ve got to stay here in case there are any more calls before things shut down for the night. Right. See you later.” Sam hung up and looked at Nora. “Gran also wanted us to know a new wave of snow and sleet has already hit the West Virginia mountains south of us and is officially bearing down on us. The Weather Channel says it will hit us in about two hours. It’s supposed to go on much of the night.”

  Nora made a face. “On top of all this snow?”

  Sam nodded. “It’s going to be a mess.”

  But it will also keep me stuck here, and protected from outside interference in my life, a little while longer.

  Oblivious to her thoughts, Sam continued, “In light of that, Gran said they’ve gone ahead and canceled the EMS fundraiser, due to the continued bad weather. They’re going to reschedule it in a couple of weeks, rather than risk a low turnout.”

  “Sounds smart.”

  “Yeah, although that doesn’t help the community much. We really need another ambulance as soon as possible. The people here are going to be disappointed. They’d do just about anything to get one, and I don’t blame them.” The phone rang again. “Excuse me,” Sam said. “Sheriff’s office.” Then he listened intently. “Slow down, honey. Slow down and tell me what happened. All right. Tell your dad to hold on. I’ll be right there.”

  “What’s happening?” Nora said.

  Sam frowned. “That was Doc Ellen’s five-year-old daughter, Katie. She said Joe—her dad—fell off the ladder and has a big ouchie on his face that’s bleeding.”

  Oh, dear. “Where’s Doc Ellen?” Nora asked urgently.

  “Apparently she’s on a house call on one of the farms outside Clover Creek. Katie said her Mom will be back soon, but in the meantime, I’ve got to try and get some EMS out there to help Joe.” Sam picked up the phone and punched in a number. He listened, then identified himself and briefly explained. He paused, then swore tersely beneath his breath. “No, no, I’ll manage somehow. Thanks.”

  “What is it?” Nora asked as soon as Sam hung up, knowing that whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

  Sam tossed Nora her coat and grabbed his. “Our only ambulance is already out on a call. You and I are going to have to handle this.”

  “HURRY, HURRY,” Katie, Ellen Maxwell’s five-year-old daughter said when Sam and Nora arrived at Doc Ellen’s farm house. “My daddy’s inside and he’s bleeding!”

  Sam and Nora rushed past the ladder sprawled in the snow beside the front porch and into the house. Joe Maxwell was seated at the kitchen table, a snow shovel on the floor beside him. He was holding a cloth to his forehead, and he looked disoriented.

  Their daughter had antiseptic and Band-Aids on the table. She climbed on a chair and posed her folded hands in front of her in a most serious manner. “Daddy won’t let me touch his ouchie,” she told them gravely.

  “That’s okay.” Sam reassured the little girl with a smile. “We’re here now, and we can help out. But you can watch us if you want.”

  “Okay.” Katie scooted backward until her spine was touching the ladder back of the chair and her legs were straight out in front of her. “Mommy’s going to be mad,” she said with wide-eyed candor. “Mommy told Daddy not to get on that ladder if she wasn’t here.”

  “Doesn’t sound like bad advice,” Sam drawled as he took the cloth from Joe’s forehead and examined the gaping three-inch cut near the hairline. “What were you doing, anyway?” he asked.

  Joe moaned softly—whether in remembrance of his foolhardy actions or in response to the slight touch to his head, Nora could not tell.

  “I heard there was more snow mixed with sleet on the way, and I was afraid the porch roof was going to collapse under all that weight,” Joe confided miserably. “So I got the ladder out and started clearing off what I could reach with the shovel.” Joe shrugged—and grimaced, as if in pain, again. “The next thing I know, my feet are flying out from under me. I think I conked my head on the edge of the gutter on the way down.”

  “That’s what it looks like, all right,” Sam said.

  Joe peered up at them both. “Do I need stitches?”

  Sam and Nora both nodded. “It would appear so,” Nora said.

  Joe groaned. “Katie’s right. Ellen is going to kill me for this.”

  Sam and Nora exchanged looks. Sam held up two fingers in front of Joe’s face while his daughter Katie watched gravely from her chair. “How many fingers am I holding up?” Sam asked.

  “Two,” Joe and Katie said in unison.

  Everyone chuckled at the five-year-old’s enthusiastic reply. “Well, that’s a good sign,” Sam drawled, winking at little Katie, “that you and your daddy are seeing the same thing.”

  “Maybe we should clean this out a little, while we’re waiting for Ellen,” Nora said, opening the first aid kit. She shot Sam a look of quiet confidence. “In fact, I can do it, if you want. I was a lifeguard for several summers during college.”

  “That’d be great, thanks.” Sam looked at Katie, who was still sitting patiently on her chair, but beginning to look worried again as she viewed the gaping wound. He held out his hands, and she stood and went willingly into his arms. “While Nora works on your daddy’s ouchie, what do you say you and I give your mommy a call and see how much longer before she gets home?”

  “WE’VE GOT to get another ambulance, Sam,” Doc Ellen said an hour later, after she had stitched up her husband.

  “I know.” Sam patted the pacing physician’s shoulder.

  Ellen teared up. “If this had been even a tad more serious, I shudder to think—”

  “I know,” Sam reassured her firmly. “And we’ll get one soon. I promise. No matter what we have to do.”

  Relaxing slightly, Ellen nodded. She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue and looked at Nora. “Thanks for helping. You did a good job until I was able to get here.”

  Nora smiled. “I was glad to be of service.” In fact, it had felt good to help out. They didn’t have this kind of neighborliness and ca
maraderie back in the neighborhood she’d lived in in Pittsburgh, growing up. Not in her New York apartment building, either. In both places, it had been every man for himself.

  As conversation dwindled, Nora became aware of a soft, whispery sound on the roof. It was louder than rain, softer than hail. She looked at Sam; he looked back at her. “Is that sleet?” she asked, half-afraid she already knew the answer.

  “Sure sounds like it,” Sam agreed as he and Nora stepped out onto the porch. Nora looked at the mixture of ice and snow raining down from the sky and groaned. Of all forms of precipitation, sleet and ice were the most dangerous.

  Sam grimaced at the change in the weather and went back in to grab their coats. “We better get going,” he told her, and Nora agreed. Reassured that Doc Ellen’s husband was in good hands, they said their goodbyes and took off.

  Unfortunately for them, a thin layer of sleet had already accumulated on top of the snow packed down on the road. It made for a treacherous combination. Sam’s truck slipped and slid all over the road, losing traction as often as it gained it. “I don’t think we’re going to be able to make it all the way back into town tonight,” Sam said grimly as he struggled to keep the vehicle on the road.

  “I was thinking the same thing,” Nora said, already holding on for dear life. They were only going about five miles an hour, and she was already terrified. Plus, with the mixture of sleet and snow coming down harder with every second that passed, making visibility next to nothing, it only looked to get worse.

  “My place is on the next road over, and it’s a lot closer than town,” Sam told her. “Looks like we’re going to have to bunk there for the night.” He paused while her heart skipped a beat. “Is that okay with you?”

  “Sure,” Nora said. They were both adults. They could handle it. And besides, wasn’t this what she had wanted—an excuse to spend some uninterrupted time alone with Sam? Wasn’t this what they had both wanted?

  UNLIKE the frame farm houses and log cabins owned by his neighbors, Sam’s home was a modern A-frame set off the road. Sam hadn’t been there since the blizzard first hit the area, and neither the sidewalk leading up to the front porch nor the driveway had been cleared. Consequently, the porch was surrounded by two- and three-foot drifts of snow. By the time they waded through the driving sleet and drifts of snow to the front door, their clothes were soaked through.