Winter's Secret

by Lyn Cote

  Rodd bid him a polite farewell. Leading Wendy through the thick veil of snow, he opened the car door for her and blocked the wind while she climbed in. Behind the wheel, Rodd threaded his way through the congested city streets onto the highway out of town. Feeling the wind blow against the car, he had a feeling that the lake-effect snow might be with them for more than ten miles.

  He was right. Though he'd left the city traffic well behind, he slowed the Blazer and trailer to a crawl on the snow-slick highway. Cars turned off at small towns for the night while the 18-wheelers sped on, sticking to their schedules.

  A semi barreled around them as though it were a hot day in July. Its white wake blotted out the road, the horizon, everything. Rodd tensed, trying to stay on the road. I feel like I'm driving by Braille.

  "About now, I wish we had your Jeep and its four-wheel drive," Wendy murmured.

  Rodd leaned forward over the steering wheel, peering into the white night. "I can't disagree with you. I'm afraid we're going to be getting home quite late."

  "What's that?" Wendy suddenly pointed forward.

  Flashing blue lights and rotating red lights loomed out of the whiteness. Nothing more could be seen.

  "It's an accident. We have to stop. Brace yourself." Rodd hit the brakes. Pump. The trailer fishtailed, skidded. Pump. Pump. The rear of the Blazer swerved to the right.

  His heart pounding in his chest, he steered into the skid. The Blazer and trailer slid left and rocked to a halt. Just yards ahead, a jackknifed semi lay across the road—a beached whale in a whiteout snowstorm.

  Feeling the weight of fatigue settling over him, Rodd stared ahead into the swirling wet snow. He had to get out and identify himself and offer assistance to the law officers already at the scene. They probably wouldn't need him, but they could tell him how long the two-lane highway would be blocked. He just wanted to get both Wendy and himself home safely for a good night's sleep.

  "I'll come with you. Someone may need medical attention," Wendy said.

  Mechanically, he zipped up his jacket and turned up its collar. "No, I'll go and let you know if you're—"

  "No, I'm coming." She dragged on her outerwear too.

  Under the circumstances, he appreciated her gallantry. Since they'd left Duluth, she'd been watching the dashboard clock. Obviously, she dreaded getting home late. His dispatcher had warned him against Veda McCracken. He didn't want to open Wendy up to any mean-spirited talk. I should have paid attention to Harlan's weather forecast and postponed this trip.

  Insisting Wendy wait for him, he opened his door, got out, and walked around to her door. Soggy snow pelted him, leaking down the back of his neck while wind buffeted him. He opened Wendy's door and, guiding her by the arm, picked his way through the snow sweeping across the pavement. Reaching into his pocket, he got out his wallet with his badge tucked into it. He approached the first officer and held it out. "Hi, I'm Sheriff Durand. This is Miss Wendy Carey, a nurse. Do you need our assistance?" Drawing in cold air with his words pulled the chill deep inside him.

  The state policeman glanced at Rodd's ID and Wendy's face. He touched his hat brim politely to her. "No one is injured, miss. We've radioed for a wrecker, Sheriff. We're closing down a ten-mile section of this highway."

  Raw arctic wind swooped around Rodd. His spirits dropped. "That bad, huh?"

  "The front has stalled over Superior and this is the worst stretch." The bitter wind slashed at their unprotected faces. The officer lowered his chin, trying to protect face. "We're going to get dumped on all night. If we shut down the highway, we think we'll save more truckers from ending up in the ditch like this one."

  Resigning himself, Rodd glanced around at the snow-shrouded forest that edged the road. Not a place he wanted Wendy stranded. She shivered beside him. He angled himself in front of her to shield her from the wind. "Is there a motel anywhere near here?" He folded his arms, trying to hold in his body heat.

  "No, but a public shelter has been opened." The trooper motioned behind Rodd. "Cross over and go back to that frontage road." The gale carried away the man's words. He shouted to be heard. "We've put it out on citizens band that the road is blocked and is shutting down."

  A public shelter, not separate rooms in a motel. No hot shower. Rodd snatched breath from the whirlwind and shouted, "Where exactly is the shelter?"

  "A little town, Good Hope. They're setting up at the community church there." Then the man began backing into the wind toward his own vehicle.

  Rodd waved his thanks. With Wendy sheltered under his arm, he headed into the sharp wind back to the Blazer. Inside the warm car again, he opened his jacket and wiped his wet face with his hands. "Well, I guess we better turn around."

  "Right." The howling wind muffled Wendy's subdued voice.

  Rodd didn't blame her for a lack of enthusiasm. He'd have to think of a way to shield her from wagging tongues—but later. Now he had to get them safely out of the storm. Conscious of the trailer, he eased the car into reverse, backed up, and carefully turned onto the other lane. "We don't have much choice. Why don't you call your grandfather?"

  Wendy had noticed that Rodd was upset about their not arriving home as they'd planned. She refused to think about how. Veda would might it against her but God was still in control. They'd bought the snowmobile, and now God was sending them to a safe harbor in this dangerous storm. Using the dash light, she punched her grandfather's number into her cell phone. The musical tones sounded.

  Harlan picked up on the first ring. "Where are you?"

  Grandfather sounded worried. She was glad Rodd couldn't hear him. "Grandfather, the highway's been closed because of lake-effect snow. We're being held up by a storm, so we're headed for a public shelter in Good Hope."

  "Good." Grandfather's voice came through loud and clear, trying to sound cheerful. He went on. "Don't you worry. I'll let Sage know you're all right. Tell Rodd I'll feed and water his stock before supper. It's not even snowing here, but that's lake effect for you. We'll probably get some of it later."

  "Thanks, Grandfather. We'll see you tomorrow." Snapping the phone shut, she looked to Rodd. "Grandfather says he'll take care of your cattle." She pursed her lips. "I didn't consider the possibility we wouldn't be back tonight. I have calls scheduled at seven-thirty tomorrow morning."

  Rodd nodded. "Not much we can do about a closed highway. Call the clinic and tell them to reschedule your morning appointments."

  She did as he suggested, while he fought the wind to stay on the road. Wendy said another prayer for their safety and tried not to worry . The elements pounded the windows, drawing her closer to Rodd's silent strength. Weather like this could become even nastier—and without warning.

  Finally, Rodd turned off onto the frontage road. The town's sign, plastered with snow, read "old Hop." "We're going to spend the night in 'ood Hop,'" he teased.

  Wendy rewarded his effort to lighten the mood with a half smile. The chill in the Blazer was gaining on the old heater. Winter could be dangerous, deadly. She had to force herself not to inch nearer Rodd.

  He negotiated the snow-packed road into the tiny town, which turned out to have a tavern and one church. Two SUVs were parked along the road in front of the small, white frame church. He parked beside the church and turned to Wendy. "I'm sorry—"

  "I know." With swift jerks, she adjusted her hat and gloves and gathered up her purse. "Let's get inside." Without waiting for him, she yanked open her door.

  He met her at the back of the Blazer and grasped her arm at the bend of her elbow. The wind whipped the power lines overhead, jangling them like bracelets. The force of the storm made her cling to the sheriff's support. With her head down, she leaned into the shelter he provided as he piloted her through the snowdrifts to the faint light over the church door. He tried the knob and it opened. He drew her inside.

  She was winded but tried to hide it. The dark foyer didn't feel very warm. She pointed toward a dimly lighted stairwell. "Let's go downstairs. That's probabl
y where they're setting up." He let her precede him. Shivering, she heard voices from below and called out, "Hello, you've got company!"

  "Come down," an older male voice replied. "We're about to fire up the old woodstove down here. We'll be warm before you know it."

  After stomping the snow off their boots, Wendy and Rodd shuffled down the steps and found an elderly couple bundled up to their chins in an assortment of mismatched coats, hats, and mufflers, waiting to greet them at the bottom.

  "Hello! We're the Learys. I'm Tiny and here's my wife, Lolly." The small, wizened man offered Rodd his hand. The sheriff shook hands and introduced Wendy and himself.

  "So you're the sheriff one county over?" the older lady asked.

  Rodd nodded.

  "Can we help?" Wendy shivered in spite of herself.

  "Oh, after Tiny gets the woodstove hot, I'm going to open the cupboards and get some food going." Lolly beamed at them as though they were the answer to a prayer.

  "It's really nice of you to set up a shelter for us." Wendy tried to stop shivering.

  "Don't think a thing of it," Tiny assured them. "We only live a few doors down. The pastor lives out of town, so we always open up the church. Been members here since we were little kids. We'd have you in our home, but it's only a one-bedroom. Just big enough for us. This isn't the first time we've done this. One time we had people here for four days. That was back in the seventies."

  Knowing that tonight would be added to Tiny's collection of winter tales to tell, Wendy grinned. Rodd caught her eye. a mischievous glint in his. Her grin widened as she shared their private joke.

  With arms loaded with wood, two large men clumped inside, stomping off snow. "Here are our other guests." Tiny introduced them to the two out-of-state hunters who'd been sidelined by the storm.

  Rodd took a step closer to her. Wendy wondered why. Was he protecting her? Rodd asked, "Do you need more wood? I can go out and bring in a load."

  "No, this should be enough for the night." Tiny shook his head. "We keep the gas furnace set real low to save money. This is an old woodstove, but a good one. It burns good and steady. This whole basement will be warm before you know it."

  In the kitchen, Wendy helped Lolly inspect the church cupboards and fire up the propane stove. She listened as Rodd helped the men load the stove with wood and kindling, then began to unpack musty cots and blankets from a storage room. She wasn't surprised when Rodd took charge and the other men followed him. She didn't think it was because he was a sheriff. He was just a man who naturally commanded respect.

  Within an hour, it was warm enough to hang up their jackets. Within the next hour, everyone—including two more travelers, a husband and wife—sat down to a supper of a surprisingly tasty tuna-noodle casserole in the church kitchen. As they sat around the table, Tiny recounted storms from the past. In the warmth, Wendy began to relax, chatting with Lolly and the stranded wife.

  Rodd had settled into the company too. His deep assuring voice soothed her, overriding the constant bluster of the storm. Her gaze kept straying to him until she noticed Lolly watching her.

  The lights went out.

  "Oh! More excitement!" Tiny chuckled. "Everyone stay where you are so I don't step on you. I set the oil lamp right here on the counter."

  Wendy heard Tiny's footsteps and his fumbling in the darkness for the oil lamp and matches on the counter. A grating, then the golden flare of a match. In the glow, Tiny lit the wick. He settled the glass globe over the flame and placed the hurricane lamp in the center of the table. "Some people put these on shelves and call 'em antiques. My grandmother bought this lamp at the Good Hope Mercantile. That's been years ago. ..." Tiny rambled on.

  Wendy realized then that she'd reached for Rodd's hand. Feeling foolish, she tried to let go. For a moment, he gripped her hand, then released it.

  She was grateful for the low light that had probably masked her impulsive gesture . But what would it feel like to hold Rodd's hand and know he sought her touch?

  In the middle of the night, Wendy woke up, slid off her cot, and tiptoed up the steps. She stood by the doors, looking out at the swirling snow under the scant moonlight. The snow had stopped falling, but it still obeyed the wind, which blew it in broad sweeps. The beauty of its savage wildness touched something deep inside her; even in its harshness the power of the wind and snow could awe her. The Creator had given everything a beauty of its own.

  But she hadn't gotten up to stand in the chilly entryway just to contemplate the snow. The question she'd gone to sleep with had wakened her, insisting on an answer. What was going on between her and the sheriff? Was anything going on between them? Could she stop it ... ?

  A shadow behind her ... a tingling raced up her spine.

  Chapter Six

  "Can't sleep?" Rodd had come up behind her. The creaking of the old church and the swish of the wind against the glass must have masked his footsteps.

  Stifling a gasp, she glanced at him warily. "I just wanted to see how the weather was. The snow's stopped, but it's drifting." Her voice sounded funny to her. She gestured toward the blue-shadowed snow cliffs and shallows around vehicles slumped all along the empty street.

  Rodd made a sound of nominal agreement. "We should have taken off earlier; then I could have beaten the storm home."

  His self-scolding tone worried her. "You can't think of everything. God knew where we'd be and what we'd face."

  "If the wind stops," he went on without commenting on her observation, "they should be able to clear the highway, and we can get home in the morning." His low voice rumbled close to her ear.

  So close, she felt him breathing. His nearness brought her senses to life, and her own breathing became shallow. In her life, she rarely found herself alone with a single man under the age of seventy. But the larger truth was that Rodd Durand made her feel different than any other man ever had. What was she going to do about this? That was the question that had wakened her.

  Here, far from Steadfast, it was too easy to forget Veda's watchful eyes and her sharp tongue.

  "I know you're worrying, but don't."The sheriff's softened voice curled itself around her like an embrace.

  She looked straight ahead. "I'm trying not to."

  Rodd rested his hands on her shoulders.

  She stilled, her heart thumping out of control. His touch was just a common gesture. Meant to be reassuring. But she fought her own reaction—her desire to rest her cheek upon one of his warm, strong hands. Did he feel a similar pull toward her?

  "Don't worry about what people will say." His voice rumbled so near again, making her neck prickle in response. "The unreasonable people or the ones who have their own guilty consciences will think the worst. The good people will give us the benefit of the doubt."

  His understanding caught her off guard. Alive to his warm breath against her nape, she nodded. "I know. I just ...hate it ...when people talk." This twisted her heart. I have to stop letting Veda get to me. Easier said than done.

  "Everything will be okay," he murmured. His lips grazed the skin just below her ear.

  A kiss? Her breath caught. Had he kissed her? Probably not. Just a chance touch, but if she turned her face toward him, would he? Her face turned of its own accord. The air between them became warm, charged. She couldn't breathe.

  Rodd tightened his grip on her shoulders, then rested his cheek against hers. His unshaven skin, roughened from the late hour, sent shivers of awareness coursing through her.

  "I'll get you home safely tomorrow; don't you worry," he murmured, tickling her ear with his breath.

  She struggled with herself. He had come up here to ease her worries—that was all. They weren't doing anything wrong. In spite of reaction to him, love was too dangerous a venture for her to contemplate—with anyone. She just wanted to help him catch the thief who preyed on her patients. That was all she wanted, wasn't it?

  "Let's go back downstairs." She forced herself to step away from his touch. "No use losing sleep ov
er what we can't help." And no use getting accustomed to being near you.

  In the hush of Thanksgiving morning over a week later, fine snow fell like crushed diamonds. As Rodd walked beside Wendy over the freshly plowed church parking lot, he watched snowflakes frost her hair. When Rodd had stopped at church to see how the Thanksgiving Outreach Dinner was going, Harlan had asked him to help Wendy deliver meals to church members who couldn't come to the church and to nonmembers who had signed up but didn't want to come out on the snowy roads. He'd been more than happy to oblige. He had wanted a chance to tell her his next step in catching the Weasel.