Snowbound Bride

Snowbound Bride
Cathy Gillen Thacker

Not only was Nora Hart Kingsley stranded in a blizzard, but she was stuck in her wedding gown! Furthermore, her galoshes were attracting the attention of the far-too-good-looking lawman at the country roadside rest stop.Nora blew into Sheriff Sam Whittaker's county–and into his life–with the same gale force of the swirling snowstorm–and as surely took his bachelor breath away. Now it looked as though he and Nora would be holed up for the duration. Only Sam aimed to convince her to stay with him for good. But first, he'd have to get her out of that dress….

Snowbound Bride

Cathy Gillen Thacker

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

CATHY GILLEN THACKER

is married and a mother of three. She and her husband spent eighteen years in Texas and now reside in North Carolina. Her mysteries, romantic comedies and heartwarming family stories have made numerous appearances on bestseller lists, but her best reward, she says, is knowing one of her books made someone’s day a little brighter. A popular Harlequin author for many years, she loves telling passionate stories with happy endings, and thinks nothing beats a good romance and a hot cup of tea! You can visit Cathy’s Web site at www.cathygillenthacker.com for more information on her upcoming and previously published books, recipes and a list of her favorite things.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter One

“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.