Snowbound Bride

“Oh.” Embarrassed at the unspeakably ardent direction of her thoughts, Nora started to step away from the dressing room wall.

Sam planted a hand on either side of her and leaned in close. “But don’t give up on the other,” he told her softly. “You’re free to do that, too.”

Looking deep into Sam’s eyes, Nora could almost believe that it was all that simple. She wanted Sam—at least for now; she should have him. But common sense prevailed, telling her this was not the type of diversion she should be allowing herself, not when she still had so much about her life to sort out. Like where she was going to live, and how she was going to get her father to listen to her and stop meddling in her life. And she had to do all that without completely destroying the only familial relationship she had left in her life in the process.

Determined to put first things first, Nora flattened a hand across Sam’s chest and pressed against the solid male warmth. But before she could speak, the pager attached to his belt began a steady, insistent beep.

The edges of Sam’s mouth tightened into a frown. As he reached down to turn off the pager, his eyes met hers. “Guess I’ll see you later,” he drawled.

Nora sighed. Whether it was wise or not, she had been afraid that would be the case.

WHEN NORA CAME OUT of the dressing room some fifteen minutes later, her wedding gown folded and looped over her arms, the crowd in Whittakers had barely thinned. People were still lined up in droves, purchasing gloves, hats and snow boots, chatting excitedly about the three or so inches of snow that were now on the ground.

Before Nora could do more than smile a hello at another group of curious townspeople, her wedding dress was taken from her—for drying and pressing, Clara said—and she was introduced all around. As a “special friend” of Gus’s. After which the conversation promptly returned to—what else?—the weather, and the effect it was likely to have on the town in the days to come.

“I hope this storm doesn’t interfere with our silent auction for the EMS Fund,” Wynnona Kendrick, the florist, said.

“We’re saving up for a new ambulance,” Doc Ellen explained to Nora as her five-year-old daughter, Katie, tried to decide between two pairs of insulated ski mittens. “We’ve been working on it for almost a year, and so far we’ve only raised five thousand dollars. Unless we can find a way to raise money more quickly, at the rate we’re going it’ll take us five more years to get one.”

“What are you auctioning off?” Nora asked, wondering if there was any way she could be of help.

“Quilts, crafts, paintings, homemade jams, candies, hand crafted furniture and cookbooks. You name it, we’ll probably have it over at the high school gym come Wednesday evening,” Doc Ellen replied, putting the mittens Katie had selected on the counter for ringing up.

“Unless the snow still has the roads impassable,” Clara Whittaker interjected, with a worried look.

“In which case, we’ll simply delay it.” Doc Ellen searched Nora’s face. “You’ll come, won’t you?”

“Sure, if I’m still here,” Nora promised. If not, I’ll make a donation. She smiled, adding, “It sounds like a worthy cause.”

“It is. And it’ll be fun, too, ’cause we’ve got the whole community involved.” Silence fell.

Afraid the talk was going to turn to her canceled wedding again, Nora asked, “Where did Sam go?” And why did she have the feeling he could save her from all this?

“Fender bender at the high school,” Harold Whittaker replied, as he rang up a pair of long johns for a customer. “No one hurt, and only one car involved, but there’s a stop sign and park bench that used to be in better shape. Why?” Sam’s grandfather peered at her curiously from over the rim of his old-fashioned spectacles. “Did you need to talk to Sam?”

What Nora needed was to find out whether her father and Geoffrey had set up the alarm for her in West Virginia. If they had, it was probably through the police departments of the state. And the key to that information was Sam. “Yes, I do,” she replied.

“Well, he should be back in the sheriff’s office soon.” Harold smiled warmly. “If you want to go over there and wait on him, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

SAM GOT BACK to the office seconds before Nora breezed in.

“So, this is what a small-town sheriff’s office looks like,” Nora said breathlessly as she tugged her mittens off with her teeth, unfastened the wooden toggle buttons on her coat and took a moment to look around.

While Sam watched Nora with the same unabashed curiosity with which she was studying everything else, Nora’s glance moved quickly over the two battered oak desks, set several feet apart, and several black metal file cabinets in the small square room.

She paused before a computer and printer, looked over the bulletin board covered with Wanted posters, the fax machine and copier. If she noted that the equipment was more functional than state-of-the-art, she made no comment. And, instead, turned her attention to the enormous shortwave radio system that Sam and the other deputies used to communicate with each other and other law enforcement agencies around the state.

Finished with her survey of the reception area and office that spanned the front of the brick building, Nora peeked out the doorway, into the hall that ran the length of the middle of the building. She turned back to Sam. “May I?” He nodded.

There was no one else there. It wouldn’t hurt for her to look around. Everyone else in town had, at one time or another.

He followed her past the rest rooms and the soda and coffee machines, to the single jail cell, with its two cots. Both were unoccupied, as was usually the case.

Nora studied the metal cots, which were outfitted with white cotton sheets and blue wool blankets, then turned back to Sam. Together, they walked out into the front office again.

“I’m surprised,” Nora murmured, as she took off her green wool parka and hung it on the tree rack next to the door. “I didn’t expect so much modern equipment.”

Sam hadn’t expected Nora to look every bit as ravishingly beautiful in a white shirt, pewter-gray sweater and jeans as she had in her elegantly beaded white satin wedding dress.

“I had to fight for every piece of it.”

She flashed him an appreciative smile. “You must’ve been pleased to get it,” she said.

“I was. It’s hard to do my job effectively without it.”

Nora’s glance moved once again to the Wanted notices on the bulletin board as Sam assumed a seat. “What sort of things do you get on the fax?” she asked.

Sam kicked back in his chair and propped his feet on the edge of his desk. “Between the insurance companies and the state and federal government, there’s never any shortage of paper work. And, of course, notices from other law enforcement agencies.”

“Is your computer connected into the Internet?” Nora asked.

Sam nodded, his mind drifting back to the kiss they’d shared in the dressing room over at Whittakers. He knew he’d been out of line, putting the moves on her so quickly, but with her leaving as soon as the blizzard blew over, he had to act fast. Besides, he had wanted to put the considerable sparks flying between them to the test, and considering the white-hot intensity of their embrace, he wasn’t sorry he had.

Noting Nora was still waiting for an answer, Sam said, “Yes, we’re hooked up to the Net, as well as an information system that lets me interact with other law enforcement agencies via computer.”

Nora paled slightly. “I see.”

She seemed edgy, nervous. Why, he wasn’t sure. Unless she was worried he was going to kiss her again? Sam stood. “Everything okay?” he asked.

“Sure, of course.”

He studied her, knowing something was up. Moved closer. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

“Oh, well, your grandparents wanted you to know—what with the snow coming down harder now—that they were closing the store an hour early this evening and would be going home around five. I volunteered to come over and tell you. Plus, I wanted to see a little of the town while I could still walk around.”

Sam looked out the window. “It’s coming down pretty good now, isn’t it?”

Nora nodded. Though the brunt of the blizzard still seemed seven or eight hours away, it had really started to pick up in the past hour or so. She’d heard on the car radio that it was now snowing steadily in Kentucky, Maryland, Pennsylvania and New York state and that “record blizzard” conditions had virtually shut down all roads in the mountains of Virginia. If the forecasters were right, it would soon be that bad here, too. “I’d say we have at least four inches on the ground now,” she said. And the latest forecast indicated their area of West Virginia might get sleet and ice, too. Sleet and ice knocked out power lines.

The phone rang. Sam reluctantly tore his eyes from Nora’s face and picked up the receiver. “Sheriff’s office.” He listened, and was clearly not happy with the report on the other end. “I’ll be right down,” he promised, then hung up.

“Another wreck?” Nora asked curiously as he reached for his shearling coat and shrugged it on.

Sam searched for his keys and finally found them on his desk, beneath the state accident report he’d started to fill out before Nora walked in. “Worse. Domestic disturbance,” he explained as Nora sauntered closer, her eyes glued to his. Sam grimaced, wishing he had time for another kiss, then continued explaining. “Clyde Redmond is down at the hardware store trying to buy a snow shovel, and his wife Charlene is there with him, pitching a fit.”

Nora blinked, still not understanding. She watched as he retrieved his Stetson and adjusted the brim low across his brow. “She has something against her husband shoveling snow?”

Sam nodded, explaining, “And with good reason, since Clyde had his first heart attack two months ago, doing just that.” He brushed a hand down her cheek, gave her one last lingering glance and strode out the door. “Hold down the fort here,” he called over his shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”