Winter Baby

“The Chamber of Commerce army, Ward. Every one of the Firefly Glen innkeepers, shop owners, ski renters and hot chocolate vendors who had planned to get rich from the ice festival. They think you’re trying to destroy them financially, and they don’t plan to lie down and let you do it. I’m pretty sure the words ‘libel’ and ‘punitive damages’ were mentioned.”

So that was what it had all been about, all those tense faces and strained voices at the clothing store. Sarah looked over at her uncle, perplexed. She wondered what he’d done.

“Oh, what a bunch of babies,” Ward said, waving his hand in a symbolic dismissal of the entire argument. “It was just a couple of little letters to the editor. Just one man’s opinion. This is America, isn’t it—even this far north? Since when did it become libel to express your opinion?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s always been libelous to imply that there’s something dangerously wrong with the Glen’s tap water.”

To Sarah’s surprise, her uncle looked sheepish, an expression she didn’t remember ever seeing on his rugged face before. “Well, mine tastes funny, Tremaine, and that’s a fact. Try it. Tastes like hell.”

“It’s always tasted like hell. It’s the minerals. You know that. And honestly, Ward. Ten newspapers? Including the New York Times?”

“Well, I didn’t think they’d run it,” Sarah’s uncle said, his voice a low grumble.

“Tea, Ward?” Madeline chirped merrily. Ward glared at her, but she kept bustling around, gathering up his cup and saucer, tsking and fluffing his napkin. Sarah couldn’t tell what had set the older woman into such a dither. Was it because the topic of the ice festival upset her, or was she just tired of being left out of the conversation?

“Flora, do pour Ward a fresh cup. His is cold. Do you think it might be a little chilly in here? I do.” She shivered prettily. “I think we might have let the fire burn down too far. I’ll fix it. I just love a good strong fire, don’t you?”

Brass poker in one hand, Madeline opened the heavy metal screen that covered the flaming logs and began stirring carelessly. The fire surged in a whoosh of sound, one of the bottom logs collapsed, and embers flew out like red and orange fireworks.

Just as Madeline turned away, one of the embers settled on the bright yellow tulips of her flowing skirt. Sarah noticed it and felt a faint stirring of alarm, but before she could say a word, the frothy fabric began to blacken and curl. A lick of flame started traveling with hideous speed up the back of Madeline’s dress.

“Oh!” Madeline was turning around, trying to see what was happening. She was clearly too rattled to do anything sensible. With a whimper of fear, one of her sisters tossed a cup of tea over the flame, but it was half empty, and managed to extinguish only one sizzling inch of fabric. The rest still burned.

Sarah began to run. Ward began to run. But miraculously Parker was already there, gathering up the skirt in his hands and smothering the flames.

It was out in an instant. Just as quickly as it had begun, the crisis was over. Half-crying with nervous relief, Madeline collapsed helplessly into Ward’s waiting arms. She murmured weak thanks to Parker, but she didn’t lift her face from Ward’s shoulder and so the words were muffled and, it seemed to Sarah, just slightly grudging.

It was as if Madeline resented the fact that Parker, not Ward Winters, had stepped forward to be her hero.

But Parker didn’t seem to care. He accepted Madeline’s thanks, and that of her sisters, with a comfortable lack of fuss, as if he did such things every day. Marveling at his indifference to his own courage, Sarah stared at the sheriff. He was still down on one knee, his hand resting on a lean, muscular length of thigh, graceful even at such a moment. His careless waves of black hair fell over his broad forehead as he checked the carpet for any live embers.

Sarah swallowed against a dry throat. Madeline might prefer her heroes to be silver haired, craggy faced and over seventy. But if Sarah had been in the market for a hero, which she wasn’t, Parker Tremaine would have been just what the fairy tale ordered.

A minute ago, he had joked about how she had saved his life. But he had really saved Madeline just now. With his hands. His bare hands—

She looked at those hands. Blisters had begun to form on the palms. Everyone was clustered around Madeline, oohhing and aahing over her near escape. Why wasn’t anyone worrying about Parker?

She touched his shoulder softly.

“Sheriff,” she said, trying to force out of her stupid mind any thoughts of fairy tales, to think only of ointment and bandages, aspirin and common sense. “Come with me, and I’ll find something to put on your hands.”

LUCKILY, PARKER KNEW where the first-aid supplies were kept at Winter House. Madeline, who was glued to Ward’s shoulder, was making a hell of a racket. Sarah Lennox, inquiring politely where the bandages were stored, was no match for her.

Parker knew he didn’t really need a bandage. The damage to his hands was minimal—just one small blister on each palm. He got more torn up chopping wood every week or two. But Sarah looked so sweetly concerned he just couldn’t resist. And besides, it would give him a couple of minutes alone with her, something he’d been hoping for ever since he first glimpsed her on the mountain this morning.

He had fully expected to meet her again sooner or later. Firefly Glen was too small for any two people to avoid each other for long, even if they were trying. But what a piece of luck that she should be related to his good friend Ward.

“The supplies are upstairs,” he said, cocking his head toward the doorway, inviting her to follow him. “I’ll show you.”

Back before indoor plumbing, the bathroom had been a small bay-windowed bedroom adjacent to Ward’s own suite. When the mansion had been updated to include all the modern amenities, this room and several others had morphed into bathrooms and walk-in closets.

As a result, it looked like the bath in some fantastic monastery. It was painted Madonna blue, with a ribbed, domed ceiling forming a Gothic arch over the claw-footed bathtub. The bay windows were blue and gold stained glass.

Sarah smiled as Parker opened the door. “I’d forgotten how amazing this house is,” she said. “When I was here as a kid, I was a little afraid of it. I was always getting lost.”

“I’ll bet. I still do. I’m convinced the place was designed by a lunatic.” Parker unlatched the medicine chest with the tips of his fingers, revealing a well-stocked supply of ointments and bandages. He held out his hands and smiled. “Okay, then. Be gentle.”

Sarah smiled back and, as she leaned forward to assess the damage, he could just barely smell her perfume. Nice stuff. Sweet and modest, but with a hidden kick to it. A lot like the impression he got of Sarah herself.

Not that he’d know anything about that. Not really.

Not yet.

“Oh, dear,” she said, running the tips of her fingers across the pads of his palm, tracing the outline of the biggest blister. “Does it hurt a lot?”

He couldn’t decide whether she’d be more impressed if he suffered agonizing pain stoically, or if he professed himself too tough to feel pain at all. So he settled for the truth. “It’s pretty minor. Stings a little. I used her skirt to do most of the work. The worst of the fire never got to my hands.”

Guiding his hand toward the basin, Sarah turned on the water and let its soft, cool trickle run over his palm. The pain stopped immediately, and he had to admit it was something of a relief. She kept his hand there, cupped within hers almost absently, while she scanned the labels of the available ointments.

“She was lucky you were nearby.” Sarah frowned at the cabinet, as if she didn’t see what she wanted. “At least you knew what to do and weren’t afraid to do it. I think the rest of us were paralyzed with shock.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “Ward was only a step or two behind. And I’m not at all sure Madeline wouldn’t rather have waited for him.”

She glanced up, and their eyes met in the mirror. She had great eyes—hazel, with deep flecks of green. And they seemed to have so many moods. On the mountain, he would have called them sad. Vulnerable. But then, in the shop, he’d been struck with how perceptive they looked. Now they were uptilted, dancing with amusement in a way he found absolutely adorable.

“I noticed that, too,” she said with a small laugh. “Incredible. Madeline’s clothes are on fire, and she’s thinking about romance?”

“She’s in love.” Parker allowed Sarah to place his other hand under the spigot. “You know how that is, I’m sure.”

Until he saw the guarded expression fall over Sarah’s face, he hadn’t even realized what he was asking. But she knew. She had instinctively sensed the question behind the question.

Are you already spoken for? Should I back off—or is it okay to take another step forward?

Well, heck, of course she knew. She was beautiful, smart, sexy, interesting. She probably saw that question in men’s eyes every day. And, judging from the way the amusement had flicked off behind her eyes, she didn’t much like it.

But because he was a fool, and because he suddenly itched to know, he pressed. “Come on. Admit it. Hasn’t love ever made you do anything really, really stupid?”

“Of course,” she said tightly, turning off the water and reaching for the nearest hand towel. She took a deep breath, and finally she smiled again. “But I think I can safely say, Sheriff, that if there’s a man in this world worth setting myself on fire for, I haven’t met him yet.”

Parker laughed. “Good,” he said. He was absurdly satisfied by her answer. What was going on here? Was he flirting with Ward’s niece? That would be dumb.

But he hadn’t been this fascinated by a woman since the day he met Tina.

Well, everyone knew where that had landed him. In six years of hell, and then in one ugly, pocket-draining day of divorce court. You’d think he would have learned his lesson.

Still…Sarah Lennox was inexplicably intriguing. Maybe it was that hint of her uncle’s determination in her jaw, so at odds with her fragile femininity.

Or more likely it was just his own hormones growing restless. He had actually enjoyed his year of celibacy. It had been a relief after Tina, a time of emotional and physical R and R.