Winter Baby

The argument had been going on for two hundred years, and it wasn’t going to be solved tonight.

Besides, it was cold, it was late, and the two of them were basically on the same side of the debate anyhow. The Tremaine clan had been living in Firefly Glen just as long as the Winters family, and Parker’s love for this town was every bit as possessive and protective as the old man’s could ever be. Maybe more—because Parker had tasted life away from Firefly Glen, and he had found it bitter.

They reached Ward’s car just as the church bells rang out ten o’clock. Both men stood quietly, listening to the clear tones echo in the crisp silence of the Christmas air. The first few drifting flakes of snow fell slowly around them.

“You’re a good man, Parker,” Ward said suddenly. “I’m glad you decided to come home. And you’ve been a good sheriff, even if you were one of those damn political appointees, which are usually just about worthless.”

“Thanks.” Parker smiled, surprised. Even that backhanded compliment was uncharacteristically effusive for his crotchety friend. Had the sweetness of Christmas bells softened the old man up, or had Granville Frome landed a big one to Ward’s head?

Anyhow, it was ironic that Ward should say such a thing, on this same night when Parker had already been feeling so lucky. “Me, too. I like it here. I wasn’t sure, when I first came back. You know, after being in Washington. And I knew how Glenners felt about political appointments. But I like being the sheriff.”

“Yep. I thought you did.” Ward sighed. “That’s why I think it’s a damn shame your own brother-in-law would be such a son of a bitch as to run against you.”

Parker frowned, completely confused. His own brother-in-law…run against him…for what? He squinted. “What are you talking about?”

“About that snake Harry Dunbar.” Ward pointed toward the front window of the stationery store, which was run by Parker’s younger sister, Emma Tremaine Dunbar. “Sorry, son.”

And right there in the window, next to the display of Christmas cards and smiling Santas, was a sign. A campaign poster, to be precise.

Vote Dunbar For Sheriff, it said in red, white and blue letters. Because It’s Time For A Change.

SARAH GUIDED HER RENTAL CAR slowly, making her way through the sharply twisting curves of Vanity Gap without a lot of confidence. This wasn’t at all like driving in Florida. The narrow path was closely bordered by rugged, ice-capped granite walls, and though the road had obviously been cleared lately, new snow was already falling, obscuring the tarmac.

Now and then the granite walls would part, giving her a dizzying view of the steep mountainside that brought on a fierce wave of morning sickness. She tried to keep her eyes on the road, her breakfast down and her courage up. But what, oh, what had made her think she could handle this?

She had hoped to get here in time to spend Christmas with her uncle, but the details had swamped her. Arranging for a six-week leave of absence from her teaching position hadn’t been easy, and then the minutiae of closing down her apartment—stopping mail and electricity, farming out plants, throwing out food and saying goodbye to friends—had seemed to take forever.

Still, she had managed to free herself by New Year’s Day, which had felt like a good omen. The perfect time to be making a new start.

She had landed at the Albany airport this morning with fairly high hopes, but now, after two hours of mountain driving, she was beginning to wonder whether she should have stayed in Florida. What exactly had she accomplished by running away? And why here, so far from home and everything she understood? What if her memories of Firefly Glen were romanticized by time and youth? What if it was just a grim, bleak, cold little hole in the mountains?

All of a sudden, like a spectacular surprise designed by a movie director, her car finally broke through the gap, revealing the valley below.

Sarah pulled onto the overlook, letting the car idle as she stared, utterly enchanted. Firefly Glen lay before her like a toy village arranged on a coffee table, too perfect to be true.

It was a clear, crisp morning, the sun round and winter-white. The snow glistened like crushed diamonds on the branches of trees, the rooftops of houses and the steeples of the churches. That tall one, on the eastern edge of town—that was the Congregational Church, Sarah remembered suddenly. The golden bells in that steeple had rung out the hours here for more than two hundred years.

The whole village was heavily wooded, as if it had nestled itself into these mountains back in the 1700s without disturbing a single leaf. On the western border of town, the Tallulah River winked in and out of white-frosted elms and hickory pines like a ribbon of silver sequins.

The entire scene exuded beauty, permanence and peace. Sarah leaned her head against the car window, overcome by a strange sense of longing. It would be good to belong to a place like this.

But she didn’t. She wasn’t sure she belonged anywhere anymore. Suddenly she felt intensely isolated here on this mountain, removed from the simple charm of Firefly Glen, exiled from those solid, cozy homes with soft gray plumes of smoke rising from their red-brick chimneys.

Alone. She fought back stupid tears and uncomfortable nausea with equal determination.

It’s hormones. Just hormones, she reminded herself bracingly. Everyone knew that pregnant women were irrationally emotional. She had to stop giving in to it, stop this maudlin self-pity. She was alone on the mountaintop only because she had stopped to appreciate the view.

But the nausea…

That was very real.

She stumbled out of the car and lurched over toward the trees, her boots crunching on snow. In spite of the freezing air, sweat beaded on her forehead and upper lip. She leaned against the smooth white bark of a birch, closed her eyes and concentrated on taking deep breaths.

To her dismay, she heard another car approaching. She held her breath, hoping it would go on by, but it didn’t. It paused, slowed, and then, tires rolling over the snow, eased onto the overlook.

It was a rather large black SUV that dwarfed her small rental car. Firefly Glen Sheriff’s Department, the gold lettering across the side panel announced. Two people were in it, a male driver, and a female passenger next to him.

The driver had rolled down his window and leaned his head out.

“Everything okay here?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” Sarah called, glad to discover that it was almost true. The wave of nausea was passing. It would return, she knew, but for now the relief was blissful. She smiled at the man, noticing the gleaming gold star on his black leather jacket.

The sheriff himself. She tried to remember any stories her uncle might have told about this man, but came up blank. She moved closer to the Jeep, to demonstrate that she was safe and unharmed…and harmless. “I’m really fine. I was just enjoying the view.”

He smiled back. Even from this distance, she could tell it was a dynamite smile, white and wide and charmingly cocked toward one side. For just a flash of an instant, she forgot she was a recently ditched, slightly desperate, pregnant schoolteacher. For one lovely second her stomach did a very different, very pleasant little flip, the kind it used to do when she was a teenager.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” He glanced toward the Glen below them, then returned his smile to her. “We look even better up close,” he said, apparently completely unaware of any double entendre. “So. Are you headed our way?”

She nodded, knowing that underneath the friendliness he was appraising her, as any good sheriff would, deciding whether she was a problem that needed controlling. “In a few minutes.”

“If you’d like, we can follow you.” He waved a hand toward the winding mountain road. “Make sure you’re okay.”

But she didn’t want to do that. Her stomach was settled for now, but what if it started acting up again once she was back in motion? She couldn’t imagine herself screeching to a halt, tumbling out of her car and getting sick on the snowbanked side of the road—all right in front of the horrified eyes of this man.

It had nothing to do with how good-looking he was, she assured herself. In her condition, she was hardly in the market for any man. It was just—well, it just wasn’t the first impression she wanted to make on the residents of this town.

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him. “Really. I don’t want to hold you up.”

“I’d hate for you to get lost,” he began, but suddenly the woman next to him broke in.

“For heaven’s sake, Parker, maybe she doesn’t want a sheriff’s escort. It’s one road, less than a mile. A straight shot. No forks, no detours, no nothing. Even a woman can handle that.”

Sarah looked curiously toward the female who was speaking, but the shadows in the SUV were too dark to make out much. One of his deputies? She wasn’t taking a very subservient tone for a subordinate.

The sheriff shook his head and tugged at his ear in frustration. He looked a little embarrassed. But he was still smiling. “It has nothing to do with whether she’s a man or a woman, Emma.”

“Oh, really?” The female voice was equal parts amusement and sarcasm. “Is that so?”

With a sigh, the sheriff turned back to Sarah. “I’m sorry. I certainly didn’t mean to…to be patronizing…I mean, to imply…” He gave up, chuckling helplessly. “Well, anyway, welcome to Firefly Glen.”

Then, with a smile, he shifted his Jeep into reverse and prepared to exit the overlook.

He paused in a shaft of sunlight that spotlighted the most amazingly gorgeous man Sarah had ever seen. Black hair, blue eyes…and that smile so sexy it had the power to transform a beleaguered woman into a giddy teenager. But, she saw now, it also had warmth. Warmth enough to make a total stranger feel suddenly befriended.

“I’m Sheriff Parker Tremaine,” he said. “And if you need anything at all while you’re visiting our town—”

The woman, a pretty twenty-something with hair as dark as the sheriff’s, leaned back, letting out a laughing groan. “Oh, brother. Dudley Do-Right.”