Let It Snow Page 3

  They ordered hamburgers and coffee and sat down by the window.

  “How long do you think we’ll be here?” Shelly asked, not really expecting an answer. She needed reassurance more than anything. This Christmas holiday hadn’t started out on the right foot. But of one thing she was confident—the plane hadn’t left Portland yet.

  “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  “I’d say two hours, then,” she murmured, taking a bite of her Big Mac.

  “Why two hours?”

  “I don’t know. It sounds reasonable. If it’s longer than that, I might start to panic. But if worse comes to worst, I can think of less desirable places to spend Christmas. At least we won’t starve.”

  Slade muttered something unintelligible under his breath and continued eating. When he finished, he excused himself and returned to the car for his briefcase.

  Shelly got two more cups of coffee and propped her feet on the seat opposite her. Taking the latest issue of Mad magazine from her purse, she was absorbed in it by the time he returned. Her gaze dared him to comment on her reading material. Her reading Mad magazine was a long-standing joke between Shelly and her father. He expected it of her and read each issue himself so that he could tease her about the contents. Since moving, she’d fallen behind by several months and wanted to be prepared when she saw her dad again. She didn’t expect Slade to understand her taste.

  He rejoined her and gave her little more than a conciliatory glance before reclaiming his seat and briskly opening The Wall Street Journal.

  Their reading choices said a lot about each other, Shelly realized. Rarely had she seen two people less alike. A lump grew in her throat. She liked Slade. He was the type of man she’d willingly give up Mad magazine for.

  * * *

  —

  An hour later a contented Shelly set the December/January issue aside and reached in her purse for the romance novel that she kept tucked away. It wasn’t often that she was so at ease with a man. She didn’t feel the overwhelming urge to keep a conversation going or to fill the silence with chatter. They were comfortable together.

  Without a word, she went to the counter and bought a large order of fries and placed them in the middle of the table. Now and then, her eyes never leaving the printed page, she blindly reached for a fry. Once her groping hand bumped another, and her startled gaze collided with Slade’s.

  “Sorry,” he muttered.

  “Don’t be. They’re for us both.”

  “They get to be addictive, don’t they?”

  “Sort of like reading The Wall Street Journal?”

  “I wondered if you’d comment on that.”

  Shelly laughed. “I was expecting you to mention my choice.”

  “Mad magazine is something I’d expect from you.” He said it in such a way that Shelly couldn’t possibly be offended.

  “At least we agree on one thing.”

  He raised his thick brows in question.

  “The french fries.”

  “Right.” Lifting one from the package, he held it out for her.

  Shelly leaned toward him and captured the fry in her mouth. The gesture was oddly intimate, and her smile faded as her gaze clashed with Slade’s. It was happening again. That heart-pounding, room-fading-away, shallow-breathing syndrome. Obviously this…feeling…had something to do with the weather. Maybe she could blame it on the season of love and goodwill toward all mankind. Shelly, unfortunately, seemed to be overly infected with benevolence this Christmas. Experiencing the sensations she was, heaven only knows what would happen if she spied mistletoe.

  Slade raked his hand through his well-groomed hair, mussing it. Quickly he diverted his gaze out the window. “It looks like it might be letting up a little.”

  “Yes, it does,” she agreed without so much as looking out the window. The french fries seemed to demand her full attention.

  “I suppose we should think about heading out.”

  “I suppose.” A glance at her watch confirmed that it was well into the afternoon. “I’m sorry about your appointment.”

  Slade looked at her blankly for a moment. “Oh, that. I knew when I left that there was little likelihood that I’d be able to make it today. That’s why I made arrangements to meet tomorrow morning.”

  “It’s been an enjoyable break.”

  “Very,” he agreed.

  “Do you think we’ll have any more problems?”

  “We could, but there are enough businesses along the way that we don’t need to worry about getting stranded.”

  “In other words, we could hit every fast-food spot between here and Seattle.”

  Slade responded with a soft chuckle. “Right.”

  “Well, in that case, bring on the french fries.”

  By the time they were back on the freeway, Shelly noted that the storm had indeed abated. But the radio issued a weather update that called for more snow. Slade groaned.

  “You could always spend Christmas with me and Dad.” Shelly broached the subject carefully. “We’d like to have you. Honest.”

  Slade tossed her a disbelieving glare. “You don’t mean that.”

  “Of course I do.”

  “But I’m a stranger.”

  “I’ve shared french fries with you. It’s been a long time since I’ve been that intimate with a man. In fact, it would be best if you didn’t mention it to my dad. He might be inclined to reach for his shotgun.”

  It took a minute for Slade to understand the implication. “A shotgun wedding?”

  “I am getting on in years. Dad would like to see me married off and producing grandchildren. My brothers have been lax in that department.” For the moment she’d forgotten about Margaret. When she remembered, Shelly felt her spirits rush out of her with all the force of a deflating balloon. “Don’t worry,” she was quick to add. “All you need to do is tell Dad about your fiancée and he’ll let you off the hook.” Somehow she managed to keep her voice cheerful.

  “It’s a good thing I didn’t take a bite of your hamburger.”

  “Are you kidding? That would have put me directly into your last will and testament.”

  “I was afraid of that,” he said, laughing good-naturedly.

  Once again Shelly was reminded of how rich and deep the sound of Slade’s laughter was. It had the most overwhelming effect on her. She discovered that when he laughed, nothing could keep her spirits down.

  Their progress was hampered by the swirling snow until their forward movement became little more than a crawl. Shelly didn’t mind. They chatted, joked, and sang along with the radio. She discovered that she enjoyed Slade’s wit. Although a bit dry, under that gruff, serious exterior lay an interesting man with a warm but subtle sense of humor. Given any other set of circumstances, Shelly would have liked to get to know Slade Garner better.

  “What’d you buy your dad for Christmas?”

  The question came so unexpectedly that it took Shelly a moment to realize that he was speaking to her.

  “Are you concerned that I wrapped up soup to go with the bread?”

  Slade scowled, momentarily puzzled. “Ah, to go with the sourdough bread. No, I was just curious.”

  “First, I got him a box of his favorite chocolate-covered cherries.”

  “I should have known it’d be food.”

  “That’s not all,” she countered a bit testily. “We exchange the usual father-daughter gifts. You know. Things like stirrup irons, bridles, and horse blankets. That’s what Dad got me last Christmas.”

  Slade cleared his throat. “Just the usual items every father buys his daughter. What about this year?”

  “Since I’m not around Sampson, I imagine he’ll resort to the old standbys, like towels and sheets for my apartment.” She was half hoping that, at the mention of her place in San Francisco, Slade would turn the conversation in that direction. He didn’t, and she was hard-pressed to hide her disappointment.

  “What about you?”

  “Me?” His gaze flickered momentarily from the road.

  “What did you buy your family?”

  Slade gave her an uncomfortable look. “Well, actually, I didn’t. It seemed simpler this year just to send them money.”

  “I see.” Shelly knew that that was perfectly acceptable in some cases, but it sounded so cold and uncaring for a son to resort to a gift of money. Undoubtedly, once he and Margaret were married, they’d shop together for something more appropriate.

  “I wish now that I hadn’t. I think my parents would have enjoyed fresh sourdough bread and chocolate-covered cherries.” He hesitated for an instant. “I’m not as confident about the stirrups and horse blankets, however.”

  * * *

  —

  As they neared Tacoma, Shelly was surprised at how heavy the traffic had gotten. The closer they came to Maple Valley, the more anxious she became.

  “My exit isn’t far,” she told him, growing impatient. “Good grief, one would expect people to stay off the roads in weather like this.”

  “Exactly,” Slade echoed her thoughts.

  It wasn’t until she heard the soft timbre of his chuckle that she realized he was teasing her. “You know what I mean.”

  He didn’t answer as he edged the car ahead. Already the night was pitch-dark. Snow continued to fall with astonishing regularity. Shelly wondered when it would stop. She was concerned about Slade driving alone from Maple Valley to Seattle.

  “Maybe it would be better if we found a place to stop and phoned my dad.”

  “Why?”

&nb
sp; “That way he could come and pick me up and you wouldn’t—”

  “I agreed to deliver you to Maple Creek, and I intend to do exactly that.”

  “Maple Valley,” she corrected.

  “Wherever. A deal is a deal. Right?”

  A rush of pleasure assaulted her vulnerable heart. Slade wasn’t any more eager to put an end to their adventure than she was.

  “It’s the next exit,” she informed him, giving him the directions to the ten-acre spread that lay on the outskirts of town. Taking out a pen and paper, she drew a detailed map for Slade so that he wouldn’t get lost on the return trip to the freeway. Under the cover of night, there was little to distinguish one road from another, and he could easily become confused.

  Sitting upright, Shelly excitedly pointed to her left. “Turn here.”

  Apparently, in preparation for his departure to the airport, her father had shoveled the snow from the long driveway.

  The headlights cut into the night, revealing the long, sprawling ranch house that had been Shelly’s childhood home. A tall figure appeared at the window, and almost immediately the front door burst open.

  Slade had barely put the car into park when Shelly threw open the door.

  “Shortcake.”

  “Dad.” Disregarding the snow and wind, she flew into his arms.

  “You little…Why didn’t you tell me you were coming by car?”

  “We rented it.” Remembering Slade, she looped an arm around her father’s waist. “Dad, I’d like you to meet Slade Garner.”

  Don Griffin stepped forward and extended his hand. “So you’re Shelly’s surprise. Welcome to our home. I’d say it was about time my daughter brought a young man home for her father to meet.”

  Chapter 4

  Slade extended his hand to Shelly’s father and grinned. “I believe you’ve got me confused with sourdough bread.”

  “Sourdough bread?”

  “Dad, Slade and I met this morning on the plane.” Self-conscious, Shelly’s cheeks brightened in a pink flush.

  “When it looked like the flight wasn’t going to make it to Seattle, we rented the car,” Slade explained further.

  A curious glint darkened Don Griffin’s deep blue eyes as he glanced briefly from his daughter to her friend. Don ran a hand through his thick thatch of dark hair. “It’s a good thing you did. The last time I phoned the airport, I learned your plane still hadn’t left Portland.”

  “Slade has an important meeting first thing tomorrow.” Her eyes were telling Slade that she was ready to make the break. She could say good-bye and wish him every happiness. Their time together had been too short for any regrets.

  “There’s no need for us to stand out here in the cold discussing your itinerary,” Don inserted, and motioned toward the warm lights of the house.

  Slade hesitated. “I should be getting into Seattle.”

  “Come in for a drink first,” Don invited.

  “Shelly?” Slade sought her approval. The unasked question in his eyes pinned her gaze.

  “I wish you would.” Fool, her mind cried out. It would be better to sever the relationship quickly, sharply, and without delay before he had the opportunity to touch her tender heart. Her mind shouted Fool, but her heart refused to listen.

  “For that matter,” Don continued, seemingly oblivious to the undercurrents between Slade and Shelly, “stay for dinner.”

  “I couldn’t. Really.” He made a show of glancing at his wristwatch.

  “We insist,” Shelly added. “After hauling this bread from here to kingdom come, the least I can offer you is a share of it.”

  To her astonishment, Slade grinned, his dark eyes crinkling at the edges. The smile was both spontaneous and personal—a reminder of the joke between them. “All right,” he agreed.

  “That settles it, then.” Don grinned and moved to the rear of the car while Slade extracted Shelly’s suitcase and the huge sack.

  “What’s all this?”

  “Presents.”

  “For me?”

  “Well, who else would I be bringing gifts for?”

  “A man. It’s time you started thinking about a husband.”

  “Dad!” If her cheeks had been bright pink previously, now the color deepened into fire-engine red. In order to minimize further embarrassment, Shelly returned to the car and rescued the long loaves of sourdough bread. Her father managed the huge “tuba case” full of gifts while Slade carried the one small carry-on bag.

  The house contained all the warmth and welcome of home. Shelly paused in the open doorway, her gaze skimming over the crackling fireplace and the large array of family photos that decorated the mantel above the hearth. Ol’ Dan, their seventeen-year-old Labrador, slept on the braided rug and did little more than raise his head when Don and Slade entered the house. But on seeing Shelly, the elderly dog slowly came to his feet and with some difficulty ambled to her side, tail wagging. Shelly set the bread aside and fell to her knees.

  “How’s my loyal, mangy mutt?” she asked, affectionately ruffling his ears and hugging him. “You keeping Dad company these days?”

  “Yeah, but he’s doing a poor job of it,” Don complained loudly. “Ol’ Dan still can’t play a decent game of chess.”

  “Do you play?” Slade’s gaze scanned the living room for a board.

  “Forty years or more. What about you?”

  “Now and again.”

  “Could I interest you in a match?”

  Slade was already unbuttoning his overcoat. “I’d enjoy that, sir.”

  “Call me Don, everyone does.”

  “Right, Don.”

  Within a minute the chessboard was out and set up on a tray while the two men sat opposite each other on matching ottomans.

  Seeing that the contest could last a long while, Shelly checked the prime rib roasting in the oven and added large potatoes, wrapping each in aluminum foil. The refrigerator contained a fresh green salad and Shelly’s favorite cherry pie from the local bakery. There were also some carrots in the vegetable drawer; Shelly snatched a couple and put them in her pocket.

  Grabbing her Levi’s jacket with its thick wool padding from the peg on the back porch and slipping into her cowboy boots, Shelly made her way out to the barn.

  The scent of hay and horses greeted her, and Shelly paused, taking in the rich, earthy odors. She spoke to her favorite horse first. “Howdy, Sampson.”

  The sleek black horse whinnied a welcome as Shelly approached the stall, and he accepted the proffered carrot without pause.

  “Have you missed me, boy?”

  Pokey, an Appaloosa mare, stuck her head out of her stall, seeking her treat. Laughing, Shelly pulled another carrot from her pocket. Midnight, her father’s horse and Sampson’s sire, stamped his foot, and Shelly made her way down to his stall.

  After stroking his sleek neck, Shelly took out the grooming brushes and returned to Sampson. “I suppose Dad’s letting you get fat and lazy now that I’m not around to work you.” She glided the brush down the muscled flank in familiar fashion. “All right, I’ll admit it. Living in San Francisco has made me fat and lazy as well. I haven’t gained any weight, but I feel flabby. I suppose I could take up jogging, but it’s foggy and rainy and—”

  “Shelly?”

  Slade stood just inside the barn, looking a bit uneasy. “Do you always carry on conversations with your horse?”

  “Sure. I’ve talked out many a frustration with Sampson. Isn’t that right, boy?”

  Slade gave a startled blink when the horse answered with a loud snort and a toss of his head, as if agreeing with her.

  “Come in and meet my favorite male,” Shelly invited, opening the gate to the stall.

  Hands buried deep in his pockets, Slade shook his head. “No, thanks.”

  “You don’t like horses?”

  “Not exactly.”

  Having lived all her life around animals, Shelly had trouble accepting his reticence. “Why not?”

  “The last time I was this close to a horse was when I was ten and at summer camp.”