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Looking infinitely warmer, if a bit hilarious, with the full skirt of her wedding dress and long flowing train hanging from beneath the hem of her casual sweater, she gathered her belongings in one hand and swept up her skirt and train in the other.
Sam moved to hold the doors open for her as she swept regally toward the exit in another whisper-soft swish of satin, yards of fabric crumpled in one hand so that they wouldn’t drag along the snow covering the ground.
And suddenly Sam knew he couldn’t let it end there. “Let me help you to your car.” Aware that he hadn’t felt this gallant in a long time, Sam waited for her to pass, then strode with her out into the snow.
“Thanks, but it really isn’t necessary.” She tossed the words back over her shoulder, stomping determinedly past his black-and-white truck to her Volvo station wagon.
Sam saw that she was already shivering in the cold. “I insist,” he said. He followed her to the driver’s-side door of the car and waited for her to press the electronic door unlock button on her key chain. When it clicked, he stepped forward to open the car door for her.
“Thanks,” she murmured, bristling somewhat can-tankerously, still looking as if she would much rather have done it all herself.
“You’re welcome,” Sam replied.
Still a little mesmerized, he watched as she tossed her bundle of belongings into the backseat, then, hitching her skirts even higher, climbed in the driver’s seat. It took some doing, but finally she had pulled the gown above her knees and scrunched the fabric down enough to enable her to drive.
Sam tipped back the brim of his hat and regarded her cautiously. Though she had to be warmer with the sweater on, she couldn’t possibly be comfortable behind the wheel in that dress, no matter how she squished it down or spread it out. “You sure you’re going to be okay?” he asked, more sure than ever now that she was a runaway of some sort.
“I’ll be just fine, Officer. Thanks for the assistance.” The bride sent him a brisk, efficient smile that Sam decided was more dutiful than sincere, then shut her car door, put her key in the ignition and turned it, revving the engine.
Sam stepped back onto the curb as the motor rumbled to life with a powerful purr and the wipers moved steadily across the windshield. Out of habit, his glance lowered to the tags on the car.
A sticker on the trunk said the car had been purchased at a dealership in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. The vanity license plate read NO1-DATR. Sam swiftly sounded it out and decided it was meant to read Number One Daughter. He wondered whether she had chosen the slogan herself or it was a gift from a parent or parents who found it impossible to let go.
Somehow, he found himself betting it was the latter. He felt a little sorry for the parents. Because, in his estimation, this was one runaway bride who was just aching to bust free. And maybe, he thought with a grin, recalling her statement about the wedding being called off, she already had broken out and started her run for freedom.
NORA HAD NEVER BEEN ONE to swoon over a man in a uniform, but there was no denying that the handsome stranger in the snow-dusted Stetson, starched khaki uniform and thick shearling coat had made an impression on her she wasn’t likely to forget. From the moment she laid eyes on his ruggedly handsome face, with its unutterably masculine features, she’d felt a peculiar electricity zigzagging through her. And that giddy awareness had only intensified when he blasted her with his boy-next-door smile.
She guessed him to be a couple years older than her own twenty-nine years. Like herself, she mused as she guided her car onto the freeway, he seemed to have a mind of his own. Plus, an easygoing nature, and the most compelling and understanding golden brown eyes she’d ever seen.
His chestnut-colored hair had been clean and soft and cut in short layers. It had also been rumpled by either his hands or the wind and creased by his hat.
His sturdy six-foot-three-inch—if her guess was right—frame had looked athletically fit, his shoulders broad enough for a woman to lean on, more than strong enough to serve and protect.
It was too bad he was a lawman, Nora thought. Had she spent any more time with him, he’d have been bound to ask her questions she did not want to answer.
Unfortunately, right now she had worse things to worry about as she upped the speed on her windshield wipers another notch. Like how and where she was going to weather the brunt of this storm.
All she had with her, she realized, as she spotted a tow-truck driver helping a motorist whose car had slid off the road, was a suitcase full of clothes meant for a ski vacation in Vermont in the trunk, her wedding gown, and the sweater, jeans and shirt she’d worn to the salon that morning to get her hair done. Somewhere along the way, she’d lost her scarf and gloves—maybe back at the church—but she figured those could be easily replaced.
Thank goodness she had the traveler’s checks and cash she’d brought along for her honeymoon, Nora thought with relief, slowing down when she saw the Road Closed Ahead signs that prevented her from going any farther on the interstate. She didn’t want to use her credit cards; it would be too easy for her father to track her that way.
What she needed was to find a safe place to stay before the already slick roads became impassable. With that in mind, Nora headed down the exit ramp at a sedate speed. Knowing it would not be wise to stay somewhere directly off the interstate freeway, as those were the very first places her father would look for her, Nora bypassed two medium-size inns, four fast-food restaurants and a gas station, all congregated together, and headed for the major intersection up ahead. Once there, she paused at the directional signs marking the two-lane county road.
Clover Creek 30.
Pleasantville 15.
Nora had never vacationed in West Virginia and knew nothing about either town. Although, for some odd reason, the name Clover Creek did seem vaguely familiar. She searched her mind for what she knew, but could only recall someone—to her frustration, she had no idea who—once saying something about it at a party.
Look, it’s a nice place to visit, a very nice place, but as far as I’m concerned, being in Clover Creek is like being at the ends of the earth….
Wasn’t that what she wanted? Nora thought as a huge orange snowplow rumbled past her, in the direction of Clover Creek. A nice place so far off the beaten path that no one would think to look for her there?
Her decision made, Nora turned left and fell in behind the snowplow. She was now traveling west, not south, but she figured it was probably the best she could do under the circumstances. The main thing was to find a place to bed down, where no one would think to look for her, until the storm passed.
And since Clover Creek was only thirty miles away, the snow coming down still allowed a fair amount of visibility and the snow tires on her station wagon were gripping the pavement well, she figured she could make it, particularly with the snowplow directly in front of her, clearing the way.
TO NORA’S DELIGHT, Clover Creek was a perfect blend of old and new. A couple of inches of snow covered immaculately kept-up red brick buildings with white trim and glossy multicolored doors. From what she could tell, all the businesses were located on Main Street. On one side were a grocery store, art gallery, fabric shop, pharmacy, unisex beauty salon, hardware store, two restaurants, movie theater, news paper and video store. On the other were a gas station, library, post office, clinic, antique shop, department store, law offices, real estate broker and police and fire stations. On streets perpendicular to Main were schools and churches. Beyond that, a number of sprawling Victorian homes on tree-lined streets.
With an inch or two of snow already on the ground, Nora had half expected the main drag in town to be deserted.
Instead, it was bustling with activity, with vehicles crowding the streets and overflowing the behind-the-building parking lots. People of all ages hurried out of the grocer’s, their faces red with excitement and their arms full of bags. Others hurried out of the hardware store carrying sacks of rock salt, snow shovels, camping lanterns and chains. Still others appeared to be stocking up on books and videos. Nora did not see a hotel anywhere, but she figured a small town this busy probably had a bed-and-breakfast somewhere. Nora figured she’d get directions on where to go just as soon as she purchased a scarf and mittens for herself and found someone to help free her from her wedding dress!
As she’d expected, her presence in the gown, sweater and galoshes caused a stir. No sooner had Nora swept into the homey, shopper-laden chic of Whittakers Clothing and Department Store than she was immediately approached by three salespeople. A pretty sixty-something woman with a petite, matronly figure and a halo of fluffy pale gold curls. An equally pretty and vivacious-looking teenage girl with long golden-brown hair that fell nearly to her waist. And an older gentleman with neat salt-and-pepper hair and a matching, well-trimmed beard.
Wasting no time, the woman greeted Nora with a warm smile and a twinkle in her eyes. “I’m Clara Whittaker.” She extended a hand, then made introductions briefly. “This is my husband, Harold, and my grand-daughter Kimberlee.”
“Hello. It’s nice to meet you all. You can call me Nora.” She’d prefer not to use last names, but clearly, Nora thought, they were so friendly and so informal, something in the way of a greeting was required.
“That’s a lovely wedding dress….” Kimberlee said.
“Thanks.” Nora smiled at the teen as she selected a warm green-and-black wool scarf and matching insulated mittens and carried them to the counter.
“Getting married soon?” Clara Whittaker asked, smiling all the more.
“I was hoping to…” Nora said honestly. Someday, when I met my Mr. Right.
Smiling broadly, Clara Whittaker looked behind Nora. While her husband began ringing up Nora’s purchase, Clara smoothed a hand down the folds of her neat corduroy shirtdress. Her light brown eyes twinkling merrily, she said, “I don’t see your groom.”
Nora gave them all an it’s-a-long-story, one-I’m-really-not-at-liberty-to-reveal look. “My…er…um…groom is not here with me right now,” she said finally, after a great deal of wrestling with her conscience.
“Do you know when he’ll be here?” Kimberlee asked inquisitively, taking the sensors off Nora’s purchases.
“No, I don’t know when—” or even if, Nora amended silently “—he’ll catch up with me. Probably not before the storm descends upon us full blast, though.”
Deciding to change the subject before any more questions were asked of her that required honest—if uncomfortable—replies, Nora turned to the framed poster of Gus Whittaker and two of the New York Knicks displayed on the wall. “Are you related to the Gus Whittaker?”
Clara and Harold nodded proudly as Harold bagged Nora’s purchases. “He’s our grandson.”
“Really,” Nora said. So Gus Whittaker was the one who’d been talking about Clover Creek. That was why she remembered it. Why was everyone grinning as though they knew a secret or something? she wondered.
Nora searched through her billfold and extricated enough cash to pay for her purchases. “I met him several years ago, when I was working for Leland and Brooks, an advertising agency in New York City. Several of Gus’s clients were—are—celebrity spokespersons for L and B’s key accounts. Hence, Gus and his celebrity clients were invited to all the L and B parties. And, well, you know Gus.” Nora smiled and gestured inanely. “He makes it a point to seek out all the young, available females.”
“Did the two of you hit it off, right from the first moment you met?” Kimberlee asked, stars in her eyes.
Nora flushed; she didn’t know quite how to answer that. Clearly, Gus’s whole family adored him, and they seemed to have already decided that was what had happened. “Well, yes,” Nora replied carefully after a moment. Then she hastened to add, “Although that first meeting was pretty hectic, with all the people at the party, the noise and the confusion…”
“Of course…” Everyone nodded.
A bell sounded, signaling that someone else had come into the store. Nora turned, her jaw dropping open slightly as she saw the sexy sheriff she’d met earlier stride toward the group. She stared at the lawman as he walked across the polished wood floor, hardly able to believe they’d crossed paths again!
“But later you got to know Gus better…?” Clara asked.
Nora had temporarily lost her hearing, her sense of sight draining all her other faculties.
Her heart pounding, she turned away from the sexy sheriff, who was heading her way. “Um, yes, I guess you could say that.” Nora smiled at Gus’s family, wanting to say something pleasant about the Whittakers’ grandson. “Everyone in the sports management business tries to emulate Gus these days—he’s that successful.” If unconventional in the extreme… “And a very nice guy, as well.”
Again, everyone beamed proudly at the compliments Nora bestowed on Gus.
A quick glance revealed that the sheriff was talking to other shoppers in the store, but he still had Nora in his sights. Whether he was on to the particulars of her plight or not, Nora could not tell.
“So, when’s Gus arriving in Clover Creek?” Harold asked as the sheriff eventually came to a halt beside Nora and the others.
Nora blinked, as thrown by the abrupt switch in topics as she was by the lawman’s deliberate pursuit of, and proximity to, her. “I really couldn’t say,” she replied, somewhat hoarsely, not sure why they were asking her that. “I haven’t talked to Gus lately.”
“But you will soon?” Clara pressed. As the lawman stepped even closer to her, Nora was inundated by the clean, woodsy scent of his cologne.
“I—don’t know,” Nora hedged slowly, not wanting to hurt or offend any of Gus’s family.
Harold smiled, looked at the sheriff, and then back at Nora. “Have you met Sam yet?”
Nora blinked. “Who?”
Harold winked at Nora slyly, even as he gestured at the sheriff warmly. “Our other grandson!”
Nora took a calming breath as she and the sheriff stared at each other in contemplative silence. Oh, no—no! “You’re—?”
“Gus Whittaker’s younger brother, Sam,” he confirmed with a tantalizing grin as he swaggered closer and his gaze moved across her upturned face. “And you’re…?”
Suffused with heat everywhere his eyes had roved, Nora swallowed and stepped back. “Nora,” she said simply, deciding to leave it at that. Dear heaven, this was a complication she did not need. Especially now!
“Nora,” Sam repeated, as if liking the sound of her name. He studied her, then asked, in a soft, low voice laced with laughter, “Do you have a last name?”
“Yes,” Nora replied, as she looked into his golden-brown eyes with all the directness she could muster. “It’s…”
“She’s one of Gus’s very good, shall we say, friends, from New York City,” Harold supplied helpfully.
“Wait,” Nora corrected hastily, holding up a palm in traffic-cop fashion. “I never said Gus and I were actually, you know, buddies—” She and Gus were more like acquaintances. Remote acquaintances.
“We know you didn’t, dear,” Clara patted her arm forgivingly.
“We know Gus would want to tell us himself,” Harold beamed.
“Tell you what?” Nora wheezed, perplexed.
“About his plans, of course,” Clara said.
Nora regarded the Whittakers cautiously. She felt as if she’d landed in a TV sitcom. One of the wacky, humor-filled kinds that didn’t necessarily have to make a lot of sense. “What are you talking about?” she demanded warily, already dreading the reply.
“Sweetheart, it’s all right, we know,” Harold counseled her warmly.
Sensing that whatever they were talking about, they were deadly serious, Nora fought to contain her mounting exasperation. “Know what?” she cried, upset.
Clara beamed, her own happiness evident. “You’re Gus’s fiancée!”
Chapter Two
NORA TOOK A deep breath and tried, as nicely as possible, to explain. “I know there’s been a lot of confusion today, what with the storm and all, but Gus and I are not getting married, today or any other day.”
All around her, faces fell in obvious disappointment.
“Then why are you in that dress?” Kimberlee Whittaker asked, perplexed, as she propped her hands on her waist. “And why did you come to Clover Creek at precisely 3:30 this afternoon?”
Good question, Nora thought. She could just as easily have gone the other way back at the crossroads. What had brought her here to Clover Creek? she wondered. Destiny?
Sam’s eyes held hers. “I’d like to hear the answer to that myself,” he drawled.
Nora knew she was not going to get anyone to help her unjam the zipper and get out of the dress until she explained. “I’m afraid there’s been some misunderstanding,” Nora said, looking straight at Sam. Who seemed, oddly enough, to be the only one not harboring a hope that she would change course and marry Gus. She paused to draw a bracing breath. “I don’t know where everyone got the idea I’m in love with your brother,” she began, uncomfortably embarrassed, “but I assure you, nothing could be further from the truth! Gus and I are…” Nora groped for a way to explain. “Well, friends, sort of, and that’s all!”
At that, everyone regarded her so skeptically that it was all Nora could do not to groan out loud. “No one believes me, do they?” she asked Sam as a curious group of customers gathered round.
“Wouldn’t appear so, no.” Sam paused, his glance sliding over her approvingly before returning to focus on the self-conscious flush in her cheeks. “But there’s a simple way to clear this up. Just explain who you are, where you’re from and who you were really planning to marry today.”
Nora was tired of men telling her what to do! She crossed her arms in front of her and stubbornly dug in her heels. “I don’t see why I have to explain anything,” she retorted mutinously. Hadn’t she already revealed enough of her private life?
Sam shrugged. “Then don’t.”
“Fine.” Nora shrugged right back at him. Deciding she’d looked into the depths of his eyes long enough, she turned her glance away. “I won’t.”
“But if you want to calm all the questions about you and Gus and what might or might not be going on,” Sam continued, “you will.”
And have someone then take it upon himself to decide to play hero and call her father? As much as the dutiful-daughter part of her wanted to allay her father’s worries, the part of her that had had enough knew she could not deal with her dad, not yet. Forgetting for a moment all the others gathered around them, Nora regarded Sam sternly. “Look, I already told you my wedding was called off,” she said, making no effort to hide her exasperation with him.
“When did this happen?” Clara asked, as even more customers gathered round to hear.
“At the tourist station on the freeway, an hour ago,” Nora replied in an aside.
“You two met?” Harold gasped.
“Briefly,” Sam acknowledged reluctantly, his glance still heating her like a fleece blanket.
“And what little I said to you then is really all I intend to say on the matter,” Nora continued firmly. Like it or not, Sam and the Whittakers and everyone else in Clover Creek were all just going to have to accept that.
Fortunately for her, just then the phone began to ring.
Her stunned gaze still on Nora, Clara picked up the receiver. “Whittakers Department Store,” Clara said, then broke into a broad grin. “Gus, darling! We’ve all been waiting to hear from you! Hang on a minute, dear, while I put you on the speakerphone,” Clara said. She punched a few buttons and paused to confirm that he was still there before continuing, “Now, where are you, sweetheart?”
“Stuck in the city!” Gus Whittaker shouted from the other end. In the background, a horn blared and brakes squealed. The moment the background noise subsided, Gus lowered his voice and asked, somewhat anxiously, “Listen, Gran, did the pretty lady arrive okay?”
