Page 77 of A Cozy Christmas Blizzard
“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 normal father-daughter gifts. You know. Things like stirrup irons, bridles and horse blankets. That’s what Dad got me last Christmas.”
He cleared his throat. “Just the usual items every father buys his daughter. What about this year?”
“Since Sampson and I aren’t even living in the same state, 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 and ask her something about herself. He didn’t, and she was hard-pressed to hide her disappointment.
“What about you?” she asked into the silence.
“Me?” His gaze flickered momentarily from the road.
“What did you buy your family?”
He gave her an uncomfortable look. “Well, actually, I didn’t. It seemed simpler this year just to send them money.”
“I see.” She knew 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 would shop together for something appropriate.
“I wish now that I hadn’t. I think my parents would haveenjoyed 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, you would expect people to stay off the roads in weather like this.”
“Exactly,” he agreed without hesitation.
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 vigor. She wondered when it would stop. She was concerned about Slade driving alone from Maple Valley to Seattle.
“Maybe I should phone my dad,” she suggested, momentarily forgetting that her cell was dead.
“Why?”
“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 on the outskirts of town. Taking out a pen and paper, she drew a detailed map for him sohe 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 straighter, she excitedly pointed to her left. “Turn here.”
Apparently in preparation for his departure for the airport, her father had plowed 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 opened.
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.
