Page 80 of A Cozy Christmas Blizzard
He chuckled and tentatively reached out to rub Sampson’s ebony forehead.
She went back to grooming the horse. “Is your chess match over already?”
“I should have warned your father. I was on the university chess team.”
Now it was her turn to look amused. She paused in midstroke. “Did you wound Dad’s ego?”
“I might have, but he’s regrouping now. I came out here because I wanted to have a look at the famous Sampson before I headed for Seattle.”
“Sampson’s honored to make your acquaintance.”I am, too, her heart echoed.
Slade took a step in retreat. “I guess I’ll get back to the house. No doubt your dad’s got the board set for a rematch.”
“Be gentle with him,” she called out, trying to hide a saucy grin. Her father wasn’t an amateur when it came to the game. He’d been a member of the local chess club for years, and she wondered just what his strategy was tonight. Donald Griffin seldom lost at any game.
An hour later she stamped the snow from her boots and entered the kitchen through the back door. She shed the thick coat and hung it back on its peg, then went to check the roast and the baked potatoes. Both were done to perfection, and she turned off the oven.
Seeing that her father and Slade were absorbed in their game, she stepped up behind her father and slipped her arms around his neck, resting her chin on the top of his head.
“Dinner’s ready,” she murmured, not wanting to break his concentration.
“In a minute,” he grumbled.
Slade moved his bishop, leaving his hand on the piece for a couple of seconds. Seemingly pleased, he released the piece and relaxed. As though sensing her gaze on him, he lifted his incredibly dark eyes, which locked with hers. They stared at each other for long, uninterrupted moments. She felt her heart lurch as she basked in the warmth of his look. She wanted to hold on to this moment, forget San Francisco, Margaret, the snowstorm. It felt paramount that she capture this magic with both hands and hold on to it forever.
“It’s your move.” Don’s words cut into the stillness.
“Pardon?” Abruptly Slade dropped his eyes to the chessboard.
“It’s your move,” her father repeated.
“Of course.” Slade studied the board and moved a pawn.
Don scowled. “I hadn’t counted on your doing that.”
“Hey, you two, didn’t you hear me? Dinner’s ready.” She was shocked at how normal and unaffected her voice sounded.
Slade got to his feet. “Shall we consider it a draw, then?”
“I guess we better, but I demand a rematch someday.”
Shelly’s throat constricted. There wouldn’t be another day for her and Slade. They were two strangers who had briefly touched each other’s lives. Ships passing in the night and all the other clichés she had never expected would happen to her. But somehow she had the feeling that she would never be the same again. Surely she wouldn’t be so swift to judge another man. Slade had taught her that, and she would always be grateful.
The three of them chatted easily during dinner, and Shelly learned things about Slade that she hadn’t thought to ask. He was a salesman, specializing in intricate software programs, and was meeting with a Seattle-based company, hoping to agree on the first steps of a possible distribution agreement. It was little wonder that he’d considered his meeting so important. It was. And although he hadn’t mentioned it specifically, she was acutely aware that if his meeting was successful, he would be that much closer to achieving his financial and professional goals—and that much closer to marrying coldly practical Margaret.
Shelly was clearing the dishes from the table when Slade set his napkin aside and rose. “I don’t remember when I’ve enjoyed a meal more, especially the sourdough bread.”
“A man gets the feel of a kitchen sooner or later,” Don said with a crusty chuckle. “It took me a whole year to learn how to turn on the oven.”
“That’s the truth,” she added, sharing a smile with her father. “He thought it was easier to use the microwave. The problem was, he couldn’t quite get the hang of that, either. Everything came out the texture of beef jerky.”
“We survived,” her father grumbled, affectionately looping an arm around Shelly’s waist. The first eighteen months after her mother’s death had been the most difficult for the family, but life went on, and almost against their wills they’d adjusted.
Slade paused in the living room to stare out the window. “I can’t remember it ever snowing this much in the Pacific Northwest.”
“Rarely,” Don agreed. “It’s been three winters since we’ve had any snow at all. I’ll admit this is a pleasant surprise.”
“How long will it be before the snowplows are out?”
