Page 82 of A Cozy Christmas Blizzard
“He’s an interesting man. I wouldn’t mind having someone like him for a son-in-law.” He entered the kitchen and reached for the coffeepot.
“He’s engaged.”
He sighed, and there was a hint of censure in his voice when he spoke. “That figures. The good ones always seem to be spoken for.”
“It doesn’t matter. We’re about as different as any two people can be.”
“That’s not always bad, you know. Couples often complement each other that way. Your mother was the shy one, whereas I was far more outgoing. Our lives would have been havoc if we’d had identical personalities.”
Silently Shelly agreed, but to admit as much would reveal more than she wanted to. “I suppose,” she murmured softly, and turned over the sizzling slices of bacon.
A few minutes later she was sliding the eggs easily from the hot grease onto plates when there was a loud pounding on the front door.
Her gaze rose instantly and met her father’s.
“Slade,” they said simultaneously.
Her father rushed to answer the door, and a breathlessSlade stumbled into the house. She turned off the stove and hurried out to meet him.
“Are you all right?” Her voice was laced with concern. Heart pounding, she looked him over for any obvious signs of injury.
“I’m fine. I’m just out of breath. That was quite a hike.”
“How far’d you get?” Don asked.
“A mile at the most. I was gathering speed to make it to the top of an incline when the wheels skidded on a patch of ice. The car, unfortunately, is in a ditch.”
“What about your meeting?” Now that she’d determined that he was unscathed, her first concern was the appointment that he considered so important to his future.
“I don’t know.”
“Dad and I could take you into town,” she offered.
“No. If I couldn’t make it, you won’t be able to, either.”
“But you said this meeting is vital.”
“It’s not important enough to risk your getting hurt.”
“Not to mention my truck has been acting up, so I took it in for servicing,” her father said, then smiled. “But there’s always the tractor.”
“Dad! You’ll be lucky if the old engine so much as coughs. You haven’t used that antique in years.” As far as she knew, it was collecting dust in the back of the barn.
“It’s worth a try,” her father argued, looking to Slade. “At least we can pull your car out of the ditch.”
“I’ll contact the county road department and find out how long it’ll be before the plows come this way,” Shelly said. She didn’t hold much hope for the tractor, but if she could convince the county how important it was to clear the roads near their place, Slade might be able to make his meeting somehow.
Two hours later, Shelly was dressed in dark cords and a thick cable-knit sweater the color of winter wheat as she paced the living room carpet. Every few minutes she paused to glance out the large front window for signs of either her father or Slade. Through some miracle they’d managed to fire up the tractor, but how much they could accomplish with the old machine was pure conjecture. If they were able to rescue Slade’s car from the ditch, then there was always the possibility of towing it up the incline so he could try again to make it into the city.
The sound of a car pulling into the driveway captured her attention, and she rushed onto the front porch just as Slade was easing the Taurus to a stop. He climbed out of the vehicle.
“I called the county. The road crew will try to make it out this way before nightfall,” she told him, rubbing her palms together to ward off the chill. “I’m sorry, Slade, it’s the best they could do.”
“Don’t worry.” His gaze caressed her. “It’s not your fault.”
“But I can’t help feeling that it is,” she said, following him into the house. “I was the one who insisted you bring me here.”
“Shelly.” He cupped her shoulder with a warm hand. “Stop blaming yourself. I’ll contact Walt Bauer, the man I was planning to see. He’ll understand. It’s possible he didn’t make it to the office, either.”
