the northwest in buffeting gusts. No, it wasn’t a good night to stop and offer a helping hand.
Nevertheless, she returned to the SUV she’d borrowed from her mom and retrieved a heavy-duty snowbrush. Then, securing her jacket’s insulated hood, she approached the struggling male and raised her voice over that of the squalling child.
“Could you use some help?”
He swung toward her, his face in shadow.
She waved the snowbrush.
“Oh, man, thanks.” His own raised voice held a note of grateful surprise as he endeavored to calm the unhappy little girl now flinging herself back and forth in his arms. “Didn’t know it snowed so much while we were inside.”
“That’s mid-January in mountain country for you.”
Before Kara could register what he was intending to do, the man stepped forward and thrust the flailing toddler at her. What? She didn’t want to hold the kid. All she’d intended to do was help clean off the guy’s truck. But the bundled-up, squalling tyke was stretching out arms to her. Even though she was irritated with “Daddy,” Kara reluctantly relinquished the snowbrush and gathered the tiny screamer into her arms. Lovely.
The man snagged the sleeve of the older child and gently pushed her toward Kara as well, then turned to the truck and set to work. Through the passenger-side front window, she glimpsed a lop-eared, mixed-breed mutt taking in the outside activity with interest. Almost as if laughing at her.
Kara awkwardly jiggled the bawling little one and fished in her pockets—in vain—for a tissue to wipe the miniature nose. She winced as slobber-wet fingers brushed her face. Where was the kid’s mitten? Kara glanced at the snow-covered ground but saw no sign of it, then caught the tiny, sticky hand in her own.
Hurry it up, Cowboy.
As she warmed the little hand, she caught the older child staring at her. Even in the dim light it was clear she didn’t think this stranger was handling her sibling with any degree of expertise. Kara bestowed a weak smile. It was hard to tell through the dim light and pelting snow, but the face peeping out from under a hood looked familiar.
Kara made shushing sounds at the youngster in her arms, then raised her voice over the howls. “What’s your name?”
“Mary.”
“Mary what?”
“Mary had a little lamb.” The preschooler giggled and danced away.
Kara forced another smile. A comedian. She turned her attention again to the toddler who, for whatever mysterious reason, had abruptly quieted. Thank goodness. She’d pulled her tiny hand free, rubbed her nose and was now studiously exploring Kara’s facial features with the tip of a moist finger. The girl giggled. Sniffled. Then hiccupped.
Kara turned her face aside to see what had happened to Cowboy. She shifted the kid and squinted through the steadily falling snow. Oh, there he was. On the far side of the pickup.
“Uh, you about done over there?”
“Almost. Hang on.” He said something else but the wind snatched away the words.
Cowboy made a few more swipes with the brush, then limped around the front of the truck to open the passenger-side back door. He motioned to the older girl. “Hop in, Mary.”
With a boost from him, the child obeyed. Then, tucking the snowbrush under his arm, he leaned inside the truck to harness her in a car seat.
“What’s your phone number, sweetheart?” he called over his shoulder to Kara. “9-1-1-Kid-Help?”
He chuckled.
Her heart dipped. Then stilled.
She knew that laugh.
She shook her head, in part to loosen the toddler’s fingers now snaking into the hair under her hood, but mainly to dash away the foolish imagining. Being back in Canyon Springs made her jumpy. Paranoid. And at the present moment, a little sick to her stomach.
It couldn’t be him. No way. She’d have heard if he was back in town, wouldn’t she? Then again, for the past six weeks she’d been buried alive managing the Warehouse for her mom. Taking on the household tasks and transporting her parent to out-of-town physical therapy appointments. There hadn’t been a single moment to catch her breath, let alone catch up with in-the-know locals.
But maybe that’s why the little girl looked familiar? He’d returned after all—had kids now? Her mind flashed back a dozen years to a tall, lean high school senior who’d moved to town her sophomore year. He’d had her female classmates swooning over a slow, lazy smile that she remembered well. T-shirt. Jeans. Western boots. Attitude.
But although she’d lain awake far too many nights dreaming about him, she’d steered clear. Mostly anyway. After all, he was a cowboy. Just like her no-good dad. That “troublemaking preacher’s kid” the townspeople had labeled him.
Thanks mainly to her…
Please, God, don’t let it be him.
“Ouch!” Cringing, she grabbed her earlobe and pried away tiny fingers. “Not the earring, kid.”
The child pulled back and frowned, studying her a long moment. Big dark eyes. Another hiccup. Then the tiny face crumpled and the wailing began again.
Kara stepped to the open truck door. “Okay, Daddy, time to reclaim your kid.”
“That’s not Daddy,” the older girl objected from the backseat, her tone indignant. “That’s Uncle Trey.”
Kara’s breath caught.
The man backed out of the truck and turned to her, both of them now illuminated by the vehicle’s interior light. Steady blue eyes met hers. In that flashing moment his gaze reflected the surprise of mutual recognition. A recognition that rocked her to the core, all but knocking the wind right out of her.
He’d changed. Filled out. Matured. Laugh lines crinkled at the corners of his eyes. The crooked nose he’d broken from a fall off a horse still imparted a rugged, reckless air to his countenance. Same strong jaw, now in need of a shave. Every bit as handsome as he’d ever been. And then some.
“Kara?”
Her gaze riveted, struggling for breath, she could only nod. He didn’t try to jog her memory as to who he was. He knew she’d remember. He’d have read it in her eyes.
Oh, yes, she remembered Trey Kenton.
After a too-long moment, he gave a wry chuckle. “Didn’t figure I’d ever run into you again.”
She swallowed and held out the now-whimpering child. “I don’t imagine you did.”
He accepted his niece and handed over the snowbrush, but his eyes searched Kara’s. For what? Confirmation that she was sufficiently ashamed of the cowardly lurch she’d left him in those many years ago?
Oh, yes, she remembered. Would never forget. Or forgive herself. So why should he?
She
