Books. Duckpuddle Diner.” He made a face. “Duckpuddle Diner?”
“Yeah, I thought that one was a little much myself.”
“Well, if we’ve already sunk to Duckpuddle Diner, can Sweet Sally’s Smut Shoppe and the Lorelei Land-fill be far behind?”
Ward wasn’t really expecting an answer, and Parker didn’t give him one. He knew it was a legitimate debate, whether the town leaders should go looking for growth and prosperity or whether they should concentrate on keeping Firefly Glen safe and clean—and small.
The argument had been going on for two hundred years, and it wasn’t going to be solved tonight.
Besides, it was cold, it was late, and the two of them were basically on the same side of the debate anyhow. The Tremaine clan had been living in Firefly Glen just as long as the Winters family, and Parker’s love for this town was every bit as possessive and protective as the old man’s could ever be. Maybe more—because Parker had tasted life away from Firefly Glen, and he had found it bitter.
They reached Ward’s car just as the church bells rang out ten o’clock. Both men stood quietly, listening to the clear tones echo in the crisp silence of the Christmas air. The first few drifting flakes of snow fell slowly around them.
“You’re a good man, Parker,” Ward said suddenly. “I’m glad you decided to come home. And you’ve been a good sheriff, even if you were one of those damn political appointees, which are usually just about worthless.”
“Thanks.” Parker smiled, surprised. Even that backhanded compliment was uncharacteristically effusive for his crotchety friend. Had the sweetness of Christmas bells softened the old man up, or had Granville Frome landed a big one to Ward’s head?
Anyhow, it was ironic that Ward should say such a thing, on this same night when Parker had already been feeling so lucky. “Me, too. I like it here. I wasn’t sure, when I first came back. You know, after being in Washington. And I knew how Glenners felt about political appointments. But I like being the sheriff.”
“Yep. I thought you did.” Ward sighed. “That’s why I think it’s a damn shame your own brother-in-law would be such a son of a bitch as to run against you.”
Parker frowned, completely confused. His own brother-in-law…run against him…for what? He squinted. “What are you talking about?”
“About that snake Harry Dunbar.” Ward pointed toward the front window of the stationery store, which was run by Parker’s younger sister, Emma Tremaine Dunbar. “Sorry, son.”
And right there in the window, next to the display of Christmas cards and smiling Santas, was a sign. A campaign poster, to be precise.
Vote Dunbar For Sheriff, it said in red, white and blue letters. Because It’s Time For A Change.
SARAH GUIDED HER RENTAL CAR slowly, making her way through the sharply twisting curves of Vanity Gap without a lot of confidence. This wasn’t at all like driving in Florida. The narrow path was closely bordered by rugged, ice-capped granite walls, and though the road had obviously been cleared lately, new snow was already falling, obscuring the tarmac.
Now and then the granite walls would part, giving her a dizzying view of the steep mountainside that brought on a fierce wave of morning sickness. She tried to keep her eyes on the road, her breakfast down and her courage up. But what, oh, what had made her think she could handle this?
She had hoped to get here in time to spend Christmas with her uncle, but the details had swamped her. Arranging for a six-week leave of absence from her teaching position hadn’t been easy, and then the minutiae of closing down her apartment—stopping mail and electricity, farming out plants, throwing out food and saying goodbye to friends—had seemed to take forever.
Still, she had managed to free herself by New Year’s Day, which had felt like a good omen. The perfect time to be making a new start.
She had landed at the Albany airport this morning with fairly high hopes, but now, after two hours of mountain driving, she was beginning to wonder whether she should have stayed in Florida. What exactly had she accomplished by running away? And why here, so far from home and everything she understood? What if her memories of Firefly Glen were romanticized by time and youth? What if it was just a grim, bleak, cold little hole in the mountains?
All of a sudden, like a spectacular surprise designed by a movie director, her car finally broke through the gap, revealing the valley below.
Sarah pulled onto the overlook, letting the car idle as she stared, utterly enchanted. Firefly Glen lay before her like a toy village arranged on a coffee table, too perfect to be true.
It was a clear, crisp morning, the sun round and winter-white. The snow glistened like crushed diamonds on the branches of trees, the rooftops of houses and the steeples of the churches. That tall one, on the eastern edge of town—that was the Congregational Church, Sarah remembered suddenly. The golden bells in that steeple had rung out the hours here for more than two hundred years.
The whole village was heavily wooded, as if it had nestled itself into these mountains back in the 1700s without disturbing a single leaf. On the western border of town, the Tallulah River winked in and out of white-frosted elms and hickory pines like a ribbon of silver sequins.
The entire scene exuded beauty, permanence and peace. Sarah leaned her head against the car window, overcome by a strange sense of longing. It would be good to belong to a place like this.
But she didn’t. She wasn’t sure she belonged anywhere anymore. Suddenly she felt intensely isolated here on this mountain, removed from the simple charm of Firefly Glen, exiled from those solid, cozy homes with soft gray plumes of smoke rising from their red-brick chimneys.
Alone. She fought back stupid tears and uncomfortable nausea with equal determination.
It’s hormones. Just hormones, she reminded herself bracingly. Everyone knew that pregnant women were irrationally emotional. She had to stop giving in to it, stop this maudlin self-pity. She was alone on the mountaintop only because she had stopped to appreciate the view.
But the nausea…
That was very real.
She stumbled out of the car and lurched over toward the trees, her boots crunching on snow. In spite of the freezing air, sweat beaded on her forehead and upper lip. She leaned against the smooth white bark of a birch, closed her eyes and concentrated on taking deep breaths.
To her dismay, she heard another car approaching. She held her breath, hoping it would go on by, but it didn’t. It paused, slowed, and then, tires rolling over the snow, eased onto the overlook.
It was a rather large black SUV that dwarfed her small rental car. Firefly Glen Sheriff’s Department, the gold lettering across the side panel announced. Two people were in it, a male driver, and a female passenger next to him.
The driver had rolled down his window and leaned his head out.
“Everything okay here?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” Sarah called, glad to discover that it was almost true. The wave of nausea was passing. It would return, she knew, but for now the relief was blissful. She smiled at the man, noticing the gleaming gold star on his black leather jacket.
The
