a problem for him.
He’d been well used to being physically active, even before he’d signed on as a deputy sheriff here in Weaver. Pitching heavy snow out of his driveway was a welcome task.
Kept the muscles working.
Kept the mind occupied with the simple and mundane.
Two good things, as far as he was concerned.
He wasn’t sold on living in Weaver yet. His job was temporary; he had a one-year lease on the house. He needed to start thinking about what to do after the nine months he’d promised Max Scalise—the sheriff—were up. He should have been spending less time with the snow shovel and more time thinking about what the hell he was going to do with the rest of his life. But tackling that particular question was no more appealing than it ever was.
Standing inside the warmth of his living room, Sloan eyed the snow blocking the driveways. The small blue car had been sitting on the street in front of the house next door for nearly an hour. Footsteps in the snow trailed back and forth from the car to the house.
New neighbors. Moving in on the last day of the year.
He’d been watching them for a while. The woman was young, with shining brown hair that bounced around the shoulders of her red coat with every step. The little kid with her had the same dark hair.
He’d also noticed there wasn’t a man in the picture. Not to help them unpack, anyway. Nor to clear away the snow blocking the driveway, much less shovel a path to the door.
He turned away from the window, grabbed his down vest and headed out the back of his house to the small shed where he stored his bike and tools.
It was the last day of the year and he’d spent too much time thinking already.
Time to start shoveling instead.
* * *
“Abby. Abby.”
Balancing the heavy box in her hands, Abby Marcum glanced at her little brother. He was clutching the plastic bin containing his collection of video games against his chest, his wary gaze glued to the tall man striding toward them from the house next door. “Who’s that man?” Dillon was whispering, but his nervousness shouted loud and clear.
“I don’t know,” she said calmly. “We’ll meet lots of new people here in Weaver.”
“I don’t want new people.” His pale face was pinched. “I want our old people.”
She hid a sigh behind a smile. Her seven-year-old brother wasn’t the only one with misgivings about moving to Weaver. But she wasn’t going to show hers to him when he already had more than enough for them both. “We still have our old people,” she assured him. “Braden’s not so far away that we won’t visit.” Just not every day. Not anymore.
She hid another sigh at the thought.
Noticing that the man angling across the deep snow had nearly reached them, she looked at Dillon. “Take your box inside. You can think about where to put the television.”
He clutched the bin even closer as he retraced his path from the car to the house, not taking his wary attention away from the man for a second.
Abby adjusted her grip on the packing box. She hoped that moving to Weaver hadn’t been a huge mistake. Dillon had already endured so much. For two years, she’d tried to follow her grandfather’s wishes. He was gone, but she was still trying. She just didn’t know if moving Dillon away from the only place of stability he’d ever known had been the right thing to do or not.
The sound of crunching snow ceased when the man stopped a few yards away. “You’re the new nurse over at the elementary school.” His voice was deep. More matter-of-fact than welcoming.
She tightened her grip on the heavy box, trying not to stare too hard at him. Lines radiated from his dark brown eyes. His overlong brown hair was liberally flecked with grays. What should have been pretty normal features for a man who looked to be in his late thirties, but the sum of the parts made him ruthlessly attractive.
She’d grown up in Braden, which was the closest town of any size to Weaver. She knew how small-town grapevines worked, so she wasn’t particularly surprised that he knew about her before she so much as opened her mouth. “I am. But I’ll be splitting my time with the junior high.” The schools were next door to each other, sharing their facilities. “I’m Abby Marcum.” She smiled. “And you are...?”
“From next door.” He stabbed the shovel into the snow.
She’d assumed that, given that he’d come from the house next door. “So that answers where.” The muscles in her arms were starting to shake, so she started toward the house, her boots plowing fresh paths through the snow. “What about who?”
“That looks too heavy for you.”
“Does it?” She kept right on moving, passing him on her way toward the three steps that led up to the front door.
“Would have been easier if you’d cleared the driveway before you started unpacking.”
Her fingers dug into the cardboard. “Probably,” she agreed blithely and lifted her boot, cautiously feeling for the first porch step. She’d have needed a snow shovel for that, though, and that wasn’t something she’d bothered trying to cram into her small car along with everything else. Weaver had hardware stores, after all. And neighbors who had shovels to borrow, too.
The man gave a mighty sigh, his bare hands brushing hers as he lifted the box out of her grasp. “The bottom’s about to give way,” he said and walked past her into the house.
She hurried after him. “Um, thanks.” He was already setting the box on the narrow breakfast bar separating the small living room from the even smaller kitchen. One look at the cardboard told her he was right. The crystal inside could have crashed right through. She flipped open the box and pulled out a few of the glasses she’d wrapped so carefully in newspaper just to make certain they’d safely survived. “My grandmother’s crystal.”
“Mmm.” He didn’t sound particularly interested as he looked around the living room. She’d bought the house furnished. And while the furniture that occupied the room was dated, it was clean and in good condition. With the half-dozen boxes that they’d already carried in stacked on the floor against the wall next to the brick fireplace, the small room was almost full. “It’s freezing in here.”
“I know. Something’s wrong with the furnace. I’ll get a fire started, though, soon as I get the car emptied. And once the holiday is over, I’ll call someone in to get the furnace going.”
She smiled across at Dillon, who was perched nervously on the edge of the couch, watching them with big eyes. He still wore his coat. She’d bought it at a clearance sale last year expecting that he would have grown into it by now. But he still looked dwarfed in it. “A fire will have us toasty warm in no time,” she told her little brother brightly.
“And then we get popcorn like you promised?”
Dillon loved popcorn like almost nothing else. “Absolutely.”
“You’ve got wood?”
