that he didn’t have his weaknesses. He hated every one of them.
Grimacing, he finished filling a second canvas bag, then picked up one in each hand and trudged around his house and across the snow to Edna’s house. She came out as he dumped his load on the porch. He didn’t speak when he passed her on his way back, and neither did she as she heaved a carton from the cargo area of the truck.
By the time he’d delivered and stacked a good supply of wood, she was finished with her unloading. He took the last load inside, got the fire going, then piled the rest of the logs nearby. When he turned, she was watching him. Her smile was tentative as she huddled in her coat for warmth. He could relate. He’d lost contact with his feet a long time ago.
“Thank you.”
He shrugged it off, then glanced at the little girl asleep on the sofa, bundled in so many blankets that only part of her face was visible—pale skin, pale brown hair. His sister teased that he wasn’t a kid-friendly person, and he didn’t argue the point. He didn’t think he’d ever been a kid himself, and helping raise his brothers and sister had been enough exposure to small people to last a lifetime.
Still, he nodded toward her. “What’s her name?”
“Lucy. She’s five.”
There were worse names for a five-year-old—Edna. Bess. Tiffany. If he had a preference, it would be for nice, common names like Sarah, Beth or Kate.
Or Jayne.
Still hugging herself, she eased a few steps closer to the fireplace. He thought he should say something before leaving but didn’t have a clue what. He settled for gesturing toward the fire. “Try not to let it go out.” The moment he heard the words, he grimaced. His sister would unload on him if he said something so patronizing to her.
But Jayne just smiled tightly. “I won’t. Thanks again for your help. I really appreciate it.”
He nodded, walked outside and pulled the door shut behind him. Stopping on the porch, he tugged on his gloves, adjusted the collar of his coat, then stepped out into the snow. Inside he would have said the house was no warmer than outside, but even those few moments of heat had made a difference that he could feel to his bones.
His own house, though, really was as cold as outside, and much darker. The dogs met him at the door, sparing a few seconds for a sniff and a lick, then darting outside before he could close the door. Out of habit, he flipped the light switch, but nothing happened. He found the matches in the gloom, lit the oil lamps that sat on tables around the room, then crouched in front of the woodstove. It didn’t take long to get a fire burning, though it would be a while before the room warmed to the comfort zone. He removed his coat and hat anyway, hanging them near the door, where the snowmelt could drip on the tile, then kicked off his boots. After fixing a cup of instant cocoa with hot water from the tap, he wrapped up in a quilt and settled on the sofa.
The ring of the phone seemed out of place in the still, dark room. It seemed only fair that if he lost power and heat, the phone should go out, too, but he knew better than most that life wasn’t fair.
“Enjoy your walk home?” his sister, Rebecca, asked in place of a greeting.
“You bet. Sliding uphill in the middle of a snowstorm has always been my idea of a fun time,” he retorted, then asked, “How’d you know I wound up walking?”
“Because you always think you’ll get home before the road gets too bad and you always wind up walking.” Her tone turned sly. “Anything new to report?”
“Like what?” he asked, though he knew exactly what she meant. Sweetwater, with a population not worth counting, had the most effective gossip network around. Jayne Miller had probably stopped in town for supplies or directions, which meant that everyone within a ten-mile radius knew Edna’s long-absent heir had put in an appearance before she’d even reached Sassie Whitlaw’s four-foot-tall metal chicken. Everyone but him.
“Come on. Jayne Miller. From Chicago. Writer of some sort. Has a five-year-old daughter named Lucy. Divorced from Edna’s grandson and got the house in the divorce. What do you think of her?”
“What makes you think I met her?”
She made a pffft sound. “Tell me you didn’t haul firewood for her.”
Tyler shifted uncomfortably. Rebecca knew him too well—all his secrets, all his shortcomings. “Just enough for a couple days.”
“So? Tell me about her.”
“Hell, you already know more than I do.” She hadn’t said anything to him about being a writer, though she had spilled out everything about how she’d come to own her ex’s grandmother’s house. Being a city girl, she probably wouldn’t have much appreciation for country living. Maybe he could persuade her to do what Edna had always refused—sell the property to him. He’d bought the rest of Edna’s land before she’d died. If he could have that small section, his privacy would be complete.
The slyness returned to Rebecca’s voice. “Is she pretty?”
“I didn’t notice.” Just as he tried to not notice the heat in his cheeks that always appeared when he lied. It was better than any lie detector, his mother used to tease.
When she’d recovered enough to learn how to tease again.
There was a moment of silence, then Rebecca heaved a sigh. “You know, what happened with Angela was an aberration. It doesn’t mean you’re like…” The silence that followed was heavy. Final.
When had they agreed that they would never mention their father again? They hadn’t actually discussed it or anything. One day not long after his death they had just stopped talking about him, and the younger kids had followed their lead. Delbert Lewis had stopped existing for them.
Except in their dreams. Their nightmares.
Angela was another subject they didn’t discuss. His old girlfriend was long gone—but never forgotten. Some of the best times in his life had been with her. So had some of the worst.
“What are the streets like in town?” he asked as if Rebecca hadn’t trespassed into memories best left alone.
There was another silence, broken by another sigh. “Probably worse than the roads are out there. At least you were the only fool on the road out there.”
“Gee, thanks for the compliment. Listen, I’ve got to change into dry clothes. I’ll talk to you later.” He moved the phone away from his ear, but not quickly enough to miss her quiet words.
“Yeah. Later.”
Shadows danced on Jayne’s eyelids, applying pressure to her eyes, then easing. She tried to pull the covers over her face, but they wouldn’t budge. Tried to brush the shadows away but found something solid instead. Blindly she groped and realized it was Lucy’s hand, her pudgy little fingers probing. Wrapping her hand around her daughter’s, Jayne moved it away, then opened one eye enough to see a blurry face peering at her.
“I knew you was awake inside there.” Tugging her hand free, Lucy jumped to the floor. “Come look outside, Mama. It snowed and snowed and snowed. It’s pretty.”
Jayne lifted her head
