all. I’d best load up the horses and head out of here before the storm gets any worse.”
As much as she didn’t want to do it, she laid a restraining hand on his arm. “I’m afraid we’re too late for that. It looks like you’re going to have to take your hat off and stay awhile.
Was it his imagination or had Sarah’s shoulders slumped when she’d suggested they go up to her house? Did his presence bother her that much?
It was a disheartening notion, but she was right about one thing—he wasn’t going anywhere, at least not for a few hours yet. He’d never seen anything like this sudden turn in the weather. The already snow-packed roads were receiving a double wallop of the white stuff. Snow on snow. He didn’t even want to think about trying to drive in it, especially towing a trailer with Grandma Sheryl’s precious equine cargo. Odd, though, that he hadn’t seen any quarter horses. Only the two Percherons, and Grandma wouldn’t have any use for those.
For the moment a steaming-hot cup of black coffee and the opportunity to catch up with Sarah sounded great to him, even if she didn’t appear equally enthused.
As they approached the house, Marcus darted around her to get the door, but it opened before he could get his hand around the knob, nearly sending him careening into the cabin.
Startled, Marcus stepped back. A white-haired old man with a bushy beard greeted them and hastily ushered them inside. The guy was a dead ringer for Santa, from the rosy cheeks and the glitter in his eyes to his round belly. The only thing missing from the picture was a bow-like smile, which had been replaced by a worried frown. No bowl-full-of-jelly laughter here.
The fellow fit right into the surroundings, seeing as this was a Christmas tree farm and all. But what was he doing in her cabin? Sarah retained her very own Santa Claus and the man lived in her house?
“Thank the good Lord you’re safely home,” the man exclaimed in a booming bass voice. “Eliza is in a tizzy. She was just about ready to send me out after you in this blizzard. I’m grateful you came back when ya did. I wouldn’t want to have had to chase ya through the snow.”
“Sorry, Pops.” Sarah brushed the white flakes from her dark hair and removed her snow boots and down jacket. “Pops, this is Marcus, one of Sheryl Ender’s grandsons. He’s here to pick up the horses, but unfortunately, the storm waylaid him. Marcus, this is my father-in-law, Carl Kendricks.”
“Good to meet you, sir,” Marcus replied automatically, shaking the older man’s hand. He was glad he didn’t have to think about the effort because his mind was busy wrapping itself around what he’d just learned.
Sarah was married. There was no reason why she shouldn’t be. She was a beautiful woman with a heart of gold. He didn’t know why the news came as a surprise to him, except that—
He glanced at her left ring finger, but it was bare.
Divorced, maybe? But then why would she be living with her husband’s parents?
“Sarah?” a woman called from the next room. “Is that you, honey? We were starting to get worried what with the snow croppin’ up and all. Jewel just woke up from her nap. I fed her a bottle but she’s still fussy. I think she wants her mama.”
A pleasantly plump white-haired woman—Mrs. Claus, if Marcus didn’t miss his guess—bustled into the room with a baby on one hip and a young dark-haired girl following along, hiding behind her grandmother’s leg. The children were beautiful, the spitting images of their mother.
“Oh,” the older woman exclaimed when she saw Marcus. “I didn’t realize you had company.”
Marcus grinned. “I’m here for the horses.”
“One of Sheryl’s grandsons,” Carl supplied. “Marcus, this is my wife, Eliza.”
“You’re from Oklahoma? Did you go to school with Sarah?”
Marcus’s gaze shifted to Sarah. Went to school with her? He’d dated her, for all four years of high school. He’d thought they were headed for an engagement and a wedding.
How wrong could a man be?
“I—er—yes, ma’am. We were in the same class together.” He figured it was best to stick with the broad picture. No sense bringing up the past when her husband might waltz into the room at any moment.
Awkward.
“You all settle in now. Marcus, go ahead and shuck your coat and boots at the door,” Eliza said, handing the baby to Sarah. “Coffee’s already on. I’ll grab an extra cup. I figured you’d need something to warm your innards after being out in that mess. Storm’s a brewin’.” She gestured toward the front window. Outside the wind swirled the large snowflakes both horizontally and vertically, creating a virtual whiteout. “Did you find Crash?”
“Silly reindeer was a good mile or so away, standing right in the middle of the road and blocking Marcus’s truck.”
“She wouldn’t budge,” Marcus added with a chuckle, winking at Eliza. “Good thing for me that Sarah happened along. I’ve never been face-to-face with a real live reindeer before. I didn’t know what to do with her.”
“Crash would have moved eventually, when she got hungry enough,” Sarah said.
Marcus switched his gaze to her. There was something—off—in her tone, and even holding her baby, she had her arms wrapped around herself in a universally defensive gesture. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but his years as a counselor had given him a sixth sense where people’s emotions were concerned, even when they were trying to hide them.
Sarah was trying to conceal her feelings but she still sounded...down. Maybe even depressed.
His chest ached. His heart hurt for her, even if he didn’t know why. She seemed as if she had it all— a beautiful family, a Christmas tree farm. Even live reindeer. How cool was that?
A thought hit him like a punch to the gut. Was he the reason she was sad?
“I’ve been meaning to ask—what is Sheryl going to do with a couple of Percherons, anyway?” Carl queried, running a hand down the gristle on his face.
Marcus didn’t know whether to answer the question or ask two more. How did Carl and Eliza know Grandma Sheryl? And more to the point, what was this about him being here to take the Percherons?
“Wait—what? I’m not here for barrel racers? Quarter horses?”
“Quarter horses?” Eliza snorted. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re not running a ranch here, son. What would a Christmas tree farm be doing with rodeo stock?”
Marcus didn’t have a clue what a Christmas tree farm would do with barrel racers, but he was equally stymied as to why Grandma Sheryl, who trained quarter horses for rodeo would buy a couple of Percherons. It didn’t make any sense.
“We use the drafts to pull the sleigh,” Eliza continued.
“Used,”
