Blood on Copperhead Trail. Paula Graves

went straight to Laney’s side. Her blue eyes reflected the gray gloom of the clouds overhead. “Chief.”

      “Public Integrity Officer.”

      Her lips curved the tiniest bit, sending a little ripple of pleasure darting through his gut. She was just too damned cute for her own good.

      Or for his.

      He shouldn’t have been surprised when the other searchers joined other leaders, leaving him and Laney in a group by themselves. Nobody, it seemed, was inclined to join a group that included the new chief of police.

      “I took a bath this morning,” he muttered to Laney, who wore a look of consternation. “Used deodorant and everything.”

      She looked up at him, her lips curving in a smile. “Maybe they figure, you being a flatlander and all, you’ll hold ’em back.”

      He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Poor you, stuck with the beach bum.”

      Her eyes flickered open a little wider, as if surprised to hear him use the term that just about everyone in town was using to describe him. Did she think he was oblivious to the whispers?

      “I know what they call me,” he added softly. “I don’t mind. I’d probably call you a mountain goat if you’d been voted sheriff of Ridley County. Nobody likes change.”

      “And yet it’s inevitable.” Laney turned away, taking a loosely sketched map from Carol Brandywine, who was handing out the search assignments. “Oh, goody. We get the boneyard.”

      He looked at the map. He could make little of the squiggles and lines drawn there, but she seemed to know exactly where they were supposed to go. He picked up his pack of supplies and caught up with her as she started toward the trailhead.

      “What’s the boneyard?” he asked, falling in step with her.

      The look she darted his way was full of barely veiled amusement. “I thought you were the guy who did his homework.”

      “It’s a graveyard?” he asked doubtfully.

      “Well, sure, you could get that much from the name.” Her voice lowered to a half whisper, an almost dead-on impression of his own teasing style of speech. “But not just any graveyard.”

      He played along. “Are we likely to run into haints?”

      She grinned then, mostly at his less-than-successful attempt at a mountain twang. “Not just any haints. Cherokee haints. This land was their land first. They have a lot to be upset about.”

      “What should I expect from this boneyard?”

      She lifted her flashlight, putting the beam just under her chin to light up her face in spooky shades of dark and light. “Terror,” she intoned.

      He grinned at her. “You got a good report from the hospital this morning.”

      Her grin morphed into consternation. “How do you do that?”

      “Like you’d be playing haunted trail guide with me if things weren’t better with your sister?”

      She smiled. “If her vitals continue looking good, she’ll go home tomorrow.”

      “Any progress on her memory?”

      “Not so far. But my mom says she’s a lot clearer about the things she does remember.” Her smile faded as she looked up the mountain. “Uh-oh.”

      He followed her gaze, seeing only a pervasive mist that swallowed the top of the ridge. “What?”

      “See that cloud?” She pointed toward the mist.

      “Yeah?”

      “It’s not a cloud.” She pulled her jacket more tightly around her. “Hope you like hiking in the snow.”

      Chapter Five

      “Should I call off this search until the weather improves?”

      Laney looked behind her. Doyle had been smart enough to bring a cap with him in his pack. It was keeping the snow off his head, though his uncovered ears blazed bright red from the raw cold. His weatherproof coat was covered with snow, and he looked cold, miserable and worried.

      “We were assigned one of the highest points on the mountain, so we’re the ones getting the snow. Most of the other parties are below the snow line. They’re just getting mist and rain.”

      “Are you still okay? Warm enough?”

      He seemed genuinely concerned rather than asking after her comfort as a way to express his own discomfort. She decided to show him some mercy and dug a spare set of earmuffs out of her pack. “Here. Put these on.”

      He looked at the bright green earmuffs for a second, his thought processes playing out candidly in his conflicted expression. On one hand, he wanted warm ears. On the other hand, sticking bright green fuzzy earmuffs on his ears would be an egregious assault on his masculinity.

      Comfort won out. He took the earmuffs and put them on, replacing his cap. He looked ridiculous but warmer.

      “Smokin’ hot,” she said under her breath.

      “What?”

      She shook her head. “Nothing.”

      He gave her a suspicious look.

      She turned back to the trail, grinning to herself.

      As they neared the Cherokee boneyard, she decided to keep that fact to herself. He wouldn’t be able to see much from the trail with snow falling this hard. They were already struggling to stick to the trail as it was. They were in near whiteout conditions, and she was beginning to think he had been right to question the wisdom of trying to search the mountain in this much snowfall.

      “Maybe we should go back,” she said, turning to look at him.

      But he wasn’t behind her.

      “Doyle?” She started back down the trail, her boots slipping on the snow-covered path. She couldn’t see Doyle’s tracks behind hers for several yards. Then she spotted a churned-up disturbance in the snow near a short drop-off.

      She edged carefully to the lip of the drop and saw Doyle flattened out against the steep incline, inching his way back up to the trail. Had he called out to her when he’d fallen? The whistle of the wind and the sound-deadening effects of her earmuffs must have hidden the sound of his mishap. She took the offending ear protectors off.