Jack’s precocious and hilarious twelve-year-old son, had gone AWOL from his grandparents’ home a few weeks ago—during an ice storm, no less—and had the family and everyone else at the lake in an uproar. Of course, the kid was still grounded. Jack insisted puberty would be a nonissue because Charlie was going to spend the duration in his room.
But, as Tucker had told Libby, the chemistry hadn’t been there with Allison. It was too bad. Really, it was. He’d meant what he said—he honestly did want a wife. A family. A home. But he wanted what Jack and Arlie had, too, that click between them that was both indefinable and undeniable.
He looked over at where Libby slept with her head tucked into the pillow he kept in the car. It would be nice if they could develop that chemistry, because she was pretty close to being his favorite person. But, regardless of what happened in some of the movies she’d dragged him to and he’d pretended he didn’t like, he didn’t believe friends necessarily made good lovers.
As he drove, the sky appeared more and more as if it was filling up with snow to dump on them. Winter had been an ongoing progression of record-breaking badness so far, each snowfall or ice storm heavier than the one before it. Buying the new Farmer’s Almanac had done nothing to prepare him for the unpredictable weather.
It had promised a cold but clear day today, but no one who lived in the Midwest ever took promises like that seriously.
Taunting him, the clouds opened and began the process of dropping their contents. They weren’t on the interstate, which made driving through the snow in a Camaro even more of a challenge than it might have been otherwise.
Two inches of snow later, the clock in the car insisted it was four, but the lowering sky indicated it was lying. The wind speed had increased at least ten miles per hour, making the thick white stuff even more impenetrable. Libby came abruptly awake. “Where are we?”
“The North Pole. I took a wrong turn.”
She called him a mildly profane name in a pleasant voice, then reached back between their seats. “Coffee?”
“Please.”
She found the thermos and filled their cups. “I’m sorry.”
He sipped, welcoming the warmth, and arrowed her a quick glance. “For what?”
“If we weren’t going on an adventure, we wouldn’t be driving through a snowstorm.”
He laughed, reaching over to give her hair a tug. “It’s not the first one we’ve driven through.”
“That’s true.” She peered through the windshield. “Are we near a town?”
He nodded. “About six more miles, I think, judging by that sign about an hour ago that said it was eleven miles away.”
She punched his arm lightly. “Do we exaggerate much?”
His cell phone made a percolator sound that signaled a text. Tucker sighed. “There’s my brother, telling me to get off the road. He’s so predictable.”
“Do you want me to check it?”
“Yeah, you’d better. The last time I drove in a storm, the plant had a fire and Charlie ran away.”
“But the Colts won that day, so it wasn’t a total loss.” Libby tapped his phone to read the message. “You’re right. It is Jack. He says if you’re driving to get off the road, you—” Her eyes widened. “I don’t think that was a very nice thing for him to call you.”
“You’re just mad because you didn’t think of it first.”
“There is that.”
They laughed together, their timing as on as it always was. “Man,” he said, “look at that truck coming. No headlights and he’s flying.” The other driver had no intention at all of sharing his landing strip, either. Tucker stretched his arm out in front of her. “Hang on, Lib.” He edged over as far as he could, praying the right-side wheels of the Camaro wouldn’t slide into the ditch.
The petition went unanswered when the car not only went into the ditch, but hit a culvert that was under an unseen driveway. The truck went on by, going fast enough the Camaro trembled—Tucker thought probably with rage—when it passed. His hand, shaking, went to her shoulder. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” Her fingers covered his. “Are you?”
He nodded, searching for and finding the emergency blinkers. The car wasn’t going anywhere. As far as he could tell, they were mostly off the road. He squinted, peering through the driving snow at the farmhouse at the other end of the lane they were blocking. “I hope whoever lives here wants company. Why don’t you stay in the car while I go for help?”
“Why don’t you not be an idiot?” She shrugged into her coat and pulled on her gloves, flashing him a smile. “Quite the adventure so far, Llewellyn. I’m impressed, but I’m really scared to ask what’s next.”
“Good thinking. At least wait there until I come around to help you.”
“Okay, my hero.”
As he inched his way around the front of the car, he found a spot of ice under the snow. His feet, still clad in the slick-soled shoes he’d worn to church, went out from under him. He landed flat on his back, coming to rest jammed against the bumper of the car, which was all that kept him from sliding under the engine as if he were on a mechanic’s creeper.
The passenger door opened and closed, and a few seconds later, Libby knelt beside him. Good Lord, she’s wearing a dress. He hadn’t even realized that.
“Are you okay?”
He met her eyes as her face hovered close to his. “You’re laughing, aren’t you?”
“Give me a little credit here. I’m trying not to.”
She didn’t try hard enough, and by the time she’d helped him to his feet and was brushing snow off him, they were both laughing so hard they could barely stand.
“Come on.” He tucked his arm around her and they started toward the farmhouse. “If we stay in one spot too long, they’ll find us frozen in place when everything thaws.” He squinted into the snow. “Is anyone home? I know it’s early, but it’s dark enough there should be lights on and I don’t see any.”
She pointed. “In the barn. I’d say it was milking time, but I don’t see any signs of dairy.”
They plodded through the snow, growing more breathless as they discussed the combined lack of foresight that resulted in her dress and his slick shoes. When they got to the white barn, Tucker rapped sharply on the tall door before pushing it open enough for them to slip inside the hay storage area. “Hello?” he called, keeping Libby’s hand in his as they moved toward the light source.
“In the stable.” The voice was muffled, but they were able to follow it.
The scene they walked into was one Tucker thought he’d only seen on television. A man stood in a roomy stall with his arm around a boy who looked about eleven or twelve. A woman, visibly pregnant, was outside the stall with a little girl who was probably five beside her. The little girl was holding a cat.
The adults looked helpless. The boy was trying not to cry, leaning his head into the man’s chest and wiping his nose on his sleeve.
Tucker remembered being that age, when for whatever reason it wasn’t okay to cry anymore. The dog he and Jack had shared had died. His mother and Libby and the Gallagher girls had been in tears, but he and Jack and Jesse had toughed it out. They’d buried the dog under an elm tree in the woods around the Albatross without shedding a single tear. Instead, they’d used a lot of forbidden swear words and taken the rowboat out to one of the little islands in the middle of the lake. They’d stayed out there until Jack got hungry and Tucker got leery of being on the island after dark.
He didn’t think this kid had an island available