LITMIR.BIZ

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way up to becoming president by learning the business inside and out, and eventually being invited to buy bank stock along the way. Having managed the rest of his money equally well, by the time of his death, he’d amassed what Webster might define as “honest wealth.” That only added to the frenzy of small-town gossip that went as viral as any YouTube sensation—especially when it was discovered that he had died of a heart attack in bed with his youthful bride.

      Maggie bore a particular disdain for “the little gold digger,” despite her own somewhat blemished past. While she had suffered in relationships with men who proved dishonest with her, it could also be argued that Maggie had done some social climbing, and deserved what she got. How she and Carly—never mind the five of us—were going to survive this storm under one roof without causing our own environmental calamity was now my problem. Hardly what I’d envisioned when I first extended my invitation.

      Accepting that I had much more prepping to do, I headed upstairs. Deep in thought, the ringing phone startled me. Backtracking to the table at the base of the stairs I reached for the remote. “Did you forget something else?”

      “Retta?”

      Not taking the time to check Caller ID, I thought Maggie wanted to say something more. Upon recognizing the attractive male voice, I smiled with delight.

      “Sam! For a second, I thought you were Maggie again. How are you? Is it snowing there yet?” Although Sam Archer had been coming to Martin’s Mill for almost a year now, he lived and conducted his business in Fort Worth.

      “It’s a photographer’s dream, but the road conditions are deteriorating fast. I don’t believe it’s wise even at this stage to risk making the two-hour trip to East Texas. Will you be okay?”

      “Not to worry,” I said, relieved with his decision. Having lost Charlie the way I did, I wasn’t up for another exercise in reckless bravado by someone I cared about. “It hasn’t started to come down here yet, but as it turns out, I’ll have a full house. Maggie is coming, and bringing a few others.”

      “Really? So why don’t you sound as upbeat as you usually do when you two are about to visit?”

      “One of my guests got invited in a round-about way. Carly. Sweet Walter’s widow,” I added after he failed to respond.

      “Ah, now I remember. Are you girls ever going to give her a break?”

      While I could hear the amusement in his voice, I couldn’t deny it irked that his impulse was to defend Carly, not Maggie. Regardless of my own reservations about Maggie’s ability to behave, women’s logic allowed me to defend my friend—in as much as I could.

      “Excuse me, you never met him, and I’ve known him longer than Carly’s been on the planet.” In fact, while Sam didn’t need to know this, there were those who wagered that Walter would ask me out, although I was relieved that he never did. “All I’m saying is if the storm keeps us shut in for very long, tempers are bound to get hotter than last summer’s prairie fires.” Sam had become such a close friend that I’d shared most of the back story about who was who and what was what, in Martin’s Mill—not that I expected him to remember all of it. But right now I needed a slight reassurance that he recalled at least fifty-percent.

      With a sigh, he replied, “Then I don’t envy you the predicament.”

      “Any words of wisdom?”

      “Oh, I’m sure you don’t want to hear it, but try to remember that Carly slept with the man. Maggie didn’t, and neither did you.”

      “Sam!”

      “You’ll make the best of it, Retta. You always do.”

      Although I appreciated that he saw me as honest and resilient, I found myself wishing he was a bit more protective if not sympathetic. Another surprise, considering the push-pull of my feelings for him. Was my subconscious finally yielding to pull?

      “We all have our limits,” I said, doing my best not to grumble. Not sure I succeeded, I cleared my throat. “What are you going to do? I hope you’ll play it safe and not even attempt to get to the gallery?”

      Sam was also known as the artist Gray Archer and his home was close to KD Gallery located in the historic Stockyards District of Cowtown where most of his paintings were sold. Nevertheless, traveling even a few miles could be treacherous in icy conditions.

      “I came downtown before this all started, but I’ve been able to book a room at the Stockyards Hotel, just across the street. They have a back-up generator in case the area loses power. That said, I just can’t believe my bad luck.”

      “You’re calling a four-star hotel with room service ‘bad luck?’”

      “Not that. Missing the opportunity to be the one snowed in with you is the problem.”

      The caressing tone in his voice sent a lovely tingle through me, something I hadn’t felt in so long, I hugged myself with my free arm to hold onto the sensation for as long as possible. “It is nice to be wanted.”

      “Would you mind saying that to my face when I finally make it over there again? I’d be more than grateful to prove it.”

      This was the most direct he’d been since he’d tried to do more than kiss me on the cheek. Unfortunately, his timing couldn’t be worse. “Stop flirting with me, Archer. I have guests to prepare for.”

      “At least tell me that you’ll be thinking of me once in a while?”

      “You know I will,” I said softly, then added a quick, “See you soon,” and hung up before I had second thoughts over my divulgence. Things were building between us; however, this was not the time to dwell on whether or not I was ready for what he wanted.

      As I went through the house, my thoughts stayed on the first time I met Sam. Since Charlie’s death I had been managing the place by myself, and that often meant tedious repairs. I’d been struggling with replacing worn-out fence wire along the oil-top road when a red, vintage Dodge pickup pulled up beside me. Sam had since put it into storage, because it tended to get him far more attention than he wanted. These days he drove a much newer black Club Cab Dodge, which allowed him to blend in quite well with the locals.

      On that morning, his tan-colored Stetson was also well-worn like a cattleman’s, as was his denim shirt and jeans. I could tell from beneath the brim of his hat that his mustache and sideburns had once been a rich, dark brown, but everything was turning gray. He was tanned, which told me he spent a good deal of time outdoors. But his skin wasn’t leathery, and he only had smile wrinkles around his eyes and firm mouth. If I’d never seen him again, I wouldn’t have forgotten his eyes, how they could switch from being soul-searching to evoking mischief before you could blink. So mesmerized was I that it would be two visits before I would remember their color: a shade of rich mahogany, speckled with shards of flint.

      Left feeling self-conscious in the presence of someone who seemed so comfortable in his own skin, I let him speak first.

      “Mornin’,” he’d said. “I’m Sam Archer. I’m staying at the Carter House Bed-and-Breakfast and I’m a painter. The owner there said that I should come see you.”

      “Because?”

      In seconds, I’d mentally slam dunked owner-proprietor Lillian Carter into an imagined sludge pond. We were members of the same church and talked enough that she had to have known I would hire someone local if I’d needed a handyman, not some stranger, even if it appeared that he needed the work. Agitation made me even hotter, and I began fanning myself with my straw western hat, despite knowing it made me look even less attractive, what with my damp shoulder-length hair plastered to my head and neck.

      “Because,” Sam replied, as if he’d had all the time in the world, “she was impressively eloquent about how this is where I would find what I was looking for.”

      “Well, I’m sorry she wasted your time,” I’d said, growing more impatient by the second. Forced to squint, which had to be doing wonders for

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