“You made it to town. Excellent.” Dan shook his hand, and she correctly guessed him as her father’s pastor friend when he introduced him. “You’ll love the Evergreen Resort. I think the family is stuck in Florida. But they left Romeo in charge. He’s fantastic—”
“I think we met him,” her father said. “He pulled us out of the ditch.”
Oh no. The snowplow driver also ran the resort? Maybe she could successfully avoid him. Especially if he spent his entire time snowplowing the highway.
“Can’t believe he’s alone for the week of Christmas at the resort. It’s their biggest week of events. With Casper out of town, Romeo will probably have to oversee Wilder House too. And Boone here is getting married there on Saturday night.”
The big blond turned, holding a tray of coffee. “I’m sure Romeo will pull it together. Between my bride and her to-do list, I’m sure everything will be perfect. But he definitely has his hands full.” He turned to the Browns. “Nice to meet you. Have a great vacation.”
“Plan to,” her father said. “Thanks.”
They left, and her mother turned to her. “Maybe you can help.”
Stella looked at her, a little nonplussed. “Help? With what?”
“You know. With Christmas at the resort. The wedding.” She drained her cocoa. “After all, you organized your senior prom.”
“That’s because I was class president!”
“And a good one too,” her father said. “Ready to go?” He stood up.
She looked at her mother, who was gathering the cups.
What on earth?
She followed her parents out into the storm, sliding into the dark, cold back seat.
Definitely a third wheel.
She leaned her head against the window as they headed out of town and into the whiteout.
CHAPTER 2
TUESDAY, 9:00 A.M.
Under the blue-skied day, powered by four cups of java and six hours of dead-to-the-world sleep, maybe Romeo would make a comeback. He’d risen with the sun, still making a run for the morning, ground some of Aunt Ingrid’s favorite beans from the local Java Cup, and woken up his bones with a workout of chopping a cord of wood for his newest guests.
Today, two more guests were due to arrive, so he cleaned out the parking lot, again, then delivered wood to the bin of cabin six.
Clearly, the Browns had settled in okay, their little Honda CR-V parked in the drive and footsteps stamped into the snow of their deck.
He retrieved the shovel and went to work on the deck, clearing it and the steps. Then he cleaned off the decks of the other cabins and the path back to the house.
The snow had turned the resort into a winter wonderland, the frosting heavy on the evergreens and icing the lake. He walked out to the dock and cleared the platform that remained on shore. He and Owen had taken the rest of the dock out of the water last fall.
Back then, he’d felt a part of the team, busy caring for the guests who’d arrived to enjoy the fall colors. They’d built bonfires in the evenings, helped kids roast marshmallows, and he’d even taken a few guests out in the canoe to enjoy the moonlight.
For a while, it had silenced the what-ifs, stopped the mental pull to check in on the Jude County Firefighters and their whereabouts. His old jump boss, Tucker, had texted him once, asking him how his old hometown was, and they’d had a short conversation. Tucker and his wife, Stevie, had headed up to Alaska for Christmas, and it’d only stirred in Romeo an old longing.
But those days were over, destroyed after Disco died, and probably Uncle John’s request to return to Deep Haven had actually been a rescue mission.
Romeo put away the shovel, then took the resort truck into town to plow Casper’s route. Which necessitated a trip into Java Cup for another cup of coffee, this time a caramel macchiato.
“Thanks, Kathy,” he said as he retrieved his order.
“Your cronies are in the back room,” she said.
His cronies? He didn’t have any cronies…but he stuck his head into the back area and spotted Sammy sitting on a chair, leaning back on the legs. With him sat Sheriff Kyle Hueston, Cole Barrett, director of the Deep Haven Crisis Response Team, along with Boone Buckam, also with the team, and Jack Stewart, CRT flight nurse, and fire chief Pete Dahlquist. By the sound of the conversation, they were chewing over last night’s accidents.
“Hey, Romeo,” Kyle said. “Good work yesterday. Sammy said you worked fourteen hours.”
“Way past regulation, but we were short-staffed.” Sammy lowered his chair. “Take the day off.”
“I wish,” Romeo said. “I have guests due to arrive and Wilder House to plow, not to mention Casper texted and needs me to do his plowing route.”
“The Christiansens still ‘stuck’ in Florida?” Kyle finger quoted stuck, and everyone laughed.
“Apparently.” Romeo laughed too. Probably he should just let it go. It wasn’t like Owen had tried to abandon him.
And now he was just acting like a child. Sheesh. “I hope they’re having a great time.”
“I hope they’re all sunburned,” Kyle said, grinning. “Jerks. Casper and Owen should be freezing with the rest of us.” More laughter.
“Could be worse,” Sammy said. “Romeo could be freezing his backside off in Alaska.” He turned to him. “Didn’t you winter in a one-room cabin without electricity?”
“Or plumbing,” Romeo said. “We had an outhouse.”
“That’s a cold trip in the middle of the night,” Cole said.
Romeo smiled, but the words turned to acid inside him. Yeah, it had been cozy, but he’d been holed up with two of his teammates.
Somehow, suffering together felt better than suffering alone.
Stop. He didn’t know why this was bothering him so much. It wasn’t like he was a kid, spending Christmas shivering in the back seat of his mother’s car. He had a roof over his head, a job, and, like Kathy said, cronies.
“Gotta get back.” He lifted his macchiato.
“My best man and Vivie’s makeup girl are coming in tonight,” Boone said.
“I’m on it.”
Romeo headed back outside and got in the truck.
The lake had calmed since the storm last night, the clouds blown away, and Deep Haven had turned downright magical with the decorated main street, wreaths on all the shop doors, a Salvation Army ringer near the Blue Moose Cafe.
Maybe he needed a little more cheer up at the resort. Lights on the evergreen. A skating rink with lights.
He put the cup in the holder between the seats, then started on Casper’s list, plowing out the community church parking lot, Pastor Dan’s house, the Deckers’ places, and even the CRT lot, although much of that snow had been already cleared by their four-wheeler.
An hour later, he headed out of town, the radio turned to a local station now spilling out a jazzy rendition of “Jingle Bells”—“Dashing through the snow…”
His phone rang, and he sent it through the truck’s speakers. “Tell me you’re on a flight.”
“Sorry.” Owen’s voice. “There’s another storm front headed across the Midwest. It might miss Deep Haven, but the flights are all messed up. We’re thinking of driving.”