A Weaver Proposal. Allison Leigh

snorted. “I ought to give you a push,” she warned.

      Sydney managed not to laugh. Over the past few hours, it had become increasingly obvious to her that Eli found her attractive.

      “I think I can manage,” she told him. Derek’s muffled laugh beside her wasn’t so easy to ignore. “You’re not giving me a push, either,” she told him under her breath.

      “Didn’t offer, cupcake. But if you want my hands on your butt, say the word. We don’t have to like each other to want each other.”

      “Don’t flatter yourself,” she snapped, but had to stare hard at the sloping snowbank to battle her own imagination. Contemplating the mountain of white was much more comfortable than entertaining any sort of notion involving Derek’s hands.

      She pulled in another deep breath, then planted the toe of one borrowed boot into the steep bank. Once she got started, the task was less daunting than she’d feared, but she still had snow clinging to her legs and coat by the time she managed to scramble to the top. Eli and Megan lent their aid, grabbing her beneath the arms to help her up the last foot. Even then, Derek still managed to get to the top before she did.

      But her annoyance over that fell away when she straightened and dusted off the sticking snow. She couldn’t help but catch her breath all over again at the postcard-perfect sight.

      Megan clearly understood. “It’s pretty, huh?”

      “Yes.” White-capped mountains loomed in the distance. Spiky winter-bare trees lined a narrow creek bravely winding free of the pristine snow that glistened like diamonds in the dwindling light. In the distance, she could see downward to the back side of the big house where smoke curled from one of the chimneys and golden light spilled from the windows.

      She’d traveled the world but had always thought that Forrest’s Crossing—despite her love-hate relationship with the place—was one of the most beautiful spots on earth.

      But this was just as beautiful in an entirely different way.

      Forrest’s Crossing was all genteel, Southern charm from its steepled horse barns and white-fenced paddocks to its perfectly manicured grounds.

      This looked like nothing but nearly untouched nature.

      Nearly, because there were several tall very modern-looking windmills on the crest of the sharp hill where they stood. They weren’t the only modern touch she’d noticed around the ranch, either. Several of the barns and outbuildings they’d toured had obviously been outfitted with solar panels.

      “Not exactly the Swiss Alps or wherever you like to while away your winters.”

      Sydney eyed Derek. He was standing several yards away, but she’d heard him easily, as if even sound traveled more quickly in this pristine land. “No, it isn’t. But if you can’t see the beauty around you right here, then I feel sorry for you.”

      His frown was quick and surprised, but fortunately, whatever he would have said went unspoken when Eli piped up. “It’s nothin’ like where I came from in California, that’s for sure,” the boy said. Instead of standing there to admire the view, though, he started off in the direction of the house.

      After a moment, Derek looked away from her and followed his nephew.

      It was, mercifully, all downhill from there.

      Sydney looked down at Megan, who was hanging back with her. “You and your brother lived in California?” For some reason, she’d assumed they’d been born and raised in Weaver, though she didn’t really know why. Except that they seemed to possess that “we belong here” quality that everyone around here had.

      Everyone except for Sydney, of course.

      Megan started walking, too, and Sydney fell in step with her. “Eli came from California. I came from Virginia. We’re both adopted, ‘cept Eli was with Dad since he was a baby.”

      The dad, Sydney knew, was Max Scalise, the local sheriff. Neither he nor his wife, Sarah, had been at dinner that day, though—according to Megan—they were picking them up later. “And you?”

      “They didn’t get me until I was eight after my real parents died.” Her voice was matter-of-fact.

      “I’m sorry.”

      “I got lucky. Mom and Dad—Sarah and Max, I mean—they’re okay. And then they had Benny, too, and it’s like he’s all of us combined. He’s with Mom and Dad this afternoon.”

      “Ben,” Eli called from up ahead. “Benny’s for babies.”

      Megan rolled her eyes. “Ben is only four,” she yelled at the back of her brother’s head.

      “And do you have any cousins?” Sydney said casually, watching Derek’s back several yards ahead of them. Unlike Eli, Megan and Sydney, his head and hands were bare, though he showed enough human frailty to keep his hands shoved in the pockets of his leather jacket.

      “You mean from Uncle Derek?” Megan shook her head. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “He doesn’t even got a girlfriend,” she confided. “Grandma says it’s ‘cause he’s still pining for Renée.” Her whisper dripped over the name. “They were supposed to get married, but they didn’t.” Without missing a step, she leaned over and grabbed up a handful of snow, packed it together in a ball, and launched it at her brother’s back.

      It exploded in a splatter and Eli whirled around, scooping up his own ammunition.

      Sydney had to swallow her unwelcome curiosity where Derek and his broken engagement were concerned, and dart out of the way or end up in firing range of the missiles the two youngsters chased each other, whooping and hollering, toward the big house. Even then, she wasn’t entirely successful.

      And since she couldn’t avoid them, she decided to join them, throwing her own inexpertly made snowballs right back. Unfortunately, her aim was off, and she hit Derek, smack in the side of the head.

      Her laughter cut off midstream as he slowly turned to look her way.

      “Sorry,” she said breathlessly. “I was aiming for Eli.”

      He cocked an eyebrow, giving an exaggerated look to where his nephew was bent nearly in half, laughing wildly. “Is that so?” There was at least ten feet between him and the boy.

      Megan dashed over beside Sydney. “Here.” She handed one snowball to Sydney. She had another already clasped in her mitten. “We can take him,” she said, dancing from one boot to the other in anticipation. “Uncle Derek says he always wins, but not this time.”

      Derek chuckled outright. “Meggie, babe, you’d better teach your firing mate to have better aim, then. And warn her that I never like to lose.”

      “If you’re six feet off,” Megan said from the side of her mouth, “just aim six feet over.”

      It wasn’t the worst advice Sydney had ever had and before Derek stopped chuckling, she launched the well-packed snowball.

      It missed his head only because he ducked at the last minute to avoid it.

      But Megan’s snowball hit him square in the chest and Sydney couldn’t help but laugh.