Snowfall On Haven Point. RaeAnne Thayne

      The nervous note in her voice broke Andie’s heart, especially when she thought of the bold child who used to run out to confront the world.

      “Do I have to carry it out there?” Chloe asked.

      “Not if you don’t want to, honey. You can wait right here in the kitchen or in the entryway, if you want.”

      While Chloe perched on one of the kitchen stools and watched, Andie prepared a tray for Marshall, trying to make it as tempting as possible. She had a feeling his appetite wouldn’t be back to normal for a few days because of the pain and the aftereffects of anesthesia, but at least the fault wouldn’t lie in her presentation.

      It didn’t take long, but it still gave her time to make note of the few changes in the kitchen. In the few months Wynona had been gone, Marshall Bailey had left his mark. The kitchen was clean but not sparkling, and where Wyn had kept a cheery bowl of fruit on the counter, a pair of handcuffs and a stack of mail cluttered the space. Young Pete’s food and water bowls were presumably in Boise with Young Pete.

      As she looked at the space on the floor where they usually rested, she suddenly remembered dogs weren’t the only creatures who needed beverages.

      “I forgot to fill Sheriff Bailey’s water bottle,” she said to Chloe. “Could you do that for me?”

      Chloe hopped down from her stool and picked up the water bottle. With her bottom lip pressed firmly between her teeth, she filled the water bottle with ice and water from the refrigerator before screwing the lid back on and held it out for Andie.

      “Thanks, honey. Oh, the tray’s pretty full and I don’t have a free hand. I guess I’ll have to make another trip for it.”

      As she had hoped, Chloe glanced at the tray and then at the doorway with trepidation on her features that eventually shifted to resolve.

      “I guess I can maybe carry it for you,” she whispered.

      Andie smiled and rubbed a hand over Chloe’s hair, heart bursting with pride at this brave little girl. “Thank you, Chloe. You’re always such a big help to me.”

      Chloe mustered a smile, though it didn’t stick. “You’ll be right there?”

      “The whole time. Where do you suppose that brother of yours is?”

      She suspected the answer, even before she and Chloe walked back to the den and she heard Will chattering.

      “And I want a new Lego set and a sled and some real walkie-talkies like my friend Ty has. He has his own pony and I want one of those, too. Only, my mama says I can’t have one because we don’t have a place for him to run. Ty lives on a ranch and we only have a little backyard and we don’t have a barn or any hay for a pony to eat. That’s what horses eat—did you know that?”

      Rats. Had she actually been stupid enough to fall for that “I have to go to the bathroom” gag? She should have known better. Will probably raced right back in here the moment her back was turned.

      “I did know that. And oats and barley, too,” Sheriff Bailey said. His voice, several octaves below Will’s, rippled down her spine. Did he sound annoyed? She couldn’t tell. Mostly, his voice sounded remote.

      “We have oatmeal at our house and my mom puts barley in soup sometimes, so why couldn’t we have a pony?”

      She should probably rescue the man. He just had one leg broken by a hit-and-run driver. He didn’t need the other one talked off by an almost-five-year-old. She moved into the room just in time to catch the tail end of the discussion.

      “A pony is a pretty big responsibility,” Marshall said.

      “So is a dog and a cat and we have one of each, a dog named Sadie and a cat named Mrs. Finnegan,” Will pointed out.

      “But a pony is a lot more work than a dog or a cat. Anyway, how would one fit on Santa’s sleigh?”

      Judging by his peal of laughter, Will apparently thought that was hilarious.

      “He couldn’t! You’re silly.”

      She had to wonder if anyone had ever called the serious sheriff silly before. She winced and carried the tray inside the room, judging it was past time to step in.

      “Here you go. Dinner. Again, don’t get your hopes up. I’m an adequate cook, but that’s about it.”

      She set the food down on the end table next to the sofa and found a folded wooden TV tray she didn’t remember from her frequent visits to the house when Wynona lived here. She set up the TV tray and transferred the food to it, then gestured for Chloe to bring the water bottle. Her daughter hurried over without meeting his gaze, set the bottle on the tray, then rushed back to the safety of the kitchen as soon as she could.

      Marshall looked at the tray, then at her, leaving her feeling as if she were the silly one.

      “Thanks. It looks good. I appreciate your kindness,” he said stiffly, as if the words were dragged out of him.

      He had to know any kindness on her part was out of obligation toward Wynona. The thought made her feel rather guilty. He was her neighbor and she should be more enthusiastic about helping him, whether he made her nervous or not.

      “Where is your cell phone?” she asked. “You need some way to contact the outside world.”

      “Why?”

      She frowned. “Because people are concerned about you! You just got out of the hospital a few hours ago. You need pain medicine at regular intervals and you’re probably supposed to have ice on that leg or something.”

      “I’m fine, as long as I can get to the bathroom and the kitchen and I have the remote close at hand.”

      Such a typical man. She huffed out a breath. “At least think of the people who care about you. Wyn is out of her head with worry, especially since your mother and Katrina aren’t in town.”

      “Why do you think I didn’t charge my phone?” he muttered.

      She crossed her arms across her chest. She didn’t like confrontation or big, dangerous men any more than her daughter did, but Wynona had asked her to watch out for him and she took the charge seriously.

      “You’re being obstinate. What if you trip over your crutches and hit your head, only this time somebody isn’t at the door to make sure you can get up again?”

      “That’s not going to happen.”

      “You don’t know that. Where is your phone, Sheriff?”

      He glowered at her but seemed to accept the inevitable. “Fine,” he said with a sigh. “It should be in the pocket of my jacket, which is in the bag they sent home with me from the hospital. I think my deputy said he left it in the bedroom. First door on the left.”

      The deputy should have made sure his boss had some way to contact the outside world, but she had a feeling it was probably a big enough chore getting Sheriff Bailey home from the hospital without him trying to drive himself and she decided to give the poor guy some slack.

      “I’m going to assume the charger is in there, too.”

      “Yeah. By the bed.”

      She walked down the hall to the room that had once been Wyn’s bedroom. The bedroom still held traces of Wynona in the solid Mission furniture set, but Sheriff Bailey had stamped his own personality on it in the last three months. A Stetson hung on one of the bedposts and instead of mounds of pillows and the beautiful log cabin quilt Wyn’s aunts had made her, a no-frills but soft-looking navy duvet covered the bed, made neatly as he had probably left it the morning before. A pile of books waited on the bedside table and a pair of battered cowboy boots stood toe-out next to the closet.

      The room smelled masculine and entirely too sexy for her peace of mind, of sage-covered mountains with an undertone of leather and spice.

      Except for