Caleb Erickson gripped the steering wheel as his truck gave another death howl and veered to the side of the snowy highway as if looking for a place to die.

“Don’t you fricking dare,” he growled as he wrestled for control on the ice. “Just eight more miles and we’re home!”

Home . . . that wasn’t the right word anymore for the place he’d been born and raised, especially not since his mother had passed away. Now he was an occasional and reluctant visitor to a man who barely bothered to acknowledge his existence. He breathed a sigh of relief as the lights of the town appeared ahead of him. He could stop at the Gonzaleses’ place and see if Mike could take a look at his truck and get him out to the ranch. Even as he had the thought, the engine gave a death rattle and gave up on him. Caleb steered toward the snow-banked pavement so he wasn’t blocking the through street before he gave in to the inevitable. The sudden silence after the horrendous clanking of the past few miles was almost a relief. Snow fell around the cab, blurring the holiday lights strung along the shop fronts as it melted on the windscreen.

Caleb got out of the cab and tried to orientate himself in the biting wind. Most of the shops were dark or boarded up for the winter, which wasn’t encouraging. There were lights on in the coffee shop, but when he trudged over to try the door, it was locked. He got out his cell phone only to realize he’d forgotten to charge it during his all-night drive down from Seattle and it was as dead as the town.

“Dammit,” Caleb muttered as he shoved it back in his pocket. Now he’d have to walk to the mechanic’s shed at the end of the street and see if Mike was around. He pulled his knitted hat further down over his ears, zipped up his collar, and headed down the center of the deserted street because it was easier to walk on than the sidewalk. Even before he reached the premises, he realized he was on a fool’s errand. The huge barn doors were closed, and all the lights were off. He turned a slow circle, his teeth chattering as he viewed his hometown. He had no phone so he couldn’t call anyone and no truck to get anywhere anyway. He couldn’t even turn and run because he’d end up dead in the snow.

His glance passed over and then came back to a familiar old-fashioned house opposite the coffee shop. It was double fronted and four stories high with a wide covered porch all the way around it. He squinted through the snow. There were lights on and it looked almost welcoming. Caleb sighed, his breath frosting in the freezing air.

He retraced his steps past the hulking shadow of his truck. There was no one else out, but that wasn’t surprising. In conditions like this the best thing to do was hunker down at home and wait for the worst of it to pass. He opened the gate of the white picket fence and approached the steps up to the porch, where a lighted sign next to a brightly lit Christmas tree proclaimed:

Caleb grunted as he ascended the creaking steps. If Mrs. Smith had been here that long it might explain why she was always so cranky. She’d never liked the local kids and had chased them out of her yard and away from her fruit trees with a dedication and speed that had defied her age.

The front door opened just as he was about to knock, and he was confronted by a smiling vision in a ruffled pink apron covered in blobs of chocolate.

“Good evening!” she trilled. “I’m so happy you are here!”

Caleb almost took a step backward. He wasn’t used to being met with such enthusiasm, being broad, well over six feet tall, and having a natural disinclination to smile.

“I was expecting Mrs. Smith,” Caleb said.

Her smile dimmed. “I’m afraid she passed away last year.”

“Sorry to hear that.” Caleb half turned away. “And I apologize for disturbing you.”

“Don’t you want to come in?” He frowned as she pushed the door open even wider. “Do you need something?”