Snowbound with the Bodyguard. Carla Cassidy

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      In those four months, he’d fallen head over heels in love with her and she had appeared to feel the same way about him. They had forged a bond that he thought would last the rest of their lives. They’d made plans for a wedding after her divorce, laughing as they created a fantasy event fit for a king and a queen.

      It wasn’t until the day after the divorce proceedings that the fantasy exploded. Mary told him she needed some time to regroup, that he should return to his home in Cotter Creek and give her a little time alone.

      He’d understood the request, had encouraged it, so certain was he that they would be together. He’d called her often, they’d e-mailed, but after only a month he’d received a Dear John letter. She’d fallen in love with another man. They were getting married. Dalton had made a wonderful temporary hero, but that’s all he had been.

      He scowled as he put the dishes in the dishwasher. The whole thing had left a bad taste in his mouth, a heartache that had been long in healing. Since that time he’d worked the office, answering the phones and keeping the books. He preferred dealing with paperwork instead of people.

      Footsteps sounded on the inside staircase that led from George’s place upstairs to Dalton’s. A moment later, a knock sounded on the back kitchen door.

      Jane might not want anyone to know she was here, but it was already too late to keep that piece of information from his landlord.

      George would have thought it damned odd that Dalton wanted to sleep on his sofa if Dalton hadn’t told the old man that he’d given harbor from the storm to a young woman and her baby.

      He opened the door to see George wearing hot pads on his hands and carrying a fresh pie. “Had some canned apples and thought it was a good day for some pie and coffee.” He swept past Dalton and into the kitchen, where he deposited the pie on the table. “So, how about making us some coffee to go with this work of art.” He pulled out a chair and sat.

      Dalton grinned. “Feeling a little cabin fever, George?” He got a pot of coffee ready to brew.

      “I hate being cooped up. You know me, Dalton, I’m a social kind of man. Sitting and listening to my own thoughts bores me to death. Where’s your houseguest?”

      At that moment Jane appeared in the doorway with Sammy in her arms. She froze at the sight of George. “Jane, this is my landlord, George, from downstairs,” Dalton said.

      George popped up from the chair and walked over to where she stood. “Jane, nice to meet you. And who is this little fellow?”

      Sammy took one look at George’s big, silly grin and screwed up his face. He wailed as if George were the devil himself and burrowed closer to Jane’s chest.

      “Oh my.” George quickly stepped back.

      “I’m sorry,” Jane said. “He’s hungry. I was just going to fix him a bottle.”

      Dalton realized she not only held the boy in her arms, but also juggled a bottle and a can of powdered formula mix, as well. Short of putting Sammy on the floor, it was going to be next to impossible for her to hold him and make the bottle.

      “Want me to take him?” he asked and gestured to the crying child.

      She shot him a grateful look. “If you don’t mind. It will just take me a minute to get this ready.”

      He nodded and took Sammy from her. Almost immediately Sammy not only stopped crying but grinned at Dalton as if the two were best buds.

      “Would you look at that?” George exclaimed. “That boy is plum crazy about you.”

      “He’ll be a lot crazier about that bottle,” Dalton replied, grateful a moment later when Jane took her son back. She sat at the table, Sammy in her arms sucking on his bottle with obvious contentment.

      “George brought up a freshly baked apple pie,” Dalton said as he got out coffee mugs from the cabinet.

      “Hmm, that sounds good. Apple is my favorite.” She offered George a tentative smile.

      “My missus, God rest her soul, loved my apple pies. Always told me if God served pie in heaven, then he’d be serving mine,” George replied. “Guess this snowstorm took you by surprise.”

      “Definitely,” she agreed.

      George could talk, and that’s what he did for the next hour. Sammy finished his bottle and fell asleep. Dalton sat and sipped his coffee as George entertained Jane with colorful descriptions of people in town, humorous stories of his misspent youth and his fifty-year marriage to the woman who had owned his heart since he was sixteen.

      Dalton had heard the stories before. What he found far more interesting than George’s conversation was watching Jane interact with the old man.

      As she listened to George, she looked relaxed. Her long blond hair was so soft-looking, so shiny, it made a man want to reach out and touch it, coil it around his fingers, feel it dance across his chest. The first time she laughed aloud, Dalton was shocked by the pleasure that swept through him. She had a great laugh, one that would easily evoke smiles in others.

      Although she visited with George in general terms, he noticed that she gave nothing of herself. She didn’t mention family or friends, didn’t speak of her hometown or her job.

      Irritated with these kinds of thoughts, he got up to pour himself another cup of coffee, then returned to the table. He didn’t want to think about how sweet she smelled or how her lips were just full enough to tempt a man.

      She’d given no indication that she might be up for a short, reckless affair to pass the time until she got on the bus out of town. And the last thing he wanted was any kind of an emotional entanglement with any woman. She’d be gone soon, and that was that.

      It was just after three when George finally got up from the table. “It’s been a real pleasure,” he said and smiled at Jane. “There’s nothing nicer than spending a snowy afternoon in the company of a beautiful woman. Unfortunately, at my age, a good nap is also a pleasant way to spend the afternoon, and I’m past due mine.”

      She offered him a sunny smile. “Thank you for the pie, George. Your wife was right. It was the best I’ve ever eaten,” she replied.

      George beamed as if kissed by an angel.

      “George, have you mentioned to anyone that I’m here?” Jane asked.

      “Can’t say I have.” George scratched the top of his head. “Haven’t talked to anyone except Dalton since this storm moved in.”

      “I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t mention it to anyone.” She flashed him a bright smile. “I’m kind of hiding out from somebody.”

      George’s eyes lit up. “Ah, a woman of mystery. Your secret is safe with me.” He started to turn to head out the way he had come, but paused and pointed to the window. “Would you look at that?”

      Both Dalton and Jane looked through the window where the snow had finally stopped and the sun peeked out from behind the last lingering gray clouds.

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