Handful of Heaven by Jillian Hart

admit she had any shred of that young, foolish girl she’d once been left inside her. She was a practical, hardworking woman who knew how to get things done. What was it that she heard endlessly from people? Sensible to a fault. Yep, that was her. So why on earth was she wishing that she’d said yes to Evan as a date instead of as a friend?
    Because I’m insane. It was the only thing that made sense. Maybe it was some sort of mid-life crisis. Or a reaction to all the long backbreaking hours she’d been working. A woman couldn’t put in horribly long work days seven days a week forever. Something was bound to give…apparently, today, it was her sanity.
    I’d better schedule an afternoon off and soon.
    Well…she amended. Maybe after the month’s financial statements were done. As she sat forward, as if that would help her see better through the snow battering the windshield, she realized that while she was heading home, it would be no night of leisure. There was the bookwork to do. At least she had all but the day’s receipts at home. She’d do a little computer work until bedtime.
    Even in four-wheel drive, the tires caught and spun in the deep drifts that covered the driveway like waves in an ocean.
    Driving kept her full attention, and it was a fortunate thing she had her full attention to give. Surely the youth pastor had sent the kids home before the emergency bulletin came through. She prayed that Alex was home safe.
    But it wasn’t worry over her son that troubled her as she battled to keep the Jeep on the road. No, for some reason she couldn’t explain, the soreness of being alone remained, as if the memory of Evan’s impressive presence remained like a ghost to haunt her.
    You’re going to owe me big-time, he’d said, as though it was a threat. What on earth did he mean? She’d accompany him to Bible study, introduce him so he wasn’t alone, and they’d be square, right? That’s what he meant, right?
    The uncertainty stayed with her on the arduous half-mile journey to the private road that took her to her own driveway. To her relief Alex’s truck was parked squarely in the middle of the drive, caught in a drift, and so she parked behind him, knowing there was no way to get around.
    The wind struck her like a boxer’s fists, and she couldn’t remember feeling a colder one, ever. The night and the darkness felt endlessly isolating as she fought her way through the drifts, and along her driveway cut between snowbound pines. The wind moaned through the snow-heavy limbs overhead, and she hurried as fast as she could manage through the blizzard conditions and to the house that emerged from the whiteout, lit windows glowing gold. There was Alex in the open doorway, calling out, glad to see her.
    Not so lonesome anymore, she hurried out of the storm, hugged her son even though he protested, and gave thanks that they were safe and snug as the late-season blizzard raged on.

     

    It was nearly an hour later by the time Evan shoveled the drifts out of the way so the garage door could close properly. He’d done as Paige had asked, returned to call the diner, given the evening cook her message and banked the fire so he could go right back out in the storm.
    And why? He was frozen half to death in the subzero temperatures and even colder windchill, and his back hurt so bad he couldn’t straighten up all the way…and all for a woman. A woman who made him half crazy, judging by the way he was acting.
    Although the roads were beyond dangerous to drive in, what had he done? He’d followed the wheel tracks Paige’s Jeep had left in the snow all the way to her driveway. Just to make sure she wasn’t lost in the ditch somewhere.
    When he’d come across her vehicle parked neatly in the dark behind her son’s truck, unable to go any farther, he knew she must be home safe, since the walk wasn’t far. Sure enough the message light blinked on the answering machine. Since he was half-stooped anyway, he didn’t