Page 3 of One Last Storm
“We brought ribs for your smoker,” said Dawson. “Gotta get ‘em on early.”
Right.
“No problem,” Tillie said. “Coffee’s fresh.”
Huh. Something had her in a good mood today, and despite Hazel’s words, his chest loosened a little. In fact, she looked...well, the word that kept coming to mind was glowing. Couldn’t shake the feeling that if he said the wrong thing, he’d somehow dim that light.
And he was about to dim it real good.
Shep remained standing near the door, snow still melting off his boots onto the hardwood floor. Still wearing his jacket like he planned to bolt at the first opportunity.
Dawson headed to the kitchen, Caspian on his heels. Shep held back. Cleared his throat. Took a breath.
“You okay, Shep?”
He nodded, then gestured toward the windows. “It’s getting nasty out there fast. Visibility’s already down to maybe a quarter mile. Storm like this could knock out power lines, maybe even take down cell towers.”
Through the windows, the wind howled like something alive and angry, driving snow horizontally across the yard. The pine trees swayed and creaked under the assault, their branches whipping back and forth. The thermometer outside had dropped another two degrees.
“Coffee?” Tillie said to Shep, and it sort of broke him out of his weird trance. “Warm you up from that cold out there.”
“Thanks, Tillie.” Shep left Moose then, and walked to the kitchen. He accepted a mug with a grateful nod, wrapping his hands around it.
Caspian suddenly lifted his head from where he’d hunkered down beside Hazel’s chair. His ears perked and he trotted over to Tillie and sat beside her, whining softly. Pressed against her legs.
Weird.
“What’s wrong, boy?” Tillie scratched behind his ears, but the dog wouldn’t leave her side.
Maybe he could talk Shep into?—
Moose’s phone buzzed on the granite island. “It’s Deke,” he said as Sheriff Deke Starr’s name flashed on the screen.
“This can’t be good,” said Dawson, unloading his bag. Racks of ribs, already seasoned, in tinfoil.
Moose gave him a grim nod as he answered. “Hey, Deke.”
“Moose, we’ve got a problem.”
“I don’t like it when you start a call like that.”
“Yeah, well, you’re going to hate this. Winter Starr’s plane is missing. She was supposed to check in yesterday from the Clearwater homesteads, but we haven’t heard anything. Weather’s getting really nasty. Wind’s already gusting to twenty, and the forecast says it’s only getting worse. I’m worried she went down somewhere between here and there.”
Blood drained from his face. “What do you mean, missing?”
“She called in her position after the drop at the Turnquist homestead. Nothing since then.”
As if to punctuate Deke’s words, a particularly fierce gust rattled the entire house, sending a fresh spray of snow against the windows.
Hazel looked up from her cereal, milk running down her chin. “Is Winter okay?”
He glanced at Tillie, then took the phone off speaker. Oops. He was winning all kinds of awards today. “She’ll be fine, pumpkin.”
Then he walked away from the island.
“Deke, I’ll get the team mobilized. The storm isn’t that bad yet down here. We can move fast, head up to Clearwater and go from there.”
“You’d better get going. The National Weather Service just upgraded this to a blizzard warning. If you’re gonna mount a search, it needs to be now, before this thing really gets going.”
