Page 48 of Stuck with the Hero Next Door

After she drove away, I stood in the garage doorway watching the gray sky press down on the valley. No snow yet, but the air had that heavy, expectant quality that meant it was coming soon. The wind was picking up, making the power lines hum.

My phone buzzed. Text from Tim: You available to help with storm prep? Hardware stores got a list of folks who need supplies delivered before the weather hits tomorrow.

I fired back: On my way.

After swapping Cassie’s truck for mine, the next two hours blurred together in a montage of snow shovels and rock salt deliveries. First stop was old Mr. Garrett's place on Maple Street, where his arthritis had been acting up something fierce. I helped him stack firewood on his covered porch and made sure his generator was working.

"Don't strain yourself out there!" he called from his front door as I tested the generator. "This old storm's got teeth. You can feel it in the air."

"I'll be careful, Mr. G. You've got my number if you need anything."

Next was the Hendersons' place—no relation to Mrs. Henderson from the garage, though they'd been feuding over that coincidence for twenty years. Mrs. Henderson Number Two (as Janet called her) was waiting on her porch with a thermos of cocoa and a worried expression.

"This is going to be a bad one, isn't it?" she asked, watching me carry bags of rock salt to her garage.

"Nothing we haven't handled before," I told her, though the truth was, this storm had a different feel to it. Meaner. More determined.

"That new teacher—Cassie, is it? She prepared for something like this?"

I paused in my salt-stacking. "What do you mean?"

"Well, she's from the city, isn't she? Might not know about keeping extra water on hand, making sure the pipes don't freeze. That cottage of Bob's can get mighty cold when the wind picks up."

The knot in my stomach tightened. "I'm sure she's fine."

But was I? When was the last time I checked on her place? Made sure she had enough firewood, that the weatherstripping around her windows was solid?

Mrs. Henderson Number Two must have seen something in my expression because she reached over and patted my shoulder. "You're a good man, Levi Marshall. Don't let that one get away."

The wind was getting stronger by the time I reached my last stop—the Everwood Inn. The parking lot was nearly empty except for a few cars that belonged to the handful of guests staying during the off-season. Most of them were probably truckers or traveling salesmen who had decided to hunker down somewhere warm before the storm hit.

I was halfway up the front steps when Mom pulled up to the curb and climbed out, arms full of what looked like enough emergency supplies to stock a fallout shelter.

"Levi! Perfect timing." She thrust a box of batteries into my hands. "Help me get this inside before the wind picks up anymore."

I followed her through the lobby, where Janet was busy arranging emergency candles on every available surface. The inn already had that cozy, battened-down feeling that came with preparing for a long winter siege.

"Generator's fueled up," Janet reported without looking up from her candle arrangement. "Got enough canned goods to last a week, and I moved the guests to rooms on the first floor in case we lose heat on the second."

"Good thinking," Mom said, starting to unload supplies onto the front desk. "I brought extra blankets, flashlights, and that battery-powered radio from Grandad's workshop."

I set the batteries down next to a growing pile of emergency gear. "You two act like this is the apocalypse."

"Better safe than sorry," Janet said, finally looking up. "Besides, it's not us I'm worried about."

She and Mom exchanged one of those looks that passed between mother and daughter when they were thinking the same thing but didn't want to say it out loud.

"What?" I asked, though I was pretty sure I already knew.

"Cassie," Mom said simply. "She's been... distant lately. Canceling plans, keeping to herself. And now with this storm coming..."

"She's fine," I said, but it came out defensive.

Janet raised an eyebrow. "When's the last time you talked to her? Really talked, not just texted."

I tried to think. It had been days since we'd had an actual conversation—really talked, like Janet said. The realization hit me like a splash of cold water.

"She canceled dinner tonight," I admitted.