Pick up a few shifts over the holidays, they said.

It will be fun, they said.

Trixie swiped a damp cloth over the counter of the iconic Sleepyside restaurant and considered sitting down in one of the booths. The odds that a customer would come into Wimpy’s at nine o’clock on Christmas Eve were slim, to say the least. When she had completely run out of surfaces to clean and the grill area was neater than she’d ever seen it, Trixie gave in and slid onto the cracked red leather seat of the bench of her favourite booth. She’d spent her summers working at Wimpy’s ever since she’d graduated high school, and it was almost a second home now.

Which was why she’d agreed when Mike had begged her to work over Christmas holidays. What neither of them had realized was that Mike’s mother would have a health emergency and that Trixie would end up managing the restaurant for a full week during his absence.

An absence that included Christmas Eve.

Trixie picked at the crude carving of a heart encasing two pairs of initials etched into the Formica tabletop. Right now, her family was probably sitting around the living room, snacking on Christmas candies and homemade treats before getting ready for the midnight church service. The Bob-Whites had rescheduled their traditional Christmas Eve get-together for the morning of the twenty-fourth, so at least she hadn’t missed that. The memory of the sometimes violent, always entertaining Dirty Santa gift exchange had buoyed her spirits enough to get her to her shift at the diner, but now that she had another three hours before she could lock the doors and head home… Trixie propped her chin on her hands and stared out the window.

Snow swirled and the single-pane glass rattled in a sudden gust of wind. Trixie shivered and wished for the first time that her uniform included long sleeves. Or a sweater. Instead, she was in a short-sleeved knee-length blue dress, topped with a white apron. The only saving grace was that she was allowed to wear whatever she wanted on her feet. Mike probably hadn’t expected her to show up in orthopedic white sneakers, but he had been smart enough to keep his comments to himself.

Mike was a good boss, Trixie acknowledged. He’d gradually taught her every aspect of the restaurant operations which meant that she could waitress, short-order cook, and stock supplies with the best of them. But she had never understood why he insisted on staying open until midnight every Christmas Eve.

“You never know who’s going to need a burger on Christmas Eve,” was all he’d told her.

She hadn’t investigated further, simply because he always took that shift himself. She had thought, hoped, that he would reconsider this year when he couldn’t be there himself, but when he’d asked her, she couldn’t say no.

And who knew? Maybe he was right. The fact that there hadn’t been a single customer in the restaurant since four-thirty said otherwise, but the night was young.

As if in answer to her thoughts, the heavy glass door swung open, the wind catching it and sending it banging against the wall.

“Spider!” Trixie exclaimed, jumping up. “Are you here for a burger? I’ll put the grill on.”

“Don’t bother,” he said, stamping his feet and shaking the snow from his hat. “I just dropped in to tell you that there’s a real storm brewing. All the churches have cancelled their services for tonight, and probably tomorrow morning as well.” He paused. “I wouldn’t say no to a cup of coffee, though. It’s like the North Pole out there!”

Trixie slid behind the counter and put on a fresh pot. The best part of working in a diner was the commercial grade appliances. Coffee was ready in two minutes instead of ten. She poured two cups, and then sat down with Spider at the counter.

“Why don’t you head home, Trixie?” the police officer asked. “You’re not likely to get any customers and I’d feel better if I knew you were home before the storm really hits in a few hours.”

Trixie considered it. If she left now, she could be home in time for board games with her family. Even if the power went out, Crabapple Farm had a gas stove and a fireplace. She would be warm and well-fed. As opposed to cold and… well-fed. She might not have quite the appetite that she’d had for burgers as a teenager, but she wouldn’t starve at Wimpy’s, either.

“I’ll stay a bit longer,” Trixie decided. “Mike really wanted us to stay open tonight.”

Spider drained the last of his scalding black coffee and stood up. “I can understand that,” he said, agreeing so easily that Trixie wondered if he knew more about Mike’s reasons for keeping Wimpy’s open than she did. “And the storm might peter out. If I start hearing reports of freezing rain, though, I’ll come back.”

Trixie nodded, knowing that Spider wouldn’t leave her a choice if he thought the storm was too bad for her to stay open. If it worsened, he’d be back, and he’d probably drive her to Crabapple Farm himself in his cruiser.

“Stay safe,” Trixie called, as Spider donned his hat.

He opened the door and turned back to her, wind whipping through the diner. “You, too,” he replied, his words sounding more like an order than a general wish of well-being. The door slammed closed behind him, but not before a small snow drift formed on the floor mat.

Glad to have something to do, Trixie swept up the snow. Before she could finish putting the broom away, the door banged open a second time.

“Did you forget something, Spider?” she called from the storage room where she was stowing the broom. “I can get you a coffee to go if you like. The pot is still fresh.”

When he didn’t answer, Trixie frowned and poked her head out of the storage room. “Spider?”

But the tall man standing just inside the door wasn’t Spider.

Not even a little.

“Are you open?” he asked politely. “The sign is on, but…”

“Oh!” Trixie exclaimed. “Yes!” She dusted her hands on the skirt of her uniform. “I’m sorry,” she said, recovering her poise as she went behind the counter. “We haven’t had a customer for a few hours, and Spider was just here to tell me about the storm, and…” She trailed off, aware that once again, she was rambling.

She hadn’t thought that she was affected by the sight of a man in uniform.

It was possible, just barely, that she’d been mistaken.

“Spider?” he questioned, glancing around as if he expected the diner to be infected with arachnids.

“Officer Webster,” Trixie corrected herself, and his expression cleared.

“I passed a patrol car on my way in,” he said.

“That was Spider,” Trixie explained, knowing that none of the other officers would have been on patrol on Christmas Eve. “We don’t have much a police force here in Sleepyside.”

“You probably don’t need one,” he said, sounding as if he approved of the town. “Sleepyside seems like a quiet place.”

Trixie hid a smile. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” She handed him a cup of coffee. “Are you hungry? It will only take me a minute to get the grill going.”

He hesitated.

“A burger and fries?” she guessed. “You look like you could use some food.”

He nodded gratefully. “I hate to put you to the trouble, but…” He patted the flat stomach of his fatigues. “I could do with something to eat.”

Trixie readied the grill before sliding a piece of pumpkin pie toward him, shrugging when he raised his eyebrows. “It’s Christmas Eve. I think you’re allowed to have dessert first. Also, I make an excellent burger, but it will be a few minutes. This should tide you over.”

He stared down at the pie and Trixie wondered fleetingly if he were a health fanatic. Though what he’d be doing in a place like Wimpy’s if he were was a mystery to her.

“Did you make it?” he asked, raising his fork.

Trixie snorted. “Not hardly. I can grill a burger just fine, but baking, other than chocolate chip cookies, isn’t really my thing.” She paused. “Don’t tell anyone, but Moms actually made this pie. Mike likes to pretend that he makes them himself, but he pays Moms a fortune to do it for him.”

His lips twitched. “Your secret is safe with me,” he assured her. “Especially seeing as how I’m only passing through.”

She would have questioned him on the passing through comment (it was obvious, after all, since he was in uniform, but she still had questions!) but his attention was firmly focused on the pie. He had a look on his face that she couldn’t quite identify. Either he didn’t like pumpkin pie, or…

“Oh,” he said, hesitating as he took his first bite.

“Is it too cold?” Trixie worried. “I can warm it up for you if you like.”

“No,” he said, after chewing carefully. “No, it’s perfect.” He took another bite and closed his eyes.

“I’m glad you like it,” Trixie said, fascinated by his expression of bliss. She’d never really understood how some people loved cooking for others, but she was beginning to see the appeal. The customers who came to Wimpy’s loved the food, but she’d never seen a reaction quite like his before.

“It’s just like my mom used to make,” he explained when he scraped the plate clean.

Trixie’s breath caught as she recognized the tone of his voice. Jim and Dan both used it on rare occasions, only when they talked about their parents.

“You can have another piece after your meal. And if you come back to Crabapple Farm when I’m finished my shift Moms will have a fresh pie,” she offered impulsively.

He looked up, intrigued. “Do you often invite people from the diner back to your place?”

“No,” she retorted. “Only when they’re obviously in need of some family and home-cooked food.” She paused. “And manners,” she added pointedly, deciding that his playful question hadn’t cast her in a particularly good light.

He stood, his tall, slim form looming over her, and Trixie thought maybe she should have left off that last part. She hadn’t intended to offend him to the point of leaving before he could eat his burger, after all.

“My apologies, ma’am,” he said, for the first time sounding as if he matched the uniform he wore. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Trixie nodded. “I’m Trixie Belden,” she said, extending her hand. “And it’s Christmas Eve. If you don’t have anywhere else you need to be, you’re welcome at the farm.” She grinned. “It’s not fancy, but it has stretchy walls.”

He shook her hand, and then settled back on the worn stool. “Sometimes I forget how to talk to people,” he admitted. “Conversation in the Marines is…” he paused, “not always polite.”

Trixie grinned. “I bet! You might not have noticed, but I’m not always very polite, either. People tell me I can be a little blunt,” she admitted, knowing that she probably shouldn’t have mentioned him needing family. She suspected it was true, but that probably meant that she for sure shouldn’t have mentioned it. “Conversation isn’t always very polite at Crabapple Farm, either. Not with three brothers. But there’s always good food,” she added by way of apology.

“It sounds perfect,” he said. “And I’d like to stop by, but I’m just passing through.”

Trixie nodded. It was none of her business why he was passing through Sleepyside late on Christmas Eve.

And she wasn’t even curious about it.

Not the least little bit.

“So, what brings you through Sleepyside?” she asked, as if the words had a life of their own.

He shrugged. “Just heading to a new base for specialized training.”

He said it casually, but Trixie could tell that it was a big deal, at least to him.

“Well, then, you definitely want a good meal,” Trixie decided. She turned to the grill and set the meat sizzling. It might not be roast turkey, but it still smelled amazing. She worked in silence, listening to the duet of searing meat and howling wind. When she glanced out the picture window facing the street, she couldn’t even see the buildings on the other side of the street. Snow, or maybe sleet, pelted the window, a staccato barrage that demanded to be let it. As soon as Mr. Military was finished eating, she was closing the restaurant down for the night, she decided. Mike wouldn’t want her driving the two miles to Crabapple Farm in a storm at midnight.

Timing it perfectly, Trixie placed a basket of fries in bubbling oil, retrieving them when she finished assembling the burger. She presented it with a flourish and felt a flush of gratification when his eyes lit up. Trixie left him to enjoy the burger in peace, cleaning the grill and putting the rest of the food back in the refrigerator. Mike might have been right after all, she decided. If she’d closed the diner at six like she’d wanted to, Mr. Military would have passed on through and he wouldn’t have had the pumpkin pie that reminded him of his mother.

With that thought in mind, she reached for the pumpkin pie in the refrigerator, determined that he have a second piece. Instead, a massive crash echoed through the diner, and Trixie felt the building shake.

“What was that?” she gasped, whirling to face the front of the diner.

Mr. Military was already on his feet and halfway to the door. Trixie hurried after him, slowed by the counter separating the kitchen from the rest of the restaurant.

“A tree came down,” he said, peering into the night.

Trixie’s eyes widened. Main Street was lined by mature oak and elm trees. None of them were small. If a tree had come down…

“It’s blocking the street,” she said, unable to look away from the spectacle. “And, oh no! It took out that car!”

There was a pause.

“That’s your car, isn’t it?” Trixie asked, knowing the answer already.

He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

He didn’t seem overly upset, but she wasn’t sure she would be able to tell if he were. “It might not be as bad as it looks,” she offered weakly. Sure, from the doorway of the diner it looked as if the tree had crumpled the roof of the car, long limbs pinning it in place, but maybe…

No. His car was most likely totalled, and they both knew it.

“We’ll go to Crabapple Farm,” she decided. “You might have to bunk with one of my brothers, but you’ll have a place to sleep and—”

Her words were cut off by a second crash, and Trixie let out a startled yelp. With a sudden pop the lights in the diner and the streetlights turned dark as if smothered, and Trixie found herself thrown to the floor, a large, heavy body protecting her.

She grunted from the impact and struggled to right herself.

“Easy,” he cautioned, his breath tickling her ear. “Another tree came down. It might have hit the restaurant but I don’t think it broke through.”

When he shifted his weight, Trixie scrambled to her feet. She stood at the door, but without the streetlights, there was very little to see. The wind howled and branches rattled against the door.

“It came down right at the front door,” she breathed, realizing why she couldn’t see anything. The second downed tree was literally on their doorstep, blocking her view. It had missed the actual building by only the narrowest of margins, and Trixie felt her heart rate accelerate.

It had been much, much too close.

“Ice storm,” he said succinctly, joining her at the door. “It can bring down full-grown trees simply from the weight of ice on the branches. With this wind…” He shook his head. “The power is probably out for miles.”

Trixie shivered. Storms and power outages were all well and good when she was safe at Crabapple Farm tucked in the hollow. Being stuck in Wimpy’s with a virtual stranger on Christmas Eve was a completely different story.

Even if the stranger looked as if he knew what to do in an emergency.

“The booth in the back corner,” he instructed, and took her hand to tug her toward it. “It doesn’t have any windows close to it.”

The restaurant was pitch dark in the power outage, but he led her straight there as if he had an internal map. She awkwardly tumbled into one side of the booth, sensing more than seeing him do the same on the other side. Except he wasn’t awkward. No, he slid into his side of the booth so smoothly that Trixie began to wonder if he were part cat.

It would explain the night vision, too.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, startling her as the screen lit up. “It’s a text from Spider. All the highways are closed due to freezing rain and downed power lines.” She sighed and sent a message to her mother, telling her that she’d be at the restaurant until the roads were safe. In a matter of seconds, her phone blew up with texts. “Yes, Jim, I remember how to start a fire. Yes, Brian, I can still feel my fingers. No, Honey, I didn’t bring an extra sweater. No, Mart, I definitely did not bring a book to read! And how would I read it in the dark?” She shook her head. “Di, I’ll find something to use for a pillow. Dan—” She stopped and blushed. “Never mind,” she muttered, and shoved the phone back in the pocket of her skirt.

“Boyfriend?” he guessed. Trixie didn’t have to see him to know that he was amused.

“Dan’s just a friend,” she insisted. “A friend who likes to flirt. Brian and Mart are my brothers, and Honey and Di are my friends.” She paused. “Who happen to be dating my brothers.”

“And Jim?” he asked, proving that he had a good memory for names.

Trixie shrugged. “Another friend. He just doesn’t flirt as much as Dan.”

Or at all, she reflected sadly, remembering the fond glances from her teenage years that had been too few and far between. Even though all of the Bob-Whites returned to Sleepyside regularly, it still felt like their adventures had taken place a lifetime ago.

“It sounds like you’ve got a real army at your back,” he said, and Trixie’s tension eased.

“The Bob-Whites are always there for each other,” she confirmed. “We’ve gotten each other out of some serious scrapes over the years.”

She couldn’t see him raise his eyebrows, but she could feel it. “You’d be surprised,” she told him. “I don’t know how any of us made it through our teenage years. Gun smugglers, jewel thieves, counterfeiters,” she ticked off criminals on her fingers. “Blizzards, floods, capsized sailboats...” Though the situations had been terrifying at the time, the memories made her smile.

“Huh,” he said, stretching out on his side of the booth. “You make my teenage years sound positively boring.”

Somehow, she doubted it.

“I doubt it,” she said frankly, once again voicing thoughts that were probably best left unsaid. “I mean,” she stammered, “you just seem as if you’ve had your own share of adventures.” Although maybe those adventures hadn’t started until he joined the military? But if he’d lost his mother at a young age, he’d most likely had a more difficult youth than he might have otherwise… Trixie pressed her lips together. She would not ask.

She wouldn’t.

“Tell me about the flood,” he suggested, inadvertently rescuing her from asking a blunt question.

Trixie smiled. “Well,” she began, “we were in Iowa. Chasing sheep thieves.”

“I thought they were jewel thieves,” he interrupted.

“That was in New York,” she informed him, marvelling at his memory. If the Marines could train a person to have such excellent recall, maybe she ought to have considered enlisting instead of going to college and biding time until she qualified for a private investigator’s licence. “Iowa was sheep thieves.”

“Right,” he said, and Trixie suspected that he was humouring her.

“Hey, I don’t make this stuff up,” she informed him tartly. “I just live it.”

“No offense,” he said, holding up both hands in a placating gesture. “So. Sheep thieves in Iowa.”

“At my Uncle Andrew’s farm,” Trixie elaborated. “His sheep farm,” she elaborated, thinking of his home in the Ozarks.

“Hence the sheep thieves,” he agreed.

Two hours later, Trixie’s throat was sore and she didn’t know if it was from talking or laughing.

“Let me get this straight. You went to England—”

“Just stop!” Trixie protested with a wince. “I know! I was on the trip of a lifetime and I barely paid attention to any of the sights!”

“But you solved the mystery,” he consoled her.

“And made some friends along the way,” she agreed, her good humour restored. “You know, solving those mysteries was fun, but I remember the people just as much as the crimes. I keep up with a lot of them, and Honey is friends with even more of them than I am.”

“Do you ever keep track of the bad guys?” he asked. “You know, to see if they’re still in prison?”

Trixie shook her head. “Not really. I do look up Jim’s evil stepfather to make sure he’s nowhere near Jim, but that’s it.”

“Evil stepfa—” He stopped. “No. Not even going to ask.”

“The truth is,” Trixie said, “I don’t really lose sleep over the bad guys. I know Honey had nightmares about Pierre Lontard, the gun smuggler, for a while, but I don’t know. To me, once they’re in jail I don’t really think about them anymore.”

They fell into silence and Trixie stared out the window as a lone car drove down Main Street, lighting up the otherwise dark-as-pitch night. “It’s the younger ones that stick with me,” she said abruptly. “The teenagers.”

“Teenage criminals?” he asked. “Not the jewel thieves, I hope.”

Trixie snickered as she pictured Blinky, Tony, and Pedro as teenagers. “No, no,” she assured him. “Some of them weren’t even criminals. Not really.”

“Like who?” he asked curiously. “It seems like there’s not a lot of grey area. Not with identity theft or kidnapping or blackmail or…” His voice trailed off. “I’m missing some of them, I know it.”

“What about taking a job with the wrong person?” she asked. “Neil was helping Jenkins look for the emerald necklace at Rosewood Hall, but he came clean when he realized what he was doing was wrong. Mr. Lynch got him a job, but he’s one of the people we never heard from again. He’s probably doing fine, but…” She shrugged. “Not all teenagers are just misguided, though. I wouldn’t be surprised if Dan’s gang buddy Luke isn’t in jail by now for something awful. He found it way too easy to whack an elderly man on the head and leave him for dead.”

He grimaced. “That’s awful.”

“And he wasn’t the only one,” Trixie said, warming to the topic. “There was this character named Slim.” She felt a surge of anger just saying his name, and she realized that she still hadn’t forgiven him, and maybe never would.

“Slim?” he asked. “That doesn’t even sound like a real name.” He shifted uncomfortably on the bench and Trixie wondered if the cramped booth was getting to him. She was close to a foot shorter than he was and she was beginning to think it might be a good idea to stretch her legs, even though she was likely to trip over her own feet in the dark. Just then, spray of sleet rattled the window with enough force that she realized the wind hadn’t let up at all yet.

“It was in the Ozarks. There were a few unusual names there,” she said, thinking of Linnie’s mules. “Anyway, Slim wasn’t that much older than us, but he did love to order us around. It wasn’t just that though,” she said hastily, not wanting him to think that was enough of a reason for her to hold a grudge. “He was cruel,” she said, remembering the bats. “I can understand people stealing when they’re hungry. Or even taking advantage of situations, like stealing our cave fish. But I will never understand being cruel just for the sake of being cruel.”

She toyed with the chipped Formica tabletop. “And then I think of the other Slim.”

“The other Slim? There’s more than one? Seriously?”

Trixie grinned, happy to put aside thoughts of the awful Slim. “I know, right? What are the odds?”

“So, what did this Slim do? Let me guess. Poaching?”

“No, that was Mr. Maypenny, and it turned out it wasn’t poaching at all because you can’t poach on your own land.” She couldn’t see his confused expression, but she figured he had to have one. “That one didn’t even really qualify as a mystery. Except the mystery of why my dad let thirteen-year-old me wear a real diamond ring.” She shook her head. “Sometimes I don’t know how my parents survived my teenage years.”

“That’s probably true for all parents,” he said, though Trixie noticed he said nothing about his own. “So Slim wasn’t a poacher?”

“No,” Trixie agreed. “He just tagged along on a treasure hunt and then tried to keep the treasure for himself instead of giving it to the person it belonged to.” She paused. “Well, he did shoot out the water buoys and hold us at gun point…”

“That’s all?” he asked, incredulous. “It sounds as if he was just as hardened as Ozark Slim.”

“Not at all,” Trixie said thoughtfully. “As it turned out, the gun wasn’t loaded. What I always remember, though, is when Abe came to arrest him. He’d been trying to act tough, but when Abe mentioned reform school and learning a trade, he just seemed so confused. Part of that,” she said with a grin, “was because Jim got in a few good hits when they fought. But mostly I think he was confused because it had never occurred to him that he had options. That he could make something of himself. Those are the ones I really wonder about,” she concluded.

He was silent for a minute. “You know, reform school isn’t really a big thing anymore. It’s more likely that he ended up in the military.”

“Huh! I hadn’t thought of that.”

“There were a few in my unit who chose the military instead of criminal charges,” he said. “It turned out to be a good thing for some of them. Maybe that’s what happened to your Slim.”

“I sure hope so,” Trixie said. “I guess I’ll never know.”

They listened to the wind howl, and Trixie shivered involuntarily. “I hope the power comes back on soon,” she muttered. “Not that I don’t like being stuck here with you,” she said hastily, and then stopped. “That didn’t come out right.”

“I know what you mean. This probably isn’t what you had planned for Christmas Eve.”

“Well, working at a diner wasn’t at the top of my list, either,” she admitted. “At least I’m not on my feet! I do wish the heat would come back on, though. It’s going to be awfully cold in here by morning.”

He swore under his breath. “You’re not wearing a jacket!” he realized. “Why didn’t you say something?”

Trixie heard rustling and realized he was struggling out of his own warm winter coat.

“Oh, don’t do that,” she protested. “I’m fine! And it’s not your fault I left my coat in the car.”

“I run hot,” he told her, and passed the jacket across the table to her. “Now put it on before it cools off,” he instructed. When she hesitated, he huffed. “My shirt has long sleeves. Does yours?”

Her diner uniform most certainly did not have long sleeves, and he knew it.

“Okay.” She struggled to put on the coat in the dark. When she finally figured it out, she relaxed into the down-filled parka and sighed in relief. “I always leave my coat in the car,” she explained, “because the backroom is about the size of a shoebox. This is so much better,” she said, closing her eyes and relaxing.

“We may as well get some shuteye,” he said, shifting on the bench until his back was against the wall. As he stretched out his legs along the length of the bench, Trixie followed suit. “It won’t cool off enough overnight for us to freeze,” he assured her. He paused. “If you want, I can move to a different booth on the other side of the room…”

“Why?” Trixie asked. “Dan made all us girls take self-defence classes. If you were stupid enough to try something, you’d regret it.”

He nodded in approval. “That’s good to hear. Everyone should know how to defend themselves.”

Trixie yawned.

“Seriously,” he said. “Go to sleep. We’re stuck here until the wind calms down and they can clear the roads. It’ll be worse than a skating rink until they do.”

Trixie burrowed into the warmth of the borrowed coat. A particularly strong gust of wind rattled the restaurant and she jumped.

“Did I tell you about the time my dad took me out shooting and we came home with three cats?”

Trixie shook her head.

“Close your eyes and I’ll tell you all about it.”

Trixie did as he suggested, even though she was pretty sure she’d used the same technique to try to get Bobby to sleep when he was young. Little did Mr. Military know a good story was more likely to keep her awake than put her to sleep. Smothering another yawn, she pulled up the fur-lined hood of the parka to act as a makeshift pillow.

“What did you name them?” she asked, picturing the scene he’d painted of three orphaned kittens huddling in the thick underbrush of the woods, startled out of their hiding spot by the report of the rifle.

He hesitated, and Trixie realized that he must have already mentioned the names, and she’d missed it. Not because she was nodding off, though. No, she must have been distracted.

“Rosemary, Thyme, and Sage,” he answered, his voice low and far away. “Mom was a Simon and Garfunkel fan.”

Trixie nodded, though she wasn’t sure how it was relevant to the cats’ names. At least, she thought she nodded. Her head was awfully heavy, and it turned out that the hood of her borrowed coat really did make an excellent pillow.

She frowned, trying to remember something about a pillow… Oh, yes. Di had been worried that she wouldn’t be comfortable stuck in the diner. And Honey had wanted her to have a sweater, but Mr. Military’s parka was even better than a sweater.

She thought she heard a low chuckle, but it was probably just the wind rattling the diner.

She continued to run through the texts from her friends in her mind even though it seemed to take an awfully long time and the thoughts kept sliding away from her. She could still wiggle her fingers, she thought, recalling Brian’s concern about losing feeling in her extremities. And what had Jim texted? Something about building a fire? That was just silly. It wasn’t as if she were trapped with him and Brian in the abandoned schoolhouse in the preserve.

“You went out in a blizzard with only a rope tied around your waist? Really?”

“We needed firewood,” she mumbled. She shivered, remembering how horribly cold she’d been that night. The diner might have lost power, but it wasn’t anywhere near as a frigid as a battered structure in the middle of nowhere. No, Dan’s text wishing he were there with her so he could share his body warmth with her was totally unnecessary.

This time the chuckle was more of a surprised splutter. “You sure he’s just a friend?”

Trixie nodded, her chin dipping, but failing to rise. There had been one other text… She struggled to sift through the memories, then rolled her eyes. No, Mart, she didn’t need a book to entertain her. Not when she had someone to talk to. The corners of her mouth pulled down into a frown. Mr. Military had been great company, but Trixie knew that she’d done ninety per cent of the talking. It was a shame, considering she suspected he had to have some interesting stories of his own. Not for the first time, she regretted her natural tendency to take over conversations. She’d convince him to tell a few stories, maybe about his time in the Marines.

Yes, that was exactly what she would do.

She nodded in agreement with herself, but her chin was so heavy that it just made sense to let her head relax…

It still counted as a nod if her chin didn’t rise at the end, right? It just meant that she was done nodding. Satisfied with her logic, Trixie relaxed until the howl of the wind soothed her to sleep.

“Trixie.”

She felt a heavy hand on her shoulder.

“Trixie, it’s time to wake up.”

Trixie frowned. She was toasty warm, but she could feel cold air all around her. It wasn’t a good incentive.

“Nice try,” the familiar voice said, though he was starting to sound a little exasperated. “I can tell you’re awake.”

“Fine,” Trixie huffed, and opened her eyes to see Spider, bundled in a huge parka, leaning over her. “Watch it!” she scolded when melting snow from his hat dripped on her.

“She’s fine, Mrs. Belden. I’ll have her home right away,” he promised, ending his call and heaving a sigh of relief. “You are okay, aren’t you?” he asked. “If you’re not, Mrs. Belden might not invite me to your Thanksgiving open house anymore.”

Trixie rolled her eyes and sat up, clapping her hands together to warm them. “What time is it?” she asked, still clearing the sleep from her brain. “And where’s—” She frowned. Mr. Military, she’d dubbed him. How could she not have asked his name?

“The Marine?” Spider asked. “Some buddies from his new base came and picked him up just before dawn. It’s a good thing they did, too.”

Trixie raised her eyebrows, even though her chilled skin protested.

“They came in snow-clearing equipment,” he explained. “And they cleared the highway out of town. Sleepyside just doesn’t have enough equipment to get the job done as fast as we’d like.”

Trixie scrambled to her feet and pressed her face against the glass door. Last night it had been blocked by a tree, but by the cold morning light she could see that the tree had been dragged to the side, where a town crew and a few business owners had already started using chainsaws to cut it into manageable pieces for removal.

“Wow,” she breathed. As much as she disliked the danger of ice storms, there was no denying how beautiful they could be. Trees were coated with impossibly thick layers of snow and ice, their branches bowing under the weight.

“Let’s get you home,” Spider urged. “With the help from the Marines, I might even make it to Mrs. V’s for Christmas dinner.”

Trixie locked up the diner and huddled into her borrowed coat as she followed Spider to his squad car. Her little VW was an awesome car, but it didn’t like New York winters and she suspected it wouldn’t be going anywhere until Tom came and tinkered it with his mechanical magic. Spider’s car was parked just behind where Mr. Military’s car had been, and Trixie bit her lip as stepped around the broken glass from his vehicle’s smashed windows.

“They towed his car,” Spider said, following her train of thought with ease as she stared at the empty spot on the street. “What was left of it, at least.”

She didn’t want to admit it, but she’d been holding out hope that there might be a reason for Mr. Military to return to Sleepyside. If his car were taken care of, though, she couldn’t think of any reason he’d ever be back.

Which was just plain silly.

She barely knew him, after all.

Bundled into the passenger seat in Spider’s squad car, Trixie held her hands in front of the dashboard vents and let the hot air warm them. When the feeling was restored in her fingertips, she fished out her phone to text everyone that she was on her way home, but stopped when she saw the open screen. A new entry in her address book stared back at her, and Trixie froze.

The number was unremarkable, but the contact name was not.

The Other Slim, it read.

Trixie’s eyes grew wide, recalling her storm-stayed ramblings. She’d groused about Ozarks Slim, and then gone on to talk about… the other Slim. The one from Cobbett’s Island who’d been a crack shot and who she had thought had been sent to reform school.

Well. She didn’t have to wonder what had happened to him anymore.

Better yet, she thought, a smile growing until she thought her cold cheeks might crack, was the fact that he’d left his cell number. She fully intended to use it, if for no other reason than to make sure that he got a second piece of pumpkin pie at some point. After all, she’d promised!

Meeting on Christmas Eve in a small-town diner defied all odds, but slim chances, she decided, were more than enough.