The Winter People by Bret Tallent

Hayden finished.  He looked deep into Nick's eyes, then
Mike's.  He bored into them with his eyes, hoping to dredge up their
conviction, their truth.  After a moment's hesitation, an awkward moment of
silence, he was convinced of their sincerity.  "I'm Sheriff Hayden Smith,"
he continued, "Johnny tells me that you're staying out at Bud's
place."  He turned to face the windshield and began to back out, guided by
the rear view mirror.  Never looking back, he fully expected them to tell their
story to him as he drove.
    Mike looked at
Nick and raised his eyebrows, then gave Hayden a side long glance. 
"Jesus!" he thought, this guy's a rock.  And he did look like one. 
His face was chiseled and hard, angular with a square jaw.  Although it had
softened with the few wrinkles that graced it, they did little to detract from
the Iron-man image he projected.  Mike's first impression was that this guy was
a real Jar-Head.  He had the typical cut and blocky build.  At least from what
Mike could tell from under his bulky parka.
    His eyebrows were
bushy peaks above each eye that angled sharply downward to the bridge of his
nose.  His nose looked somewhat Indian with a bulbous, rather than sharp end. 
His cheeks sat high, with what his mother had called laugh lines, below them,
framing them.  His eyes were an icy blue and Mike had felt them bore into him a
moment ago.  Mike felt that in that brief instant, the Sheriff knew everything
there was to know about him, even when he stole the candy bar from the grocery
store when he was ten.
    Mike looked back
to Nick and it was obvious by the calculating look on his face that he had
judged the man pretty much the same.  He decided that he would let Nick do the
talking.  The thought of being drilled again by those eyes did not appeal to
Mike.  It was a long moment before Nick did speak though; he seemed unusually
preoccupied with his face mask.  Trying to collect his thoughts, Mike figured. 
Finally he was ready, just as they pulled out onto Route 14.
    Nick had seen that
look before.  In one instant he had been surveyed, judged, and sentenced.  He
only wished he'd known what the verdict was.  For some reason, he liked this
man.  He couldn't really explain it.  He had just met the man and hadn't even
spoken ten words to him.  Nick finally decided that it was the air he
generated.  It was in the way he conducted himself and scrutinized others.  It
reminded Nick of his own father.  He had the same general build and features,
the same haircut, same demeanor.
    It was strange,
Nick thought.  Some people you can meet once and instantly dislike them.  Even
hate them.  For no real reason you can give either.  There's just something
about them that rubs you the wrong way.  Like that Ranger Mead guy back in the
station.  Nick didn't like him at all, and he didn't think Johnny and the other
Ranger did either.  Then, other people, you are immediately drawn to with no
explanation, instant like.  Like that Johnny fellow, or like Sheriff Hayden
Smith.  Nick decided that he liked the man, and after what he realized was much
too long of a pause, he began to speak.
    "Well,
Sheriff. . ."
    "Call me
Hayden.  Never did like being called Sheriff."  Hayden's eyes never left
the road.  His voice was deep and commanding, fitting his figure perfectly.
    "Okay. 
Hayden.  We all came up to go skiing for a couple of weeks.  My Uncle Bud has
this cabin up here."
    "Yeah, I know
him.  He's a good man.  We've gone fishing a time or two . . . Who’s we?"
    "Mike
here," he said, motioning to him, "my sister Sarah, Marty, and
Taylor."  Hayden only nodded.  "Marty.  Martin Mayher and Taylor
Verner are the two guys that are missing."  Nick cleared his throat,
fighting down the lump that had climbed up in it.  "My Uncle met us up
here a couple of days ago and we've been skiing over in Steamboat every day, then
we'd drive back at night.  It's only about a ninety minute drive or so,"
he