the most determined person I know.” She bit her lip. “Not too determined, though. I mean she’s got it all, except for a husband. She’s never been interested in any of the guys around here. I don’t understand that. I married one. But enough about me. What about you, can you come to the party?”
“I don’t know. There could be snow on the road.”
“There’d better be snow. It’s absolutely essential to have big bowls of fresh clean snow to pour the hot syrup on.” She looked over his shoulder and out the window. “There it is now. Did you bring it with you from... where was it?”
“New Hampshire.” He turned to look at the falling flakes. “No, this is Vermont snow. You can tell by the water content. Ours is drier.”
The woman grinned delightedly, as if he’d said something witty. “See you tonight.”
Max smiled noncommittally and walked out into the falling snow. He had no intention of going to a party where he knew no one with the possible exception of Miranda Morrison. Of course it might not be her farm or her party or her sister. There must be many women with farms and sisters in Vermont, and they probably all threw parties to celebrate the season. He’d never been to a sugaring off party, but he’d been to other parties, enough of them to know he didn’t want to go to any more of them.
At parties there were people making small talk. A lot of noise, a lot of smoke and loud music. But he didn’t really want to go home, either, so he walked down Main Street with his hands in his pockets, the snow melting as it hit his head of thick blond hair. He stopped at a diner and sat in a vinyl booth and ordered a piece of apple pie. The waitress called him honey, and he wondered where this rumor about New Englanders being cool and standoffish had gotten started.
As he ate he also wondered what people did at a sugaring off party besides eat snow with syrup. Not that he was thinking of going, but it would be interesting to find out. What would Miranda think if he showed up tonight? For all he knew she hadn’t enjoyed her unexpected overnight with him and didn’t want any further contact.
No, there was no reason to go to her party. The sister was just being friendly, like the waitress. They called you honey or invited you to parties, but they didn’t expect you to respond. On the other hand, he had nothing else to do. He didn’t mind driving in the snow with his four-wheel drive. And he wouldn’t mind seeing Miranda again. If it was her farm, that is. Determined, her sister had said. Yes, that sounded like her. He ordered a cup of coffee, picked up the local newspaper and settled down to wait until 7:00.
Miranda let the back door slam behind her and headed for the sugar shack, her arms full of plates and cups, her shoes crunching through the snow. There were people in the living room, people in the kitchen and more people arriving by the minute at the front door. But it was in the sugar shack, that small wooden frame shed behind the house, where the main attraction would take place. From within a cloud of steam her sister was stirring the syrup in two pots at the same time.
“How’s it coming?”
Ariel looked up and smiled. “Coming along, coming along. What time is it anyway?”
Miranda glanced at her watch. “Seven-thirty. Why? There’s no hurry. Everyone’s having a good time judging by the noise level.”
Ariel wiped her hands on her apron. “Who all’s arrived?” she asked, studying her sister’s face carefully.
“The Ashtons with children, the Bensons without Hank, Jerry, Linda, Marcia. Go on in and say hello. I’ll watch the syrup.”
“No,” Ariel insisted. “It’s your party. You’re the hostess. You ought to be there to greet everybody.”
“The front door’s unlocked. Everybody knows everybody. They don’t need me.”
“No, they don’t. I mean, yes, they do.” Ariel gave her sister a playful shove. “Now go on back.”
“Turn the fire down and we’ll
“I don’t know. There could be snow on the road.”
“There’d better be snow. It’s absolutely essential to have big bowls of fresh clean snow to pour the hot syrup on.” She looked over his shoulder and out the window. “There it is now. Did you bring it with you from... where was it?”
“New Hampshire.” He turned to look at the falling flakes. “No, this is Vermont snow. You can tell by the water content. Ours is drier.”
The woman grinned delightedly, as if he’d said something witty. “See you tonight.”
Max smiled noncommittally and walked out into the falling snow. He had no intention of going to a party where he knew no one with the possible exception of Miranda Morrison. Of course it might not be her farm or her party or her sister. There must be many women with farms and sisters in Vermont, and they probably all threw parties to celebrate the season. He’d never been to a sugaring off party, but he’d been to other parties, enough of them to know he didn’t want to go to any more of them.
At parties there were people making small talk. A lot of noise, a lot of smoke and loud music. But he didn’t really want to go home, either, so he walked down Main Street with his hands in his pockets, the snow melting as it hit his head of thick blond hair. He stopped at a diner and sat in a vinyl booth and ordered a piece of apple pie. The waitress called him honey, and he wondered where this rumor about New Englanders being cool and standoffish had gotten started.
As he ate he also wondered what people did at a sugaring off party besides eat snow with syrup. Not that he was thinking of going, but it would be interesting to find out. What would Miranda think if he showed up tonight? For all he knew she hadn’t enjoyed her unexpected overnight with him and didn’t want any further contact.
No, there was no reason to go to her party. The sister was just being friendly, like the waitress. They called you honey or invited you to parties, but they didn’t expect you to respond. On the other hand, he had nothing else to do. He didn’t mind driving in the snow with his four-wheel drive. And he wouldn’t mind seeing Miranda again. If it was her farm, that is. Determined, her sister had said. Yes, that sounded like her. He ordered a cup of coffee, picked up the local newspaper and settled down to wait until 7:00.
Miranda let the back door slam behind her and headed for the sugar shack, her arms full of plates and cups, her shoes crunching through the snow. There were people in the living room, people in the kitchen and more people arriving by the minute at the front door. But it was in the sugar shack, that small wooden frame shed behind the house, where the main attraction would take place. From within a cloud of steam her sister was stirring the syrup in two pots at the same time.
“How’s it coming?”
Ariel looked up and smiled. “Coming along, coming along. What time is it anyway?”
Miranda glanced at her watch. “Seven-thirty. Why? There’s no hurry. Everyone’s having a good time judging by the noise level.”
Ariel wiped her hands on her apron. “Who all’s arrived?” she asked, studying her sister’s face carefully.
“The Ashtons with children, the Bensons without Hank, Jerry, Linda, Marcia. Go on in and say hello. I’ll watch the syrup.”
“No,” Ariel insisted. “It’s your party. You’re the hostess. You ought to be there to greet everybody.”
“The front door’s unlocked. Everybody knows everybody. They don’t need me.”
“No, they don’t. I mean, yes, they do.” Ariel gave her sister a playful shove. “Now go on back.”
“Turn the fire down and we’ll
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