That Wintry Feeling (Debbie Macomber Classics) by Debbie Macomber Page B

Cathy,” she reminded him in a chilly tone. The last thing she wanted to bethought of as was a sweet sixteen-year-old desperately seeking a way back home. Her home was Alaska now. The sooner she and everyone around her accepted the fact, the easier it would be.
    “Okay, Cathy.” Her name was issued softly. “Bears hibernate in the winter, not autumn. The one we saw today is fattening herself up for the months ahead. Second, we don’t picnic outside. That would be inviting the attention of our fur-covered friends, and I for one am opposed to sharing my lunch.”
    “I for two,” Angela added.
    “Fine, but if we don’t eat out-of-doors, just where do we picnic?”
    “In the car,” Angela said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
    Unable to resist, Cathy smiled. “Of course.”
    As promised, Grady provided the lunch an hour later. The fried chicken, biscuits, small dish of coleslaw, and ice-cold pop couldn’t have tasted better. It was all so simple that Cathy marveled that her family hadn’t done something like this themselves. Picnics were always a formal affair for which her mother spent whole days preparing.
    Wiping their fingers with the pre-moistened towelettes enclosed with the chicken, Cathy paused, feeling Grady’s gaze, her fingers clenching and unclenching as her eggshell composure began to feel the strain of his appraisal.
    “You like Alaska, don’t you?”
    “Surprisingly, yes. I wasn’t prepared for the beauty or vastness. I don’t know that anyone really is. From Kansas it sounded like the ends of the earth, which it is, in a manner of speaking.”
    “Why’d you come?”
    She’d been expecting the question for some time. Giving the impression it was of no importance, she shrugged. “It’s a job. If you hadn’t noticed, there aren’t many of those around these days.”
    “I have.” Grady’s tone was faintly dry.
    “Anyway, the position was offered, and I jumped at the chance.”
    “We’ll see how much you love it after the first winter.”
    “I’ll make it.”
    “I’m sure you will.” One dark eyebrow flicked upward. “You, my sweet Cathy, are a survivor.”
    “That I am,” she murmured stiffly, suddenly uneasy with the way the conversation washeaded. “And what about you? Are you an implant like me?”
    “Nope, born and raised here all my life. Tried going to school in the lower forty-eight, but I hated it and came back to where the air is clean and land unspoiled.”
    “I was born in Fairbanks,” Angela added, apparently feeling left out of the conversation.
    “At midnight on the coldest night of the year,” Grady added. The creases along the sides of his mouth deepened into a familiar smile. “I darn near brought that girl into the world myself.”
    “I don’t suppose her mother should be given any credit?” The words were issued in a teasing undertone.
    “As a matter of fact,” Grady said, low and cynically, for her alone, “Pam handled her part as best she could.” He straightened and turned the ignition key. The engine purred to life as he checked the rearview mirror. “I think it’s time for us to head back if we’re going to arrive before dark. Anyone for singing?”
    Pulling onto the road, they’d advanced only a few feet when Cathy heard a bang and hissing sound. “What was that?”
    She witnessed Grady’s eyes close in frustration before he turned toward her, presenting a calm façade. “That, my two helpless females, is a flat tire.”

Chapter Four
    “Would you care to give me a hand?” Grady asked, as he released the jack, lowering the car to the ground.
    “Sure, anything,” Cathy said, and breathed in relief. “What do you need me to do?”
    Wiping his greasy hands with his white handkerchief, Grady glanced upward, a roguish glint to the deep blue eyes. “I was hoping you’d applaud.”
    Both Cathy and Angela were clapping wildly and laughing when the creases around his mouth suddenly hardened and a wary light was