He hardly knew the Bailey family, but at that moment, her tense presence seemed like the last thing Sorrow needed. Putting his hand at Edith’s back, he gently guided her back toward the door. “You’re going catch a chill, ma’am. I can help your daughter while you go find yourself a proper coat.”
Edith stopped in her tracks. “Oh good Lord, the hope chests.” In a panic, she called to Sorrow, “Your grandmother’s trunks. The attic will get soaked. You’ve got to go take care of all the trunks.”
“We’ll take care of it.” Billy continued to herd her back inside, then returned to Sorrow’s side. “What trunks?”
“There’s ten tons of junk in the attic. As if I don’t have enough on my plate.” She turned, trudging toward the lodge entrance.
The woman looked suddenly so drawn, so alone, Billy couldn’t help himself from falling into step with her. “Can I help?”
As she opened her mouth to reply, the wind gusted, enveloping them in a cloud of white. He instinctively reached for her, taking her arm to stop her. It was silly—the cars in the lot were parked, there were no more snow-laden branches overhead, it was perfectly safe—but he couldn’t stop himself.
They stood like that for a frozen moment. Sunlight caught the snow and it sparkled as it swirled around them. It kissed the fabric of his shirt, damp and clinging to his shoulders.
When the cloud settled, he found Sorrow’s gaze on him. Watery light cut through the branches and reflected off the snow, and he saw that her eyes were more green than blue.
Guilt speared him, and he pulled his hand back abruptly. He felt like he was cheating on his wife. Logically, he knew that was ridiculous, but something in his chest told him otherwise.
There was a brief, awkward silence, and then they both spoke at once.
“What do—”
“How is—”
They each huffed out a humorless laugh. He tried to smile, but suspected he didn’t quite manage it.
Crossing her arms over her chest, she gave a self-deprecating shrug. “Just my luck, huh?”
He cleared his throat, anxious to be back to business. “It might not be so bad.”
They studied the damage. Snow was still falling, steady and quiet, drifting into the attic in a way that seemed almost diligent.
“Or not,” he said, correcting himself.
“Yeah.” Pain flickered across her face, before she schooled it to a careful, bland half smile. “It’s kinda bad.”
He put aside his own pain for a moment, confronted with hers. “Seriously, Sorrow. Are you okay?”
She sighed. “Complaining won’t stop the snow.”
She was no nonsense. He appreciated that. Just then, he didn’t think he could deal with an overwrought female. “What can I do to help?”
“Unless you’re a roofer, there’s nothing you can do.” She bit her lip, deep in thought. Something about it made her seem so alone. “Damien—he’s my…friend—he’s got contacts.”
Damien. Billy recognized the name and guessed it was the good-looking guy he’d seen around with her. He’d spotted the two of them doing things like eating lunch, or driving in his car, headed out of town.
Clearly, more than friends.
Billy wanted to help. He almost offered to help her sort through the attic. But he reminded himself it wasn’t his place. Sorrow already had a man to help her, while Billy had work to do.
They said their good-byes, and he headed back to the tavern. He needed to pay his bill and get back to it. And then he’d push this strange episode from his mind.
Three
Sorrow had sent the sheriff on his way. Something about the look on his face made her feel pitiable, and she hated that feeling. She might need help, but she wasn’t helpless.
She especially didn’t want him thinking of her in that light. Billy Preston was once a big shot police lieutenant in a major city, and she hated feeling like she might be a small-town yokel in comparison.
And anyway, she had a man in her life already, and he loved to help. Maybe it was because Damien was stuck in a suit, sitting behind a desk at his family’s business, but he seemed to relish coming to her aid as much as any knight of old had loved crusading on a white horse.