been the one left with the family homestead, after all. So it was up to Marie, as the eldest, to uphold family tradition.
The only part of the tradition she didn't savor was her brothers' good-natured ribbing about her single status. She was sure to get an earful this year, now that Cecil had blown right out of her life like an autumn leaf caught up in a gale.
High winds pounded her front door screen and sent it rattling in its frame. The gustiness of central Virginia's fall was upon them, and it'd soon be time to bring in the porch swing, lest it get carried off somewhere far over the mountain one night while she was sleeping. The weatherman had predicted snow on the heels of the frigid front that was blowing in from Canada. Just as long as it held off until Friday, Marie thought, it could snow all it wanted. Wasn't often they got a white Christmas in these parts, and white Thanksgivings were rarer still. Snow here in November would be the talk of the town, and that would suit her just fine. One less reason for her brothers to focus on talking turkey about the obvious lack of a man in her life.
David ordered a decaffeinated coffee and carried his book to the high bar running the length of the long glass wall that separated Books & Bistro's interior cafe from the wrought-iron tables on the sidewalk outside.
Not a soul was out there. It was no wonder, David thought, as the wind gusted and blew two metal chairs to the ground.
The cold was coming, and David was glad. He was a winter sports fan, and because he had grown up in Asheville, quite an accomplished skier. There was something about a mountain lodge with a roaring fireplace after a long day on the slopes. Of course, it helped if you had someone to share it with. And, this time, he wasn't thinking about Bitsy, the chair lift attendant.
David sighed and cracked open the book. He was curious to see why Marie had been so upset about leaving it behind. Doubly interested because the style of the cover looked strikingly similar to the book he'd caught her reading over coffee just last week. Maybe Cecil had recommended the wrong approach. In fact, maybe Marie got enough of intellectual literature and grim best-sellers working here. She probably read books like this to relax. Nothing wrong with that.
David dove right into the prologue, his eyebrows shooting skyward.
Holy cow, he thought, marking his place and pausing to remove his pullover sweater. He had a feeling he'd be able to get into this.
Marie was just dropping her keys into her purse and stepping up onto the curb at Books & Bistro, when she came to an abrupt halt. Her eyes had to be playing tricks on her.
She removed her glasses and wiped them on her coat lapel before putting them back on again.
Oh, my. She just stood there, her feet rooted to the ground, her cheeks turning pink from the icy air.
There at the counter of the cafe sat David Lake in all his glory, reading... reading... her book!
Marie blinked twice as David lowered his hand to the counter, nabbed a paper napkin, then wadded it up against his brow.
He was so engrossed in the book he didn't even see her walk in, and right up to the stool where he sat.
"Were you planning on reading it first, and then giving it back?"
David raised his eyes, then nearly fell off the stool.
"Hey! Whoa—Marie!" he said, standing and slamming shut the book. "What a surprise!"
"A surprise, David? I work here." She looked him up and down, trying not to remember how good he'd felt pressed up against her. "What's your excuse?"
"I, ah, was returning your book," he said, thrusting Check It Out in her direction.
"It looks used," she said, taking the book but keeping her eyes on his.
David racked his brain, trying to recall the very careful plan he'd concocted on the way over here, but his mind swirled with visions of adventuresome librarian Judith Just enjoying her first complete examination by the probing Dr. Robert Right.
"Well?" Marie asked, tapping one beautiful foot on the floor. He studied that beautiful foot and her delicate ankle, and then his gaze moved up that long sweep of leg—which went on and on and didn't stop until it hit that hint of hemline just above her knees.
"I... uh." David cleared his throat.
"I think you already