practical people,” he said, standing and pulling her up toward him.
3
A Winter Morning—Shovelling Out. Wood engraving by Winslow Homer (1836–1910), major American nineteenth-century artist, for newspaper Every Saturday , January 14, 1871. Three members of family outside their snow-covered home standing in a path perhaps four feet deep. The two men are digging with wooden shovels; the woman is throwing seeds or crumbs to birds on top of the drifted snow. 9 x 11.75 inches. Price: $400.
Maggie woke to the smells of Will’s aftershave on the pillow beside her and coffee brewing downstairs. She glanced at the clock on the bedside table. Eight-thirty.
She hadn’t asked when he and Aunt Nettie usually got up in the morning. She stretched and smiled. Somehow, the subject hadn’t come up.
But he hadn’t been kidding about cool temperatures. Her toes were warm under several blankets and a quilt, but her nose was definitely frosty. She sat up and pulled the quilt around her. Good; her duffel was by the door. Will must have brought it upstairs this morning. She didn’t remember them thinking of it last night. Reluctantly she put her feet on the chilly pine-plank floor. Time to get going.
Downstairs, she found Aunt Nettie happily dunking a sugar cookie in a mug of coffee and nibbling the edges. “Good morning, Maggie. If all your cookies are as good as the ones I’ve tasted this morning, I’ll have to ask for your recipes.”
“More hot chocolate this morning, or your usual Diet Pepsi?” Will asked after a quick hug.
“Hot chocolate is tempting…but with all the calories in holiday cooking, I think I’d better start out with Diet Pepsi,” said Maggie, moving toward a heating vent on the floor. “It is chilly this morning, though.” Despite her turtleneck, wool sweater, and jeans she was shivering.
“You’ll get used to it,” Will assured her. “I’ll turn the heat up a bit until you do. We keep it at sixty during the day.”
“Sixty?” she managed to choke out. “Fahrenheit?”
“At night I turn it down a few degrees,” he added, obliviously. “You wouldn’t believe what it costs to heat this place.”
“What’s the temperature outside?”
“Last time I looked it was almost zero,” Will said. “Early weather report said it hit nine below in Portland last night. So it’ll be a good day to cut our tree. Supposed to get up to twenty or so, and not much wind. It’s the wind that’ll get you.” He looked over at Maggie. “You did say you’d brought boots?”
“They’re in the van. With my hat and scarf and gloves. I knew I was coming to Maine.” I just didn’t know I’d need all that gear inside the house, she thought, pulling the sleeves of her sweater down over her hands.
“Then you’re set. Cheddar-and-parsley omelet okay? After that, while I’m getting out the saw and the sled, you can unpack. We’ll head over to the Straits’ and look at trees in the middle of the morning, when it’s a little warmer.”
Maggie nodded. “An omelet sounds good. You have our day all planned.”
“I have lots of plans for your visit,” Will continued as he reached for the eggs and cheese. “We’ll be home in time to get lunch, and then we can put the tree up while Aunt Nettie rests, and decorate it later tonight, or tomorrow. After the branches thaw. But first—three omelets coming up.”
“You haven’t eaten?”
“We didn’t want our guest to eat alone,” added Aunt Nettie, who was munching on another cookie.
Maggie looked from the half-empty pot of coffee on the stove to the cookie crumbs on the plate. “When do you usually get up?”
“Depends,” said Aunt Nettie. “I wake up about five, but I wait for Will to come and help me get out of bed. He’s a late sleeper. Some days he doesn’t come downstairs until six-thirty or so, do you, Will?”
“You’ve got me pretty well trained now,” Will replied, raising his eyebrows behind her back. “Once in a while I
3
A Winter Morning—Shovelling Out. Wood engraving by Winslow Homer (1836–1910), major American nineteenth-century artist, for newspaper Every Saturday , January 14, 1871. Three members of family outside their snow-covered home standing in a path perhaps four feet deep. The two men are digging with wooden shovels; the woman is throwing seeds or crumbs to birds on top of the drifted snow. 9 x 11.75 inches. Price: $400.
Maggie woke to the smells of Will’s aftershave on the pillow beside her and coffee brewing downstairs. She glanced at the clock on the bedside table. Eight-thirty.
She hadn’t asked when he and Aunt Nettie usually got up in the morning. She stretched and smiled. Somehow, the subject hadn’t come up.
But he hadn’t been kidding about cool temperatures. Her toes were warm under several blankets and a quilt, but her nose was definitely frosty. She sat up and pulled the quilt around her. Good; her duffel was by the door. Will must have brought it upstairs this morning. She didn’t remember them thinking of it last night. Reluctantly she put her feet on the chilly pine-plank floor. Time to get going.
Downstairs, she found Aunt Nettie happily dunking a sugar cookie in a mug of coffee and nibbling the edges. “Good morning, Maggie. If all your cookies are as good as the ones I’ve tasted this morning, I’ll have to ask for your recipes.”
“More hot chocolate this morning, or your usual Diet Pepsi?” Will asked after a quick hug.
“Hot chocolate is tempting…but with all the calories in holiday cooking, I think I’d better start out with Diet Pepsi,” said Maggie, moving toward a heating vent on the floor. “It is chilly this morning, though.” Despite her turtleneck, wool sweater, and jeans she was shivering.
“You’ll get used to it,” Will assured her. “I’ll turn the heat up a bit until you do. We keep it at sixty during the day.”
“Sixty?” she managed to choke out. “Fahrenheit?”
“At night I turn it down a few degrees,” he added, obliviously. “You wouldn’t believe what it costs to heat this place.”
“What’s the temperature outside?”
“Last time I looked it was almost zero,” Will said. “Early weather report said it hit nine below in Portland last night. So it’ll be a good day to cut our tree. Supposed to get up to twenty or so, and not much wind. It’s the wind that’ll get you.” He looked over at Maggie. “You did say you’d brought boots?”
“They’re in the van. With my hat and scarf and gloves. I knew I was coming to Maine.” I just didn’t know I’d need all that gear inside the house, she thought, pulling the sleeves of her sweater down over her hands.
“Then you’re set. Cheddar-and-parsley omelet okay? After that, while I’m getting out the saw and the sled, you can unpack. We’ll head over to the Straits’ and look at trees in the middle of the morning, when it’s a little warmer.”
Maggie nodded. “An omelet sounds good. You have our day all planned.”
“I have lots of plans for your visit,” Will continued as he reached for the eggs and cheese. “We’ll be home in time to get lunch, and then we can put the tree up while Aunt Nettie rests, and decorate it later tonight, or tomorrow. After the branches thaw. But first—three omelets coming up.”
“You haven’t eaten?”
“We didn’t want our guest to eat alone,” added Aunt Nettie, who was munching on another cookie.
Maggie looked from the half-empty pot of coffee on the stove to the cookie crumbs on the plate. “When do you usually get up?”
“Depends,” said Aunt Nettie. “I wake up about five, but I wait for Will to come and help me get out of bed. He’s a late sleeper. Some days he doesn’t come downstairs until six-thirty or so, do you, Will?”
“You’ve got me pretty well trained now,” Will replied, raising his eyebrows behind her back. “Once in a while I
Similar Books
Time Storm Shockwave
Juliann Farnsworth
The Ice Cradle
Mary Ann Winkowski, Maureen Foley
Lakota
G. Clifton Wisler
Country Mouse
Amy Lane
Mele Kalikimaka Mr Walker
Robert G. Barrett
Stuff Happens
Will Kostakis
The Christmas Bouquet
Sherryl Woods
Fractured Light
Rachel McClellan
The Imperial Wife
Irina Reyn
The Loner: Dead Man’s Gold
J.A. Johnstone