Santa's Sweetheart (The Christmas Tree Ranch #4)(23)

But her house was at least six blocks away. And, as he remembered, she’d been wearing nothing more for warmth than a fleece jacket over her sweater.

Blast it, if he hadn’t taken time to talk to the mayor, he might have seen her sooner. He strode back to the Jeep and climbed into the driver’s seat.

“Where’s Miss Chapman?” Maggie asked anxiously.

“That’s what we need to find out.” Sam started the engine. “Help me with your sharp eyes. We can’t go home until we know she’s safe.”

He switched on the headlights, pulled away from the curb, and headed in the direction the Volkswagen had been going when it had stopped. He’d watched Grace drive out of the parking lot, and he knew where she lived. Unless she was a track star, she wouldn’t have made it home yet. He would follow the shortest route from here. With luck, he would find her on the way.

With luck. But what if something had gone wrong—an accident, or even a crime? Or what if she was simply lost? That could happen in weather like this. He’d heard reports of people who’d wandered aimlessly through fog and cold until they froze.

Worry wove a knot in the pit of his stomach as he made a right turn at the next street and headed in the direction of Grace’s home.

*

Shivering under her light fleece jacket, with her purse slung over one shoulder, Grace wandered through the blinding fog. When the Volkswagen had stalled and refused to start, she’d been annoyed, but not worried. She knew the way home—had driven it countless times. A brisk pace would get her there in about fifteen minutes. It would also help keep her warm.

Walking with long strides, she’d turned off Main Street in the usual place, made another turn at the next corner, then the next, before she realized that she’d lost all sense of direction. The dingy gray fog was so thick that even the street signs were hidden. Lights from houses along the road glowed through the murk, but it was impossible to tell one place from another. Here and there, Christmas lights, their colors fog-blurred, gleamed like muted rainbows, lending a sense of unreality to the night, like the setting for a science fiction movie.

She could go to a house, knock, and ask directions, Grace thought. But she’d been a city girl too long to trust what lay behind unknown doors. The car that passed her on the street stirred the same wariness in her. Anybody could be behind that wheel.

As the red taillights faded, Grace told herself not to worry. She couldn’t be more than a few blocks from her house. Any minute now, she would turn a corner and see, faintly, the bare branches of the old tree rising out of the fog, and she would laugh at herself for having been so nervous.

But the cold was creeping through her jacket and into her bones. Her face had gone numb. Through the thin hood, her ears felt frozen stiff. Her feet, in thin, casual boots, were like aching lumps of ice. She blew on her hands in a vain effort to warm them, then thrust them back into her pockets. How long, she wondered, could she be out here before the cold became damaging? Words like frostbite and hypothermia invaded her thoughts.

She couldn’t be far from home, Grace told herself. But what if she had been traveling in the wrong direction, or going in a circle? She could be farther away than ever.

With the stars blocked by clouds, and the fog shrouding her vision, she couldn’t even tell which way she was headed. Panic stirred inside her. She fought to control it, fought the urge to break into an aimless run.

She was lost, scared, and freezing. But she mustn’t give in to fear. All she could do was remain calm and keep moving. Sooner or later, she would see something she recognized.

Pain shot up her leg as her toe stubbed a section of broken sidewalk. She stumbled, lost her balance, and went down hard. Her glasses flew off her face and vanished in the fog. Fear rose as she groped for them on the frozen ground. Finding her way in the fog and darkness had already been a challenge. Now, anything beyond the reach of her arms was just a blur in the fog.

With her hands skimming the ground in an ever-widening circle around her, she willed herself to stay calm. Glasses didn’t have wings. They couldn’t have fallen far. Maybe they’d caught on a bush or fallen into a patch of dry weeds.

Only one thing was certain. Without her eyeglasses, she wouldn’t be going anywhere. And it wasn’t just because she couldn’t see. Those glasses, her only good pair, had been expensive. If she were to leave them behind, she might never find her way back here, even by daylight. They’d be lost for good.

At least she still had her purse, with a couple of twenty-dollar bills in it. Maybe she could find a house and offer somebody money to find her glasses and take her home.

But she could see no lights through the fog. If there were any houses on this street, they had all gone dark. There was no place she dared go for help; no one who would hear if she shouted. All she could do was huddle in place and wait, do her best to keep warm, and pray that either the fog would clear or someone would find her.

*

Driving slowly, with the light bar flashing and a spotlight scanning the sidewalks, Sam had arrived at Grace’s house without having seen her on the way. Leaving Maggie in the Jeep, he climbed out and strode up the walk to the door. He didn’t like upsetting her roommates, but he had to know whether Grace had made it home.

He was acquainted with both women, though not well. He’d spoken with Jess Graver about some troubled kids he’d encountered. And Wynette was a local girl, from a farm family on the outskirts of town.