Santa's Sweetheart (The Christmas Tree Ranch #4)(24)

As soon as the door opened, their worried reaction told Sam that Grace hadn’t come home. Standing on the porch, he told them in a few words what had happened.

“I’ll get my car and help you look,” Jess offered.

“Driving in this fog wouldn’t be safe for you,” Sam said. “Stay here and wait. If you hear from her, or if she shows up, call the dispatcher. They’ll let me know.”

He returned to the vehicle to find Maggie restless and complaining. “Daddy, I’m really tired, and I need to go to the bathroom. How close are we to our house?”

“Not far, but I need to look for Grace. Come on.” Opening her door, he boosted her out, carried her back to the porch, and rang the doorbell again. “Sorry,” he said to Wynette, who answered. “Could I impose on you to take Maggie while I search? She needs a bathroom. Then with luck, she’ll go to sleep wherever you want to put her.”

“Sure. Come on in, Maggie.” Wynette took the little girl’s hand. “Don’t worry—she’ll be fine,” she told Sam.

“Thanks.” He hurried back to the Jeep. If Grace had taken a wrong turn somewhere and become disoriented, she could have wandered in any direction. There was always a chance she’d knock on some door and ask for help. But he’d seen enough of Grace to know that she was stubborn and independent. Since she hadn’t called her roommates from somebody’s home, Sam could only assume that she was still out there, wandering in the fog and the dangerous cold.

He knew the town well enough to have a mental map of the streets in his head. As he drove, he plotted out a route that would take him in a widening grid, with the house at its center. The pattern would cover every possible street that Grace might have taken. He could only pray that he’d find her before the cold began to take its toll on her body.

Fifteen minutes later, headlights on low to optimize visibility in the fog, he was still driving. So far, there’d been no sign of her. What if he couldn’t find her? What if something had gone wrong?

It didn’t help to know that Grace was in trouble because of him. If he hadn’t hit her car, if he’d insisted on inspecting the vehicle the rental agency delivered, or if he’d spent less time talking to the mayor tonight, she would be safe at home now. But there’d be time for blame later. For now, the only thing that mattered was finding her.

What if he’d missed seeing her in the fog? He could easily have looked the wrong way at the moment he was passing her. Maybe he should go back and retrace the way he’d come. But no, as sheriff, he’d conducted enough searches to know that the entire area needed to be covered. He would finish the route he’d mapped out before he turned around.

As he drove, remembered images of Grace drifted through his mind—her beautiful dark eyes, shining with intelligence behind those funky John Lennon glasses; her flowing, willowy walk; the generous mouth that could frown one instant, and laugh the next—a mouth that made him wonder what it might be like to kiss her.

But where had that thought come from? In spite of Maggie’s well-meant efforts, he had no plan to romance the woman, especially since she didn’t seem the least bit interested. He was concerned for her safety tonight. He was doing his job. That was all.

He swore at the fog, which obscured everything in shrouds of ghostly gray. Even with the spotlight, he couldn’t see more than twenty feet ahead. Grace could be anywhere.

He was coming to the last street on the outskirts of town, a row of weedy vacant lots, run-down trailers, and clapboard houses with junk-strewn yards. There were no streetlights here. The town hadn’t bothered to spend money on them. Some unsavory folks lived along this road, as well as others like Hank Miller who were just poor and down on their luck. He couldn’t believe that Grace would wander this far, but if she were to ask for help at one of these places, she could be taking a risk.

His hands tightened on the steering wheel as he turned the corner. There were no Christmas lights here, nothing in the headlight beams but a solid bank of fog. Heaven help him, where was she? He imagined her lost, and alone, maybe injured and so cold that she might not survive the night. Right now, all he wanted in this world was to see her safe.

Even with the spotlight, he could barely see as far as the sidewalk. His best hope, wherever she might be, was that she would hear the vehicle, see the flashing red and blue lights, and come to him. Otherwise, she could be just a few feet away, and he could still miss seeing her. Sick with worry, he drove slowly along the dark street, already planning to turn around and retrace his path after he failed to find her here.

It was by purest chance that he saw the huddled form at the edge of the sidewalk, barely visible through the fog. His pulse leapt as the spotlight caught a flash of red, the color of the fleece jacket Grace had been wearing. Heart pounding, he stopped, plunged out of the vehicle, and raced across the road.

She raised her head. With a little whimpering sound, she stumbled to her feet, took a step toward him, and half fell. He caught her, pulling her into the warmth of his open sheepskin coat and wrapping her against him. “Thank God,” he muttered, his lips moving against her hair.

She was cold—so cold that her jacket was stiff with frost. Her body shivered in his arms. Her teeth chattered as she tried to speak. “My . . . my . . .”

“Don’t try to talk. Not till you’re warmer.” His clasp tightened around her. He knew he needed to get her into the heated Jeep, call Dispatch on the radio, and have them phone her roommates. But right now, just for the moment, he needed to hold her, to feel her in his arms, alive and real—to hold her until his heart stopped bucking like a wild steer. She had scared him badly. If he let her go now, his knees would give way, and he would sink to the ground in relief. He needed her—perhaps more than she needed him.