They hadn’t had much snow over the holidays, but now that it was January, winter seemed to have begun in earnest. It was accumulating fast out there. While a light dusting was great, too much snow on the road became a hassle, and she worried this was headed toward hassle territory.
Being in the foothills, they didn’t get as much weather as Lake Tahoe to the northeast, but still, there was snow and ice aplenty, and it plagued her. Keeping the lodge standing was trouble enough—keeping the place warm and weatherproofed through the winter months consumed her. “Duty calls,” she said with a sigh. “The floor’s all yours, Dad. ”
Sully dinged the small bell on the window between tavern and kitchen. “Order up. ”
Bear looked around for the woman who worked as their bartender and waitress. “Where’s Helen?”
“I’ll bet she’s stuck in this mess. ” Sorrow shook her head sympathetically. “She’s got three kids at two different schools, and if it’s a snow day…”
“Well, someone’s gotta do her job. ” Her father began to stand.
She put a hand on his shoulder. “You sit, Dad. I got this one. ” Ever since the stroke, Bear hadn’t moved around as easily, and Sorrow would just as soon give him the chance to finish his coffee in peace.
She grabbed the plates from the pass-through and served their handful of diners, all of them locals. Visitors to Sierra Falls were few. It was a small gold rush town, too remote to take advantage of the Tahoe resort area, and too far from Route 50 to catch any tourists coming from Sacramento or the San Francisco Bay Area. It was too out there to be on the road to anywhere, really.
If her family hadn’t owned the lodge and restaurant outright, they probably would’ve gone under years ago. They saw the occasional hikers
, hunters, and fishermen, or folks who’d gotten stuck on the snowy mountain pass and been forced to double back and stay the night. But other than that, the Bailey family income relied mostly on serving predictable meat-and-potatoes dishes to the residents.
She served Sheriff Billy Preston last. He looked up from the morning paper as she approached. “Morning, Sorrow. ”
“Sheriff. ” She softened her greeting with a smile.
She liked the man—there was something quiet and maybe even a bit haunted in his eyes. She’d heard he was a widower, and she tried to meet those eyes whenever they spoke, tried to give him a genuine smile to compensate for whatever demons the man was harboring.
The sheriff hadn’t lived there long, and time would tell if his troubled look ever went away. She hoped it would. She wished the man well. He’d gotten on her good side from the start by being one of the few whose first words to her hadn’t been to remark about her name. Sorrow was a family name, but sometimes she felt saddled with it, as though in being called a thing, she might be fated to a life of it, like her hard-luck ancestors before her.
Her father always prattled on about those ancestors—grandmother, great-, and great-great-grandmothers Sorrow. They’d known hard lives that, according to Dad, she herself was destined to relive if she didn’t marry right, or dress better, or hell, if she didn’t clean out the garage and call the plumber.
“I’ve told you before, it’s Billy. ” Though his words were gruff, his tone was polite, in that way that seemed unique to men in uniform. He took his plate from her hands, lightening her load. “Looks good. ” He added in a low voice, “But I’d have liked to try that frittata. ”
His conspiratorial tone surprised her. That he—or anyone—wanted to try her food was a kick. She smiled a real smile then. She’d love to cook for people someday, and how kind of Billy to sense it.
She gave him a piercing gaze—was he truly sad or was it just a trick of those dark eyes? His smiles were genuine, and though they lit his face she wondered if they truly shone any light on his heart.
Those dark eyes narrowed, and she realized she’d been staring. She gave a little shake to her head. “If you want frittatas, you’ll have to take it up with the man. ” She tilted her head toward her father. He was still seated at the bar, yammering at Sully about something, and he’d likely be in the same spot when she returned at noon for lunch. “Bear Bailey isn’t a fan of change. ”
She didn’t know Billy Preston well, and she wasn’t interested in him in that way—she had a boyfriend after all—but she enjoyed how they always exchanged a few words. He’d been a lieutenant in the Oakland PD before being recruited as sheriff for Sierra Falls, and she loved his occasional mention of big-city life.
An idea hit her. “Hold on,” she said, and darted back into the kitchen. She’d baked bread the night before, and the last thing she needed was that many carbs lying around.
She returned, handing him a small foil-wrapped bundle. “It’s not a frittata, but my apple cinnamon bread is a close second. ”
“Sorry,” he deadpanned, patting his belly. “We law enforcement officers only eat donuts. ”
“Well…” Biting back a grin, she pulled the bread out of his reach, doing her best to look offended. “See if I ever try to feed you again. ”
“On second thought, it smells too good. ” He laughed and snatched it from her hands. “Give me that. ”
She laughed with him, not caring that the others were looking. It was gratifying that she’d been the one to draw out the humor. For the first time that day, the muscles in her shoulders felt like they might relax.
A hideous sound caused her to seize right back up again.
Outside, there was the long whine of creaking timber, followed by a loud crash.
She and the sheriff locked eyes. For the flicker of a moment, a feeling of comfort cut to her heart, and Sorrow was grateful she wasn’t in it alone.
Which was crazy, of course. She didn’t even know the man.