Rachel Lee - January Chill

A January Chill

by

Rachel Lee

"Lee tells a deeply emotional tale. She will touch readers in a very real way"

Romantic Times.

"Lee crafts a heartrending saga..."

Publishers Weekly on Snow In September.

ISBN 1-55166-802-5

"Why'd you come back to Whisper Creek?"

The sleepy question came from behind him. He turned and saw that Joni's eyes were open. She still looked sleepy, and amazingly hug gable

He shrugged. "I don't know. It's home."

She shook her head. "I'm serious, Hardy. The way Witt has treated you... Why didn't you take a job with some architectural firm in Denver or Chicago? You could have made more money."

"Is that what you think I should be doing? Making more money?"

"No. It's just that I wondered why. You had a way out." She pushed her hair back from her face. "It's all about Karen, you know. It's all about this feeling of unfinished business. At least for me."

Before he could say a word, she'd disappeared into her room. He turned back to the window and stared out into the teeth of the blizzard. Yes, it was unfinished business that had brought him back. But not Karen.

Not Witt. Joni.

DID YOU PURCHASE THIS BOOK WITHOUT A COVER?

If you did, you should be aware it is stolen property as it was reported unsold and destroyed by a retailer Neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this book

All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention

All Rights Reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises IIBV The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without thepnor consent of the publisher in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser

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First published in Great Britain 2002

MIRA Books, Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey, TW91SR

Susan Civil-Brown 2001

Printed and bound in Spam by Litografia Roses SA, Barcelona The November evening was frigid and blowing dry snow so hard it stung.

Joni Matlock came through the back door of the house, taking care to stomp the snow off her boots, then removed them and set them by the wall on the rag rug. Her feet instantly felt cold, because the mudroom wasn't heated. Shivering a little, she shook out of her jacket, tugged off her knit cap and hung both on a peg next to her mother's.

Then she darted into the kitchen and gave thanks for the heat that made her face sting. Her mother was sitting at the table in the dining room, visible through the open doorway, apparently busy with her needlework.

"Mom," Joni said, "you put too much wood in the stove again."

Hannah Matlock looked up with a smile. "I get cold, honey. You know that."

"It must be eighty in here." But Joni wasn't complaining too seriously. It felt good after the bitter chill of the dark evening outside. On the trip home from the hospital where she worked as a pharmacist, her car heater didn't even have time to start working. She felt like an ice cube.

"There's fresh coffee," Hannah said, bowing her head over her stitchery. "And I thought I'd just heat the leftover pot roast for dinner."

"That sounds good."

Joni poured herself a mug of coffee and whitened it with a few drops of cream. Real cream. She couldn't stand the nondairy creamers. Then she stood in the doorway between the kitchen and dining room, sipping the hot brew and watching her mother stitch.

At fifty, Hannah's hair was still as black as a starless night, a gift from her Ute ancestors. Her face, too, held a hint of the exotic in high cheekbones, and was still nearly as seamless as her daughter's.

Her eyes were dark brown, almost as dark as her hair, and Joni had always envied them because they seemed to hold mystery.

Joni, for her part, had bright blue eyes. Hannah always said Joni's eyes had captured the sky. Joni felt differently about them. Blue eyes were a lot morel" sensitive to the light, and all winter long she had to hide them behind sunglasses.

The women were alike enough, however, to be sisters.

Joni joined her mother at the table, cradling her mug in her cold hands. "How was your day?"

"Delightful," Hannah said. She rarely said anything else, "Well, there was one bad spot. I had to help put down Angle Beluk's dog." Hannah worked as a veterinary assistant four mornings a week.

"I'm sorry," Joni said, feeling a pang. "What was wrong?"

"Cancer." Hannah sighed and snipped her thread. Then she put her hoop to one side. "Poor Angie. She had Brownie for sixteen years."

"That's so sad."

"Well, it happens, unfortunately. On the brighter side, we delivered a litter of pups. What about you? How was your day?"

Joni sipped her coffee, feeling the heat all the way down to her stomach. "Oh, the usual. I rolled pills, mixed elixirs, chatted with a dozen people...."

Hannah laughed. "You make it sound so boring!"

Joni smiled back at her. "It's not. But it sure isn't the height of adventure."

Something in Hannah's face softened. "Is that what you really want, Joni? Adventure?"

After a moment, Joni shook her head. "Not really. Remember the curse,

" May you live in interesting times'? I'll settle for ho-hum, thank you very much. Want me to put the pot roast on to heat before I go change? "

"No, honey, I'll do it. You just go on up."

"Okay." Taking her mug with her, Joni rose and disappeared into the living room, in the direction of the stairs.

Hannah stared after her, a faint grease between her eyebrows. Maybe, she thought for the hundredth time, she had made a mistake in moving them fifteen years ago to Whisper Creek after Lewis died.

She had told herself at the time that it was for Joni that she had brought them here, but now, in retrospect, she wondered if she hadn't really done it because she was afraid herself. After all, staying in Denver had meant finding reminders of Lewis around every corner and in every familiar face. She had tried to go back to work but had found being in the hospital again was just impossible for her. Every sound, every smell, reminded her of Lewis and the fifteen years they had shared.

So maybe she hadn't really done it for Joni. Maybe she had been lying to herself when she justified the move by assuring herself she was taking the child away from all the bad influences to a quiet community where kids didn't hang around in gangs and kill innocent doctors who were crossing a parking lot on the way to save lives.

Maybe she had been lying to herself when she argued that Joni would be better off near the only family either of them had, Lewis's brother, Witt. *

Maybe those had all been excuses because she was unwilling to face her own fears and her own pain-and her shame.

But she hadn't really wondered about it until lately. Not until three years ago, when Joni had finished her schooling and moved back into her old bedroom while taking a job at the little mountain hospital just outside town. For the first time it had seriously occurred to Hannah that she might have crippled Joni in some way.