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silence for a few moments; the children were picking the meat out of the stew and leaving the vegetables, Shane spooning up his stew as if he couldn’t wait to finish and leave. Outside, the howling storm battered the windows.
    “How were the roads, Shane?” Kylie spoke into the awkward hush. “Did you have any trouble getting back from town?”
    “It was tough going after the front came in. But as you can see, I made it this far. So I guess I can make it home from here. Mighty grateful for the good supper, Muriel.” He pushed back his chair and stood. Tired shadows framed his dark eyes. “Guess I’d better be on my way.”
    “Wait!” Amy hadn’t said a word during the meal, but now she almost jumped out of her chair. “You might know this. Where can we get a real Christmas tree around here? Is there a farm or someplace that sells them—or a forest, where we can go cut one down?”
    Shane ran a hand through his damp hair. A weary look passed across his face. Kylie sensed that all he really wanted was to get out of here and get home. But at least he seemed to be thinking about his answer.
    “I’ll check around,” he said. “But nothing’s going to happen till this storm clears, so don’t get your hopes up. Okay?”
    Amy’s expression drooped. “Okay. But do you promise you’ll check?”
    “If there’s anything to check.” He shrugged into his sheepskin coat and fastened a couple of buttons. “I’ll be back in the morning to start on the bike, Henry. Thanks again.”
    “Be careful going home,” Henry said. “It’s bad out there. You could freeze if you get stuck in that storm.”
    “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.” Shane turned up his collar; then he opened the door and forced it shut as he stepped into the wind.
     
     
    Shane trudged head forward, pushing his way through blinding snow that was already deep enough to fall inside his boot tops. The roads would be a mess tonight, but they’d be even worse later on. If he was going to be snowed in somewhere, he needed to be home.
    He’d left the truck under the overhang of the shed, where it would be protected from the worst of the storm. But as he battled his way across the yard, he realized he was moving by rote, finding his way only because he knew it so well. In the snow-filled dark, he could barely see his hand in front of his face.
    He ran into the truck almost before he saw it. But once he’d moved under the overhanging roof, his vision cleared some. The snow on the sheltered windows needed only a light brushing to clear them before he climbed inside, shifted gears, and started the engine. The truck swung out of the shed, grinding forward a dozen feet before it lost momentum and stopped, wheels spinning in the snow.
    He was stuck. And even if he could go forward, there was no way he’d be able to find the road. The truck’s headlights reflected on a wall of swirling snowflakes. Whether he liked it or not, the only safe place to go was back inside the house—with Kylie Summerfield Wayne and her two sullen, prepubescent kids. He climbed out of the truck and closed the door. It was going to be a long night.
     
     
    The storm’s howl had risen to a shriek. Snowflakes spattered like buckshot against the house. Peering through the window toward the lane that led to the road, Kylie watched for the red taillights of Shane’s departing truck. But as the minutes crawled past, she could see nothing except the white blur of driving snow against the dark.
    “I don’t like this,” she murmured, half to herself.
    “I don’t, either.” Henry stood behind her. “There’s no way he’s going to get home in this. Got a flashlight, Muriel?”
    “Right here.” Muriel, who’d been clearing the table, opened a drawer and passed him the flashlight she found. Henry turned it on and checked the brightness. He’d just started for the door when it flew open and would’ve crashed against the wall if Henry hadn’t stopped it. Shane staggered