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for Angela and me, but I have to start taking care of my daughter and myself.”
    “You’d be taking one helluva risk.”
    “Mine to take.”
    “Lesley, think about it.”
    “I have,” she said firmly.
    There was no use arguing with her. The best he could do was bargain. Folding his arms over his chest, he stood at the foot of the bed and stared down at her. “If you insist on doing this—”
    “I do. Absolutely.” Her pointed chin thrust forward in determination.
    “Okay, then I’ll go over to your place, make sure the power’s on, the furnace hasn’t frozen and you’ve got running water. Then, in the morning, when the house is warm enough for Angela, I’ll take you over.”
    “But—” Lesley started to argue, then threw up one hand. “Oh, sure. Fine,” she said, obviously having trouble giving an inch. She was testy today, probablysuffering from a bad case of cabin fever. “There’s a key hidden behind a wreath by the back door.”
    “Then I’ll go over now and take a look around.” He whistled to Rambo and was out the door to the screened-in porch. If the woman wanted to be stubborn, so be it, Chase thought. She was right: he couldn’t keep her at his place against her will. He buttoned his jacket, stepped into his boots and crammed a hat onto his head. The path he’d made to the barns, stables and garage was holding, as there hadn’t been any new snow in the past couple of days. He hazarded a glance toward the sky and frowned at the dark, big-bellied clouds rolling slowly across the heavens. What would happen to her if another storm hit and she was stranded without power? What about the kid?
    “Her problem,” he told himself, but knew he was lying. Anything that happened to Lesley Bastian and her newborn daughter was going to affect him. There was just no way around it.
    His boots crunched in the snow as he walked to the truck that he’d had the foresight to chain up this morning. Opening the passenger door he waited for Rambo to hop inside, then climbed behind the wheel.
    The engine protested, refusing to catch on the first try, but after grinding a bit, the old motor finally fired and he rammed the transmission into first gear. Chains digging into the snow, the pickup shot forward. Carefully Chase drove down his lane, then onto the county road and past Lesley’s disabled vehicle. Within minutes he was turning into the driveway that hehadn’t used for nearly twenty years. The house was only a hundred feet off the main road, but the snow was deep, and the truck slid a couple of times before he was able to park near the old garage. It was an ancient building with a sagging roof where, years before, Chase had watched his father wipe the oil from his hands onto a greasy rag after working on the engines of the various farm equipment that seemed forever in need of repair.
    Now he climbed out of his pickup and broke a path through the garden gate. Old hinges creaked in protest, the slats dug deep into the piled snow, but he managed to get through. Across a short yard, where he, Chet and Delia had built forts as kids, and up the back steps he trudged, stomping the snow from his boots on the back porch. The key was hidden just as she’d said. He let himself into the cold, silent kitchen and was thrown nearly twenty years back in time.
    The furniture had changed, of course, and the walls had been painted a pale gold. Gone was his mother’s strawberry-print wallpaper and faux-brick linoleum. Hardwood had been installed to match the cabinets, but the room configuration was the same, a different table and chairs where his parents’ dinette set had once been. His boots rang hollowly as he walked down a short hallway and up the staircase to the bedroom he’d shared with Chet. Instead of twin beds with plaid comforters he saw a desk, small computer, printer and other office equipment. One wall had been shelved and was filled with books, but the old pinetree that had grown outside the house still