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could leave today. I may even get to work on time.”
    He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms across his chest. “That’ll be a first.”
    She knotted her laces and shot him a withering look. “It may not be the greatest job in the world, but I can’t afford to lose it, and whether you believe it or not, I usually get there on time.’’
    “I believe it,” he said, holding her jacket out for her as she slid her arms into the sleeves. For just an instant he kept his arms on her shoulders, then he dropped them, watching as she slipped on her gloves. “What if I need to order something else?” he asked.
    “There are operators on duty twenty-four hours a day.”
    “That’s good to know.”
    She stood at the door, her gloved hand on the doorknob. “Thanks for everything, the food, the game, the sunrise. I’ll leave the Sno-Cat just where I found it, with the keys in the ashtray. I hope Fred isn’t too upset.” Outside the wind and the fog had transformed the rocks and the vegetation into a fairyland of white lacy shapes. “Did you arrange this, too?” she asked.
    He nodded and she got into the tractor. While he watched, she skillfully backed it up and headed down the mountain. He thought she waved before she made the first turn, but he couldn’t be sure. He’d meant to tell her to drive carefully, but he didn’t have a chance. She was gone.

 
Chapter Three
     
         Miranda drove as fast as she dared across New Hampshire, past white fields and snow-covered farmhouses. Her eyes were heavy and her throat was dry, but she didn’t dare stop for coffee. She had to get back to feed the horses and check the buckets before she went to work. Her mind was spinning with thoughts of what she’d done and how she’d keep it a secret at work. It was a crazy idea to bring the boots up there, three feet of snow or not. It was even crazier to spend the night, although she’d had no choice.
    Her face burned as she relived the moment Maxwell Carter had realized she wasn’t Fred. The shock on his face, and his surprise, haunted her. Do I look like I’m starving? he’d asked. She had to admit, she’d seen no evidence of starvation. He was the most well-built man she’d ever seen.
    He couldn’t believe she’d taken the Sno-Cat and driven it up by herself without asking anybody. Neither could she. What did he think of her for barging in on him that way and staying overnight? Not that he’d tried anything. Underneath his layers of winter clothing he really was a Southern gentleman. Or maybe he just didn’t find her attractive. It didn’t matter.
    She left the engine of the truck running in the driveway while she emptied the hay into bins for the broad-backed horses, then squished her way to the nearest tree to check the bucket. To her surprise sap was dripping steadily into the bucket, which was already half-full. She let out a whoop of joy that startled the crows overhead. The sapping season had started. She emptied all the buckets into a twenty-gallon copper washtub and replaced them. Then with no time to change clothes, she jumped back into the truck and headed for town.
    She was only ten minutes late, but her luck had run out. Old Mr. Northwood was standing at the employee entrance. “Feeling better, Miranda?” he asked dryly.
    Better? What did that mean? What had her friends told him? That she’d come down with the flu? Broken her leg? Trust them to make up a good story, but what was it? “Much better,” she said firmly, walking past him in her muddy boots. He followed her into the deserted lunchroom, where she filled her coffee cup while he watched.
    “Have you ever thought of selling your farm?” he asked, fingering his gold watch chain. “It’s such a long drive into town.”
    Miranda pressed her lips together. She got the message. If she lived in town she could get to work on time. “Not really,” she said. “I grew up on the farm. It feels like home. And I usually enjoy the drive. It