Snowfall at Willow Lake. Сьюзен Виггс
Acclaim for New York Times bestselling author Susan Wiggs
‘… Truly uplifting …’
—Now magazine
‘This is a beautiful book’
—Bookbag on Just Breathe
‘… Unpredictable and refreshing,
this is irresistibly good’
—Closer Hot Pick Book on Just Breathe
‘A human and multi-layered story
exploring duty to both country
and family’
—Nora Roberts on
The Ocean Between Us
‘Susan Wiggs paints the details
of human relationships with
the finesse of a master.’
—Jodi Picoult, author of Lone Wolf
‘The perfect beach read’
—Debbie Macomber on Summer by the Sea
Also by
Susan Wiggs
The Lakeshore Chronicles SUMMER AT WILLOW LAKE THE WINTER LODGE DOCKSIDE SNOWFALL AT WILLOW LAKE FIRESIDE LAKESHORE CHRISTMAS
The Tudor Rose Trilogy AT THE KING’S COMMAND THE MAIDEN’S HAND AT THE QUEEN’S SUMMONS
Contemporary HOME BEFORE DARK THE OCEAN BETWEEN US SUMMER BY THE SEA TABLE FOR FIVE LAKESIDE COTTAGE JUST BREATHE All available in eBook
Snowfall at Willow Lake
Susan Wiggs
To Rose Marie Harris,
who owned and operated Paperbacks Plus, the best
little bookstore in Washington State for the past
twenty-seven years. She’s the kind of bookseller every
writer dreams about—well-read, enthusiastic, caring
and helpful, with an uncanny knack for putting the
right book into the hands of the reader who is sure
to love it. A book signing at Paperbacks Plus always
involved plenty of food, friends and fun, making for
unforgettable events, year in and year out.
To Rose Marie, Kate, Lois and the rest of
the staff—it was a great run, ladies.
Thanks for everything.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
The daily work of a writer involves spending many hours alone with a roomful of fictional characters, and it takes a lot of love and understanding from the real people in my life to put up with that.
Thanks to the real Momzillas, who are nothing like the ones in this book.
I am truly blessed by the women writers in my life. Their moral support and brain power enrich the entire experience of making stories and art, and their talents keep me in awe—Anjali Banerjee, Carol Cassella, Sheila Rabe, Suzanne Selfors, Elsa Watson, Kate Breslin, Lois Faye Dyer, Rose Marie Harris, Patty Jough-Haan, Susan Plunkett and Krysteen Seelen.
Thanks also to Margaret O’Neill Marbury, my ever-patient editor, Meg Ruley, my agent, and her associate Annelise Robey, for invaluable advice and input.
Thanks to my publisher and readers for turning the Lakeshore Chronicles into a great success. The books came from me, but the success from you.
I’m so very grateful for my family, including our newest arrival, Barkis the wonderdog. Special thanks to my wonderful mom and dad—I only wish I could be as good as you think I am.
Part One
February
Lake Effect
Each winter, when cold arctic air sweeps across North America, snow squalls may form along the lee shores of lakes. These squalls, known as lake-effect snowstorms, bring locally heavy snowfalls to a relatively small area. Often, while squalls hit one area, brilliant blue skies prevail only a short distance away.
One
Avalon, Ulster County, New York
Every station on Noah Shepherd’s truck radio was broadcasting the incessant warning. The National Weather Service had issued an advisory—a prediction of snow, ice and wind—whiteout conditions in a lake-effect snowstorm. Authorities were urging people to stay home tonight, to keep the roads clear for emergency vehicles only. The county airport had closed hours ago. Even the heaviest snow-removal equipment was having trouble lumbering along the highway. Only madmen and fools would be out in this.
Well, madmen, fools and large-animal vets. Noah wished his windshield wipers had a faster setting. The wind-driven snow was coming so hard and fast it was like a solid wall of white. He could barely tell whether or not he was on an actual road.
Legend had it that during lake effect, magic happened. Right, he thought. If this was magic, he’d stick with reality.
After delivering the Osmonds’ foal, he should have taken them up on their offer to stay the night, waiting until the weather and roads cleared before making his way back to his home and adjacent clinic miles away. However, according to reports, it could be days before the storm played itself out and it was likely to get worse before it got better. He had the Palmquists’ geriatric beagle in the clinic, a cat recovering from spinal surgery and his own animals, which currently included an abandoned pup. He knew he could always call his neighbor, Gayle, to look in on them, but he hated to bother her. With her husband serving overseas and three kids underfoot, she sure as hell didn’t need to go traipsing over to his place to check on the animals.
Besides, his scrubs were covered in birth blood and fluid. He needed a shower, bad. He was wearing his favorite hat, a wool cap with earflaps. It was from his “early dork” phase, as one of his former girlfriends had called it. Noah had quite a few former girlfriends. Women his age tended to want something other than life with a country vet.
He leaned forward over the steering wheel, squinting at the road ahead. Illuminated by his headlamps, the snowflakes appeared to be flying straight at him in a movielike special effect. He thought of Star Wars, when the Millennium Falcon went into warp speed. And that thought, of course, inspired him to whistle the Star Wars theme between his teeth. Bored with crawling along, he imagined his windshield was a window to a galaxy far, far away. He was Han Solo, and the snowflakes flying at him were stars. He issued orders to his copilot, who perked up at the sound of his master’s voice. “Prepare for throttle up. Chewie, do you read? Go at throttle up.”
Rudy, a mutt in the passenger seat, gave a huff in response, fogging the window.
Noah’s last girlfriend, Daphne, used to accuse him of being a kid who would never grow up. And Noah, who had the subtlety of a jackhammer, suggested only half-jokingly that they make a few kids of their own so he’d