A Weaver Proposal

After a moment, Derek looked away from her and followed his nephew.

It was, mercifully, all downhill from there.

Sydney looked down at Megan, who was hanging back with her. “You and your brother lived in California?” For some reason, she’d assumed they’d been born and raised in Weaver, though she didn’t really know why. Except that they seemed to possess that “we belong here” quality that everyone around here had.

Everyone except for Sydney, of course.

Megan started walking, too, and Sydney fell in step with her. “Eli came from California. I came from Virginia. We’re both adopted, ‘cept Eli was with Dad since he was a baby.”

The dad, Sydney knew, was Max Scalise, the local sheriff. Neither he nor his wife, Sarah, had been at dinner that day, though—according to Megan—they were picking them up later. “And you?”

“They didn’t get me until I was eight after my real parents died.” Her voice was matter-of-fact.

“I’m sorry.”

“I got lucky. Mom and Dad—Sarah and Max, I mean—they’re okay. And then they had Benny, too, and it’s like he’s all of us combined. He’s with Mom and Dad this afternoon.”

“Ben,” Eli called from up ahead. “Benny’s for babies.”

Megan rolled her eyes. “Ben is only four,” she yelled at the back of her brother’s head.

“And do you have any cousins?” Sydney said casually, watching Derek’s back several yards ahead of them. Unlike Eli, Megan and Sydney, his head and hands were bare, though he showed enough human frailty to keep his hands shoved in the pockets of his leather jacket.

“You mean from Uncle Derek?” Megan shook her head. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “He doesn’t even got a girlfriend,” she confided. “Grandma says it’s ‘cause he’s still pining for Renée.” Her whisper dripped over the name. “They were supposed to get married, but they didn’t.” Without missing a step, she leaned over and grabbed up a handful of snow, packed it together in a ball, and launched it at her brother’s back.

It exploded in a splatter and Eli whirled around, scooping up his own ammunition.

Sydney had to swallow her unwelcome curiosity where Derek and his broken engagement were concerned, and dart out of the way or end up in firing range of the missiles the two youngsters chased each other, whooping and hollering, toward the big house. Even then, she wasn’t entirely successful.

And since she couldn’t avoid them, she decided to join them, throwing her own inexpertly made snowballs right back. Unfortunately, her aim was off, and she hit Derek, smack in the side of the head.

Her laughter cut off midstream as he slowly turned to look her way.

“Sorry,” she said breathlessly. “I was aiming for Eli.”

He cocked an eyebrow, giving an exaggerated look to where his nephew was bent nearly in half, laughing wildly. “Is that so?” There was at least ten feet between him and the boy.

Megan dashed over beside Sydney. “Here.” She handed one snowball to Sydney. She had another already clasped in her mitten. “We can take him,” she said, dancing from one boot to the other in anticipation. “Uncle Derek says he always wins, but not this time.”

Derek chuckled outright. “Meggie, babe, you’d better teach your firing mate to have better aim, then. And warn her that I never like to lose.”

“If you’re six feet off,” Megan said from the side of her mouth, “just aim six feet over.”

It wasn’t the worst advice Sydney had ever had and before Derek stopped chuckling, she launched the well-packed snowball.

It missed his head only because he ducked at the last minute to avoid it.

But Megan’s snowball hit him square in the chest and Sydney couldn’t help but laugh.

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