Snowbound - Harlequin.com

250 SNOWBOUND
logged and farmed in the nineteenth century by early
settlers. Agriculture had long since lost its way to the
growing population, pushing suburb by suburb out of
Portland.
He saw a sign that said Hawes Ferry, and his fingers
flexed on the wheel. But he kept going. What would he
say to Fiona now? I’m trying? Not good enough.
The big old house where he’d grown up was in the
Rose City neighborhood in Portland. He went there
first, not wanting to hurt his parents unnecessarily. He
parked at the curb in front, and he’d no sooner gotten
out than he saw his mother flying down the porch steps.
“John! You came!” Her face was awash with tears by
the time she reached him. “I wasn’t sure you would.”
He returned her hug, feeling a little awkward, and
more than a little remorseful. So much for convincing
himself that his folks were busy people only mildly
concerned by his new eccentricity. It would appear he’d
been breaking his mother’s heart.
Patting her back, he said, “Liz is a steamroller.”
Dashing at her tears, she stepped back. “That’s
news to you?”
“No. I just didn’t expect her to turn her energy onto
me. Don’t they keep her busy enough at the Oregonian?”
“Did you see her series about chop shops? There’s
talk of a Pulitzer prize.”
“Really?” John took his bag out of the back and
slammed the door. “I did see it. She’s good.”
She was drying her tears, thank God. The worst was
past.
They walked up the driveway. “Are you worried