Free House Calls: Callaghan Brothers, Book 3 by Abbie Zanders Page B

all-out blizzard.  Eyes were drawn toward the mounted flat screens as each subsequent weather update seemed worse than the last. 
    By four o’clock Michael couldn’t sit still any longer.  He still had two hours before he was expected at Maggie’s, but simply waiting, biding his time wasn’t working for him.  He felt anxious, and news of the powerful nor’easter bearing down on them was doing nothing to ease that.  Everything Ian had told him was weighing heavily on his mind as well.  All he could think about was Maggie.  In the house, alone, injured.
    “I’m heading out,” Michael said, convincing himself that there really was no good reason to delay any longer.  He’d already thrown an overnight bag in the back of the truck, temporarily exchanging his Jag for one of the many vehicles they kept at his brother Sean’s garage.  If things went the way he wanted them to, he wouldn’t be back this evening. 
    He was glad he left when he did.  What should have been a thirty minute drive quickly surpassed an hour before he’d even gone halfway.  Clearly the reporters urging people to get their errands done before the bulk of the storm hit were not broadcasting from the mountain, where the roads were fast becoming treacherous, the visibility measured in mere feet instead of yards.
    Michael breathed a sigh of relief when he brought the truck to a stop in front of Maggie’s house.  The snow was already piling up in drifts along the porch.  The weather didn’t bother him as much as the thought of breaking his promise to Maggie.  At least he was only a few minutes later than he’d said he’d be.
    He’d barely stepped one foot on the porch step when the front door flew open.  Maggie stood there, her red hair fanning around her like some kind of ruby halo, her green eyes wide and filled with – worry?  Michael felt that odd tingling in his chest again.
    He offered an apologetic smile as she ushered him inside.  “Sorry I’m late.”

Chapter Nine
 
    S he’d been watching the news reports on and off all day, waiting for the call she was certain would come, informing her that he wouldn’t be coming after all.  But he hadn’t called, and she vacillated between worry and hope that he might actually try to make it and certain disappointment that he wouldn’t.
    As the clock had drew closer to six, Maggie cleaned up the kitchen and went to the living room to wait.  The large window looked out onto the driveway, now already covered with several inches of heavy, wet snow.  It was dark as pitch beyond the meager reach of the porch light; all Maggie could see were the wicked whirls of white whipping around the porch railings.
    Minutes ticked by, the howl of the wind and the rattle of the windows doing nothing to ease her anxiety.  As weather and road conditions rapidly worsened, the certainty that Michael would not be coming grew.  Even George was anxious.  He didn’t particularly like storms, and stuck close by Maggie.
    For the hundredth time, Maggie looked at the silent phone, then picked up the receiver to make sure she still had a dial tone.  Maybe she should call the Pub and tell Michael not to bother.  She would have felt horrible if something had happened to him while he was trying to come to check on her.
    Assuming he still planned on coming, that was.
    It seemed like an eternity later when she finally saw the slash of powerful headlights cutting through the darkness.  With a rush of profound relief, Maggie limped her way to the front door as fast as her aching body would allow. 
    “You came,” she said in a sudden rush of breath.  It was about all she could manage as she helped him off with his coat.  Michael had come, just like he said he would, despite the weather, and he was safe.  Maggie didn’t know whether to hug him or beat him over the head with a log from the fireplace for risking the treacherous roads.  
    “You doubted me?” he asked, half of his mouth tilted upward in