Free Midnight Under the Mistletoe by Sara Orwig

aim toward the patio. “This is a find. Why would anyone stick these in with a
bunch of letters? If I had been the only descendant, I would have pitched the
boxes and never given them another thought.”
    “Well, aren’t we all glad keeping the heirlooms was not left to
you alone,” she said sweetly and he grinned.
    “The Henry was a repeating rifle that came out about the time
the Civil War began. This is fabulous,” he said, running his hand over it. “Now
I can feel a tie with my ancestors with these two weapons. Ryan is going to love
both of these. So will Will.”
    “You make it sound as if all of you are gun-toting cowboys,
which I know is not the case. Far from it. You’re a man of cities.”
    “I still love this. It’s a beaut and Will and Ryan are going to
love it. Garrett—he’s a family friend—won’t be so wound up over it, I don’t
think. He’s the city person, which makes it funny that Dad willed this ranch to
Garrett and not to any of his sons. It’s also why Garrett is in no rush to claim
it. This Henry is something.”
    She picked up an envelope. “If you’ll excuse me, you can go
drool over your guns while I read.” She withdrew a letter. “Want me to read
aloud?”
    “I don’t think so, thank you,” he said, smiling. He picked up
the revolver and carried a weapon in each hand back to place them on his desk.
As soon as he sat, he called Will to tell him about the latest find.
    They talked at length before he told Will goodbye and then
called Ryan to tell him about the revolver and the rifle. She shook her head and
bent over the latest letter, still thinking the letters were the real
treasure.
    It was an hour before he finished talking to both brothers.
With his hands on his hips, he looked at the boxes. “Some of the boxes have
objects of value. There’s one more box. I wonder if each one will hold its own
treasure. I’ll start looking through this box,” he said, sitting down and
pulling a box close. He took out a bunch of letters and put them on the
floor.
    “These letters are not packed away in any apparent order,” she
said. “Put the letters in this box because it’s almost empty now. You’ll tear
them up, dumping them out like that. I’ll help you.”
    “The precious letters. I’ll take more care,” he said, and began
to shift them to the box she had beside her. When his box was three-fourths
empty, hers had been filled. He bent over his box and felt around. “I don’t feel
anything, except letters.”
    “Try reading a few,” she suggested.
    He frowned slightly and picked up a letter to skim over it.
“Nothing,” he said, tossing it into the discard box and taking another. After an
hour, Zach was clearly tired of his fruitless search. “I can’t find anything
worth keeping.”
    “Maybe I should get in the car and
go home now. It’s sort of tempting fate to stay.”
    “You made a decision to stay. If you were going you should have
left hours ago. You made your decision, so stick with it. If you leave now, you
could get caught if the storm comes in early. You’d be in the snow in the dark.
Not a good combination. Just stay.”
    Stay, she’d have to.
    * * *
    On Friday the storm arrived as predicted, the first big
flakes falling late morning. Emma went to the window. “Zach, this is beautiful.
I have to go outside to look.” She left the office and went out the back to the
patio to stand and watch huge flakes swirling and tumbling to earth. She stuck
out her tongue, letting an icy flake melt in her mouth. She also held up her
palm, watching for the briefest second as a beautiful flake hit her and then
transformed into a drop of icy water.
    In seconds she heard the door and glanced around to see Zach
hurrying outside with a blanket tossed around his shoulders.
    “I thought you might be cold,” he said, shaking it so it was
around her and over her head as well as covering him. With his arm around her
shoulders, he held the blanket in place. Shivering, she