Christine Powers clung to the railing of the ferry, chilled to the bone yet hot under the collar, a cliche her father often used.

Her father. Her parents. How could she begrudge them an anniversary cruise? Yet while they swayed in the tropic breezes, she had been trapped into this freezing trip to Mackinac Island to care for her grandmother.

Important projects were piled on her desk back in Southfield while her clients had been put off as much as they could be so she could make the trip that had rankled her from the moment her father had asked.

She loved her grandmother. She loved her parents. But she loved her career and putting it in jeopardy hadn’t set well with her.

The ferry bumped against the pier, giving her a jolt, and Christine watched a crew member toss a line to a dockhand. Her gaze moved up the long wooden pier to the island town. Through the swirling snowflakes, she could see Fort Mackinac sitting proudly on a hill, it’s white concrete walls providing a barricade as many nations entered the Michigan waters to takeover the island.

In the summer, Christine loved Mackinac Island. It’s history and landscape, it’s uniqueness captured tourists from all over, but not now—-not when she felt weighted in the midst of too many projects that needed completion. She had advertising copy to edit, two ad campaigns to finalize, and a new client to impress. The Dorset account would make her shine in the eyes of her firm.

A ragged sigh escaped, leaving a billow of white breath hanging on the air. She lifted her shoulders and grasped her carry-on bag determined to get through the next few days.

When she heard the clang of the gangway, she maneuvered through the expansive benches toward the front of the boat to disembark. As she neared, her gaze raked the prow where she hoped to see her other bag, but the area stood bare.

A crewman flagged her forward, and she stepped onto the slippery ramp, clutching the railing until her feet hit the pier.

"Careful," a crewman called.

She muttered a thank you and took two steps forward when her foot slipped on the icy planking. She skidded forward, her arms flailing while her carry-on bag plopped to the pier. A hand grasped her arm to steady her, and the crew member who’d warned her gave her a knowing grin.

She managed a smile, better than screaming, and retrieved her bag, then took guarded steps toward the ferry exit where she eyed a workman unloading the luggage. She looked through the feathery flakes, praying hers was there and not left back in Mackinaw City.

If she weren’t so stressed, the snowfall would be appealing. The soft flakes drifted past her, twirling on the frigid breeze that streamed off the Straits. Why would anyone want to live on an island so isolated in the winter? By the beginning of January their only escape would be by air until the ice bridge.

A shiver ran through her as she stepped beneath the enclosure and reached the ferry’s cargo. Her worry eased when she spotted her suitcase. She set down her small bag and tugged at her luggage beneath the other baggage.

"Let me help."

Her focus shifted to the stranger who’d stepped beside her. She jumped at his closeness, then was thrown off-guard by his wide grin.

"Thanks. I have it." She gave another determined tug and settled the suitcase beside her, pulled up the handle and tried to connect the carry-on bag to the larger piece.

The man didn’t move from the spot. He shook his head as he watched, then gave a chuckle when her carry-on slipped to the ground.

If she weren’t so irked, she would enjoy his smile, but laughing at her didn’t set well. "That wasn’t funny. My laptop‘s in there."

"Sorry," he said, looking less than sorry with his boyish grin and snapping dark eyes. "I assume your Christine Powers. I’ve been waiting for you."

She stopped short. "I’m Christine, but who are you, if I might ask?"

He drew back and looked surprised. "I thought you knew I was coming for you. I’m Will. Will Lambert. I board with your grandmother."

"You board with my grandmother? Since when?"

"For the past year."

She controlled her jaw from sagging a foot. "No one told me."

He shrugged. "I guess you’ll have to trust me. I’m trusting you’re actually Christine Powers."

That made her laugh despite the cold penetrating her leather gloves. "I wasn’t expecting anyone to meet me," she said, anxious to get away from the bitter wind. "I’d planned to take a taxi."

"Then you have your dream come true."

She squinted at him, wondering if he were loony or being humorous. He gestured toward the street. "The taxi’s waiting. I offered to meet you, because your grandmother thought you’d have a ton of luggage." He grasped the handle of her large case and reached for the smaller one, but she clutched it as if it held her life treasures. "I’ll carry this myself."

"Okay," he said, shrugging. "The carriage is this way." He took a step forward and looked back to make sure she was following.

Carriage? The question was fleeting. What else? The unique island had no motorized conveyances except for a couple of emergency vehicles and snowmobiles when there was enough snowfall. Horse and carriage was a common mode of transportation.

Her limbs tense as she checked the ground for icy patches, Christine eyed him ahead of her. The man had broad shoulders and an easy gait as if he knew who he was and he liked himself. She would enjoy that feeling, but at times, she didn’t even know who she was, for sure. The boarder had a casual manner, sort of a rough gallantry like a young John Wayne. She could almost picture him in a tilted Stetson.

When Will stepped from under the covering onto the sidewalk, Christine stopped beneath the enclosure and gazed at snow that quickly dissipated to slush beneath the feet of the horses.

Will turned toward her as if wondering why she’d been dawdling, but she didn’t hurry. Let him wait. She studied him, watching his breath puff in a white mist. He wore a dark leather jacket and a dark blue scarf around his neck. He had a youthful look, yet a face that appeared seasoned by life.

Christine had learned to study people first and form an opinion before she let down her guard. She’d learned to analyze her clients at the firm. Sadly she hadn’t always been as astute at judging people as she was today.

Stepping from beneath the shelter, she turned her attention to Main Street where buggies lined the road—- hotel shuttles, private conveyances, and taxies, like the one that would take her to her grandmother’s. The town had already captured the feeling of Christmas. Large wreaths with bright red ribbons hung from the old-fashioned street lights and the dusting of snow created a Christmas card setting.

The scent of winter sharpened the air and softened the scent of horse muck that steamed from the cold ground. She recoiled again, amazed she’d agreed to do this "little favor" for her parents.

As the driver loaded her case behind the seat, the horse’s flank quivered, and it stomped its foot as if ready to be on its way. Will reached for her smaller case, and this time she relinquished it. He handed it to the driver who put it behind the seat with her other bag. He told the driver where they were headed, then offered to assist her.

She placed her hand in his, feeling his warm palm and long fingers clasping hers to give her a lift into the buggy.

The cab tipped as Will joined her and pulled a lap robe over her legs. "This will keep you warmer."

The driver looked over his shoulder through the front window. "Ready?" he asked.

"We’re all set," Will called. When he settled against the seat, his gaze sought hers, and she must have grimaced, because his look softened. "You’ll get used to this. It takes a while. Modern conveniences are a habit, not a necessity."

He said it with a self-assured tone that seemed patronizing. Christine liked conveniences. In fact, she liked luxuries, and she wasn’t planning to apologize for her taste.