The fire had already claimed the room by the time Toby Reeves appeared in the doorway, a small parade of borrowed elegance. Snow pressed its white hush against the tall windows of the Colorado cabin. Wood beams darkened overhead. Plaid blankets waited on the sectional sofa. The stone fireplace breathed heat into the early evening cold, and Daniel Reeves sat beside it with a trail map unfolded across his knees, charcoal thermal shirt soft against his forearms, the dull gold of his wedding band catching the light whenever he turned a page.
Toby stood there laughing, his tousled brown hair crushed beneath an oversized women's tan sunhat, his blue eyes nearly lost behind oversized women's sunglasses that slid down the bridge of his nose. In both hands he clutched a bright coral handbag as if it were a trophy won in some private game.
"Dad, I'm ready for the beach!" Toby said, laughing.
Daniel looked up, amused, the stubble along his jaw shifting with his smile. "Wrong vacation, buddy."
Across the open kitchen, Elise Reeves froze with a carton of eggs halfway out of a grocery bag. Her dark brunette hair was gathered in a loose bun; her green eyes narrowed as she took in the hat, the glasses, the impossible color of that bag against her son's small chest.
"Where did that bag come from?" she asked, suddenly serious.
Toby tipped his chin toward the hallway, innocent as snowfall. "Dad's duffel. It was under his clothes."
Daniel's amusement drained. He set the trail map aside. "Okay, give me that."