Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
T he tires crunched over the thickening snow as Teddy steered his truck across the narrow bridge leading to his house. The beams of his headlights cut through the swirling flakes, illuminating the jagged edge of the half-finished road. Beyond the bridge, the new subdivision stretched out like a skeleton of what it would become—wooden frames dusted with snow, stacks of unused bricks buried under the accumulating drifts.
The heater whirred inside the cab, its faint hum mingling with the soft rustling of Bunny’s coat as she shifted in the passenger seat. She was quiet, her profile lit by the dashboard’s glow. Teddy didn’t need to look directly at her to know she was staring out at the snow-covered landscape, probably cataloging every impracticality of building out here.
His own house, perched alone on the hill at the edge of town, stood in stark contrast to the skeletal structures around it. It was a good house, sturdy and new, but its isolation had felt more acute lately. Maybe that’s why he didn’t mind the thought of Bunny and the baby staying there—at least for a night.
The snow started coming down heavier, clumps smacking against the windshield and dragging in lazy arcs as the wipers fought to keep the glass clear. Teddy tightened his grip on the wheel. His damp palms squeaked against the leather as he navigated the incline.
“It's impractical to live way out here. What if there's an emergency?"
"This is a town of adults. They handled emergencies before I was mayor. They can handle them while I'm mayor, too."
Bunny snorted at that.
"True leadership isn't micromanaging every aspect. I pick the best people to do the job and trust them to do it. If I’m hovering over every little detail, I’m not doing my job—I’m just getting in everyone’s way.”
“It’s not hovering if you're ensuring things don’t slip through the cracks. One mistake, one oversight, and the whole system can collapse.”
“Spoken like someone who’s never had to work in a real chain of command.”
“Is that some military joke?”
“In the military, you can’t see every cog in the wheel. You’re given a mission, and you trust your team to do their jobs while you do yours. If you’re constantly questioning the person at your back, you’re dead before you’ve even pulled the trigger."
Teddy slowed as they approached the hill leading to his house. The snow was piling up faster than he’d expected.
"I worked under commanders who I never met face to face. My squad and I were in the middle of nowhere, relying on intel coming from people thousands of miles away. Did I question every decision they made? No. I trusted the chain of command. That’s how leadership works—trusting the people you’ve put in place to handle their responsibilities.”
Bunny frowned, her foot tapping lightly against the truck’s floorboard. “That might work in the military, but this isn’t a battlefield. This is a town full of real people with real problems. Sometimes those people need a leader who’s willing to step in and make sure everything’s running smoothly.”
The baby gurgled in the back, momentarily quiet after his earlier outburst.
“So you’re saying I should be checking every pothole myself? Maybe make the coffee while I’m at it?”
“Delegating is fine in theory, but if one person doesn’t do their job—if one cog in your so-called wheel breaks—everything falls apart.”
“That’s why you pick the right people in the first place,” Teddy countered. “You don’t fixate on every detail. You see the bigger picture and trust your team to handle the rest. You let them take ownership of their work.”
Bunny huffed, clearly unconvinced. “And what happens when someone drops the ball? Or marries the wrong man. Or forgets to do the business license renewal. What then?”
"Are we still talking about the military, or the town, or…"
"It doesn't matter."
Teddy got the notion that it did matter. Very much, in fact. He knew how close Bunny was to her younger sisters. Knew when she was on the phone with them or had just come from lunch with them. There was a weariness in her eyes behind the love she had for them. It was clear they relied on their big sister, and he got the sense that Bunny liked that codependency.
At the same time, it was weighing her down. She likely didn't know how to let them be on their own, how to let them run their own lives without her constant supervision. Much like his mother did with him.
“If someone drops the ball, you all deal with it. But you don't go into an op assuming the ball will be dropped. Not if you've trained your team well.”
She narrowed her eyes at him.
Yup. This was definitely about her sisters.
The truck hit a patch of snow. The tires slipped briefly before catching again. Bunny let out a startled gasp, her hand flying to the chicken handle.
Teddy's hand flew to her chest, protecting her with the arm bar of his forearm. The heated gasp raised goosebumps on his flesh. His forearm connected with her chest. He should've pulled his hand away, but it would not move.
"I'll thank you to keep both hands on the wheel, Mayor Carter."
Teddy returned his hands to the wheel, ten and two like he’d been taught. They drove the rest of the way in silence as the snowfall accumulated behind them. There was no way she'd make it back down the hill and over the bridge tonight.
During the last big snow, two years ago, he had been trapped up here for two days. The authorities had offered to come get him out, but Teddy had declined, insisting they dig out the rest of the town first. He had a satellite phone that always connected, even if the cell towers went out.
A shrill wail erupted from the back seat, cutting through the quiet. Teddy winced, glancing in the mirror as the baby’s face scrunched up, his tiny fists flailing against the blanket.
Bunny twisted in her seat as she tried to see the baby in the dim light. “He probably needs a change.”
“Or maybe he just doesn’t like my driving,” Teddy quipped, shutting off the engine.
“Get the car seat. I’ll grab the diaper bag.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The baby’s cries echoed in his ears as he stepped out into the cold. The wind bit at his face. This wasn’t how he’d imagined the night going. Sure, he’d secretly hoped to get snowed in with Bunny—no phones, no interruptions, just the two of them in his cozy house with the storm outside.
But now? With a crying baby and Bunny giving him that exasperated look every five minutes? As he hauled the car seat out of the back and turned toward the house, he wasn’t so sure this snowstorm was going to be the romantic, Hallmark-worthy setup he’d hoped for.