USA TODAY bestselling author Allison Leigh introduces readers to a reluctant hero—and the woman who just might heal his wounded heart—in this newest addition to her popular miniseries, Return to the Double C! Small town deputy Sloan McCray was making amends for his past. They called him a hero but only he had to live with the difficult choices he'd made. And he certainly wasn't prepared to fall in love again, not even with his beautiful—and innocent—new neighbor, whose very presence was a balm to his troubled soul. There was no doubt in Abby Marcum's mind that Sloan was the guy for her. Though she'd moved to Weaver, Wyoming, to make a better life for her little brother, she saw her future with Sloan. Now she had to convince the man who felt unworthy of love that she and her heart were his for the asking…. A frequent name on bestseller lists, Allison Leigh's highpoint as a writer is hearing from readers that they laughed, cried or lost sleep while reading her books. She’s blessed with an immensely patient family who doesn’t mind (much) her time spent at her computer and who gives her the kind of love she wants her readers to share in every page. Stay in touch at www.allisonleigh.com and @allisonleighbks. The snow covered everything. Everything except the clear strip down the middle of the street that had been plowed just that morning. Looking out the front window of the house he'd been renting for the past six months, Sloan McCray studied that strip. While the middle of the street was whistle clean, the displaced snow formed two-foot walls against the curb on both sides of the street, blocking driveways and parking spaces. Generally speaking, Sloan didn't worry about the snow-plow job as long as it was done. It was his first winter in Weaver—the first snow had fallen in October and hadn't stopped since. He'd had two months to get used to it. There were five houses on his street. Some of the folks occupying the homes had snowblowers—ancient ones kept running by ingenuity and stubbornness, and new ones that cost as much as Sloan's first motorcycle. He dealt with the annoying snow berm in front of his house the old-fashioned way—with a heavy-duty snow shovel and a lot of muscle. Not a problem for him. He'd been well used to being physically active, even before he'd signed on as a deputy sheriff here in Weaver. Pitching heavy snow out of his driveway was a welcome task. Kept the muscles working. Kept the mind occupied with the simple and mundane. Two good things, as far as he was concerned. He wasn't sold on living in Weaver yet. His job was temporary; he had a one-year lease on the house. He needed to start thinking about what to do after the nine months he'd promised Max Scalise—the sheriff—were up. He should have been spending less time with the snow shovel and more time thinking about what the hell he was going to do with the rest of his life. But tackling that particular question was no more appealing than it ever was. Standing inside the warmth of his living room, Sloan eyed the snow blocking the driveways. The small blue car had been sitting on the street in front of the house next door for nearly an hour. Footsteps in the snow trailed back and forth from the car to the house. New neighbors. Moving in on the last day of the year. He'd been watching them for a while. The woman was young, with shining brown hair that bounced around the shoulders of her red coat with every step. The little kid with her had the same dark hair. He'd also noticed there wasn't a man in the picture. Not to help them unpack, anyway. Nor to clear away the snow blocking the driveway, much less shovel a path to the door. He turned away from the window, grabbed his down vest and headed out the back of his house to the small shed where he stored his bike and tools. It was the last day of the year and he'd spent too much time thinking already. Time to start shoveling instead. "Abby. Abby." Balancing the heavy box in her hands, Abby Marcum glanced at her little brother. He was clutching the plastic bin containing his collection of video games against his chest, his wary gaze glued to the tall man striding toward them from the house next door. "Who's that man? " Dillon was whispering, but his nervousness shouted loud and clear. "I don't know," she said calmly. "We'll meet lots of new people here in Weaver." "I don't want new people." His pale face was pinched. "I want our old people." She hid a sigh behind a smile. Her seven-year-old brother wasn't the only one with misgivings about moving to Weaver. But she wasn't going to show hers to him when he already had more than enough for them both. "We still have our old people," she assured him. "Braden's not so far away that we won't visit." Just not every day. Not anymore. She hid another sigh at the thought. Noticing that the man angling across the deep snow had nearly reached them, she looked at Dillon. "Take your box inside. You can think about where to put