Stranded for the Holidays Read online

  But as her eyes rolled into her head, the white-faced woman in the long, Christmas-green coat crumpled to the pavement.

  He shut off the engine, and clambered out of the truck. Sick fear roiled his belly. He stared at the pale woman, lying motionless on the pavement. No blood. He could’ve sworn he hadn’t hit her and yet...

  Pressing two fingers to her neck, he checked for a pulse. Slightly elevated, but steady.

  “Ma’am? Ma’am, can you hear me?”

  Truck door slamming, Hunter joined him. They peered through the blowing snow at the woman on the ground.

  Hunter’s face scrunched. “Did you kill her, Dad?”

  Adam’s apple bobbing, he gulped. “I—I don’t think so...”

  “How come she doesn’t wake up den?”

  Good question. Grim scenarios of head and spinal injuries floated across his vision. But he couldn’t leave her lying on the pavement. The freezing cold would send her into shock.

  Hunter squatted beside the woman. “God sent us a pwetty one, didn’t He, Dad?”

  Jonas lifted his hat and resettled it on his head. “She’s not...” But he could see where his son got the wrong idea about the woman.

  A big bow on her head, frothy ruffles of fabric also peeped from underneath the hem of her bright green coat. She did look like a gift package. Wrapped especially for him.

  Jonas frowned. Not him. Hunter. No... Not Hunter, either.

  His son was right, though. She was a pretty woman. He couldn’t tell the color of her eyes, but the reddish hue of her hair emphasized the alabaster fairness of her skin. She had a generous mouth—as if she did a lot of smiling.

  Not that there was anything to smile about at the moment. Who was she? What was she doing on a deserted mountain road in a snowstorm?

  Something catching his attention, Hunter wandered to the shoulder of the road. Returning, he handed a bead-covered purse to his father.

  Jonas didn’t like going through her private possessions, but if anything ever qualified as an emergency, he reckoned it was this. Lipstick. A brush. Breath mints. Keys...

  His head came up. Squinting in the fading light, through the falling snow he discerned the dull glint of an automobile parked on the side of the road. She must have broken down or run out of gas.

  A sports car. Something foreign. Something fast. And something that cost in the hundreds of thousands of dollars.

  Not the usual vehicle found in the Blue Ridge. Had she been on the parkway and gotten lost? He dug deeper into her purse.

  A dead cell phone. A credit card. Figured. His efforts were rewarded when he came across a driver’s license.

  Hunkering near the woman, Hunter touched a tentative finger to the delicate skin on her hand. “She wooks wike a snow pwincess. Our snow pwincess.”

  “She’s not our anything, Hunter. Her name is Anna... AnnaBeth...” He held the license to the beam of the headlights. “AnnaBeth Cummings.”

  Not from around here—her residence was listed as Charlotte. A flatlander—as if the fancy getup and expensive car hadn’t already told him that.

  “Maisie’s got a book about a pwincess who fell a-sweep wike our snow pwincess.” Elbows resting on his knees, Hunter cocked his head. His cowboy hat tilted. “The pwince has to kiss her to wake her up.”

  Jonas pinched the bridge of his nose. “We don’t go around kissing people we don’t know, son.”

  “But she’s my mommy, Dad. It would be okay for me to kiss her, wouldn’t it?”

  And before Jonas could stop him, Hunter leaned over and kissed the woman’s forehead.

  She stirred.

  “It’s wowking, Dad.” Hunter bolted to his feet. “I told you. Maisie was wight.”

  The woman’s eyelids fluttered.

  “Kiss her, Dad.” Hunter tugged at his coat. “Help her wake up.”

  But it turned out the snow princess didn’t need his help after all.

  He found himself gazing into the loveliest, emerald-green eyes he’d ever seen. And something, not entirely unpleasant, shifted in his gut.

  * * *

  Snowflakes brushed AnnaBeth’s cheeks. Her eyelids fluttered. She became aware of a biting cold. For inexplicable reasons, she found herself lying flat on her back in the road.

  A cowboy stood over her. Two cowboys. Or maybe she was seeing double.

  The smaller, duplicate cowboy leaned against the older one. Through her lashes, she took another quick, surreptitious look at the tall cowboy.

  For a split second, she believed somehow she must’ve fallen backward to another place and time. Yet truck headlights glowed on the pavement, and she guessed she hadn’t left present day. But, oh, how delicious this particular reality was turning out to be.

  The older cowboy pushed the brim of his gray Stetson higher onto his forehead, revealing short-cropped blondish hair. His features were rugged. His jaw chiseled.

  In short, he was every cowboy fantasy she’d ever entertained, all rolled up in the man looming over her in the middle of the road.

  A few years older than her, stark fear dotted his chocolate-brown eyes.

  If she hadn’t already swooned, she would have now. In the ordinary course of her life, she didn’t run across many men who looked like him.

  He was so totally swoon-worthy. Maybe this was a dream. A lovely, lovely dream from which she hoped never to awaken.

  AnnaBeth became aware that the little blond boy—the mini-me cowboy—was speaking. Patting her hand, he smiled, his small teeth white, even and perfect.

  She thought he said, “You’re going to be my mommy.”

  But she must have misunderstood. And, anyway, the man—God’s Cowboy Gift to Women—said something she didn’t catch in that delicious, raspy voice of his.

  She sighed, content to float forever in a cocoon of bliss. “A lovely, lovely dream...”

  “More like a nightmare,” the cowboy growled.

  Her eyes flew open. Okeydokey. He looked better than his manners. Trust AnnaBeth to find the one grouchy cowboy on the planet.

  Palms planted against the pavement, she pushed to a sitting position. Hello...

  As if someone had shaken a snow globe, the truck, the boy, the man and her insides whirled. Her world spun.

  The cowboy took hold of her elbow. “Not so fast, ma’am. Take it easy.”

  She put her hand to her head. Good to know he wasn’t totally devoid of manners.

  “Did you hit your head? Are you in pain?” He scanned her features. “Can you stand? Do you think anything’s broken?”

  Only my heart...

  She gaped at him. Overwhelmed by the utter hunksomeness of him. Stop gawking, AnnaBeth.

  Was she dead? If she was, then wow... Just wow. The view here was tremendous.

  “Ma’am?”

  The cowboy maintained a firm, steadying grip on her arm. For which she was grateful.

  “Yay!” The little cowboy fist-pumped the air. “You didn’t kill her.”

  Using the cowboy as a counterbalance, she carefully got to her feet. The dress didn’t make it easy.

  She blushed. “Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated.”

  “I’m so sorry, ma’am. I didn’t see you. I did everything I could not to hit you—”

  “You didn’t hit me.”

  She gazed into his face. He must be well over six feet tall. Underneath the fleece-lined Carhartt jacket, he was a big man with broad shoulders. His sheer handsomeness took her breath.

  If there was one thing she knew, it was clothes. But unlike most of her male acquaintances, the clothes didn’t make this man. Rather, it was the other way around.

  “Not your fault. I fainted. Thankfully, I didn’t hit my head. I’m fine.”

  He smelled good, too. Something woodsy with notes of leather and hay.r />
  So she did what she did when she didn’t know what else to do—she babbled.

  “I don’t usually faint, but I haven’t eaten anything today. Actually, I haven’t eaten anything in about forty-eight hours. But I couldn’t, you see. My stomach was simply tied in knots.”

  Brow furrowed, the cowboy eyeballed her like he’d never seen her species before. She wasn’t unused to such reactions from men.

  The little cowboy tucked his small hand through the crook of her arm. “I wike her, Dad, don’t you?”

  Dad? She wilted. Oh.

  The cowboy was married. Of course, he’s married, AnnaBeth. Are you an idiot? This hunk of man had to have been lassoed into matrimony long, long ago.

  “Sweet potatoes,” she muttered.

  “Excuse me, ma’am?”

  She disentangled herself from his grasp. Off-limits, AnnaBeth. She was delusional to have imagined someone like her unremarkable, big-hipped self could ever find herself rescued by someone tall, blond and available.

  AnnaBeth motioned toward her vehicle, which was rapidly disappearing under a mantle of falling snow. “My car broke down. And before that, I got lost.”

  Little Cowboy hadn’t let go of her arm, but she didn’t mind. It was nice. He was like a human muff. And so, so cute.

  The cowboy’s deep brown eyes sharpened. “Where were you headed?”

  “Nowhere. Anywhere. I mean, I hadn’t planned much beyond getting out of town. ‘Head west, young man,’ they used to say. So I guess I decided to take their advice. Except in my case, it would’ve been ‘head west, young woman,’ you see.” Taking a quick breath, she touched her hand to where the gigantic bow had dipped over one eye. “You do see, don’t you?”

  It was only after the words left her mouth, she realized how nonsensical she must sound. His gaze held a hint of alarm.

  Her stomach tightened. Yet how could she hope to say anything sensible with his handsome self staring at her like that?

  Chapter Two

  Jonas was beginning to believe that maybe she had hit her head. She didn’t look like a criminal on the lam, but what did he know? As his mother was quick to remind him, he didn’t get out much.

  Of course, the woman being a flatlander could possibly explain the absurdity of the situation. Flatlanders did illogical and ill-advised things.

  Like driving an expensive sports car on a mountain in a blinding snowstorm. His eyes cut to the enormous bow on her head. In a fancy, pre-Christmas party getup, no less.

  Unlike the usual mountain twang he was accustomed to, she spoke in one of those soft, honeyed Southern drawls.

  The pretty flatlander smiled at him. Brightly. Those eyes of hers...

  She held out her hand. “Where are my manners? We haven’t been introduced. My name is AnnaBeth Cummings.”

  “I know.” He shoved the purse at her. “I needed a name to tell the paramedics.” He stuck his hands in his coat pockets. “Although, I doubt they’d have made it up the mountain in these conditions.”

  The flatlander blinked at him. Once. Twice. “And your name would be?”

  “Jonas Stone.”

  Hunter swung around to face her. “My name’s Hunter.”

  Jonas didn’t like how his son hadn’t let go of the woman. As if he was already getting too attached.

  The Cummings woman touched a light hand to the top of his son’s small Stetson. “I like your hat.” She tilted her head. The floppy bow went cattywampus again. “So much better than mine.”

  Hunter grinned. “I’m a cowboy.” He jutted his thumb. “Wike my dad.”

  She smiled. “I can see that.”

  The flatlander had a nice smile.

  “We have a wanch. And hosses. Most people visit us in the summer.”

  She glanced at Jonas.

  “FieldStone Dude Ranch.”

  “A real ranch with real cowboys.” She threw him another smile. “How fun.”

  The sweetness of her smile sent him into a tailspin, and he felt the need to be disagreeable. “It’s a lot of hard work.”

  Her smile faltered. “Thank you for coming to my rescue, Mr. Stone. I hate to trouble you further, but perhaps you could call a tow truck for me?” She squeezed Hunter’s hand before letting go. “I can wait in my car until it arrives.”

  She had an expressive face. He wondered what it must be like to wear your feelings so transparently for everyone to see. Somebody ought to warn her.

  The world loved nothing better than squashing little optimists like her. He ought to know. Once upon a time, he’d been one, too.

  “No, Dad...” Hunter’s eyes beseeched him. “She’s supposed to come home wif us.”

  Confusion flitted across the woman’s face. “Supposed?”

  “If the paramedics can’t make it here tonight, a tow truck can’t, either.” Jonas folded his arms over his chest. “You can’t stay in your car. You’ll freeze to death.”

  What was he going to do with her? There was nothing on this road, except the ranch. He doubted he could take her to town and return before the road became impassable. He didn’t like the idea of leaving his mother isolated at the ranch. And he had the horses to think of, too.

  “I’m sure I’ll be fine.” The honey in her voice became crisp, businesslike. “Don’t let me keep you.”

  Shards of ice pelted the shoulders of his jacket. He sighed. Loudly.

  “Look, lady. There’s nothing else for it.”

  This was giving him a headache. He scowled. The entire day had turned into a giant headache.

  “You’ll have to spend the night at the lodge, Miz Cummings.”

  Her chin came up. “It’s ‘Miss.’ But please call me AnnaBeth.” She bit her lip. “I don’t want to impose. Or be a bother.”

  Something slightly woebegone in her voice stirred his conscience. Not the most gracious of invitations. Grown or not, had his mother heard him, she would’ve tanned his hide.

  But he was tired. And there was something about this woman that made him...

  Hunter’s gaze ping-ponged from his father to the flatlander. “D-Dad?” His little guy’s voice quavered.

  And what about the ungentlemanly—not to mention un-Christian—example he was setting for his son?

  So when life started whirling out of control, he did what he usually did: he got exasperated. “Everyone, just get in the truck.”

  Hunter solemnly pursed his mouth. “Don’t fo-get to say pwease, Dad.”

  Jonas gritted his teeth. “Please get in the truck.”

  She took a step toward her car. “My suitcase.”

  He caught the sleeve of her coat. “I’ll get it. Trunk or passenger seat?”

  “Trunk. And a smaller bag, too.” She snapped open her purse, and handed him the key. “Thank you, Mr. Stone.”

  “Jonas,” he muttered.

  She gave him a small smile, but big enough to launch a storm of another kind square in the middle of his chest.

  He stomped through the growing drifts to her vehicle. He wasn’t usually given to such frivolous notions, but the flatlander seemed to bring out the nonsensical in him.

  After relocking her car, he stowed the pink, hard-shell case and the smaller black camera bag below Hunter’s dangling boots. Once behind the steering wheel, he found himself shoulder-to-shoulder with a blushing AnnaBeth.

  Straddling the transmission console, she sat squashed between Hunter’s booster seat and the wheel. “Sorry,” she whispered.

  Thing was, part of him was real sorry. And the other part...wasn’t. The part that enjoyed the pleasing scent of roses wafting from her.

  He glowered at the pleased part of himself.

  She gazed through the windshield. “It’s really coming down. I’ve never seen so much snow in my life. Autumn at this elevation must be spectacular. It’s my
favorite season.”

  His favorite season, too. But it was becoming apparent she didn’t require his contribution to keep a conversation going. Which was more than fine with him. Instead, he cranked up the heat a notch.

  She positioned her heels together on the hump underneath the vent. “Despite being cold and barren, I think winter is beautiful in it’s own way.”

  Cold and barren—not unlike his life since Kasey left. He’d lost more than his marriage. He’d lost his hope. Like a horse in the trace, he’d kept his head down, his heart bridled, and plodded on. Existing day-to-day.

  “Is the ranch far?”

  He gripped the wheel. “Not far.” The truck plowed through the blowing drifts. There was a brief silence, and then—

  “Think we’ll make it?”

  He flicked a glance at her. She was as perky and bubbly as a brand-new pup. And about as much trouble.

  Jonas set his jaw. “Yes.”

  “Not much of a talker, are you?”

  Hunching his shoulders, he gave her a sideways look. “Not something I imagine you’ve ever been accused of.”

  She laughed.

  AnnaBeth Cummings had a nice laugh. Light, happy and silvery. He almost smiled...before he caught himself.

  Perhaps giving him up as a lost cause—she wouldn’t be the first—she turned to his son. They spent the next few minutes discussing weighty matters, such as a preference for peanut butter or chocolate. They decided on both.

  Ahead, he spotted the familiar stone pillars marking the entrance to the ranch. Nearly home. He couldn’t wait to off-load the high-spirited flatlander onto his mother.

  God willing—and the creek didn’t freeze—come tomorrow this unsettling woman would return to her own world. And he could return to his.

  The idea failed to cheer him as much as he’d supposed it might. He had the disquieting feeling that somehow nothing might ever be the same again.

  * * *

  Once through the FieldStone gateposts, the land opened into a valley of wood-framed cabins. AnnaBeth leaned forward to get a better view. A blanket of snow lay over everything. Snow-daubed evergreens dotted the perimeter of the property.