grimaced. Keep telling yourself that, AnnaBeth.
Had she learned nothing from her wedding fiasco? Life didn’t work like that. At least, not for her.
Snow began falling harder and faster, and dusted the winding double yellow line on the pavement. Shouldn’t she have arrived in Truelove already? She scanned the surrounding terrain, anxious for signs of civilization.
Behind her, the road had been swallowed by swirling snow. And just when she believed the situation couldn’t get any worse, the car sputtered.
“No!” She strangled the wheel. “Don’t quit on me now...”
But with a final convulsive jerk, the car shuddered to a stop. The engine died. This couldn’t be happening. Not after everything else that had gone wrong today.
Don’t panic. Try the ignition again. Please, please, please...
But nothing. Relinquishing her death grip on the wheel, she fell against the seat. Her heart pounded. What now?
Already the cold began to seep into the car. Snatching her phone off the console, she turned it on. No bars.
The deepening, storm-induced twilight would soon extinguish any last remnants of light from the sky. There was nothing to do but head on foot for the nearest shelter. Somewhere she’d taken a wrong turn. By now, she should’ve been in Truelove.
Story of her life. Wrong turn, true love MIA... Film at eleven.
AnnaBeth slipped her arms inside her wool coat, then grabbed her beaded clutch. She staggered out of the car and the wind almost knocked her down.
Having traveled about nine miles since leaving the interstate, if she followed the road, surely she’d encounter Truelove sooner rather than later.
In the blinding snow, she had difficulty establishing where the pavement began and ended. Yet sound traveled far over the snow-packed landscape, and after taking only a couple of tottering steps, she detected the sound of an engine in the distance.
Breathing a sigh of relief, she lifted her hand to flag her rescuer.
The snowstorm was turning out to be much worse than forecasters predicted. Driving conditions had grown increasingly hazardous the farther the truck climbed the mountain outside town.
Jonas would be relieved to reach the welcoming sanctuary of the ranch. As for the continuing conversation regarding a certain Christmas wish...
“Mommies don’t just appear with a big wrapped bow under the tree on Christmas morning.” He angled toward his son, strapped into a booster seat. “It doesn’t work that way.”
Hunter jabbed his thumb at the windshield. “Den what about her?”
A woman lurched onto the road in front of the pickup. For a split second, he wondered if he’d imagined her. Caught like a doe in the headlights, her eyes grew round with shock as she froze in the middle of the road.
He knew better, but he couldn’t stop his knee-jerk reaction. Flinging one arm across his son, he slammed on the brakes. The tires hit a patch of ice and the vehicle fishtailed.
“Watch out, Dad,” Hunter yelled.
But the pickup continued to slide forward. He fought the wheel, pumping the brakes to stop the truck’s momentum.
God, please, help... Don’t let me run her over.
With only inches to spare, he brought the truck to a grinding halt. His breathing ragged, his heart drummed in his chest. Through the back-and-forth motion of the windshield wipers, he stared at the woman with the slightly askew bow wrapped around her head.
“She’s de one, Dad!” Bouncing in his seat, Hunter strained against the safety harness. “Dank You, God. Danks, Santa. She’s de one I want for my mommy.”
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