Holiday Homecoming. Jillian Hart

drive on icy highways until dawn.

      Okay, where had the road gone? It had to be somewhere in front of him. There was a metal post, good thing he didn’t hit it. Wait—a soft glow of light broke through the blizzard.

      Perfect. He was headed the wrong way. The snow thinned on the lee side of the terminal as he crept through the empty passenger-loading zone. There was only a lonely taxi waiting alongside the curb with lights blinking. It was quickly being covered by snowfall.

      Light from the terminal broke through the downfall to sheen on the road ahead of him and that’s when he saw her in his peripheral vision. Kristin McKaslin in her chic tan coat and designer clothes, sitting with her head in her hands, alone behind the long wall of windows.

      She was stranded, too. And all by herself. That just wasn’t right. He eased the vehicle to the curb with a bump. No way was he going to let her sit there. Not when Providence had handed him a four-wheel drive and, like it or not, he was still heading home.

      Through the glass, backlit by fluorescent light, he could see her perfectly, with that short golden bob of her hair falling forward as she sat. He could feel her misery.

      Yet although she looked every bit the stranded traveler, Kristin McKaslin was still the picture of perfection in her upscale clothes and her every-hair-in-place do.

      It must be nice to have a life like hers. He tried not to hold it against her, and the old envy surprised him. It wasn’t exactly envy, but it was close. As a boy growing up, he’d gotten an eyeful of the McKaslins’ storybook life via his mom. He saw the Thomas Kinkade-like coziness of the house she’d grown up in, heard endlessly from Mom how the McKaslin girls never gave their mother any grief the way he did. As a kid, his own inadequacies hurt and he was ashamed of them, so he did his best to cover them up with bravado and stupid recklessness.

      He’d grown up, tried hard to be a good man. But some things didn’t change—like the truth in a man’s heart. He’d wanted that life. To live in a warm and roomy house with a whole family, instead of in a cramped, tumbling down house with a widowed mom who worked three jobs to keep food on the table. He’d never been able to come to terms with his father’s death. Or the simple fact that Mom’s life would have been without hardship and he would have grown up differently if his dad had been there.

      Maybe—just maybe—his heart would be whole if tragedy hadn’t struck.

      Let the past go, man. Sometimes it was the only thing he could do. Instead of reexamining a past he couldn’t fix, it was better just to do the best he could now, in the moment. And that meant helping Kristin. The way he figured it, anyone who looked so broken over the thought of missing her family, didn’t deserve to be stranded and alone on Thanksgiving. Maybe that was another reason the Lord had made sure a vehicle was available. So that he could offer her a ride.

      Ryan liked it when the Father gave him a purpose. It was easier to forget his own troubles and to not think about what awaited him in Montana. He’d worked so hard to stay away since he left for college.

      He tapped the horn, hoping she could hear over the wind and through the terminal’s walls. Her head popped up and her hands fell away to reveal her heart-shaped face twisted with melancholy. No tears, just emotion so raw it made his chest squeeze with pain.

      I’ll make sure you get home. He watched her squint through the windows and storm, trying to figure out who was honking. She frowned and looked away. All she probably saw was a strange vehicle lurking outside from where she sat. Okay, she couldn’t see through the vehicle’s tinted windows. He hit the window lever and the tinted glass slid down, bringing in the storm.

      He shivered, but being cold was nothing compared to the look of relief on Kristin’s face. The sadness faded like night to dawn and an astonished look replaced it. He gestured for her to come join him.

      She lifted one eyebrow, as if making sure of his offer.

      He waved her over again. Her beaming smile was the prettiest thing he’d seen in some time. She bounded to her feet, slipped her computer-case strap over one slim shoulder and her garment bag over the other. She marched toward him with a buoyant grace that showed how happy she was.

      Yeah, it was a good thing he made the wrong turn and wound up in the right place to help her. Icy wind seared like razor blades through his thin Phoenix-bought coat, but he didn’t mind. There was something in the way she hurried toward him that warmed him on the inside. Like a lightbulb’s steady glow.

      It must be nice to have the kind of home she wanted to get to so badly. He fought a twist in his chest as he climbed out into the snowfall—whatever emotion that was, he refused to deal with it. He was a world-class ignorer of emotions.

      Kristin slid to a stop on the icy sidewalk and he steadied her with a hand to her elbow.

      “Careful there. I don’t want to have to splint a broken leg for you.”

      “Whew. No, but at least you would be handy to have around if I did fall.” She found her balance and eased away from his steadying grip. “I can’t believe it’s really you. How did you happen to be lucky enough to get a rental car?”

      “The angels smiled down on me, I guess.” He took her bag off her shoulder and stowed it. “You wouldn’t happen to want a lift to Montana, would you?”

      “What? Are you kidding me? I thought I’d be stuck in that terminal. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw you waving at me from behind your steering wheel. For a second there, I thought I was dreaming. This is too good to be true.”

      “I guess it’s your lucky day. Want me to take the computer case, too?”

      “What?” She swiped the snow out of her face. And what a pretty face she had, all lit up with joy and happiness. One of the golden McKaslin girls, who had grown up to be a fine woman. It was easy to see her good heart and her sincerity. He’d forgotten there were still women like her in the world.

      “Oh, the computer.” She rolled her eyes before shrugging the strap off her shoulder. “I’m getting ditzy. Well, ditzier than usual. Too many hours without sleep.”

      “That makes two of us.” He stowed the computer safely between the seat and a suitcase, so it wouldn’t slide around. “Don’t stand there freezing. Get in the car.”

      Kristin felt the blush flame from her throat to her hairline. Was she really gawking at the big handsome doctor who looked about as fit as an NFL quarterback? Yeah! She ripped her gaze away from him and hopped into the passenger seat. The slam of the door meant she was safely inside away from him and she could gather her wits.

      Why was she acting as though she’d never seen him before? He was Ryan. Mom’s friend’s kid. The one who drove his family car into the ditch when he was eight.

      It was hard to see that bothersome kid in the broad-shouldered, competent man who settled behind the steering wheel. He smelled of snow and winter nights and spicy aftershave. Just right.

      And why was she noticing? She was a self-avowed, independent single woman. She was too smart to fall in love with any man. Let alone someone who lived half the country away.

      Ryan clicked his belt into place. Grim lines carved deep into the corners around his mouth. “Buckle up. It’s gonna be a tough drive.”

      Kristin hadn’t realized the windshield was a solid white sheet until the wipers snapped to life and beat the accumulation away. “The snow is really coming down. Do you think we can get very far?”

      “I’m gonna try. We may have to overnight it somewhere, if we can find a vacancy.”

      “Sounds sensible. We want to get home safe and sound.”

      “That’s the idea.” He winked, put the Jeep in gear and eased down the accelerator. The tires slid, dug in and propelled them forward. “I’ve got a cell phone if you want to call home. Your folks are probably up worrying.”

      Was that nice or what? Ryan definitely had done a lot of changing. “Thanks, but