Holiday Homecoming. Jillian Hart

of the girl. Let me behind the wheel and I’ll show you.”

      “Yeah? I’d be grateful if I could just close my eyes for about ten minutes.”

      “How about all the way until the next town?”

      “Deal.” Ryan opened the door and shouldered out into the dark. “No, you climb over and stay inside. I’ll brave the storm. I’m still frozen anyway.”

      With a lopsided grin, he was gone, leaving the scent of wind, a hint of expensive cologne and man. A pleasant combination. Kristin climbed over the console and into the seat that was pushed too far back for her feet to reach the pedals. She adjusted the seat, snapped the shoulder harness into place and checked out the controls.

      Ryan cut through the headlights with that confident, jaunty walk of his. He was like a hero out of an old black-and-white movie, tough and strong and compassionate. She didn’t know they made men like that anymore.

      He collapsed beside her, bringing with him the frigid wind and a blast of snow. He swiped icy flakes off his eyebrows. “Believe it or not, the blizzard’s winding down some.”

      “Some. Not a lot.” Kristin switched off the hazard lights, staring into the impenetrable conditions. No cars had passed, except for the emergency vehicles, since they’d arrived. The road ahead lay like a pristine ribbon of white rolling out of the reach of the headlights. Dangerous driving ahead. Kristin released the hand brake and shifted into low gear.

      Ryan unzipped his coat, settling in. “Just tell me if you get too white-knuckled.”

      “Don’t worry. I can handle it. Belt up and hold on.” Was he a skeptic or what? It had been a long time since she’d driven anything with more power than her sensible sedan, but she was used to this weather. She hadn’t always flown home. She’d driven more often than not over the treacherous mountain passes and she was still in one piece. “This is nothing compared to commuting in Seattle traffic twice a day for more years than I care to count.”

      “That’s what I can’t picture. You living in a city. I don’t know why. It just doesn’t go with the McKaslin image.”

      “I won’t say it wasn’t a big adjustment when I first moved there. When I went to college, I thought Bozeman was a big city.”

      “Bozeman?” he asked.

      “Yeah, I know. It’s a tiny city compared to someplace like Seattle. I felt lost. Every time I left my apartment I got turned around. I’d never seen so many streets and roads and freeways in my life.”

      “I know how you felt—moving away from a place with one main street through town, where you know all the roads and shortcuts by heart, to a huge city where the checkers at the grocery store ask for ID because they don’t know you, your family, your grandparents and all your cousins by name.”

      “See, that’s where we differ. I didn’t mind living someplace folks didn’t know me.”

      Ryan leaned the seat all the way back and stretched out his legs as far as he could. Not comfortable, but an acceptable snoozing position. Except thinking about his past made him antsy. As tired as he was, his nerve endings felt as though they were twitching and his muscles felt heavy as lead. His emotions were going every which way. Regret, guilt, grief.

      Nothing Kristin would understand. Some people, like her, could go home again. They would always know the warmth of their childhood awaited them, that the ghosts of memories from holidays past were happy ones. Not haunted by what should have been, and more failures than the young boy he’d been could cope with.

      Or the man he’d become.

      He liked to think he wasn’t a coward. He faced challenges head-on. Sucked it up and did what needed to be done. He wasn’t afraid of hardship or hard work. But some things were best left unexamined. Some memories best left buried. He had a good life, he made a good living, and he loved his work and his practice. What good was having to pick apart a past that only brought pain? That exposed wounds that could never be healed?

      No, Kristin didn’t look as though she’d rather be running away instead of heading home. Her delicate profile was brushed by the glow of the dash lights, burnishing her creamy porcelain-fine skin, the feminine line of her nose and the dainty cut of her chin. He supposed her parents would welcome her with open arms, and tomorrow there would be only happiness in her home where her sisters and their families gathered to make new memories for the holidays to come.

      He closed his eyes, wondering, just wondering. If he would have turned out the same if his dad had lived instead of withered away in a coma. If the logging truck hadn’t crossed the double yellow on the road to town. If, instead of being struck and pinned to the ground beneath a load of logs, Dad had returned home with the ice cream he’d gone to fetch.

      God made all things for a reason. But what about tonight? Why had Samantha Fields been hurt tonight? How would her life be changed?

      Only God knew.

      Still, it troubled him deeply. He closed his eyes, too troubled to fall right asleep. Listening to the swipe of the wiper blades on the windshield, he felt the blast of heat from the vents. The vehicle fishtailed now and then, and Kristin handled it skillfully, keeping them safe as they journeyed through the dark and snow. He couldn’t remember feeling more lonely as the hours dragged on and sleep claimed him, blessedly deep.