Stranded For The Holidays. Lisa Carter

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.

      “It’s