Christmas In Mustang Creek. Linda Lael Miller

starting to doubt he could even find the town; the road ahead was disappearing before his eyes. “Thanks. I’ll call you tomorrow morning.”

      “Let’s just meet up. This is supposed to blow through pretty fast. Betsey’s Café is where I usually have breakfast, and it’s next to the motel. Eight o’clock?”

      “See you then.”

      When Jax finally saw the lights of Mustang Creek glowing in the distance, he felt a measure of relief. His shoulders ached from the tension, and what he really needed was a soft bed and a good night’s sleep.

      It wasn’t hard to spot what he suspected was the town’s only motel. The parking lot was full, and the one car that had been in front of him for miles pulled in, too. After searching for ten minutes or so, he found a parking spot then grabbed his suitcase and ran for it, flipping his collar up.

      The dated lobby was empty except for the clerk and a very dismayed-looking young woman at the counter.

      She said, “No rooms?”

      “None. I’m sorry. The storm and all.” The young man did seem apologetic.

      Glossy dark hair swung as she turned around, obviously disappointed, and then she froze. “Jax?”

      Charlie. She stared at him, incredulous recognition in those gorgeous green eyes.

      “Yep. Hi.” He was almost too stunned to speak.

      Coincidence? No way. Fate or something was definitely messing with his head.

      Yes, he’d expected to run into Charlie—Mustang Creek was a small community after all—but he’d never dreamed she’d be one of the first people he encountered, especially in the middle of a snowstorm.

      “What are you doing here?” Charlie’s eyes were wide and a little wary. Did she think he was stalking her?

      “Job offer,” he said lamely.

      “Oh...well...” She seemed to be struggling for words, too. Small comfort. “What are the odds of that?”

      Good, when a person actively pursues a goal, he thought wryly.

      He cleared his throat. “I have a room if you need a place to stay.”

      The clerk hit a few keys on his computer. “You’re Dr. Jaxon Locke? Last person to check in tonight. Room 215. Two queen beds. Maybe there’s some holiday magic in the air, since you two seem to know each other. Let me get your key cards.”

      Just then, the sound system began to play “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.”

      Maybe he would, Jax thought. Maybe he would.

       2

      No way was she sharing a room with Jaxon Locke.

      Charlotte was incredulous, completely thrown off balance by seeing him there, the last person in the universe she would’ve expected to run into in Mustang Creek, of all places. This was her hometown, damn it, her safe place, her sanctuary. What was he doing here? She could almost believe she was dreaming, except that every part of her ached with travel fatigue and the rigors of driving for hours through that wicked snowstorm.

      Nope, this was real. And just to make it worse, the man had the gall to look good, too, even with tousled hair that still had flecks of snow, rumpled clothes and the slope of weariness in his broad shoulders. His beard was coming in, an attractive stubble, and there was a hint of lively amusement in his eyes.

      “I don’t need a key card,” she told the clerk in a more abrupt tone than she’d intended. She immediately felt bad because he’d been accommodating, this young, apologetic local. More graciously, she added, “Thanks for trying, though.”

      “I didn’t help much. I’m afraid there’s no place else to stay.”

      He was probably right about that. Despite its relatively close proximity to Yellowstone and Grand Teton National Parks, not to mention the ski slopes that attracted winter-sport enthusiasts from all over the world, Mustang Creek was still a small town. Other than this hotel, there were a few modest motels and B and Bs, of course, but on a night like this one, and so close to the holidays, those places would fill up fast.

      Jax stepped past Charlotte to slap his credit card down on the counter. Was that a smirk she saw, that faint twitch at one corner of his mouth?

      “There are two beds, Charlie,” he reminded her with a brief, sidelong glance. “Count ’em, two. Trust me, I drove here all the way from Idaho, and I’m so tired I might forget my own name. Your virtue is safe, for tonight, anyhow.” He paused—he was smirking, damn it—and then brought the whole matter in for a landing. “Besides, what other option do you have? Sleeping in your car? Sounds chilly to me.”

      The clerk swiped the card with a cheerful flourish of resignation and said helpfully, “The temperature is supposed to drop like a rock falling off a mountain.”

      Great analogy. Maybe Mrs. Klozz was still awake...

      She doubted it.

      It was pushing midnight. Aunt Geneva would’ve been in bed hours ago. And what if Millicent Klozz was hard of hearing and Charlotte stood there knocking on the door, shivering?

      Ending up here—with Jax—was an unexpected twist to a long, long day.

      “Key card?”

      Jax offered it.

      After a moment she took it. “Don’t look so smug.”

      “This isn’t smug,” he said, grabbing her suitcase and his. “I feel confident that my normal expression of wry triumph would be considerably better than anything I can summon up at the moment. Let’s go find our room so I can collapse. It might be the holiday season, but there’s no cheer in my spirit right now. I’m damned tired.”

      And no room at the inn.

      Ironic.

      She followed him. This was definitely going to be awkward, and not just because she hadn’t planned on having a roommate. Jax Locke might not be an ax murderer, but he wasn’t precisely harmless, either, like a favorite cousin or an old friend or a trusted business colleague.

      Oh, no.

      She and Jax had a history. The last time she’d seen him was in New York, and suddenly, out of nowhere, he was in Mustang Creek?

      What exactly was going on?

      Something weird, that was what.

      With a sense of the world being off its axis, Charlotte followed him down a hallway to the appropriate door and watched him open it. He waited for her. “After you,” he said with the slightest bow.

      This was such a bad idea. But so were her only other choices: waking up an elderly lady in the middle of the night, risking hypothermia by bedding down in her rental car or crashing in the lobby, which would be embarrassing.

      The room was okay, she decided. It was generic, but what would anyone expect? There were the requisite furnishings—two beds facing a long, narrow dresser with a TV on top, a round table with a chair on either side and a hanging lamp suspended above it. The decor also included heavy draperies with plastic pull rods and colorful but highly forgettable art on the walls.

      The place looked and smelled clean, thank heaven.

      And it was blessedly warm. No small consideration, with the wind howling outside the window.

      “I hope they have a generator,” Jax remarked, probably in an effort to make conversation. “This storm is amping up into a full-scale blizzard.” He sighed and added, “I’m going to take a hot shower and then sleep for about a hundred years. If you want the bathroom first, go ahead.”

      The window