The Sharpest Edge. Stephanie Rowe

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      AnnaBeth wasn’t sure what she’d said that set off Jonas, but he’d hightailed it upstairs with her cases like she’d lit his hair on fire.

      Getting out of the comfy chair, she edged toward the window. Outside, the storm continued to rage. She sighed. Considering the whiteout conditions, she might be forced to impose on Jonas Stone and his less-than-enthusiastic hospitality longer than anyone had anticipated.

      And there was the matter of her car. What was she going to do about her car? Even after she got it fixed, what then?

      She’d planned on moving into Scott’s condo after the wedding, so she’d relinquished her apartment in Charlotte. At this moment, she was essentially homeless.

      But ever the optimist, she rallied. Life could be a whole lot worse than being trapped in a luxurious lodge in front of a cozy fire with Hunter the little cowboy, the motherly Deirdre Fielding and Jonas, the hunky but unfriendly cowboy for company.

       Yeah, like I could be married to a man in love with my sister. Or still lost on a remote mountain road in a blizzard. Chased by wolves... Eaten by bears...

      If Jonas Stone hadn’t come along, no one might have known what happened to her. She’d have been missing, presumed dead by her family.

       Until her frozen corpse was found after the spring thaw. Maybe even by Jonas. Then he’d be sorry for being so snarly...

      Although, if he’d never come along in the first place, he could hardly have regrets. She shook herself.

      Whatever. No point in interrupting a great story—based on real events—with the facts. MaryDru jokingly claimed that, despite not being biologically related, it was AnnaBeth who’d acquired Victoria’s flair for the dramatic.

      Sinking once more into the cushion, she propped her chin in her hand. Maybe she should consider adding a podcast next year to Heart’s Home...

      “Mom’s got your room ready, AnnaBeth.”

      Jolted, her chin fell out of her hand. Jonas, minus the heavy coat, stood beside the chair.

      “Sorry,” he muttered. “I thought you heard me come downstairs.” He rolled his shirtsleeves to his elbows and revealed forearms thickly corded with muscle.

      Both of them turned at the sound of Hunter clomping down the steps.

      Jonas made a wry face. “No mistaking him, is there?”

      Her lips curving, she wagged her finger at Jonas. “Don’t talk about my favorite little guy like that.”

      The little cowboy tromped over. “Hey, Miss AnnaBef.” He grinned.

      She ruffled his short-cropped hair, and unfolded from the chair. “Your mother mentioned dinner. I can help out.”

      Jonas rubbed his jaw. “I think she’s got it under control, so you’ve got time to change into dry clothes. Let me take your coat.”

      “Um...” She bit her lip. “My coat?”

      Jonas gave her a quizzical look. “Yes, your coat.”

      Wiping her hands on a dish towel, Deirdre emerged from the rear of the lodge.

      Jonas held out his hand. “I’ll hang your coat in the mudroom off the kitchen.” The family, including little Hunter, looked at her, waiting.

      So with great reluctance, AnnaBeth unbuttoned her coat and slipped her arms out of the sleeves. Letting his hand drop, Jonas gave an audible gasp.

      Deirdre pursed her lips. “Well, that explains the bow.”

      AnnaBeth pushed the bow out of her eyes.

      Hunter fingered one of the floating ruffles flaring out below her knees. “Soft.” He smiled at his dad. “She is pwetty, isn’t she, Dad?”

      Jonas’s eyes darkened. “Why are you wearing a wedding dress, AnnaBeth?”

      “’Cause she’s a snow bwide, Dad. Our snow—”

      “Hunter.”