Snowbound Sweetheart. Judy Christenberry

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СКАЧАТЬ she pointed out, as if speaking to a slow learner.

      “Oh. Thanks for explaining.”

      She shrugged her shoulders. Okay, so two could be sarcastic. Maybe she’d deserved that kind of answer. She turned her windshield wipers up to high speed as the snow began coming down faster. She’d be glad when the highway turned farther south. It was their only hope of outrunning the storm.

      Gil didn’t make any more attempts at conversation. It had been foolish to try to soothe his concerns about Kathy by asking Lindsay questions. Like he’d trust her evaluation anyway. A woman who dressed in a designer suit to drive in a snowstorm.

      His ex-wife had been impressed with anyone with money. Their morals, or intelligence or even their warmth had no value compared to their bank account.

      He knew Brad made a good living. But he wanted his sister to be happy, not well dressed. He wanted her husband to love her, not buy her things. Well, he wanted him to buy her things, too, but that wasn’t the most important. He didn’t want Kathy to wind up in the same kind of loveless marriage that he had.

      As Lindsay carefully steered the car, Gil studied her hands. They looked smooth, soft, but he was surprised by her nails. While well tended, they weren’t long, and the polish was clear. She only wore one ring, an opal with diamonds.

      “Nice ring. A gift?”

      “Yes.”

      Aha. So she had some man on a string, willing to buy her expensive things. He remembered when he’d first fallen for Amanda. He’d prided himself on buying her what she wanted. Until he realized that was all she wanted. Real emotions—even love—meant nothing to her.

      When Lindsay gasped again, he brought his attention back to the road. A car that had just passed by them went into a spin. It narrowly missed going over the side as it came to rest against the railing.

      “You okay?” he asked, studying her to determine whether she would be able to continue driving.

      “Yes,” she said with a sigh. “Should we stop to help them?”

      “There’s not a lot we could do. Unless you want to call 911 for them.”

      “My cell phone is in my purse. Could you call for me? I want to concentrate on my driving.”

      He found the phone and called in the near accident. After hanging up, he said, “They promised to send a cop to check on them.”

      “Thank you.”

      “They were going too fast,” he added.

      She sent him a look that told him she got his less than subtle message. But, in truth, she was keeping her speed down. In fact, she was doing a good job with her driving, though he hated to admit it.

      He checked his watch. It was already after three. They’d been driving almost two hours and hadn’t gotten out of Chicago yet.

      She must’ve caught his movement out of the corner of her eye because she asked, “What time is it?”

      “Almost three-thirty.”

      Though she frowned, she didn’t say anything.

      He settled more comfortably in his seat. “If you get tired of driving, I can spell you.”

      She didn’t answer for a minute. Then she said, “They don’t get much snow in Oklahoma.”

      So she doubted his skills? “I lived in New York for almost ten years.”

      “In New York City? I didn’t think many people drove in the city.”

      “We had a house in upstate New York, spent weekends there, particularly in the winter because of the skiing.” He’d enjoyed the skiing. But he hadn’t enjoyed the collection of people his wife invited to join them. They’d been her friends, not his.

      “I guess you don’t get much skiing in Apache.”

      “Nope. But I’ve made several trips to Colorado since I moved back.”

      “What do you do for a living?”

      “Ranching.”

      “In New York City?” she asked, her voice rising in surprise.

      “No, not in New York City. I was a stockbroker there.” And he’d been one of the best. Which had made it possible for him to come back to Oklahoma and buy his ranch, even after the divorce.

      “Do you miss being a stockbroker?”

      “Nope.” Which was the truth, but he didn’t mention that he still bought and sold stocks, managing his personal fortune. He was also doing some investing for Rafe, his ranch manager, who had become a good friend and a mentor. Gil wanted to make it possible for Rafe to achieve his own dream.

      Staring out the window, he realized the snow was getting thicker. “Can you still see well enough to keep going? Maybe we should stop while we can still find a hotel and wait until morning.” He didn’t want to do that, but he also didn’t want to become a frozen Popsicle on the side of the road.

      “No, I want to keep going. I have snow tires on my car.” She leaned forward to concentrate on her driving, and Gil figured she’d be sore before too long. The tension would make her ache.

      He said nothing. She’d probably offer to dump him out on the closest sidewalk if he protested. And he had to admit they could still maneuver fairly well. But he wasn’t sure how long that would be true.

      An hour later, they were still struggling along, the snow several inches deep. He’d pulled his sheepskin-lined jacket into the front seat and draped it over himself. Lindsay, though occasionally shivering, said nothing.

      He felt like a cur, sitting back and warm while she shivered and drove through the storm, but he’d offered to drive. And he’d asked her about her coat. And she’d responded to both those questions with a snarl.

      So he kept quiet.

      “I’m sure we’ll be clear of the snow if we can just get to St. Louis,” she said suddenly.

      “I won’t argue with that,” he agreed, but he had his doubts about making it that far.

      “Or even Springfield,” she added, sending him a hopeful look.

      He stared straight ahead. Then they passed a sign showing an exit for a town named Pontiac. “How far is Pontiac from Springfield?”

      “I’m—I’m not sure.”

      He opened the glove compartment and took out the larger map covering the Midwest. After a brief calculation, he looked at her. “I believe it’s over eighty miles.”

      She pressed her lips tightly together and said nothing.

      Neither did he, but he didn’t think they’d make it eighty miles before midnight. Not when they were only going about fifteen miles an hour.

      Finally, he said, “I’m СКАЧАТЬ