Stranded For The Holidays. Lisa Carter

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 like something out of a dream,” she said. “A dream of home, family and belonging.”

      Jonas Stone’s eyes cut to her. Cheeks reddening, she set her face forward.

      With great excitement, Hunter drew her attention to points of interest. The truck wound its way over the rolling terrain, past the split-rail fence that lined the snow-covered pastures.

      She waved her hand. “I love the names of the cabins.” She savored the words. “The Laurel. The Azalea. The Hummingbird.”

      Hunter hugged her arm. “I’m so happy you’re fine-a-wee here.”

      “Finally here?” Touched by the sweet sincerity in the little boy’s face, she hugged him back. “So am I, sweetie pie.”

      “Uh...” Jonas shifted. “Miss Cummings... My son...” An interesting look she wasn’t sure how to interpret fell across his features.

      She smiled at him. “Yes, Mr. Stone?”

      But his face resumed its usual aloof expression. “Nothing...”

      She bit her lip. Reminding herself that not everyone enjoyed conversation, she concentrated on his son. “Why is the ranch called the FieldStone, Hunter?”

      “My name is Stone.” Hunter broadened his chest. “And Gwam-ma’s name is Fielding.”

      Jonas drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel. “I’m the fourth-generation Stone to work the ranch.”

      Hunter held up his small hand. “I’ll be... One, two, three, four.” He ticked off each finger. “Five.”

      She tapped her finger on the tip of his button nose. “Yes, you will be.”

      Jonas cleared his throat. “When my father died—”

      “Oh.” She straightened. “I’m so sorry.”

      Jonas shrugged. “I was too young to remember him.”

      “I was young when my mother died, too.”

      His stoic expression flickered for a second before the impenetrable barrier fell into place once more. “My mother married the ranch foreman, Wilton Fielding.”

      “Field... Stone.” She smiled. “Got it.”

      “He СКАЧАТЬ