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Ava Gilmore has a huge problem. She’s in love with Oliver, her sister’s fiancé. What’s worse? She’s their wedding planner. Now her sister has run off to Paris and left her and Oliver to plan the wedding together.
Get Her Sister’s Fiancé FREE!
A Holiday Rescue
Tamie Dearen
Chapter 1
“Do you want me to call 911?” Damon’s voice came through the car’s hands-free system.
As the first wet snowflakes splatted against the windshield, Amy slowed her car. Growing up on the Texas coast had taught her nothing about driving in the snow. Her only hope was to make it to her rental house before the storm hit full force. When she’d checked the weather before leaving the airport, it appeared she had plenty of time to reach Pleasantville, the small community in Wyoming where she intended to spend a week in blessed isolation researching her next book.
“Please don’t call 911. Just look at the radar in Wyoming and tell me where the storm is and how fast it’s moving.” Her head began a steady throb—calling her agent had been a bad idea.
“Abigail, you have no business on the road by yourself in icy conditions.”
“My name is Amy.” She hated when he called her by her pen name, which he used almost exclusively, as of late. Changing her name from Amy Pinkerton to Abigail Landry had been his idea, and he seemed to credit most of her success to the name change, rather than her writing talent.
“Why didn’t you just come here, like I suggested,” he said. “You could’ve done your research from the computer in my guestroom.”
“I need to spend time in the state I’m writing about. It gives me a feel for the people and the setting.” She repeated her argument for the umpteenth time, eyeing the darkening clouds with growing dread.
“You could’ve written your next cozy mystery about California.” At his petulant tone, she pictured him with his arms crossed, lower lip jutting out. “NetShows would probably prefer California as the location of your next mystery, anyway. Easier to film.”
“Wyoming is the story that’s in my head.”
The truth was, she wished she wasn’t giving NetShows the rights to make a television series from her Cozy State Mysteries. The pilot show had been awesome, but the final contract took away all her creative oversight. Plus, her sudden fame was stressful. Painfully shy, she wouldn’t have survived the publicity tour Damon set up if he hadn’t appeared with her on all the talk shows. She’d been so panicky she hadn’t even objected when the hosts assumed they were a couple.
“Just turn around and head back to the airport,” he said. “Come here, and stay for Christmas.”
“No, thanks.” With the snow falling at a steady rate, Amy turned up the speed on her windshield wipers.
“You don’t have any other family. At least that way you won’t be all alone for the holidays.”
Why was it when Damon talked about her lack of family it always felt like pity instead of concern?
“I have plans for Christmas.” It wasn’t a lie. She planned to be alone.
“We should be together for the holidays.”
What? Their relationship was purely business. Surely he didn’t think there was more between them just because they’d pretended for the televised interview tour.
“Gosh. The snow’s getting worse.” Even with the wipers going full force, the steady snowfall obscured the road ahead, and she slowed the car even more. At this pace, it would take her an hour to drive all the way to Pleasantville. Already, her arms and neck ached from her death grip on the steering wheel. “Are you checking the radar for me?”
“It’s not like a dot on a hurricane tracker.” He used his I-know-better-than-you voice. “The storm’s over the whole state.”
In the center console, her phone beeped out a warning. Was it some kind of severe weather alert? She didn’t dare take her eyes off the road to look. Visibility was dropping by the second.
“Gotta go, Damon. I need to concentrate on driving.”
“Please call me when you get there.”
For the first time, he sounded genuinely concerned, and her attitude softened. “Don’t worry. I’ll let you know when I arrive.”
“I wish you had a concealed carry permit like I do. I’d feel so much better about you driving alone.”
“A gun wouldn’t help me in this blizzard.”
He must’ve been confusing her with Rebel Prescott, the main character in her books. Rebel was a crackshot with any firearm, but Amy was terrified of guns.
“Promise me as soon as they get the roads cleared, you’ll come to LA. I talked to Matthew Compton at NetShows about postponing the contract—” His voice cut out.
“What? I think I’m losing you.”
His voice came back louder. “I said… need to… contract signed…away.”
“The contract will have to wait until after Christmas.”
She waited for his retort, but it never came. Must’ve lost the call.
A gust of wind dumped a bucket of snow on her windshield. Amy shrieked, heart racing, and took her foot off the gas, slowing to a stop. At least she had the good sense not to step on the brake. The Gulf Coast didn’t have a lot of sub-freezing weather, but she knew the rules for driving on icy roads, if not snow.
With heavy clouds darkening the skies, it felt like six p.m. instead of three. The fact that she hadn’t seen another car for fifteen minutes made her stomach knot. Should she turn around and head back to the main highway? Maybe she could find a place to stay for the night if she checked the map on her cellphone. She put her car in park and picked up her phone. Not only did she not have a signal, but her battery was almost dead.
Great! My charger is buried in my suitcase.
Luckily, the rental house owner had mailed directions—a crude, hand-drawn map. With a quick glance she determined she only had thirty miles to go. Maybe if she hurried, she could beat the worst of the storm.
Straining to see through the glare of her headlights on the falling snow, she started forward again, picking up speed. She passed over a short bridge, thinking it only looked wide enough for one car. Muscles tight, she sent up a silent prayer for safety.
God, it’s me. I’m in trouble again…
Before she could finish her thought, she heard a sound like a gunshot, and the car skidded out of control. Like a nightmare she couldn’t wake from, the car spun in slow circles, unaffected by the steering wheel. At last, the front end slid off the narrow road and struck a tall snowbank with a metallic crunch, leaving the rear in the traffic lane. She stiffened, waiting for the airbags, but they didn’t inflate.
With her heart hammering inside her chest, she sucked in huge lungfuls of air, thankful to be alive. At least she hadn’t blown a tire on that narrow bridge.
Shifting into reverse, she tried to back out but could hear her tires spinning uselessly. Her throat constricted. Unless someone came down this deserted road before the storm worsened, she could be spending the night inside this car.
What would Rebel do?
The daring female detective in her mystery series always knew what to do in a crisis. In Missing in Minnesota, Rebel had survived a blizzard when the villain sabotaged her SUV, stranding her on a deserted road. Rebel knew—because of Amy’s extensive research—she had to stay in her car, keep warm, and wait for help. Of course, Amy hadn’t made Rebel wait long to be rescued because she didn’t want the villain to escape.
Amy turned the engine off to conserve gas. She needed to retrieve her cell phone charger from the suitcase, so she could call for help if she got a cell-phone signal. Unfortunately, her suitcase was in the trunk. She wriggled into her coat and popped the trunk with the dashboard button. Bracing herself for a blast of cold, she pushed the door open and scrambled out.
As she turned toward the back of the car, she took two hurried steps and hit a wall�
�� a wall of solid muscle, topped by a hard-jawed, green-eyed, masculine face. She gasped, falling back against the car. All she could do was gawk, because there, right before her eyes, stood Lincoln Reeves.
Of course, he wasn’t the real Linc Reeves, but he was the spitting-image of the photo she’d gazed at for the last three months—her private inspiration for the hunky hero of her latest release, Poisoned in Pennsylvania.
She’d stumbled onto the picture on a stock photo website and immediately bought the image, even though it was pricey, at $35. From his vantage point on her computer desktop, Linc had regarded her with smoldering emerald eyes while her fingers flew through the first draft of the story. She’d made him into the ideal book boyfriend—handsome, witty, considerate, self-sacrificing. In fact, he was so perfect that Amy made the biggest mistake of her career… she fell in love with him.
When she reached the point where the hero needed to die or move away or lose interest so her heroine could remain single for the next book, Amy couldn’t let him go. She went against everything she knew about marketing and wrote the ending with the two of them still dating. But she didn’t care. At least she got to keep him for one more book, though she would probably have to kill him at the end of this story.
She felt Lincoln’s enthralling gaze to the tips of her toes, as his brows furrowed. “Are you hurt? Is anyone else in the car?”
His velvety deep voice sounded exactly as she’d imagined. Since her mouth couldn’t possibly form words, she shook her head no.
“Let’s get you out of the cold.”
He stepped forward and took her by the elbow. Even through her coat, she felt a spark that tingled down her spine. What was wrong with her? This wasn’t her smoking-hot hero, whom she knew so intimately—this gorgeous hunk of a man was a complete stranger.
It’s obviously been way too long since I went on a date.
The snowflakes, falling in a heavy curtain, collected on his thick, brown hair. She resisted the sudden urge to run her fingers through it. He bent to peer at her, so close she could feel the heat of his minty breath on her face. If only she were as beautiful and clever as Rebel, she would think of something flirty to say. And he would be drawn to her, like a magnet to steel. Amy imagined him lowering his lips to hers in a tentative kiss. She might protest… but only a little. Then she—
“Do you feel faint?”
Why is he asking me that? Good grief! Probably because I’m standing in a blizzard, fanning myself! I have to explain—he thinks I’m an idiot.
She forced her fluttering hand into her pocket and blurted out. “No, I’m fine. I just wasn’t expecting to see you.” She stopped herself in the nick of time. She’d almost told him he looked like her book character. But if he found out she was an author, he might put two and two together and figure out her identity. After the instant fame from last week’s television interviews, she was dying to just be plain Amy Pinkerton.
“Do you want my help or not?”
The growl in his voice surprised her, as did the fierce expression on his face. Of course! He’d stopped to help her and she was making him stand out in the freezing cold. She spied his truck, idling in the road.
“I’m sorry.” She swallowed hard, her hand rising to her throat. “You scared me to death. This road’s been deserted, so I didn’t expect to see someone outside my car.”
At first, his brows knitted together like he wasn’t sure he believed her. Then a crooked smile appeared and deep, heart-stopping, dimples peeked through the dark stubble on his face. Just like Linc.
A tug on her elbow moved her toward the rear of the car, while sending a flush of heat to her face.
“Do you need this suitcase?” he asked, nodding toward the open trunk, the inside of which was already coated with a thin layer of snow.
“Aren’t we going to push my car off the road? We can’t leave it here, sticking out in the traffic lane, can we?”
His eyes went to the darkening sky. “We don’t have any choice. I’ll report it to the highway patrol, but I don’t think it will cause an accident. No one in his right mind will be coming down this road in this weather.”
“I guess that means you and I are both crazy.”
“Touché!” He chuckled, effortlessly lifting her hefty suitcase with one hand and slamming the car trunk closed. “I’m trying to make it to my home with my daughter while the road is still passable. What’s your excuse?”
A daughter! Something the size of a grapefruit fell into the pit of her stomach. Of course a guy this good-looking would be married. Can’t believe I thought about kissing him. Oh my gosh, I was almost a home-wrecker!
“I was just trying to get to Pleasantville,” she murmured.
“You’re on the wrong road. This is a private drive. You should’ve taken County Road 193.” His eyes narrowed. “If I hadn’t been late picking Cadence up from school, we would’ve missed you. It could be days before anyone else comes by.”
She shivered, not so much from the cold as from the thought of spending the night inside a freezing car with no way to call for help. Then she remembered her cell phone and purse were still in the car.
“Wait. I need to grab my purse.” She tramped her way back, slid into the front seat, and shut her door. As she gathered her computer and personal items with trembling hands, she gave herself a lecture.
“This is not Linc Reeves. Linc doesn’t exist.” She checked to be sure her phone was in her purse, noting the battery was now dead. “No real man could be that thoughtful and caring, especially not one as handsome as this guy. And even if this man is as awesome as Linc, he has a family. Get a hold of yourself before you turn into a lovesick puppy.”
His oh-so-familiar, swoon-worthy face appeared at her window, and warmth curled in her belly.
Too late—better wear a muzzle.
Chapter 2
Max struggled against his protective instincts. Something about this woman made him want to lift her into his arms and carry her to the safety of his truck. Maybe it was the innocence in her crystal blue eyes or the way her delectable lips made a surprised O when she first saw him. Yet he knew better than to trust her. She was just like all the other women who had “accidentally” turned onto the private road to his ranch home since Trending Magazine declared him one of the most eligible bachelors in the US. Except this particular woman had almost gotten herself killed tracking him down.
As she climbed out of her car with a large satchel hanging from her shoulder, he gave her the bad news.
“I saw green fluid on the snow. That means you have a—”
“Busted radiator,” she finished with him.
Snowflakes blew into his wide-open mouth. “How do you know that?”
“I… uhmm…” She ducked her head, kicking at the snow with her boot. “I read it somewhere.”
“I see.” He could tell she was lying. But what was she covering up? “You also blew your left front tire,” he added.
“Good to know.” Her cute button-nose crinkled. “I thought someone shot at me.”
He grinned, despite his effort to keep a stern expression. “Do you have violent enemies I should know about?”
“None that are currently alive.”
Why was it such a thrill to feel responsible for the smile on her face? He shouldn’t let himself enjoy their verbal exchange. She was just another gold-digger. Or, considering the bag on her shoulder probably held a laptop, she might be a reporter after an exclusive story. Don’t be a fool, Max.
He put his hand on the small of her back, urging her toward his truck. Cadence was waiting in the cab, and patience had never been her strong suit.
“I can’t stay at your house.” The mystery woman stopped in her tracks, digging inside her shoulder bag. “Would you mind driving me to Pleasantville? I’m willing to pay you for your trouble.” Her hand emerged from her satchel with a wad of cash.
He bit his lips to keep from laughing. She was offering him money? Was it possible she was tel
ling the truth? That she had no idea who he was? Granted, not everyone followed Trending’s most eligible bachelor list. But five years ago, when he won Country Music Entertainer of the Year, he’d been on the cover of every magazine in the country. Then again, five years was a long time to be out of the public eye. Not that he missed it—he hadn’t had the heart to sing since losing his wife to cancer, only days after his award. He was perfectly happy hidden away on his massive ranch, tending to his cattle. That’s why he’d been so angry when Trending published the story last week, revealing the location of his home. His attorneys had filed suit, but the damage was already done. Soon, a locked gate would end the rash of female invasions.
Still unsure of her motivation, he answered, “I can’t make it there and back before the storm dumps a foot of snow on the roads.”
“But doesn’t your truck have four-wheel-drive?”
“You want me to risk my life and my daughter’s to drive you to Pleasantville tonight?”
“No.” Her entire body sagged like he’d pulled the plug on an air mattress. “I just don’t want to intrude on your family.”
“Don’t worry about it. Cady will love having you at the house,” he answered, truthfully.
He felt her stiffen when he put his arm around her shoulder. Undeterred, he pushed her the last few feet and opened the door to the truck. As she climbed up, his nine-year-old’s excited voice carried outside.
“Hi! My name is Cadence,” she said from her seat in the back. “What’s your name? What happened to your car? Did you hit a deer? Do you have any kids? Are you coming to our house? Do you like—”
He shut the door on her chatter, feeling a bit sorry for the unsuspecting woman in the front passenger’s seat. She’d probably never encountered anyone as curious and talkative as Cadence. When he opened the driver’s door, her never-ending interrogation continued.
Love, Snow and Mistletoe: Four Sweet Christmas Romance Novellas Page 6