Mistletoe Baby (Crescent Cove 9.50)

One

Blasting Michael Bublé’s version of “Silent Night” as I sped down the street in an icy winter wonderland probably seemed incongruous, but I was in an exceptionally good mood.

Who wouldn’t be when classes at the community college were officially finished for the semester? Finals were done. Grades submitted. Endless infernal staff meetings in the bag.

I was finally free—for a month or so, give or take some faculty enrichment days.

I’d cracked the windows on my wholly-inappropriate-for-this-climate Toyota Supra sports car to let in the cool late afternoon breeze, and I’d put the heat on low to offset the chill. I was driving a little too fast for the fat flakes streaming down from the sky and accumulating in frosty slush along the side of the roadway. Playing my music a bit too loud for the quaint small town I was headed toward full bore.

Crescent Cove, was it? I’d never been here before. Oh, I’d heard of it, considering I lived fifty-plus miles away. But this place was postcard bucolic, a speck on the map, and I tended to like to hit the highways where I could go faster.

Thirty miles an hour was not fast. Nor was my risky thirty-six.

I didn’t even know why I’d driven this far out today. I was all too used to Central New York’s changeable weather. Snowstorms didn’t usually slow me down, but the sleet gray clouds warned we might be in for a prolonged event.

So much for enjoying my freedom in my sweet impractical beauty. I’d just do a U-turn and head back—

Suddenly, a truck backed out of a driveway, and I hit the brakes far too hard. My tires shrieked as I aimed right for the curb—and the ditch hidden by the thick layer of white layered on top of it.

My horn rang out as did my particularly colorful stream of curses. Wheels spun. My knee jabbed hard into something, and for a second, my vision wavered.

Had I hit my head? Or had the belt tightened just enough to send my ribcage upward into my skull?

Could’ve been either one.

Michael kept singing as I shut my eyes against the pain in my leg. I could probably walk it off. All in all, I’d gotten off easy. My poor baby though. I didn’t want to see the damage.

Actually, I didn’t want to deal with any of the crap that was now in my immediate future.

Next time? I’d circle my own block when I wanted to get my jollies in my almost-new car during the winter.

A sharp rap on my window had me opening my eyes and biting off a sigh. A guy wearing one of those hats with buffalo plaid flaps over his ears pressed his face up against the glass as I turned down the volume on the music and then lowered the window halfway. “You okay, fella? I didn’t see you there as I was coming out.”

I cocked a brow. Considering the non-neutral color of my car, I completely believed that. “I’m okay, thanks. You?”

I didn’t know why I asked that. He hadn’t driven off the road, I had. Because of him. And also because I’d recklessly been doing thirty-six.

This was why I so rarely colored outside the lines. It never ended well.

“Fine, fine. You got yourself some trouble here.” He edged back to look at my crumpled fender, nose down in the ditch. “Want me to call Dare at Kramer and Burns Custom? He’ll get you fixed right up in a jif.”

This far out, my towing company would charge me a mint to come to my assistance. “Sure. I can call him.” I tugged out my cell. “Kramer and Burns Custom, you said?”

“Have to turn down that loud music if you’re going to call.”

I ignored him as I searched Google and called. If he considered “Holly Jolly Christmas” set on low to be too loud, I couldn’t help him.

And surprise, my good mood had fled at the same moment I’d crashed my freaking car.

“Good evening, Kramer speaking.”

“Is this Dare?”

“No, this is his brother, Gage. Whatcha need?”

“Are all of you named like romance heroes?” Shockingly, he didn’t respond. I cleared my throat. “I need a tow. I was referred by—”

I glanced at the window. The man and his ridiculous hat had disappeared. However, a cop was doing a U-turn to pull up beside me.