Holding Out for Christmas (The Christmas Tree Ranch 3)

“Not right now. Let’s go.” Conner started the truck and headed down Main Street, toward the intersection with the highway. Travis and Rush, after some good-natured teasing, had given him leave to take all the time he needed. Their offer was more than generous. There’d be plenty of work for all the partners when he got home later this morning.

“My brother talked about you last night,” Megan said. “He’s a big fan of yours. But then, something tells me you have a lot of fans.”

“Not these days,” Conner said. “But it’s always fun to meet kids who remember who I was before I got hurt.”

“What happened? Did a bull hurt you?”

“My glove got caught in the rope on a dismount. The bull dragged me halfway around the arena before anybody could get me loose. Dislocated my shoulder and shattered my hip. It wasn’t the bull’s fault. He was just trying to get rid of me.”

“And, hey, you’re alive,” she said. “You’re here.”

“I am. I’ll never ride again, not even on a horse, but I count myself damned lucky to be in one piece.”

“Luck’s a funny thing. That injury could have saved you from something worse later on. You’ll never know.”

“Actually, it saved me for something better. I was living pretty wild—the parties, the women, the booze, you name it. After that day in the arena, the doctors patched me up and got me on my feet, but the medical bills took everything I had. I’d pretty much hit bottom when my old friend Travis called and invited me to be a partner in his ranch. It’s been the best thing that ever happened to me.”

He’d never told his story to a woman before, Conner realized. Until now, he’d only shared it with his partners. But something about Megan Carson, a woman he barely knew, made him want to come clean and bare his soul.

What if he’d revealed too much, mentioning his self-destructive past? What if he’d already scared her off?

Now what was he supposed to say?

He was saved from an awkward moment by the sight of her car, a short distance down the highway, buried in snow. If he hadn’t remembered where it was, he might have driven right past it.

“Oh no!” Megan exclaimed as he pulled the truck onto the shoulder of the road. “What if we can’t get it out?”

“If worse comes to worst, we can call for a tow,” Conner said. “But I think we can manage. Just be glad you didn’t have to spend the night in there.”

“I’d be frozen by now. Thanks again for the rescue.” She unfastened her seat belt and opened the door of the truck.

“Whoa! Where are you going?” Conner demanded. “You stay put. I can manage this.”

“But you’ll need help clearing the snow off the car. At least I can do that.” She climbed to the ground as he came around the truck. She was warmly dressed in snow boots, wool mittens, and a quilted parka, but last night’s wind had blown the snow into deep drifts around and over the car. Clearing it would be hard work, especially for a woman. But it was her car, and he sensed she wouldn’t take no for an answer. He had to let her try.

Conner had brought a snow shovel and a broom with him in the truck. He handed her the broom. “All right, if you want to help, you can sweep the snow off the car while I shovel around it. If you get too cold or tired, get back in the truck.”

“I’ll be fine.” With the broom in one hand, she crossed the road’s narrow shoulder, walked off the snowy edge, and, with a startled cry, sank past her knees. Struggling to stand on the steep embankment, she lost her footing and tumbled forward, landing with a plop, facedown in the powdery snow.

She wasn’t moving.

“Megan!” Alarmed, Conner lunged after her, bracing himself upright as he slid down the bank to where she’d fallen. As the snow settled, he could see her dark hair and her red parka. Supporting her head with one hand, in case she’d injured her neck, he eased her upright.

She was giggling.

“Are you okay?” He checked the urge to shake her for giving him such a scare.

“I’m . . . fine.” She was breathless with laughter. “Did you see me? It was so . . . funny!”

“But you’re all right?”

“Of course. That snow was like falling into feathers.” She studied him, her head cocked like a little bird’s. “What’s the matter, Conner? You look out of sorts.”

“Damn it, you scared me half to death!”

She grinned, her brown eyes as effervescent as homemade root beer. “Come on. Help me up. Let’s get my car back on the road.”

He took her hands, pulled her to her feet, and handed her the broom, which was sticking out of a drift. Using the handle to balance, she waded through the deep drifts to the car and began sweeping the snow off the windshield.