Holding Out for Christmas (The Christmas Tree Ranch 3)

Conner retrieved the shovel from where he’d dropped it and started by opening up a path up the embankment. If Megan wore herself out and needed to rest, she’d at least have a clear path back to the truck. That done, he began shoveling around the car to clear the wheels. In the front and rear, he hollowed out enough space to attach the tow chain to the axle. Now he needed to decide whether to pull the car forward or back it out. Forward, maybe, since the slope was gentler in that direction.

Megan had finished sweeping off the car. She was covered in powdery snow. Where she stood in the sunlight, it sparkled like diamonds in her dark hair.

“Here.” Conner used his gloved hand to brush the snow off her coat. “You must be frozen. Get back in the truck to warm up. Once the tow chain’s attached, I’ll need you in your car.”

“I’m fine here.” Her teeth chattered slightly, but arguing with her would only take time. If all went well, the car would be back on the road in a few minutes.

“We’ll need your keys.” Conner remembered giving them to her after locking her car last night.

“No problem. I’ve got them right here in my pocket.” She pulled off a glove and fumbled in her coat. “I just—oh, drat!” She reached deeper into her pocket, then into her other pocket, her hand coming up empty. She looked like she was about to cry. “I know I had them with me when I left the house. Maybe they fell out in the truck.”

“Or maybe you lost them when you fell down in the snow. You check the truck while I look around down here. Don’t worry, we’ll find them.”

She clambered up the embankment, leaving Conner wondering where to start looking. He’d moved snow to clear a path after her fall. If Megan’s keys had tumbled out of her pocket, they could be anywhere by now.

On his hands and knees now, he began pawing through the shoveled snow. Megan was an intriguing, challenging woman. He’d have welcomed an excuse to spend more time with her. But this was not what he’d ha

d in mind.

Chapter 3

“I couldn’t find the keys in the truck.” Megan scrambled down the embankment to where Conner was digging through the snow. “I looked in the seat, under the seat, and in my purse. I even looked under the truck. I’m sorry. I feel like a fool.”

“It could happen to anybody,” Conner said. “You don’t have a hidden key on the car, do you?”

She shook her head. “I never thought I’d need one. I’m always careful. I’ve never lost a key or locked myself out of a car in my life. Can we tow the car out of the ditch without starting it?”

“Maybe. But not unless we release the hand brake and shift it into neutral. To do that, we’ll need to get into the car.”

“And to get into the car, we’ll need the keys. Gotcha.” Megan knelt in the snow and began scraping layers away on the other side of the path Conner had cleared. Megan’s car was an older model that opened with a key. Her small key ring had three keys and a silver guitar charm on it. Finding it in all this snow would be like looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack.

The sky was bright overhead, but willows and cottonwood trees cast shade where the car was lodged. The cold was bitter and biting. As she dug through the snow, Megan stole glances at her rescuer. In full daylight, without a cap, he was even better-looking than the photos she’d googled on her laptop, with chiseled features and dark blond hair that set off his startling blue eyes. The best bull riders tended to be small and wiry. Conner was, perhaps, five-nine or -ten, with a compact, muscular body that exuded strength. Looking online, she’d seen the classic photo of him, mounted on a bucking bull, arm up, body in perfect balance. He’d looked . . . magnificent.

She’d read a news account of the mishap that had ended his career, but she’d chosen to ask him about it anyway. She’d wanted to hear the story from his point of view, how it had played out and how it had affected him. His raw honesty had moved and impressed her.

Right now, he looked as cold and miserable as she felt. But he hadn’t complained or berated her for losing her keys. Megan found herself liking him for that. But after this experience, he would probably never want to see her again.

They’d made small talk at first. But after thirty minutes of working in the snow, they were too numbed from the cold for more than a few words. Now he rose to his feet, stretching his legs and massaging his back with one hand.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“Just need to get the kinks out,” he said. “But you look half-frozen.” He extended a gloved hand. “I want you to get up, go back to the truck, turn on the heater, and stay until you get warm.”

“What about you?” She let him pull her up, but made no move to go back to the truck.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Stop playing the tough guy. You’re as cold as I am.”

“Well, somebody needs to find your keys.”

“Then I’ll stay and look, too,” Megan insisted. “I’m okay, really, except for my fingers. They feel like clumps of ice.” She stripped off her woolen mittens and laid them on the snow. “If I put my hands in my pockets for a few minutes, maybe they’ll warm up.”

She thrust her hands into the pockets of her coat, shoving them deep. The insides were dry and slightly warm from her body. She wiggled her fingers, doing her best to restore the circulation. Only as the feeling returned to her fingertips did she discover something unexpected—a hole, in the deepest corner of one pocket—a hole that was just big enough to let the keys fall through into the lining of her coat.

Oh no!

Her lips formed the words, but no sound emerged as she felt along the hem of her coat. After a moment, her fingers touched something hard—her keys.