Running away led her right where she belonged.

A new mom for Christmas?

She’s everything they’ve wished for.

Runaway bride AnnaBeth Cummings needs shelter for the holidays when a blizzard leaves her stranded, and rancher Jonas Stone’s happy to help. But his son’s been wishing for a mommy for Christmas, and town matchmakers are convinced Annabeth and Jonas are perfect for each other. As the storm clears, city girl AnnaBeth will have to decide: does her heart now belong in the country?

LISA CARTER and her family make their home in North Carolina. In addition to her Love Inspired novels, she writes romantic suspense for Abingdon Press. When she isn’t writing, Lisa enjoys traveling to romantic locales, teaching writing workshops and researching her next exotic adventure. She has strong opinions on barbecue and ACC basketball. She loves to hear from readers. Connect with Lisa at lisacarterauthor.com.

Also By Lisa Carter

Coast Guard Courtship

Coast Guard Sweetheart

Falling for the Single Dad

The Deputy’s Perfect Match

The Bachelor’s Unexpected Family

The Christmas Baby

Hometown Reunion

His Secret Daughter

The Twin Bargain

Stranded for the Holidays

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Stranded for the Holidays

Lisa Carter

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90069-4

STRANDED FOR THE HOLIDAYS

© 2019 Lisa Carter

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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“Trust me—you’re better off without him.”

A curious mixture of simmering fury—not directed at her, but on her behalf—and compassion filled Jonas’s dark eyes. AnnaBeth gaped at him. She reminded herself to breathe.

No one had ever defended her supposedly injured honor so vigorously before.

She didn’t know what to say. And for once, surprising herself, she said nothing.

“Storm’s likely to last all night. We could be snowed in a few days.” A muscle jumped in his jaw.

He said he knew—as in understood firsthand?—that she was better off without her erstwhile groom. In the past, had something as equally humiliating and hurtful happened to him, too?

Jonas squared his broad shoulders. “Stay here as long as you like, AnnaBeth. You’ve found a refuge from the storm here with us.”

Her heart gave a funny quiver. Her eyes locked with his. She became lost in his melted-chocolate eyes.

Surely he shall not be moved for ever: the righteous shall be in everlasting remembrance. He shall not be afraid of evil tidings: his heart is fixed, trusting in the Lord.

—Psalm 112:6–7

Dear Reader,

Welcome to Truelove, North Carolina, set in the breathtakingly lovely Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina.

Though the course of true love doesn’t always run smooth, never fear. The Truelove Matchmakers are there to make sure everyone finds their happily-ever-after.

The heart of this story is about a man searching for a love that will never leave or desert him. It’s also about a woman searching for a place to belong. This story is about trusting God. With the good. With the bad. With everything.

As AnnaBeth discovers at the FieldStone Ranch, no matter how tragic the past, God has a place of belonging for each of us. And most importantly, she learns to see herself from God’s perspective.

You, too, dear reader, are so beautiful to Him. A precious jewel. And so beloved.

This is why I wrote this story. And because it is my prayer that you will ultimately find in Him your home. The happily-ever-after for which you were truly made.

I hope you have enjoyed taking this journey with AnnaBeth, Hunter and Jonas. I would love to hear from you. You may email me at lisa@lisacarterauthor.com or visit www.lisacarterauthor.com.

In His Love,

Lisa Carter

In thanksgiving to the great and holy Immanuel—God with us. He came down from Heaven to dwell among us so that we might behold His glory, the glory of the Son of God. It is through Him we become the children of God and have eternal life.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Introduction

Bible Verse

Dear Reader

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter One

Grinning, Jonas Stone snapped a quick photo of his son. In a pint-size Stetson and cowboy boots, four-year-old Hunter looked adorable sitting in Santa’s lap.

From the mounted loudspeakers at the edge of the town square, strains of “Winter Wonderland” provided a festive note. Friends called out greetings to each other.

Pretty much the entire population of Truelove, North Carolina had turned out for the annual Christmas parade. And also for the free hot chocolate, courtesy of the Mason Jar, the local diner on the other side of the green.

Nursing a cold, Jonas’s mother had remained at the ranch, opting to skip the parade and the visit with Santa. Per tradition, the Truelove Christmas parade always landed on the Saturday after Thanksgiving.

But it seemed to Jonas that Christmas came earlier every year. At least, the trappings of Christmas. If it wasn’t for his son, he’d just as soon bypass the holidays.

Or maybe he was getting old. Old, alone and—according to his also widowed mother—dangerously close to being forever set in his grumpy ways.

Enthroned in the gazebo, Santa—aka Truelove’s mayor—patted Hunter’s jean-clad knee. “Have you been a good boy this year?”

“I think so, Santa.” Hunter’s dark brown eyes swung to Jonas. “And a weally good cowboy, too. Wight, Dad?”

His son’s breath fogged in the crisp, mountain air. The cold front and plummeting temperature had necessitated pulling out their winter coats before they’d left the ranch this morning.

Jonas smiled at his little cowboy. “A very good cowboy.”

“Mrs. Santa will be so pleased.” Mayor Watson’s pale blue eyes twinkled. “And what is it you’d like Santa to bring you this Christmas, my boy?”

Hunter’s eyebrows drew together like twin caterpillars. “It’s some-ding I weally, weally want, Santa.” Cupping his mitten, he whispered in Santa’s ear.

Jonas scanned the Blue Ridge vista surrounding the small Appalachian community. Low, thin clouds enveloped the mountains. The chill in the air hinted of coming snow.

And if it wasn’t already snowing on the mountain at FieldStone Ranch, it soon would be. They’d need to get on the road soon.

“You’re sure that’s what you want for Christmas, Hunter?”

At the note of concern in Mayor Watson’s voice, Jonas turned from his contemplation of the dreary skyline. Hunter’s head bobbed. “I’m sure.”

With the freezing temperature, Mayor Watson’s rather bulbous nose had turned an appropriate cherry-red. “Not a new rope? Or a saddle? Or—”

“Dat’s the only ding I want for Chwismas, Santa.” Hunter’s face turned unusually solemn.

Watson tugged at his snow-white beard. “That sort of gift is kinda hard to come by.” His eyes darted to Jonas. “And best given by your father.”

“But Dad’s gonna need your help, Santa.” Hunter crossed his arms over his skinny chest. “Gwam-ma says, God’s help, too.”

Jonas raised an eyebrow. “Wow, that must be some gift.”

Watson chuckled nervously. “Thank you for coming to see me today, Hunter.” He eased the little boy off his lap. “I hope you have a merry Christmas. Make sure you get a candy cane from my helper.”

He steered Hunter toward the steps, where the grandmotherly ErmaJean Hicks waited. With her silvery hair tucked inside a green felt hat, she resembled a jolly, if somewhat plump, elderly elf.

Watson caught Jonas’s coat sleeve. “Uh, Stone. I feel I ought to warn you.”

He frowned. “Warn me? About what?”

“I’d hate for Hunter to be disappointed.” The mayor cut his eyes to where Hunter waited at the bottom of the steps, happily licking the red stripe off the peppermint cane. “Telling a Christmas wish isn’t the same as blabbing a birthday wish...”

“Hunter’s a great kid,” Jonas agreed. “If he only wants one thing for Christmas, I’ll do my best to make sure he gets it.”

The mayor cleared his throat. “Fact is, Jonas, the only thing Hunter wants for Christmas this year is a mommy.”

Jonas stared at him. “A what?”

“You heard me.” Watson winced. “I wish you well with that. Next?”

He moved aside as Hunter’s best friend, little Maisie McAbee, scrambled onto Santa’s lap, clutching a list in her small hand.

What had just happened?

“Here.” Smirking, ErmaJean thrust a candy cane at Jonas. “Out of the mouths of babes.”

Stifling a groan, he scanned the crowd milling around the square for the rest of the Double Name Club—GeorgeAnne Allen and his great-aunt, IdaLee Moore. The trio were notoriously known as the Truelove Matchmakers, and where there was one, the others weren’t usually too far behind.

The three old ladies were infamous for poking their noses where they didn’t belong. They took the town motto—Truelove, Where True Love Awaits—a little too seriously.

Ethan Green—ErmaJean’s grandson—and his wife, Amber, had been the matchmakers’ most recent matrimonial success story.

But after Jonas’s wife, Kasey, walked out on them, he had decided women were trouble he didn’t need. He’d take his life on the ranch with Hunter any day over some high-maintenance, commitment-phobic woman. He didn’t need that kind of heartache. Once burned, twice shy.

Clamping his Stetson onto his head, he shouldered past the older lady. “Excuse me, Miss ErmaJean.”

Married, divorced or spinster, the “Miss” was an honorary title of respect bestowed on any Southern lady who was your elder. No matter if the woman was elderly or not.

Lines fanned from the corners of ErmaJean’s glacier-blue eyes. “You’re on my radar now, Jonas Stone.” She wagged a bony finger. “We wouldn’t want to disappoint a child at Christmas, would we?”

Grunting, he took hold of his son. “On the way home, we need to have a talk, Hunter.”

Shaken by the heartbreaking scene she’d stumbled upon, AnnaBeth Cummings ran toward the bridal dressing room. Gut clenching, she left her engagement ring beside her bouquet and quickly scribbled a note.

Please don’t try to find me, Scott. Be happy, MaryDru. I’ll be in touch. I need a little breathing room. All my love, AnnaBeth

Strains of organ music filtered from the sanctuary where family and friends awaited a Saturday-morning wedding that was never going to happen. The wedding her stepmother, Victoria, liked to call The Social Event of the Season.

AnnaBeth’s heart raced. She had to hurry before it was too late. Before her father and Scott stopped her.

Or worse, Victoria, who was a force of nature. As in a hurricane. Tornado. Tidal wave. Firestorm.

She must make her getaway before Victoria could strong-arm her and Scott into doing something they’d regret.

AnnaBeth had no idea where she should go or what she should do with The Rest of Her Life. Yet a strange certainty that she was doing the right thing began to build inside her. And a budding excitement.

Grabbing her coat and her suitcase—she was glad it hadn’t already been transferred to the limo—she ran for the parking lot. She ran for her life. She ran to find her life.

Leaf-barren trees lifted forlorn branches to the desolate, late November sky. Behind the wheel of her car, she turned off her cell phone and glanced in the rearview mirror. With a pained expression, she adjusted the ridiculously large, ivory satin bow affixed to the Juliet cap on her head a smidgeon. It didn’t help.

“Sweet potatoes,” she muttered.

But after such a dire beginning, the day could only get better from here. Right?

Snowflakes began to fall from the leaden sky. Headed west on Interstate 40, she drove for hours. Plenty of time to reflect on where everything had gone so catastrophically off-course.

Awaiting her father’s arrival to escort her down the aisle, she’d been stricken with anxiety over her upcoming nuptials. So she’d decided to break tradition and see Scott one more time before the ceremony.

And discovered more than she’d ever bargained for when she found her two most favorite people in the world—Scott and her younger half sister, MaryDru—in each other’s arms, saying an agonizing goodbye. She’d slipped away before either of them spotted her.

Images from the last few months filtered through her mind. Like suddenly coming upon her sister and Scott. The stammers. MaryDru’s blushes. One or both of them always making an excuse for not being together in the same room.

How had everything gone so terribly wrong? How could she have not seen the love blossoming between her sister and Scott?

From the beginning, she’d had doubts about marrying Scott. But probably a thousand times since his proposal, she’d reassured herself that what she was feeling was nothing more than prewedding jitters.

So what if in their eight-month engagement he’d kissed her a total of once? So what if that one time had been akin to kissing a cousin? So what if there’d been no fireworks?

Not only had she not experienced lightning, but she’d also felt nothing.

She’d chalked it up to unrealistic expectations. She told herself they shared something far more solid than sparks—friendship. Their fathers were business associates and golf buddies. She and Scott had known one another forever.

“Love will grow,” she whispered repeatedly. But it hadn’t.

Now it wasn’t so much sorrow she felt as giddy relief. She didn’t love Scott, and he didn’t love her. She refused to stand in the way of MaryDru’s happiness.

AnnaBeth’s stomach growled. Perhaps it was time to refuel, and not just the gas tank. Last night at the rehearsal dinner, she hadn’t eaten more than a bite. And in increasing dread of having to put on The Dress, she hadn’t eaten much of anything for the past month.

She shivered. The higher the elevation, the colder it became. AnnaBeth turned the heat in the car on full-blast.

The slim-fitting mermaid wedding dress wasn’t something she would’ve chosen for herself. Her hips weren’t exactly her best feature, but Victoria had been insistent. Of course, the wedding dress would’ve been perfect for MaryDru.

After driving past a sign indicating a town called Truelove was ten miles ahead, she exited the highway and veered onto a secondary road. The irony of the town’s name didn’t escape her. Maybe when she stopped for gas, she’d meet the man of her dreams.

Hey, it wasn’t impossible. Although, improbable. Yet stranger things had happened.

Right. She grimaced. Keep telling yourself that, AnnaBeth.

Had she learned nothing from her wedding fiasco? Life didn’t work like that. At least, not for her.

Snow began falling harder and faster, and dusted the winding double yellow line on the pavement. Shouldn’t she have arrived in Truelove already? She scanned the surrounding terrain, anxious for signs of civilization.

Behind her, the road had been swallowed by swirling snow. And just when she believed the situation couldn’t get any worse, the car sputtered.

“No!” She strangled the wheel. “Don’t quit on me now...”

But with a final convulsive jerk, the car shuddered to a stop. The engine died. This couldn’t be happening. Not after everything else that had gone wrong today.

Don’t panic. Try the ignition again. Please, please, please...

But nothing. Relinquishing her death grip on the wheel, she fell against the seat. Her heart pounded. What now?

Already the cold began to seep into the car. Snatching her phone off the console, she turned it on. No bars.

The deepening, storm-induced twilight would soon extinguish any last remnants of light from the sky. There was nothing to do but head on foot for the nearest shelter. Somewhere she’d taken a wrong turn. By now, she should’ve been in Truelove.

Story of her life. Wrong turn, true love MIA... Film at eleven.

AnnaBeth slipped her arms inside her wool coat, then grabbed her beaded clutch. She staggered out of the car and the wind almost knocked her down.

Having traveled about nine miles since leaving the interstate, if she followed the road, surely she’d encounter Truelove sooner rather than later.

In the blinding snow, she had difficulty establishing where the pavement began and ended. Yet sound traveled far over the snow-packed landscape, and after taking only a couple of tottering steps, she detected the sound of an engine in the distance.

Breathing a sigh of relief, she lifted her hand to flag her rescuer.

The snowstorm was turning out to be much worse than forecasters predicted. Driving conditions had grown increasingly hazardous the farther the truck climbed the mountain outside town.

Jonas would be relieved to reach the welcoming sanctuary of the ranch. As for the continuing conversation regarding a certain Christmas wish...

“Mommies don’t just appear with a big wrapped bow under the tree on Christmas morning.” He angled toward his son, strapped into a booster seat. “It doesn’t work that way.”

Hunter jabbed his thumb at the windshield. “Den what about her?”

A woman lurched onto the road in front of the pickup. For a split second, he wondered if he’d imagined her. Caught like a doe in the headlights, her eyes grew round with shock as she froze in the middle of the road.

He knew better, but he couldn’t stop his knee-jerk reaction. Flinging one arm across his son, he slammed on the brakes. The tires hit a patch of ice and the vehicle fishtailed.

“Watch out, Dad,” Hunter yelled.

But the pickup continued to slide forward. He fought the wheel, pumping the brakes to stop the truck’s momentum.

God, please, help... Don’t let me run her over.

With only inches to spare, he brought the truck to a grinding halt. His breathing ragged, his heart drummed in his chest. Through the back-and-forth motion of the windshield wipers, he stared at the woman with the slightly askew bow wrapped around her head.

“She’s de one, Dad!” Bouncing in his seat, Hunter strained against the safety harness. “Dank You, God. Danks, Santa. She’s de one I want for my mommy.”

But as her eyes rolled into her head, the white-faced woman in the long, Christmas-green coat crumpled to the pavement.

He shut off the engine, and clambered out of the truck. Sick fear roiled his belly. He stared at the pale woman, lying motionless on the pavement. No blood. He could’ve sworn he hadn’t hit her and yet...

Pressing two fingers to her neck, he checked for a pulse. Slightly elevated, but steady.

“Ma’am? Ma’am, can you hear me?”

Truck door slamming, Hunter joined him. They peered through the blowing snow at the woman on the ground.

Hunter’s face scrunched. “Did you kill her, Dad?”

Adam’s apple bobbing, he gulped. “I—I don’t think so...”

“How come she doesn’t wake up den?”

Good question. Grim scenarios of head and spinal injuries floated across his vision. But he couldn’t leave her lying on the pavement. The freezing cold would send her into shock.

Hunter squatted beside the woman. “God sent us a pwetty one, didn’t He, Dad?”

Jonas lifted his hat and resettled it on his head. “She’s not...” But he could see where his son got the wrong idea about the woman.

A big bow on her head, frothy ruffles of fabric also peeped from underneath the hem of her bright green coat. She did look like a gift package. Wrapped especially for him.

Jonas frowned. Not him. Hunter. No... Not Hunter, either.

His son was right, though. She was a pretty woman. He couldn’t tell the color of her eyes, but the reddish hue of her hair emphasized the alabaster fairness of her skin. She had a generous mouth—as if she did a lot of smiling.

Not that there was anything to smile about at the moment. Who was she? What was she doing on a deserted mountain road in a snowstorm?

Something catching his attention, Hunter wandered to the shoulder of the road. Returning, he handed a bead-covered purse to his father.

Jonas didn’t like going through her private possessions, but if anything ever qualified as an emergency, he reckoned it was this. Lipstick. A brush. Breath mints. Keys...

His head came up. Squinting in the fading light, through the falling snow he discerned the dull glint of an automobile parked on the side of the road. She must have broken down or run out of gas.

A sports car. Something foreign. Something fast. And something that cost in the hundreds of thousands of dollars.

Not the usual vehicle found in the Blue Ridge. Had she been on the parkway and gotten lost? He dug deeper into her purse.

A dead cell phone. A credit card. Figured. His efforts were rewarded when he came across a driver’s license.

Hunkering near the woman, Hunter touched a tentative finger to the delicate skin on her hand. “She wooks wike a snow pwincess. Our snow pwincess.”

“She’s not our anything, Hunter. Her name is Anna... AnnaBeth...” He held the license to the beam of the headlights. “AnnaBeth Cummings.”

Not from around here—her residence was listed as Charlotte. A flatlander—as if the fancy getup and expensive car hadn’t already told him that.

“Maisie’s got a book about a pwincess who fell a-sweep wike our snow pwincess.” Elbows resting on his knees, Hunter cocked his head. His cowboy hat tilted. “The pwince has to kiss her to wake her up.”

Jonas pinched the bridge of his nose. “We don’t go around kissing people we don’t know, son.”

“But she’s my mommy, Dad. It would be okay for me to kiss her, wouldn’t it?”

And before Jonas could stop him, Hunter leaned over and kissed the woman’s forehead.

She stirred.

“It’s wowking, Dad.” Hunter bolted to his feet. “I told you. Maisie was wight.”

The woman’s eyelids fluttered.

“Kiss her, Dad.” Hunter tugged at his coat. “Help her wake up.”

But it turned out the snow princess didn’t need his help after all.

He found himself gazing into the loveliest, emerald-green eyes he’d ever seen. And something, not entirely unpleasant, shifted in his gut.

Snowflakes brushed AnnaBeth’s cheeks. Her eyelids fluttered. She became aware of a biting cold. For inexplicable reasons, she found herself lying flat on her back in the road.

A cowboy stood over her. Two cowboys. Or maybe she was seeing double.

The smaller, duplicate cowboy leaned against the older one. Through her lashes, she took another quick, surreptitious look at the tall cowboy.

For a split second, she believed somehow she must’ve fallen backward to another place and time. Yet truck headlights glowed on the pavement, and she guessed she hadn’t left present day. But, oh, how delicious this particular reality was turning out to be.

The older cowboy pushed the brim of his gray Stetson higher onto his forehead, revealing short-cropped blondish hair. His features were rugged. His jaw chiseled.

In short, he was every cowboy fantasy she’d ever entertained, all rolled up in the man looming over her in the middle of the road.

A few years older than her, stark fear dotted his chocolate-brown eyes.

If she hadn’t already swooned, she would have now. In the ordinary course of her life, she didn’t run across many men who looked like him.

He was so totally swoon-worthy. Maybe this was a dream. A lovely, lovely dream from which she hoped never to awaken.

AnnaBeth became aware that the little blond boy—the mini-me cowboy—was speaking. Patting her hand, he smiled, his small teeth white, even and perfect.

She thought he said, “You’re going to be my mommy.”

But she must have misunderstood. And, anyway, the man—God’s Cowboy Gift to Women—said something she didn’t catch in that delicious, raspy voice of his.

She sighed, content to float forever in a cocoon of bliss. “A lovely, lovely dream...”

“More like a nightmare,” the cowboy growled.

Her eyes flew open. Okeydokey. He looked better than his manners. Trust AnnaBeth to find the one grouchy cowboy on the planet.

Palms planted against the pavement, she pushed to a sitting position. Hello...

As if someone had shaken a snow globe, the truck, the boy, the man and her insides whirled. Her world spun.

The cowboy took hold of her elbow. “Not so fast, ma’am. Take it easy.”

She put her hand to her head. Good to know he wasn’t totally devoid of manners.

“Did you hit your head? Are you in pain?” He scanned her features. “Can you stand? Do you think anything’s broken?”

Only my heart...

She gaped at him. Overwhelmed by the utter hunksomeness of him. Stop gawking, AnnaBeth.

Was she dead? If she was, then wow... Just wow. The view here was tremendous.

“Ma’am?”

The cowboy maintained a firm, steadying grip on her arm. For which she was grateful.

“Yay!” The little cowboy fist-pumped the air. “You didn’t kill her.”

Using the cowboy as a counterbalance, she carefully got to her feet. The dress didn’t make it easy.

She blushed. “Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated.”

“I’m so sorry, ma’am. I didn’t see you. I did everything I could not to hit you—”

“You didn’t hit me.”

She gazed into his face. He must be well over six feet tall. Underneath the fleece-lined Carhartt jacket, he was a big man with broad shoulders. His sheer handsomeness took her breath.

If there was one thing she knew, it was clothes. But unlike most of her male acquaintances, the clothes didn’t make this man. Rather, it was the other way around.

“Not your fault. I fainted. Thankfully, I didn’t hit my head. I’m fine.”

He smelled good, too. Something woodsy with notes of leather and hay.

So she did what she did when she didn’t know what else to do—she babbled.

“I don’t usually faint, but I haven’t eaten anything today. Actually, I haven’t eaten anything in about forty-eight hours. But I couldn’t, you see. My stomach was simply tied in knots.”

Brow furrowed, the cowboy eyeballed her like he’d never seen her species before. She wasn’t unused to such reactions from men.

The little cowboy tucked his small hand through the crook of her arm. “I wike her, Dad, don’t you?”

Dad? She wilted. Oh.

The cowboy was married. Of course, he’s married, AnnaBeth. Are you an idiot? This hunk of man had to have been lassoed into matrimony long, long ago.

“Sweet potatoes,” she muttered.

“Excuse me, ma’am?”

She disentangled herself from his grasp. Off-limits, AnnaBeth. She was delusional to have imagined someone like her unremarkable, big-hipped self could ever find herself rescued by someone tall, blond and available.

AnnaBeth motioned toward her vehicle, which was rapidly disappearing under a mantle of falling snow. “My car broke down. And before that, I got lost.”

Little Cowboy hadn’t let go of her arm, but she didn’t mind. It was nice. He was like a human muff. And so, so cute.

The cowboy’s deep brown eyes sharpened. “Where were you headed?”

“Nowhere. Anywhere. I mean, I hadn’t planned much beyond getting out of town. ‘Head west, young man,’ they used to say. So I guess I decided to take their advice. Except in my case, it would’ve been ‘head west, young woman,’ you see.” Taking a quick breath, she touched her hand to where the gigantic bow had dipped over one eye. “You do see, don’t you?”

It was only after the words left her mouth, she realized how nonsensical she must sound. His gaze held a hint of alarm.

Her stomach tightened. Yet how could she hope to say anything sensible with his handsome self staring at her like that?

Chapter Two

Jonas was beginning to believe that maybe she had hit her head. She didn’t look like a criminal on the lam, but what did he know? As his mother was quick to remind him, he didn’t get out much.

Of course, the woman being a flatlander could possibly explain the absurdity of the situation. Flatlanders did illogical and ill-advised things.

Like driving an expensive sports car on a mountain in a blinding snowstorm. His eyes cut to the enormous bow on her head. In a fancy, pre-Christmas party getup, no less.

Unlike the usual mountain twang he was accustomed to, she spoke in one of those soft, honeyed Southern drawls.

The pretty flatlander smiled at him. Brightly. Those eyes of hers...

She held out her hand. “Where are my manners? We haven’t been introduced. My name is AnnaBeth Cummings.”

“I know.” He shoved the purse at her. “I needed a name to tell the paramedics.” He stuck his hands in his coat pockets. “Although, I doubt they’d have made it up the mountain in these conditions.”

The flatlander blinked at him. Once. Twice. “And your name would be?”

“Jonas Stone.”

Hunter swung around to face her. “My name’s Hunter.”

Jonas didn’t like how his son hadn’t let go of the woman. As if he was already getting too attached.

The Cummings woman touched a light hand to the top of his son’s small Stetson. “I like your hat.” She tilted her head. The floppy bow went cattywampus again. “So much better than mine.”

Hunter grinned. “I’m a cowboy.” He jutted his thumb. “Wike my dad.”

She smiled. “I can see that.”

The flatlander had a nice smile.

“We have a wanch. And hosses. Most people visit us in the summer.”

She glanced at Jonas.

“FieldStone Dude Ranch.”

“A real ranch with real cowboys.” She threw him another smile. “How fun.”

The sweetness of her smile sent him into a tailspin, and he felt the need to be disagreeable. “It’s a lot of hard work.”

Her smile faltered. “Thank you for coming to my rescue, Mr. Stone. I hate to trouble you further, but perhaps you could call a tow truck for me?” She squeezed Hunter’s hand before letting go. “I can wait in my car until it arrives.”

She had an expressive face. He wondered what it must be like to wear your feelings so transparently for everyone to see. Somebody ought to warn her.

The world loved nothing better than squashing little optimists like her. He ought to know. Once upon a time, he’d been one, too.

“No, Dad...” Hunter’s eyes beseeched him. “She’s supposed to come home wif us.”

Confusion flitted across the woman’s face. “Supposed?”

“If the paramedics can’t make it here tonight, a tow truck can’t, either.” Jonas folded his arms over his chest. “You can’t stay in your car. You’ll freeze to death.”

What was he going to do with her? There was nothing on this road, except the ranch. He doubted he could take her to town and return before the road became impassable. He didn’t like the idea of leaving his mother isolated at the ranch. And he had the horses to think of, too.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine.” The honey in her voice became crisp, businesslike. “Don’t let me keep you.”

Shards of ice pelted the shoulders of his jacket. He sighed. Loudly.

“Look, lady. There’s nothing else for it.”

This was giving him a headache. He scowled. The entire day had turned into a giant headache.

“You’ll have to spend the night at the lodge, Miz Cummings.”

Her chin came up. “It’s ‘Miss.’ But please call me AnnaBeth.” She bit her lip. “I don’t want to impose. Or be a bother.”

Something slightly woebegone in her voice stirred his conscience. Not the most gracious of invitations. Grown or not, had his mother heard him, she would’ve tanned his hide.

But he was tired. And there was something 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 was great,” Jonas grunted. “Best stepfather I could’ve wished for.”

She settled her back against the seat. Unlike when her father married pushy Victoria, who, in her opinion, left a lot to be desired in the mothering department.

“Dat’s the Whip-po-wheel.” Hunter motioned toward the duplex cabin. “And over dere’s de Dogwood.”

Jonas never took his eyes from the road. “Whip-poor-will.”

Hunter gestured to the red, gambrel-roofed barn. “We have dances dere.”

At the curve in the bend of trees, his father palmed the wheel. “In summer.”

The hunky cowboy might not be much of a talker, but he had nice hands. Lived-in hands. Strong, work-calloused hands. When he caught her looking, she felt a blush creep up her neck.

Get it through your head, AnnaBeth. He’s married.

Although—she cut her eyes to his hands again—he wasn’t wearing a ring. But what did she know? Maybe some married men didn’t.

“Sweet potatoes,” she muttered, earning her another unreadable glance from Jonas.

“Haywides and twail wides and hoss-shoes.” Hunter motioned toward two tall poles, standing like steel sentinels on the snow-packed concrete. “And va-wee-bawl.”

Twilight was descending fast. But on a knoll above the cluster of cabins and outbuildings, lights from a two-story wood-and-stone structure beckoned.

Hunter grinned. “We’re home.”

AnnaBeth gulped. Home. She’d done more than just run away from her own wedding.

She’d spent her entire life trying to please her father. He’d been so ecstatic about her engagement. It made her sick to think of how she’d disappointed him today.

And after embarrassing Victoria in front of Charlotte society, she doubted she had a home anymore. She’d learned early not to make waves. Now she’d pay a heavy price for asserting her independence.

Pulling the truck into the circular driveway in front of the house, Jonas parked at the end of the snow-covered sidewalk. When he got out, the wind whistled through the open door, and she shuddered.

“Wait here.” He grimaced. “I’ll come around.”

She tried not to take his unfriendliness to heart. “Do you need help unbuckling the lap belt, Hunter?”

“I can do it.” He pressed the lever, and the belt whizzed free, retracting. “I’m a big boy.”

She smiled. “Yes, you are.”

Keeping his thumb down, he held up his hand. “I’m four.”

“So, so big,” she agreed.

His father threw open the door and stepped aside as Hunter jumped to the ground. “Miss Cummings?”

Ignoring his outstretched hand, she slid across the seat and inched around the booster seat. At the edge of the cab, she hesitated. He took hold of her hand.

The moment his fingers touched her skin, sparks flew up her arm. His brown eyes widened. Mirroring, she figured, her own shock.

“Static electricity,” he muttered.

Of course. What else could it be? Discombobulated, she allowed him to assist her to the ground. Her heels sank into the snow.

Dropping his hand, she took a step forward. Snow sloshed inside her open-toed, ivory silk pumps. At the sudden cold, she gasped.

She slogged forward, but it was slow going. Gauging the distance from the truck to the house, she bit back a sigh. She was beginning to lose feeling in her feet. Her knees wobbled.

He flicked a look in her direction. “Miss Cummings?”

“M-m-maybe you sh-sh-should go first and warn your w-w-wife to expect c-c-company.”

Giving her a dour look, he folded his arms over his chest. “I don’t have a wife.”

Maybe that’s just what his face did whenever he looked at her. Then his words registered.

The hunky cowboy didn’t have a wife.

“Don’t want a wife,” he growled.

The small, irrepressible bubble of joy burst. Another dream dying an ignominious death. But that meant Jonas Stone was a widower? Or divorced?

Hunter tugged her hand. “My mudder died, too, Snow Pwincess.”

“I’m not a princess—Whoa!”

Jonas scooped her into his arms.

Sucking in a breath, she found herself pressed against the softness of his calfskin coat. “What’re you doing?”

“Getting you out of the cold before you get pneumonia.” He plowed forward.

Jostled, she threw her arms around his neck. He’d lifted her so effortlessly, thinking nothing of it. As if she was MaryDru or Victoria.

“I’ll get your bags later.”

She found herself at eye level with his square, stubble-covered jaw. A vein pulsed in his throat, visible in the exposed V of skin where he’d neglected to fasten the top button of his coat. But he fixed his gaze on navigating the slippery path.

Hunter didn’t wait for them. Racing along the sidewalk, he headed for the porch. The heavy oak door swung open. A cell phone in her hand, an attractive, auburn-haired woman in her late fifties ventured out.

“Look what Santa bwought me, Gwam-ma!” Hunter bobbed in his boots. “Me and Dad bwung her home.”

Jonas carried AnnaBeth up the stone steps.

“I was on the phone with Aunt IdaLee...” Eyes the same shade as the cowboy’s, his mother’s gaze darted from her grandson to AnnaBeth. “Who have you brought home, Jonas?”

AnnaBeth pushed the obnoxious bow higher on her forehead. “Mr. Stone rescued me on the mountain road after my car broke down.”

Tucking the phone into the pocket of her cardigan, Mrs. Fielding ushered them inside the house.

“She was walking on the woad, Gwam-ma. Dad awe-most killed her.”

Mrs. Fielding shut the door against the driving snow. “What?”

“A misunderstanding.” Keeping one arm draped around his neck for balance, she held out her hand. “I’m AnnaBeth Cummings. So sorry to drop in on you like this.”

“Please call me Deirdre.” Eyes narrowing, his mother clasped her fingers. “AnnaBeth Cummings... Why does your name sound so familiar?” An amused expression lightened her features. “Speaking of dropped, feel free to put her down anytime, Jonas.”

The color of his neck immediately went brick-red. He set AnnaBeth on her feet so fast, she had to catch hold of the wall.

“Sorry to be so heavy,” she whispered.

“You’re not heavy. I’m used to hauling sacks of feed.” He scrubbed his hand over his face. “Not that you’re like a sack of feed... Or any other kind of sack... I just meant...” He closed his eyes. “I’m going to stop talking now.”

His mother planted her hands on her hips. “Silence might be for the best, Jonas.”

“I’ll go get your luggage.” A flush darkening his sharp cheekbones, he slipped out the door and back into the storm.

“Please forgive my inarticulate son.” Deirdre led AnnaBeth into a large, open-space living room. “He’s rusty when it comes to a woman’s tender sensibilities.”

Rough-hewn wooden beams bolstered the soaring ceiling. A wall of windows provided what in fair weather she guessed were magnificent views of the Blue Ridge Mountains.

Deirdre eased AnnaBeth into one of the leather armchairs flanking the massive stone fireplace. Orange-red flames danced from the fire in the hearth.

“Thank you, Deirdre.”

At the sudden whoosh of cold air, Jonas returned. Using his shoulder, he heaved the stout oak door shut, cutting off the roaring wind.

Hunter plastered himself to AnnaBeth’s elbow. “I told her awe about de wanch, Gwam-ma.”

Deirdre smiled, tiny lines fanning out from the corners of her eyes. “Welcome to the FieldStone Ranch, AnnaBeth.” She nudged the brim of Hunter’s Stetson upward. “Hats off in the house, remember, Hunter?”

AnnaBeth liked the motherly Deirdre Fielding. Probably not her fault that her son was a surly, ill-tempered cowboy.

Shuffling his boots, Jonas handed Hunter his hat, too. Hunter hung both hats on pegs on the far wall.

Deirdre’s gaze fell to AnnaBeth. “Oh, honey. You must be frozen. We need to get you out of those wet clothes. And those shoes... Your feet must feel like a block of ice.” She turned to her son. “How long was she walking in the snow? We should check for frostbite.”

“F-frostbite?” she whispered.

All of a sudden, everything became too much. The wedding. Scott. MaryDru. Getting lost. Almost getting hit by a truck.

Now this? Her eyelids stung with unshed tears. Hunter, Jonas and Mrs. Fielding swam in her vision.

By running away, had she made the worst mistake of her life?

Chapter Three

Jonas could stand a lot of things, but not a woman’s tears.

Ducking out from under the strap of AnnaBeth’s camera bag, he set both cases at the base of the staircase. “Let me check for signs of frostbite.” He dropped onto the leather ottoman in front of her chair. Hunter hovered at his side.

“It won’t be long before dinner.” His mother moved toward the kitchen at the back of the lodge. “But we need to get something warm inside her now. Do you like coffee, AnnaBeth, honey?”

AnnaBeth started to rise. “Yes, but you mustn’t wait on—”

“Lots of sugar, Mom, for shock.” A hand on her arm, he eased her onto the cushions. “We don’t want her fainting again.”

A line puckered AnnaBeth’s otherwise perfect brow. “But—”

His mother had already gone.

Jonas felt sick thinking of what could’ve happened to AnnaBeth if he and Hunter hadn’t come along when they did. In the Blue Ridge, winter should never be taken for granted.

“Son, can you find some socks to keep her feet warm?”

“Yes, sir.” Boots clattering, Hunter dashed upstairs.

She lowered her gaze to her hands, clasped in her lap. “I don’t usually take my coffee with sugar. As a general rule, I don’t eat sugar. I mean, I try to avoid it.”

AnnaBeth twisted a button on her coat. “I’ve always had to watch my weight. I really don’t need any sugar.”

He sensed a lifetime of hurt in her words. And none of it true. She was taller than average, about five foot six to his six foot three. But she fit perfectly well in his arms. Far too well for his peace of mind.

Jonas frowned. “Who told you that you should watch your weight?”

She tucked her chin into the collar of her coat. “Daddy says I take after my mother. But Victoria said I was just big-boned, and I needed to watch my carbs.” Two spots of red burned in her cheeks.

His gut knotted. He didn’t know her father or Victoria—nor was he likely to—but on general principle he decided he didn’t like them. Not if they’d hurt AnnaBeth.

Although, hadn’t he done the same insensitive thing? Remorse flooded him. He recalled her earlier apology for being too heavy. And his response.

He scrubbed his hand over his face. He should be horsewhipped. His mother was right. He’d turned into a curmudgeon. An idiot who didn’t know how to treat a lady.

Open mouth, insert horseshoe. Actually, the entire horse—saddle and blanket, too. Which reminded him... He stood.

Startled, her gaze lifted to his and locked. For a second, his world went sideways. Blood pounded in his ears.

Only by sheer force of will did he direct his feet toward the sofa. He must’ve risen too fast. Made himself dizzy.

Snatching the afghan off the sofa, he resumed his seat on the ottoman. “Prop your feet on my knees.”

Eyelashes fluttering like the wings of a frightened bird, she pursed her lips. “What? Why?”

What’s wrong with you? Manners, Jonas. Even four-year-old Hunter knew the magic words.

“Please.” He opened his hands. “I need to make sure your toes don’t have frostbite.”

“A-all right.”

She lifted first one foot and then the other. He was appalled—and scared—at how blue her feet appeared. Why on earth had she ventured out in such inappropriate footwear?

Gently, he eased off her left shoe, and set it on the floor beside them. Next, he removed the right one.

His thumb accidentally brushed against the skin on top of her foot. She quivered. His throat clogged. Her feet were cold, so cold, but thank You, God, no signs of frostbite.

Jonas wrapped her lower limbs in the folds of the afghan. Through the fabric, he rubbed the circulation back into her feet.

Her cheeks turned a bright shade of pink. “You don’t have to do that, Mr. Stone.”

Pausing, he frowned. “I told you, it’s Jonas.”

She fidgeted in the chair. “You don’t have to do that. I’ll be fine. I am fine, J-Jonas...”

Was saying his name that difficult?

He glared. “Be still, woman. The storm out there is nothing to play around with. The Blue Ridge Mountains are beautiful, but they can also be deadly.”

As beautiful as AnnaBeth Cummings. The thought stopped him cold. Momentarily befuddled, he stared at her.

Her lips parted. “What’s wrong?”

Nothing. Everything. His mother returned to the living room, bringing him back to the present.

She handed AnnaBeth a coffee mug. “Cream and sugar.”

AnnaBeth’s face fell. “Thank you.” Dutifully, she brought the mug to her lips.

He squeezed her foot. “Not that you should worry, but the cream and sugar don’t count today.”

AnnaBeth arched an eyebrow. “They don’t?”

“Not when it’s the first thing you’ve eaten in forty-eight hours.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You said... On the road...”

“I didn’t think you were listening. Most people—” Averting her gaze, she took a big gulp of coffee and sputtered. “Wow. That’s strong. But good,” she added quickly.

Jonas had noticed that about her. Always so careful not to give the slightest offense. Yet with that red hair of hers, he wondered what she’d be like if she ever got mad. Did she ever allow herself to get mad?

His mother smiled. “My coffee’s like my two cowboys. Strong. Sometimes a little thick. But with undertones of sweetness.”

Jonas started to rise, but his mother waved him to remain where he was. “Look’s like you’ve got this under control.” She settled onto the nearby sofa. “Like I said, a little thick. At least at first.”

Hunter dashed downstairs, saving him from further comment. “Here you go, Snow Pwincess.”

AnnaBeth blushed. “I’m not—Why don’t you call me AnnaBeth, Hunter? Or A.B. That’s what my sister, MaryDru, calls me.” She set the mug on the side table.

Hunter jutted his jaw. “I’d wather caw you—”

“Son!” Jonas got to his feet so fast, the room spun. Again. “Give Miss AnnaBeth the socks.”

A pleased expression flitted across her features. And he realized it was the first time he’d said her name out loud. Although, he’d been thinking her name far longer.

Kasey used to complain he was emotionally unavailable. How she never knew what he was thinking. After she deserted them, probably better she hadn’t.

Hunter thrust the socks at AnnaBeth. “Dese awe so, so wawrm, Miss AnnaBef.”

Jonas narrowed his eyes. “Where did you get those, Hunter?”

His son grinned. “Dese socks keep your feet wawrm, Dad. You told me to go get socks.”

Jonas ran his hand over his head. “I meant for you to get a pair from Gramma’s room, Hunt.”

Bending, AnnaBeth slipped on the heather-gray, wool boot socks. “Already my toes feel toastier.” She sighed. “I’m in love.”

He gave her a startled glance.

She went crimson. “I mean I’m in love with these socks.” She stuck out her feet.

Deirdre snapped her fingers. Everyone jumped. “That’s where I’ve seen your name. You write the Heart’s Home blog. I love your tagline.” She smiled. “‘May your heart always know the way home.’ That’s you, isn’t it, AnnaBeth?”

“That’s me.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Do you enjoy the blog, Deirdre?”

Hunter planted his fists on his pint-sized hips. “What’s a bwog?”

“Something on the computer.” Jonas jammed his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “That’s what you do for a living? You write a blog?”

AnnaBeth lifted her chin. “I’m an influencer.”

Jonas blinked. “A what?”

“Honestly, son.” His mom threw out her hands. “Get off the mountain once in a while. Even if virtually. AnnaBeth Cummings writes reviews for products. She’s a trendsetter.”

AnnaBeth fluttered her hand. “I only write about what I love.”

“I loved your ‘Autumn Wardrobe Must-Have’ post a few months ago. And the endorsement you wrote for the Duer Inn sounded wonderful. Somewhere in Virginia?”

AnnaBeth nodded. “The Eastern Shore. A great place. Fantastic people. If you’ve never been, you should go.”

His mother’s lips curved. “Looked like a great place for a honeymoon.”

AnnaBeth’s cheeks turned pink.

He crossed his arms. Obvious much, Mother?

Jonas glowered. “I’ll take your cases upstairs. Which room, Ma?”

“I was thinking the Snowbird.” His mother headed to the staircase. “It’s an en-suite corner room, AnnaBeth, with a lovely view of the ridge.”

“Not that she can see the ridge in this weather,” he growled. “No telling when the storm will let up.”

AnnaBeth batted her lashes. “Are you always this cheerful and optimistic, Jonas?”

His mother laughed. “I think I’m going to adore having you around, AnnaBeth.”

Jonas scowled at them both.

“Stay by the fire for a few more minutes, AnnaBeth, and finish your coffee.” Climbing the stairs, his mother called over her shoulder, “I’ll put clean towels in the bathroom.”

Hunter grabbed the suitcase. “De Snowbirwd for de Snow Pwincess.”

“Take it easy, little dude.” He took the case from his son. “That’s too heavy for you.”

Hunter reached for the camera bag, but Jonas beat him to it. “Best leave that to me, too, son.”

If Hunter lost his grip and the bag tumbled down the staircase, the lens might shatter.

Hunter poked out his lip. “I’m big. I’m a cowboy.” Injured pride shone out of his earnest little face. As did the beginning signs of a fit of temper.

AnnaBeth leaned forward. “Such a big cowboy, sweetie pie. And a good helper.”

Hunter’s indignation deflated a notch.

She tapped her finger to her chin. “I’m sure your dad will need your help later. Maybe right now, though, you could help Gramma put out the towels. Can you do that for me, sweetie pie?”

“I can do dat, Miss AnnaBef.” Hunter bobbed on the tips of his boots. “You’re going to be so happy here.” His forehead creased. “You won’t go anywhere while I’m gone, will you?”

She touched his cheek in a gesture so sweet, Jonas’s breath hitched.

“I’ll be right here, little cowboy.”

Hunter’s face lit. “I’ve been waiting for you a long, long time, Miss AnnaBef. My whole—”

Jonas cleared his throat. “Run upstairs and help Gramma, Hunt.”

Hunter raced for the stairs.

“Thanks for that, AnnaBeth.” Jonas kept his gaze trained on the upper story until Hunter disappeared from view. “He doesn’t usually get so cranky, but it’s been a long day. He’s tired and hungry.”

“I remember when my sister, MaryDru, was little.” AnnaBeth smiled. “Tired and hungry is a perilous combination.”

Right now, Jonas felt in peril. Peril that had nothing to do with a snowstorm or a preschooler. He hefted the suitcase and camera bag.

She’d said the ranch reminded her of a dream. Home, family and belonging. Is that what AnnaBeth Cummings dreamed of?

It was a dream he’d spent his entire life trying to create for himself and Hunter at the FieldStone. A dream Kasey hadn’t shared. Emptiness gnawed at his chest, in the place where his heart used to reside, leaving him feeling hollowed-out and free-falling.

What was with him?

Time to put some distance between himself and the flatlander. As much distance as he could while snowbound inside the lodge. He started toward the relative safety of the second floor.

But with a sinking feeling, he wondered when it came to the alluring AnnaBeth Cummings if distance alone would cure what suddenly ailed him.

AnnaBeth wasn’t sure what she’d said that set off Jonas, but he’d hightailed it upstairs with her cases like she’d lit his hair on fire.

Getting out of the comfy chair, she edged toward the window. Outside, the storm continued to rage. She sighed. Considering the whiteout conditions, she might be forced to impose on Jonas Stone and his less-than-enthusiastic hospitality longer than anyone had anticipated.

And there was the matter of her car. What was she going to do about her car? Even after she got it fixed, what then?

She’d planned on moving into Scott’s condo after the wedding, so she’d relinquished her apartment in Charlotte. At this moment, she was essentially homeless.

But ever the optimist, she rallied. Life could be a whole lot worse than being trapped in a luxurious lodge in front of a cozy fire with Hunter the little cowboy, the motherly Deirdre Fielding and Jonas, the hunky but unfriendly cowboy for company.

Yeah, like I could be married to a man in love with my sister. Or still lost on a remote mountain road in a blizzard. Chased by wolves... Eaten by bears...

If Jonas Stone hadn’t come along, no one might have known what happened to her. She’d have been missing, presumed dead by her family.

Until her frozen corpse was found after the spring thaw. Maybe even by Jonas. Then he’d be sorry for being so snarly...

Although, if he’d never come along in the first place, he could hardly have regrets. She shook herself.

Whatever. No point in interrupting a great story—based on real events—with the facts. MaryDru jokingly claimed that, despite not being biologically related, it was AnnaBeth who’d acquired Victoria’s flair for the dramatic.

Sinking once more into the cushion, she propped her chin in her hand. Maybe she should consider adding a podcast next year to Heart’s Home...

“Mom’s got your room ready, AnnaBeth.”

Jolted, her chin fell out of her hand. Jonas, minus the heavy coat, stood beside the chair.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I thought you heard me come downstairs.” He rolled his shirtsleeves to his elbows and revealed forearms thickly corded with muscle.

Both of them turned at the sound of Hunter clomping down the steps.

Jonas made a wry face. “No mistaking him, is there?”

Her lips curving, she wagged her finger at Jonas. “Don’t talk about my favorite little guy like that.”

The little cowboy tromped over. “Hey, Miss AnnaBef.” He grinned.

She ruffled his short-cropped hair, and unfolded from the chair. “Your mother mentioned dinner. I can help out.”

Jonas rubbed his jaw. “I think she’s got it under control, so you’ve got time to change into dry clothes. Let me take your coat.”

“Um...” She bit her lip. “My coat?”

Jonas gave her a quizzical look. “Yes, your coat.”

Wiping her hands on a dish towel, Deirdre emerged from the rear of the lodge.

Jonas held out his hand. “I’ll hang your coat in the mudroom off the kitchen.” The family, including little Hunter, looked at her, waiting.

So with great reluctance, AnnaBeth unbuttoned her coat and slipped her arms out of the sleeves. Letting his hand drop, Jonas gave an audible gasp.

Deirdre pursed her lips. “Well, that explains the bow.”

AnnaBeth pushed the bow out of her eyes.

Hunter fingered one of the floating ruffles flaring out below her knees. “Soft.” He smiled at his dad. “She is pwetty, isn’t she, Dad?”

Jonas’s eyes darkened. “Why are you wearing a wedding dress, AnnaBeth?”

“’Cause she’s a snow bwide, Dad. Our snow—”

“Hunter.”

She winced at Jonas’s clipped tone.

From the sudden chill in his manner, she could well imagine what he thought of her. Flighty. Shallow. Harebrained. Lacking substance. Or worth.

He wouldn’t be the first. Her family—with the exception of MaryDru—were charter members of the Don’t-Be-Ridiculous-AnnaBeth club.

Deirdre swallowed. “Oh, honey. On top of everything else that happened today, it was supposed to be your wedding day, too?”

AnnaBeth’s cheeks flamed. “It sure hasn’t turned out to be the day I expected.”

His face inscrutable, Jonas stepped back a pace. “Where’s your groom?”

She bit her lip. “Back in Charlotte.”

Jonas and his mother exchanged glances.

Deirdre patted Hunter’s shoulder. “Why don’t you help me set the table for dinner? You can put out a special place for AnnaBeth.”

He smiled. “Okay, Gwam-ma. I’m so happy you’re here early, Miss AnnaBef.” He hugged her legs.

Early? Not daring to look at his father, she wrapped her arms around Hunter, inhaling the sweet little-boy scent of him.

Jonas pulled at his arm. “Go with Gramma, Hunt. Please.”

Letting go of her, Hunter followed his grandmother beyond the long pine table in the adjacent dining area toward the door AnnaBeth guessed led to the lodge kitchen.

Jonas took the coat from her. “AnnaBeth?”

She chewed the inside of her cheek. She really didn’t want to get into what had happened between her, Scott and MaryDru. She didn’t have the emotional energy to go into it. Her wedding debacle wasn’t any of his business.

And then Jonas Stone surprised her.

“The guy’s a total jerk to have jilted you at the altar,” Jonas said, his gravelly voice slightly fierce. “You know that, right?”

Scott jilting her wasn’t exactly what took place. She opened her mouth to correct Jonas, but stopped. After declaring his love for her sister, that was exactly what Scott had been about to do. Only she’d beaten him to the punch and run away first. Jonas didn’t need to know the embarrassing details of her never-got-off-the-ground marriage.

Despite evidence to the contrary, she still had a few tattered remnants of pride. Everyone who mattered already knew what happened. Anyone else was on a need-to-know basis. And Jonas fell into the category of “most definitely didn’t need to know.”

Besides, give or take twenty-four hours, she’d never see him again. That thought descended upon her with unexpected gloom. But Jonas wasn’t done surprising her.

“Small consolation—trust me, I know—but you’re better off without him.” Her coat clutched in his large hands, he wrung the garment as if he wished it was Scott’s neck. “You’re better off not hitched to a loser like him for the rest of your life.”

A curious mixture of simmering fury—not directed at her, but on her behalf—and compassion filled his dark eyes. She gaped at him. And reminded herself to breathe.

No one had ever defended her supposedly injured honor so vigorously before.

“Don’t worry about your car. My cousin, Zach, owns the auto-repair shop in Truelove. I’ll get him to tow your car and find out what’s wrong.”

She didn’t know what to say. And for once, surprising herself, she said nothing.

But like a bottle finally uncorked, Jonas continued to speak.

“Storm’s likely to last all night, but until the roads are plowed, no one can get on or off the mountain. Worst-case scenario, we could be snowed in here for a few days.” A muscle jumped in his jaw. “We’ll sort everything out. I promise.”

A veritable avalanche of words. Jonas would be exhausted tomorrow, no doubt.

She wasn’t sure what had prompted his about-face. He said he knew—as in understood firsthand?—that she was better off without her erstwhile groom. In the past, had something equally humiliating and hurtful happened to him, too?

Jonas squared his shoulders. Broad shoulders that tapered to a narrow waist, where his shirttail was tucked into his jeans. “Stay here as long as you like, AnnaBeth. You’ve found a safe place, a refuge from the storm, here with us at the FieldStone.”

Her heart gave a funny quiver. Her eyes locked with his. She soon became lost in his melted-chocolate eyes.

But truth be told, she was lost in more ways than just the obvious.

Chapter Four

After gulping down a quick cup of coffee the next morning, Jonas headed outside to feed the horses before breakfast. On the terrace, he paused to take in the wintry panorama of the ranch.

On the horizon, the surrounding mountain peaks undulated like cresting waves of snow. The precipitation had ended sometime during the wee hours. And sunrise dawned with a crisp, clear beauty. So beautiful it took his breath.

Not unlike the runaway bride he and Hunter had stumbled upon yesterday.

Frowning, he pushed off the patio. He was already regretting what he’d said to AnnaBeth last night. And what he’d inadvertently let slip about himself. But unhappy memories had resurfaced when he realized she’d been jilted at the altar.

He could well imagine her humiliation on what was supposed to be the most wonderful day of her life. How heartbroken she must be. How forsaken she must feel.

Something pinged inside his chest. He clenched his jaw. AnnaBeth wasn’t his responsibility.

Inside the horse barn, he stomped his boots to dislodge the snow. After breakfast, he needed to work on clearing the winding ranch driveway. And call his cousin, Zach. Although, no time like the present...

He blew on his hands before digging his cell phone out of his pocket. Only after several rings did he realize how early it was. Zach might not be—

“Sorry to wake you, Zach. It’s Jonas.”

“Dude...” His cousin grunted. “Ranchers aren’t the only ones running a business. I’ve been up since the storm moved on, towing vehicles all over town that slid off the road or got stuck in the snow.”

“Actually, that’s why I’m calling.” Jonas remembered something else. “Oh, and since you live in town, Mom wanted me to ask you to check on Aunt IdaLee. Make sure she didn’t lose electricity. That she has enough firewood—”

“I’m headed over there right now. She’s got pancakes and sausage waiting for me.”

Their aunt IdaLee was over eighty and had never married. But over the course of her five-decade teaching career, she’d taught nearly everyone in the county. Between all her grown-up former pupils and extended family, Truelove made sure she was well looked after.

A few years younger than Jonas, Zach was a skinny beanpole of a fellow. With a bottomless stomach and NASCAR aspirations.

“Once you’ve filled your belly, cousin, there’s this broken-down vehicle on our—”

“I heard about your stranded snow princess.” Zach snickered.

Jonas could probably thank his mother for that. After dinner, he’d seen her on the phone.

He grimaced. “Her name is AnnaBeth Cummings. Did Aunt IdaLee tell you what happened?”

“Nope. When Miss GeorgeAnne opened the hardware store this morning, she told me. She’s doing a booming business selling snow shovels and sleds. Apparently, Miss GeorgeAnne, Aunt IdaLee and Miss ErmaJean had a conference call last night.”

Flashing back to how ErmaJean the elf had overheard Hunter’s Santa wish, he bit back a groan. “Don’t tell me those old women are already conspiring.”

“You definitely have a bull’s-eye painted on your back, cuz.”

“She’s not my snow bride,” he growled.

“Better you than me, dude. You don’t know how happy I am to not be you.” Zach gave a less-than-sympathetic laugh. “But no can do on towing the car today. The mountain road won’t be clear ’til tomorrow. Until then, for better or for worse, the snow bride is all yours.” He chortled. “Did you see what I did there? Better or worse?”

Jonas clenched his teeth so tight his jaw ached. “We’ll see how hard you’re laughing when I tell Aunt IdaLee it was you playing with matches that caught the Christmas tree on fire that year.”

“I was six!” Zach huffed. “Don’t go getting your spurs in a twist. Whatcha so afraid of? You got no call to be so—”

Jonas ended the call and scrubbed his face. Was he scared of the flatlander? The thought of her emerald-green eyes was like a punch to his gut.

Yep, ’fraid so. Something about AnnaBeth completely addled him. Call him a coward, but a little fear was healthy, right?

He headed toward the stalls. The sooner he could get AnnaBeth on her merry way, the better off he’d be. Until then?

If he had to stay outside all day, he’d do his best to avoid her. Out of sight, out of mind.

Famous last words?

It was the light filtering through the gingham curtain that awakened AnnaBeth. Curled beneath the gorgeous blue-and-white quilt, she felt as cozy as a cat. And as reluctant to move.

A kaleidoscope of yesterday’s events bombarded her memory. Scott and MaryDru. Her frantic flight, the snowstorm and the subsequent rescue by Jonas.

Grabbing her recharged phone off the nightstand, she discovered multiple texts awaiting her. Frantic messages from MaryDru, Scott and at least a dozen from Victoria.

A message from MaryDru said, I’m so, so sorry. I never meant to fall in love with Scott. Please don’t hate me. Where are you, A.B.?

She sucked in a breath. As if she could ever hate her beloved baby sister. And she knew MaryDru would’ve never set out to hurt her. Nor Scott, either.

AnnaBeth scrolled farther down the feed. Another one from Mary Dru. Tell me you’re okay. I’m so worried, A.B. Please call. Scott and I will never see one another again.

Not at all what AnnaBeth wanted. MaryDru’s happiness was why she’d run away in the first place.

She opened Scott’s message.

Contrite, sincere Scott. Taking the blame for waiting so long to be honest with himself and her. Begging for her forgiveness. Promising to never see MaryDru again if AnnaBeth would just come home.

Sinking onto the pillow, she closed her eyes. Scott had been a fixture in their lives. The son her father always wanted. Like a brother to her. She now suspected that had been the problem all along.

Yet when he’d looked at MaryDru at the church...

Perhaps no one would ever look at AnnaBeth that way, but she wouldn’t stand by and allow MaryDru to miss her chance at true love.

Rolling onto her stomach, AnnaBeth texted Scott. Nothing to forgive. I want you both to be happy. Don’t give up on MaryDru. Tell her I’m safe and well.

She hit Send. There. That would hopefully get them talking to each other again.

The chain of messages from Victoria mocked her. But without a fortifying cup of coffee, no way she was up to facing those. She turned off the phone.

With one glance at the bedside clock, she threw off the covers. After donning jeans and one of her favorite sweaters, she padded downstairs in her stockinged feet, eager to lend a hand, but she found Deirdre almost finished with breakfast preparations.

“Deirdre, I’m so sorry. I meant to help with breakfast, but I overslept.”

Jonas’s mother stirred the pot on the stove. “After yesterday, I’m sure you were completely wiped out.” After setting the ladle on a ceramic spoon rest, she replaced the lid on the pot. “And not only physically.”

AnnaBeth wrung her hands. “But I wanted to do something to repay you for your generosity.”

Deirdre’s gaze scanned her face. Her eyes were kind. “No need to repay us. It’s our pleasure to have you here for as long as you need us.”

AnnaBeth wasn’t so sure. Despite Jonas’s words last night, she seemed to get on his last nerve. Maybe if she could manage to stay out of his way as much as possible for the duration...

“I’m not so sure your son would agree with your open-ended hospitality, Deirdre.”

“My son doesn’t mean to come off so harsh.” She glanced out the window that overlooked the barnyard. “As a child, Jonas was always my quiet little guy, but after what happened with Hunter’s mother, he’s become so withdrawn.”

What had happened with Jonas’s wife? She wouldn’t dream of prying. Especially not with her own life in such disarray.

“It’s not healthy for him or Hunter.” Deirdre’s chin trembled. “I’m afraid Jonas has lost the ability to trust, to hope. He tries to hide it, but underneath the gruffness, he’s unhappy.”

AnnaBeth’s heart contracted. “I’m sorry.”

His mother swiped her finger under her eye. “I don’t mean to unload on you like this, but you’re very easy to talk to.”

AnnaBeth nodded. “I get that a lot. I suppose I have the kind of face that invites confidences. And I promise I’d never breathe a word of what you’ve told me to anyone else.”

“I sensed that about you immediately.” She cupped AnnaBeth’s cheek. “I think your ability to empathize is a rare gift. Your family must be so proud of you.”

AnnaBeth’s eyes moistened. “My family is complicated. And what happened yesterday will only make things worse.” She blinked away the tears.

Deirdre squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry, honey, for what you went through yesterday. It must have been a painful blow losing your fiancé.”

“It’s not that.” AnnaBeth fingered her earring. “You see, I never loved Scott.”

Deirdre threw her a startled look. “You knew you didn’t love him?”

She took a quick breath. “Jonas and Hunter are blessed to have you. You’re also very easy to talk to.”

If only her real mother hadn’t died. If only Victoria had been like Deirdre Fielding, how different would her life had been?

Deirdre took off the lid and stirred the oatmeal on the stovetop. “Church has been canceled due to the snow. We’ll have our own service here at the lodge.” She stopped stirring. “But don’t feel obligated to participate if that’s not something you’re interested in.”

“I’d love to celebrate the Lord’s Day with your family, Miss Deirdre.”

Yet thinking about the uptown congregation which she’d fled from so ingloriously, she winced. Her father must have been livid at having to send home the wedding guests. Not to mention Victoria’s undoubted complete mortification.

AnnaBeth desperately needed a distraction. “How about I set the table?”

“Thank you, honey. That would be a help.” She opened a cabinet door and removed a set of porcelain bowls. “You know where to find the utensils.”

“Breakfast for four?” Pulling out a drawer, AnnaBeth tried for a nonchalance she didn’t feel. “Where is everyone?”

“Jonas is in the barn. And Hunter is getting in his roping practice on the terrace.”

She stopped counting spoons. “Roping?”

Deirdre ladled the steaming oatmeal into a bowl. “At last year’s championship, he won second place in his age division. He’s determined to win first place in March.”

She nudged the drawer shut with her hip. “There’s a roping championship for four-year-olds?”

Deirdre set the bowl of oatmeal on the red-checked place mat. “There sure is.”

After placing the spoons at each place setting, she began folding the napkins like Victoria had taught her. “He’ll win a trophy, I guess?”

Deirdre returned to the table with another bowl. “Not a trophy. A silver rodeo belt buckle.”

“For real?”

“Rodeo buckles mean bragging rights, even for a four-year-old.” Deirdre transferred a container of blueberries into a pottery bowl. “Hunter is simply following in his dad’s footsteps.”

“I didn’t realize Jonas was a rodeo champion.”

She handed AnnaBeth the bowl to put on the table. “Not in roping, but before Hunter was born Jonas spent a few years on the rodeo circuit as a bronc buster.”

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