Holding Out for Christmas (The Christmas Tree Ranch #3)(4)

The car was idling, a curl of exhaust rising from the tailpipe. Approaching with caution, he tapped on the window. He could see movement through the glass. Then the window came down, barely an inch.

“I’ve got pepper spray pointed right at your face.” The young, feminine voice shook slightly, but Conner sensed that the lady meant business.

“Whoa there.” He took a couple of steps backward, showing her his empty hands. “I live down the road back there. I saw your light and came to help you. Are you all right?”

The window opened another inch. He saw frightened eyes in a pale face, framed by tendrils of dark hair peeking from beneath a knitted cap. And, yes, she really did have pepper spray. “I’m fine, just cold,” she said. “But the car seems to be stuck, and my phone is dead. Maybe you could call somebody for me.”

“Anybody special?” Conner took out his phone.

“My family lives in Branding Iron. I was coming to visit them, but then the storm hit, and before I knew it, I’d driven right past the town. When I tried to turn around, I slid off the road into this blasted ditch.”

“I’ll tell you what.” Conner passed his phone through the window to her. “If you’ll put that pepper spray down, you can call your family on this. Tell them Conner Branch is here, offering to help you. They’re bound to know me. Most people around here do.”

Conner was taking a risk, saying that. A few rodeo fans remembered him from the PBR, and he’d driven the sleigh in the last two Christmas parades. But there was always a chance that the woman’s family had never heard of him.

If that was the case, what would he do? She had his phone now, and she still had that canister of pepper spray. Maybe she would call 911. At least the sheriff knew him.

While she was on the phone, Conner took a look at the car. The bank of the bar ditch was so steep here that the compact Toyota was almost resting on its chassis. There was no way to push it from behind without causing serious damage. It would need to be towed with a chain, which he didn’t have with him in the truck.

She had turned away to make the call. Now she turned back, lowered the window a few more inches, and handed him the phone.

“So, did you find out I’m not a serial killer?” He leaned against the car, trying to shield himself from the biting wind.

“Just barely. My parents didn’t recognize your name. But my brother, Daniel, knew who you were. So I guess you’re all right.”

Daniel. The name rang a bell, but he couldn’t connect it with a face. “I’ve looked at the car,” he said. “It’ll need to be towed out, probably in the morning. Is anyone coming to get you?”

She sighed. “My dad has poor night vision. He’d never make it here in the storm. Daniel and my mom don’t drive. So I guess I’m stuck, unless—”

“Unless I give you a ride home.” Conner finished the sentence for her.

“I’m sorry, I know it’s an imposition—”

“No, it’s fine. This truck can go anywhere. Do you need to get anything out of the car?”

“Two suitcases. They’re in the trunk. My name is Megan, by the way. Megan Carson.” She reached down and pulled the trunk release. Conner lifted out the two bags and put them in the backseat of the cab. He was fine with driving her home. From what he’d seen of her, it was hard to tell what she looked like. But he couldn’t help being intrigued.

He was holding out for his dream woman to show up at the ball, he reminded himself. But if there was an attractive new female in town, why not get to know her?

After all, what did he have to lose?

*

Megan closed the window and turned off the ignition. Unlocking the door, she tried to shove it open. She managed to push it about halfway before a wind gust slammed it shut against her shoulder, the sound of it like a thunderclap in the darkness.

“Here, come on.” Her rescuer appeared in a swirl of snow, opening the door and holding it against the wind. Megan took the gloved hand he offered, clasping it as he guided her through the blinding storm to his truck and held the door while she climbed inside. The hood of his parka kept his face in shadow. So far, all she knew about him was that he was strong, had a masculine voice, and cared enough to help a stranded woman on a stormy night.

He took her keys and disappeared in the direction of her car, probably to make sure it was locked. Moments later, he reappeared on the driver’s side of the truck, brushing the snow off the windshield and side window before he opened the door and handed her the keys. In the brief flicker of the dome light that came on, she glimpsed blue eyes below the hood of the parka—the bluest eyes she had ever seen.

He closed the door, pulled off his gloves, and pushed back his hood. The knitted cap he wore underneath hid his hair. Megan stole a glance as he fastened his seat belt. In profile, his face was handsome in a clean-cut, chiseled way. But what was she thinking? She wasn’t looking for a boyfriend, or even a date. And a man as good-looking as Conner Branch was bound to have a wife, or at least a steady girl.

“Where to?” He started the truck.

She gave him her parents’ address. “It’s just a couple of blocks off Main Street. You shouldn’t have any trouble finding it. Not in a little boondocks town like this one.”

“Boondocks?” He chuckled, his laughter deep and warm. “You sound like a city girl.” He steered carefully onto the highway. “Am I right?”