Jillian Hart - Holiday Homecoming

What if it was engine trouble? Ice had crusted over the little window next to her. What if there was a problem with ice or something? She tried not to think of horror stories of air disasters. This was how Allison had died, in a plane crash in bad weather.

“Attention, passengers, this is your captain speaking.”

Kristin’s ears popped. Were they losing altitude? Before she could unscramble her thoughts to pray, the pilot continued speaking. “There’s a blizzard in Missoula so we’re diverting to Boise International.”

A blizzard? That was all? They weren’t going to crash? Relief slid through her like ice water. Thank you, Lord. She clutched the small cross at her neck. That was the good news, but a blizzard? What blizzard?

Sure, it was snowing, but the weatherpeople had promised the snow would be light. Okay, so it wouldn’t be the first time a weatherman was wrong, and this was Montana. Extreme weather happened. But Boise?

Going home might not be the easiest thing, but she missed her sisters. She didn’t want to spend Thanksgiving alone.

See? She would have been better off driving, with snow forecasted or not! There was that Murphy’s Law in effect again. Whatever would turn out worse, she had a habit of picking it.

This will work out for the best. She took a deep breath, willed her tensed muscles to unclench just a little. Right, Lord?

Right. Everything happened as it was meant to be. So this was simply a safer route than if she’d driven over the pass and right into the blizzard. By going to Boise, they were going around the storm. It made sense.

She’d just catch a flight when she got to Boise. Surely there would be a few vacant seats somewhere on a late-night flight to Bozeman.

And if not, she’d just rent a car and drive. The blizzard was in the other direction, right?

Thanksgiving

Wrong. The flights had been canceled. The Boise airport was closing down due to the rapidly approaching surprise storm. The blizzard was bringing dangerous conditions to half the cities in northern Idaho and to all of midwestern Montana.

Great. And if that wasn’t bad enough, there wasn’t a car left to rent in all of Boise. Kristin ought to know. She’d called every place that would answer their phone at 12:06 on Thanksgiving morning.

There were no hotel vacancies, no motel vacancies and the local bed-and-breakfasts weren’t picking up.

Definitely a problem. Kristin buttoned her coat and stared at her reflection in the black windows of the airport terminal. What was she going to do? Fat chunks of snow floated to the white ground on the other side of the glass where a single taxi waited along a vacant curb.

No passengers rushed from baggage claim or hurried to make that last-minute flight. She was practically alone and the security guards were eyeing her suspiciously. The swish of a janitor’s wide mop seemed loud in the echoing silence.

It looked as if she would miss Thanksgiving at home.

No sisters. No baby niece to hug close. No roasted turkey with Gramma’s special stuffing.

On the other hand, she wouldn’t have to face Allison’s empty place at the table.

But not seeing any of her sisters… Her chest ached with sadness. How could she be sad at completely opposite things at once?

So, she’d spend this holiday alone. She lived alone. She spent lots of weekends alone. She was used to it.

Still, loneliness grabbed hard and squeezed. For as much as she dreaded some things, she missed others very much. The way Mom always greeted her at the door, wearing her apron and opening her arms wide for a hug.

The big country kitchen would be warm with the delicious fragrances of roasting turkey and baking bread and desserts set out to cool on the counter.

Her sisters laughing and quibbling while her nieces and nephew toddled around the living room, and everyone turning to shout, “It’s Kristin. Kristin’s here!”

Exhausted from starting work at six o’clock this morning so she could leave early for the airport, she was too tired even to pray. Aching with despair, she buried her face in her hands.

If that wasn’t a sign from above, Ryan didn’t know what was. He’d stood in line at one car-rental place after another. No rental cars. The passengers had dispersed; he detoured to baggage claim and was stunned to see his suitcase circling. He had the worst luck ever when it came to airport baggage.

Yup, it was a sign. This attempted trip home wasn’t over yet. Okay, he was going to give the rental counters one more try. If there were no cars, then he’d done all he could. It looked as if he wouldn’t be going home for Thanksgiving.

But he couldn’t be that lucky. He was probably the only human being on the continent who was hoping to head away from home.

Of course, there was a last-minute cancellation and an SUV with four-wheel drive just happened to be available—the only car left for rent in the entire city. Providence had spoken. Ryan Sanders was going to spend Thanksgiving with his family. No excuses, no exceptions. He might as well accept it and make the best of it.

It would mean a lot to Mom. That’s what mattered, at least telling himself that gave him enough grit to accept his fate. He loved his mom, he loved his sister, but he didn’t miss Montana. He wanted to put that part of his life away and lock the door tight. Throw the key in a deep well and cover it up. For good. There were some places too painful to go, like the past.

That’s why he believed in going full steam ahead. Why he never looked back. Why he wasn’t thrilled as he loaded up the Jeep and flipped the defroster on high. The Good Lord was making His will pretty clear in spite of the weather. The snowstorm was working up into a blizzard on the other side of the snowy windshield. The wipers couldn’t keep up.

Great, how was he going to see where he was going? Ryan squinted into the dizzying downfall but it didn’t help. He couldn’t read the directional signs through the whiteout conditions. Should he go left or right?

Clueless, he went left. He barely touched the brake and the tires did a little skid on the ice. Talk about dangerous conditions. He was a decent driver, but there was no sense in putting himself or anyone else at risk. A fair amount of his practice was comprised of car-accident victims. He’d done enough rotation time in the E.R. to know what could happen.

Maybe the wisest thing to do was hunt down a hotel room somewhere. Boise was crammed full of stranded travelers who’d booked every available room for the holiday weekend. He knew because he’d spent forty straight minutes on the phone. But maybe there was something available farther down the road, in one of the little towns a few miles north. He’d drive until he found a motel room—he wasn’t picky. He was too tired to drive on icy highways until dawn.

Okay, where had the road gone? It had to be somewhere in front of him. There was a metal post, good thing he didn’t hit it. Wait—a soft glow of light broke through the blizzard.

Perfect. He was headed the wrong way. The snow thinned on the lee side of the terminal as he crept through the empty passenger-loading zone. There was only a lonely taxi waiting alongside the curb with lights blinking. It was quickly being covered by snowfall.

Light from the terminal broke through the downfall to sheen on the road ahead of him and that’s when he saw her in his peripheral vision. Kristin McKaslin in her chic tan coat and designer clothes, sitting with her head in her hands, alone behind the long wall of windows.

She was stranded, too. And all by herself. That just wasn’t right. He eased the vehicle to the curb with a bump. No way was he going to let her sit there. Not when Providence had handed him a four-wheel drive and, like it or not, he was still heading home.