Samantha Hunter - Hers for the Holidays

Most of the old, low-profile, Western-style buildings were still in place here, though there were a few new constructions. Across the street she saw an architects’ office and a new medical practice that looked pretty upscale for the small town. The street was repaved, the sidewalks new, with large wooden raised gardens placed intermittently along the main street. Where plants would grow in the summer, they were now covered with snow.

As a kid, she had often gone to the pizza shop down the road with her friends after football games and to the tack store with her father. Every year, she would bake dozens of cookies with her mother for the Fourth of July picnic that always accompanied fireworks at the edge of town. Clear River always had its own little holiday parades with their local bands and town officials, and all of the kids would do something creative to show off. The town itself was often more like an extended family, everyone knowing everyone else. It had been a nice way to grow up. Mostly.

She’d been the Fireworks Princess when she was thirteen—the girl with most spark—she remembered with a smile. She’d had a lot of good times here, before things had gone bad.

The same huge spruce grew in front of town hall, even bigger than it had been, and was decorated for the season. That would have been done Thanksgiving weekend, and the annual Winter Festival, a Clear River tradition, should be coming up soon, but Lydia didn’t see any announcement. Had it been canceled? If so, that was unfortunate. Snowman-building contests, craft booths, hot cocoa and treats...it was always the perfect build-up to Christmas.

Ah, well. Things changed. She sure had.

Hailey’s, the inn where she’d eaten, had always been a mainstay in the town, and was still mostly the same as she remembered. It was the only place in town that rented rooms, though she’d noticed some of the other ranches had taken to including tourism packages, probably to stay financially viable. Hailey’s had also always been a hangout for the local cowboys, one of whom had wanted to get friendlier than she wanted tonight.

She was no stranger to one-night stands—she preferred them, in fact—but not here, not now, and certainly not with some drunk ranch worker. Apparently he’d thought, because of her look or because she was there alone, that she might want some fun. She’d set him straight and fast.

The cold crept over her body as she stood there, and she decided she’d had enough walking down memory lane. Fat snowflakes began to fall as if on cue, sticking to her face and hair as she made her way to her car. This would be the first major storm of the season.

A slight shiver of excitement worked its way down her spine. She’d always liked the first big snowstorm. Unlike summer thunderstorms—which sometimes brought nightmarish tornadoes and dangerous lightning strikes that scared the wits out of her—the winter storms were relatively peaceful and soft, snow piling up like a secret overnight.

Lost in thought, she hadn’t noticed anyone following her until she heard the footsteps, a man’s low chuckle. Lydia hadn’t lived on the street in some time, but she recognized the tightening of her stomach, the tingle at the base of her neck that signaled danger. She’d learned not to ignore such things and picked up her step, reaching into her bag to grab her keys, holding them firmly, sharp ends pointing out. She wished she had her mace, but hadn’t counted on needing it out here.

She pressed the button to open the doors of her rental, but wasn’t quite fast enough; they caught up with her as she opened the door of the car, the good ol’ boy from the roadhouse and a friend, slamming it shut before she could get inside.

“Hey, darlin’,” said the one who had joined her in her booth earlier. “Want some company on the dark ride home?”

“Told you already, I’m not interested,” she said rudely, making eye contact to let them know she wasn’t afraid.

She was though, and willed someone to drive down the damned street already. It would figure that every time she left her house she bumped into someone from her past, but now, when she wished someone would appear, everyone was inside, hunkering down before the storm.

“Well, you don’t know that, do you? You think you’re from the city, so you’re better than us? We can live pretty fast here, too,” he said.

The men closed in, and panic clawed her chest. She stepped backward, wondering if she made a run for it, toward the roadhouse, how far she’d get.

“Get lost. I will press charges, and I’ll make sure you don’t walk away from whatever you have in mind.” While she talked, she pressed the buttons on the key fob—this thing had to have some kind of car alarm she could set off.

Sure enough, as she pressed the buttons several times, the lights and horn suddenly started blaring in annoying rhythm, filling the street with sound. As the cowboy pulled back in surprise, survival adrenaline kicked in. Lydia brought her foot up, stomping the foot of the one closest to her and then kneed him in the family jewels, sending him howling to the snowy surface as she got inside of her car and locked the doors.

Gunning the engine, she noticed a few people emerging from the restaurant and a local drugstore to see what was happening, probably making sure it wasn’t their own car being broken into. The cowboys got out of the way as she did a quick U-turn in the center of the road, nearly running over the foot of the guy who had threatened her. He swore loudly after her as she raced away.

As she caught her breath and reassured herself that she was safe, she glanced to the side, and nearly hit the brakes as she caught a glimpse of a face she thought she recognized.

Ely?

His hood up, face shadowed, the man who sat in the dark cab of a truck looked like him, but...that wasn’t possible.

She watched as the truck lit up in her rearview and pulled away in the opposite direction, making her shake her head as she slowed down and got hold of herself. Great, now she was imagining things.

Her slamming heartbeat finally calmed as she drove, and she shook off the remnants of panic from the confrontation. She was fine. She had handled things herself, as she always did. If Lydia knew anything, it was how to take care of herself. She’d been doing it ever since she left home.

A momentary spark of worry had her checking her rearview for headlights, worried the cowboys might take after her—those guys wouldn’t enjoy being bested by a girl—but nothing was there. Most likely, they would go home, pass out and hope their wives or girlfriends didn’t get word of their bad behavior. There was nothing to worry about, she reassured herself.

Snowflakes picked up more density on the windshield, and she didn’t really relax until she made it back to the ranch. Smitty and Kyle were in the bunkhouses, if she needed them, anyway.

Ely’s face flashed again in her mind as she parked the car in the garage and sat there for a moment, thinking. The guy in the truck couldn’t possibly have been him, though she had felt the same keen sense of awareness she had felt the first moment she had ever seen him, in a hospital emergency room. She’d been there with Tessa, when Jonas’s vision had returned. She and Ely had gone for a cup of coffee. After that, they went to her place.

It was only one night, but she’d replayed it in her head about a thousand times, much to her annoyance.

Lydia had made sure he knew the rules—she didn’t do relationships. At the time, he’d just ended something bad with another woman, but he was cute and she took him home. That was all there was to it. Lydia preferred not to get too wrapped up in details—they made everything messy and complicated. Sex was fun, and she liked to keep it that way.