Victoria Pade - The Cowboy's Gift-Wrapped Bride

It had been one hell of a day, though. Driving through a blizzard. Pulling an unconscious woman out of a snowbound car. Finding out that that woman didn’t remember who she was. Bringing that woman home with him…

Definitely not a run-of-the-mill day. But no real reason to shave at the end of it, either. So why was he doing it?

Because in just a few minutes he’d be seeing her again.

That was the crux of things, wasn’t it? She was a beautiful woman. Trim and petite, with those perky little breasts just hinting from behind her shirt in a way that stirred a man up without even trying. And all that red hair. And skin like porcelain. And those soft, pink lips.

Oh, yeah, those lips…

www.millsandboon.co.uk

is a USA TODAY bestselling author of numerous romance novels. She has two beautiful and talented daughters—Cori and Erin—and is a native of Colorado, where she lives and writes. A devoted chocolate lover, she’s in search of the perfect chocolate-chip-cookie recipe. For information about her latest and upcoming releases, and to find recipes for some of the decadent desserts her characters enjoy, log on to www.vikkipade.com.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Matt McDermot didn’t need the voice coming from his truck radio to tell him he was in one of the worst blizzards Wyoming had ever suffered. He could see it for himself, right out his windshield. It was about all he could see as snow blew straight at him and left his visibility at maybe ten feet.

He was new to Wyoming. New to weather like this. He’d driven through Texas ice storms during his years growing up and living there with his family but even that hadn’t been as bad.

Welcome to Wyoming, he thought, wondering if it had been such a good idea to move to the small town of Elk Creek after all.

Nah, on second thought he didn’t really believe the move had been a bad idea. Not when all three of his brothers and his sister, too, were there. Not when it gave him a chance to get to know the grandfather he’d only met a few years ago.

And not when it gave him a chance to get far, far away from Sarah and the havoc she’d wreaked on his life.

Besides, he liked Elk Creek and up to now the change of seasons had been pretty pleasant. What was one bout of bad weather? Next time he’d just take the predictions more seriously than he had today.

But for now, here he was, only a few miles from Elk Creek and home, and he’d driven right into the worst of the storm.

If he hadn’t stopped to put the chains on his tires he wouldn’t be moving at all. And he had to keep moving, he knew, or risk not getting through.

The weatherman came on the radio again, announcing that this storm could dump a full thirty-six inches of the white stuff before the next day and another foot to two feet by the morning after that.

No doubt about it, they’d be having a white Christmas this year, the radio announcer promised, because even when the snow stopped, frigid temperatures were headed to the area for the week until the holiday. Which meant Cheyenne and its outlying suburbs and farmland would be in the deep freeze and wouldn’t see much melting to speak of.

Matt didn’t mind that part of things. He was looking forward to his first white Christmas. He just hoped he got back to the ranch in one piece to enjoy it.

The news report turned into a traffic update then, listing road closures due to high winds and drifting snow.

The highway Matt was driving wasn’t on the list but probably only because it was an isolated country road without enough usage to get it mentioned on the radio.

“Or maybe it’s officially closed and I just don’t know it,” he said to himself, realizing that his truck was the only vehicle on it.

But no sooner had he thought that than he spotted the weak flashing of red lights up ahead. They looked as if they might belong to another car but they seemed to be at an odd angle so he didn’t veer toward them. Instead he concentrated on staying centered between the tall poles of the streetlights on either side of the highway—his only way of judging where the road was.

It was a good thing he didn’t let the flashing lights throw him off course because as he neared them he saw that they were indeed coming from another vehicle—a small beige sedan that had gone into a ditch off the side of the road, nose-first in a deep drift.

Apparently the car had been there awhile because the battery was dying, the rear lights dimming even as Matt approached.

It was dangerous for him to stop and he knew it. A slow, steady progression was his best hope of getting through this storm. If his truck stalled in the cold or just got stuck in the snow that could drift around it within minutes, he would be stranded.

But what if the other car’s driver or passengers were still in it?

It was possible they’d already been picked up by another passerby and had left the lights flashing to warn any on-coming vehicle, but the odds of that didn’t seem good.

And Matt knew he couldn’t drive by without checking for people who might be still inside and hurt from that deep dive into the ditch that left the car’s rear end at a sharp upward pitch.

So he carefully came to a stop, turning on his own hazard lights and hoping they were bright enough to warn anyone else who might come up from behind him—as unlikely as it was that anyone else was crazy enough to be out in this mess.

He left his engine idling and reached across to the glove box, popping it open and retrieving a flashlight from inside.

It was only midafternoon but the clouds were so dense and the snow so thick—not to mention that it was piled up almost completely over the other car—that he thought he might need some extra light to see inside the vehicle.

He set the flashlight in his lap, flipped up the fleece collar of his suede shearling coat and pulled down on the brim of his Stetson to keep it securely on his head. Then he opened the door and hopped out of the truck into wind so fierce it had turned the snowflakes into shards of glass against his face.

Luckily he knew exactly where his shovel was—just behind the truck’s cab—so he reached blindly for it with one gloved hand, pulling the tool out from beneath its wintry blanket.

Carrying the shovel and flashlight, Matt plowed through snow that was nearly knee-deep in some places, making his way as fast as he could to the side of the road.

The wind was a howl that obliterated any other sounds, but he was reasonably sure no one was calling for help from within the car. He had to dig to get to the driver’s side door, then he managed to break its frozen seal and pull it open to shine the flashlight into the interior.

It was a good thing he’d taken the trouble.

Inside the car was a woman hunched over the steering wheel, her head bloody against the windshield.

She didn’t move and Matt had a moment’s sick feeling that he was too late.

He yanked off one glove and pressed two fingers to her neck, just under her jawbone.

There was still some warmth and softness to her skin, telling him right off the bat that she was alive, and when he found her pulse, he had it confirmed.

But she was hurt. There was no doubt about that. Badly enough to be unconscious.

He knew it wasn’t good to move her but what choice did he have? Even if this had been a sunny day in May he’d have had to call for a helicopter rescue because they were too far from the nearest hospital for an ambulance to reach them with any speed. In this weather neither a helicopter nor an ambulance could risk it, so he was the only help this woman was going to get.