Page 52 of Christmas with Three Cowboys

“My brother isn’t good at expressing his emotions,” he says. “Granted, I’m not a model of emotional health and neither isMitch, but among the three of us, Ethan is the worst.”

“I’ve seen worse.” I chuckle.

“He wants you to be safe and happy. And he wants you to open up, much like Mitch and I. We all want the same thing, Melissa. We just need you to want it, too.”

“I need a bit of time is all. A little more time to figure some things out,” I reply, my heart breaking as I plant a kiss on his lips and take a couple of steps back.

He smiles and nods slowly. “You’ve got it. But you should still join us downstairs.”

“I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Santa left you a little something under the tree.”

“Oh, no, he didn’t.”

“He sure did. You’ve been a very good girl.”

The way he says the words arouses me on a whole new level. I’d rather tear that sweater off him and have him fill me, stretch me, claim and consume me, instead of sulking up here in my room. But the distance I’ve put between us is more for their protection than mine.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” I say, my voice barely audible, my throat closing up as I force myself to smile.

“We’ll have coffee.”

“Mmm.”

Colton closes the door, and I listen to the sound of his receding footsteps before I burst into tears and start rummaging throughthe drawers. I grab only the essentials and shove them in a duffel bag—just enough to get me out of Long Pine. I saved all the change from every errand they sent me on, and I’ve got about fifty bucks in cash. It should cover me for a day or two before I land a diner gig somewhere far away from here.

I’m leaving tonight.

It’s snowing again. It’s past midnight, and as I sneak down the flight of stairs, I can hear the winds raging outside. I hear the snow pummeling the house as well as ice flowers bloom over the windows. One candle remains burning in the living room on a solitary sill, its amber light dancing against the treachery awaiting outside.

It’s insane. It’s senseless. Yet I can’t think of a better way to keep the Avery brothers out of this new, terrifying chapter of an old mess that has cost me too much already. I don’t want my baby to be born in prison. I don’t care what I do with myself as long as I find a way to stay safe, healthy, and out of Jake’s and the cartel’s reach.

Looking around, I make sure no one sees or hears me as I carefully tiptoe toward the front door. I find Mitch’s car keys in a catchall bowl and fish them out. I’ll leave his truck somewhere easy to find and pray for his forgiveness. I’ll drive until I’m far enough from the ranch and close enough to a Greyhound station. Lord, have mercy on my soul for what I’m about to do.

The house is dark and quiet but for that little candle, so I unlock the door and sneak out into the crippling cold night. “Oh, shit,” I hiss as the icy wind smacks me right in the face.

I can’t see more than a few feet ahead. The winds rise thicker and louder, throwing heaps of snow everywhere. I remember wherethe trucks are, covered in thick tarps and secured to a sturdy grounded log.

I reach the bottom of the porch steps before the first doubt hits me. What if I can’t find Mitch’s truck in this nightmarish blizzard? What if I can’t start it? No, it’s a hybrid. It’s got enough electrical juice to get me out of here.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Darla’s voice startles me.

She’s on the edge of the porch, holding a rifle. It’s pointed right at me, and I don’t know what to do with myself.

I follow Darla back into the house where she directs me to drop my bag and sit in a chair by the fire. There’s a look of disappointment in her eyes as she calls the guys down.

“She was running away,” Darla says, her tone as biting as the blizzard wind still pummeling the house. “In the middle of that,” she adds, pointing at the window, She grabs the car keys from my hand and tosses them to Mitch. “She was gonna steal your truck apparently.”

“I can explain,” I whisper, barely able to look any of them in the eyes.

15

Mitch

“What’s happening here?” I ask.

My brothers are just as confused, each taking a seat on the sofa next to Melissa’s chair. Darla stays by the window, arms crossed and foot tapping furiously on the floor—reminding me of all the times she caught me stealing from the pantry. Same look. Same body language.

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