Page 18 of Holiday Power Play

"No," she says sternly. “Not usually.”

"Well, then, what needs to change?" I genuinely ask.

She adjusts in her seat again, this time, her body language opens up to me. I welcome the small gesture.

"It starts by not celebrating poor behavior," she says matter-of-factly, bringing her coffee cup to her lips and taking a sip. "By promoting athletes who earn their merits. And are true role models for the next generation. Not just turning a blind eye because someone happens to have a nice smile and washboard abs."

I look down at my midsection. "You think I have a nice smile and washboard abs?" I bait her.

She stops the coffee cup coming up to her mouth. "I think you're very attractive," she states, and I almost slam on the breaks at her admission. "Until you go and open your mouth," she adds, studying me before she takes another sip, her lips splitting in a pleased smile.

I roll my eyes and turn the volume back up but she reaches for the knob to change the station.

"What? Christmas music too cheerful for a Grinch?"

"Not really in the spirit," she says dryly.

"You don't say," I glance at her as she wriggles out of her sweatshirt. This time, the t-shirt underneath clings to it as she tries to slip it off, and I catch a glimpse of her midsection. She's so fit. Copper skin taut over muscles that show this woman knows hard work.

I'm so captivated by the sight that I don't see when the traffic comes to a complete stop ahead of us.

Lana frees herself from her sweatshirt prison, and the second her eyes take in the cars ahead, she yells, "Stop!"

I react just before I connect with the back of a black pickup truck. Mick riles from his slumber, muttering incomprehensible words as he shoots up from his resting position.

"Shit!" I breathe out as the entire vehicle jolts to a stop. I don't even realize when my arm instinctively shoots out to protect her from the impending hit, cupping a handful of her tender breast.

We all catch our breaths as the adrenaline hits. Our eyes meet briefly before Mick says, "You wanna take your hands off my sister's chest there, Sinc?"

She doesn't say anything; she just watches me as I snatch my hand away. "I'm so sorry," I rush out.

She puts a hand out, dismissing me as she takes in the scene around us. "What the hell is this?"

We hear distant honking at the sound of sirens down the road.

"Might be an accident." I open my car door and step out to get a good look. The truck in front of me doesn't have anybody in it, the driver seems to be approaching from ahead.

"Hey!" I call out to him. "You know what's going on?"

He walks up to our car–an older man wearing buffalo print, boots, and a ball cap. "Cops are turning around traffic. There's an accident with a few 18-wheelers up ahead. Looks pretty bad."

"Damn." I look around as vehicles veer off the main highway and cross the grass to turn around. I wave the guy a thank you and slip back into my seat. "Looks like we gotta take a detour."

"Great," Lana rasps.

Mick's already pulling up an app to help us find another direction. "Here." He hands me his phone, and we pull away from the back-to-back traffic.

"Holly Ridge," Mick sounds out as we pass an old wooden sign on the side of the road covered in Christmas lights.

I've been driving for hours, and a heavy snowfall is making it harder to see the road in front of us. I lean in to see better as Lana messes with the settings on the windshield to help the snow melt faster.

"This isn't looking too good," she whispers, mostly to herself.

Holly Ridge looks like a small, quiet town at the base of a mountain. It's one of those places with tiny shops wafting the smell of warm cinnamon and baked goods. The people we pass walking the streets are bundled up in coats and scarves, and it's clear we're not in Texas anymore. We're also nowhere near Breckenridge yet, with hours still to go.

"What a storybook town," Mick says, sitting up and watching the scenery pass us slowly.

"I think we should stop and get gas," I say.

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