Page 6 of Sugarplum

My throat went dry, and I had to consciously remember to breathe. "No. No, it can't be."

His perfectly shaped brow lifted. "Yep, I'm pretty sure that's my name."

"That just can't be your name."

"No? Then I guess I should call my mom and let her know she sewed the wrong name into my underwear when I was a kid."

I shook my head and looked around to see if my surroundings were real. Then with some trepidation, I glanced through the back window of my car to see if I was still inside slumped dead over the wheel. Nope. The car was empty. I was alive, it seemed. Only, it felt very much like I was in a dream or having an out of body experience of some kind. It had to just be a crazy coincidence.

"Holt, huh?"

"Yep." He turned around and headed to the snowmobile.

"As long as your name isn't Ziggy," I said more to myself than to him. But my words stopped him in his tracks. Literally. He turned back around and stomped toward me.

This time, I took a step back.

"What did you say?"

I shrugged nervously beneath the puffy down of my coat. "I just said as long as your name's not Ziggy." My head felt light again. "Is it?"

Without a word and with his green gaze glued to my face, he yanked the sleeve of his coat back along his arm. There, in black letters, running along the steel like cords of his forearm, were the letters Z-i-g-g-y.

"That's not possible," I said.

"You keep saying that, and yet, I'm pretty sure this tattoo has been there for at least two years. It's my racing nickname. I tend to zig when everyone else zags. Helps me win races." As he spoke, I felt the blood leave my head. I swayed on my feet again. I'd never fainted in my life, but I was sure I was just one head rush away from falling face first into the snow. Or into the enormous arms of the man in front of me.

Holt took hold of my arm. "You sure look unsteady. My friend owns that inn up on the hill behind us. She'll get you some coffee and something to eat. Let me take you there on my snowmobile. Then I'll come back here and dig out your car."

I looked back at the Victorian house gazing down at us from its snowy hilltop. I had been staring at it when my car went off the road. It was the first in a long string of coincidences that was making me think I really was in a dream.

I swallowed to relieve the dryness in my throat. "That might be a good idea. I'm definitely feeling a little shaky." I looked at the snowmobile and tried not to show fear. Apparently, I didn't try hard enough.

"I will drive so slow you'll be able to catch snowflakes on your tongue."

"Snowflakes?" I squinted up to the sky. Light crystals of ice were falling through the air. "It's snowing. Of course it is. What else? I'll take a quick break at the inn and then I should get back on the road before it's covered with snow."

Holt surveyed my car. "Maybe."

Before I could ask him what he meant, he motioned for me to follow him to his snowmobile. He lifted the helmet off the seat. The silver spikes glistened in the light reflecting off the snowy landscape.

"Mohawk," I said to myself.

He held it up to admire. "Like it? I had it custom made."

I was so dumbfounded, I didn't know how to respond.

"I'd put this on you, but I think you need the fresh air. Besides, it'll be a short, slow trip to the Silk Stocking Inn."

I stood again like a stunned statue blinking at him and trying to reason this all out. "Did you say Silk Stocking Inn?"

"Yeah, that's the name of Coco's inn. Hop on. She told me she was making sugarplum cupcakes today. Not sure what those are, but I guarantee you'll feel better once you try her baking."

"Sugarplum? Naturally."

Holt threw his long leg over and straddled the seat, cradling his helmet in front of him. He scooted forward. I placed my hands on the hard plastic shoulder guards and climbed on behind him.

He glanced back at me. "You never told me your name."

"I'm Jen. Or at least I was this morning when I woke up, but I'm just not sure about anything anymore."

He smiled and it was the first very real thing to happen since I’d plowed into the snow bank. It was spectacular and made me feel just a bit better. "Well, Jen, hold on."

Not wanting to wrap my arms around a complete stranger, I opted instead for the edge of the seat. Holt's back was as broad as any I'd ever seen. I decided that if there was ever a stranger in this world who I might wrap my arms around, if the opportunity called for it, it was the man driving the snowmobile in front of me.

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