Page 8 of Can She Get Home for Christmas?

She was quiet, and despite the conversation they’d been having, he couldn’t stop himself from thinking about holding her in his arms. He’d pictured it more than once when he’d come out of his delta state, and now here she was, close enough to touch. He’d been wound up with her for weeks. But as far as she was concerned, he was just a PI doing a job.

Jax was yanked back to reality when he heard a thumping noise, then a muffled scream.

Chapter 4

Jax stopped in his tracks and whirled. Peering through the falling flakes, he saw Sam sprawled in the snow several feet behind him.

His heart leaped into his throat as he dropped the bags he was holding and came down beside her on the frozen ground.

“Sam, what happened, Sam?” he demanded, fighting not to shout in case anyone was around to listen.

When she struggled to right herself, he helped her to a sitting position. “What happened?” he asked again.

She looked up at him, her expression slightly dazed. “I was following you through the snow. Then I stumbled on something. Maybe it was a tree root.”

He felt under the layer of snow and found something. It wasn’t a root but a branch wedged against a tree trunk. He pulled it up, inspecting it. It was about an inch and a half in diameter and three feet long.

“A branch,” he answered, his hand playing with the thing. “Someone cut off the side shoots.

“How did it get there?”

“It looks like it was put there,” he muttered, not liking the implications.

“Why?”

That was the sixty-four thousand dollar question. He’d been taking this route back and forth from his cabin. He’d been super careful. But what if someone noticed and thought to trip him up? Lucky it was just a tree branch and not an animal trap. But that would have been hard to hide—even in the snow.

“Why?” she asked again.

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly, hating this sudden surprise.

If someone didn’t want him out here, it could be a property owner thinking to trip up a trespasser. But what if it was the killer?

He clenched his fists, remembering things he’d sensed in the past few days. Nothing he could prove. But he’d had the uneasy feeling that someone else had been around the cabin. He’d been extra careful. Now he hated the idea of taking Samantha there. But he had no choice. And maybe the snowstorm would help protect them.

He made a dismissive sound.

“What?”

“I’m getting into conspiracy theories, and maybe someone just tossed away a walking stick.”

She studied his face. “But you don’t think it’s innocent.”

“I hope it is,” he answered, when he was really wondering if Sam had tripped on some kind of silent alarm.

“What?” she asked, still studying his expression.

“Just considering the possibilities.”

If he’d had any other alternative, he would have retraced their steps and headed away from his cabin. But the storm had made escape impossible. He was cold. Probably Sam was colder. He had to get her into shelter before she ended up with hypothermia or frostbite.

“Can you stand?” he asked, praying that she hadn’t turned her ankle—or worse. Reaching out, he helped her up and watched her test her footing.

“I’m good.”

“You’ve already taken a beating tonight,” he muttered.

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