Page 3 of Can She Get Home for Christmas?

“No, we’re fine,” Patton responded.

The newcomer hesitated, as though he sensed that the answer wasn’t sincere.

Sam was ready for Patton to make his move. When she saw his arm jerk, she screamed, “Watch out.” Slinging her purse off her shoulder, she lashed out at the man beside her, striking him in the head.

“Bitch,” he shouted, as he fired his gun, getting off a couple of shots in the direction of the other vehicle.

Sam tried to throw herself down the hill where she’d gone off the road, but Patton grabbed her by the collar of her coat and kept her from escaping.

The stranger ducked low behind his open door. Then he was back inside, driving toward them. Patton hung on to Sam. Although she tried to dig her boots into the gravel of the shoulder, he dragged her along as he made for his vehicle.

He threw the back door open and tried to shove her inside, but sheer panic gave her strength. Reaching for the post beside the door, she wrapped her gloved hands around it and held on with a death grip.

As Patton shoved at her, she kicked backwards, pounding at his legs with her boots.

“Damn you,” he shouted, making one more try to get her into the SUV, but she kept her grip on the car’s exterior. With a curse, he shoved her aside and turned to the other car, shooting a volley of bullets that hit the windshield and the car’s body. Still the car kept coming, and Patton must have decided to cut his losses. She had already leaped away, hitting the ground and rolling partway down the hill. Patton gave her a furious look, but she was too far away for him to come after her and also make his escape. He leaped into the front seat, started his engine and roared off into the blizzard.

Sam lay on the ground, dazed and shaken, watching the vehicle’s taillights recede. But when she heard footsteps crunching across the gravel toward her, she struggled to sit up.

“Are you okay?” a deep voice asked.

“Mostly,” she answered. At least she was only a little banged up from the car crash. And she was still out here in the blizzard instead of in that monster’s car.

To prove she was fine, she struggled to her feet and almost fell over. The man who’d chased away the killer plowed down the hill toward her. She gazed up into dark eyes, and a face reddened by the cold. His gaze was as intense as Patton’s, but it held an entirely different quality. There was a clean masculinity about him. He looked like a guy who did an honest day’s work—as a carpenter or maybe a lumberjack. That last fanciful observation almost had her laughing at herself.

“Do I know you?” she asked in a trembling voice because she couldn’t shake a sense of familiarity.

“No,” he answered quickly.

“But I feel like I do. Or you know me.”

He answered with an indrawn breath.

Maybe her brain was finally cracking under the strain of the past half hour—sliding off the road, almost being scooped up by a man who was certainly planning to kill her.

When she swayed on her feet, the hero of the evening caught her in his arms, and pulled her close, steadying her. Closing her eyes, she clung to him, reassured by his strength and his solid body. He stroked his hands over her back and shoulders.

“You’re safe now.”

From murder. But she didn’t feel entirely safe on a deep personal level. Patton had pretended that he was going to rescue her. She couldn’t let go of the feeling that this man was pretending something, too.

Her hat had fallen off in the scuffle. Had he lowered his head and brushed his lips against her hair? Or was that purely her imagination?

Putting a little distance between them, she lifted her head and searched his face. “What’s your name?”

“Jax Warden.”

It wasn’t familiar.

“And you are?” he asked, his question sounding very formal, as though he was also trying to get some distance.

“Samantha Donovan. Sam for short.” She switched the focus back to him. “And what do you do?”

“I work for a security agency. I’ve been staking out this stretch of road, waiting for the bastard to do his thing again.”

“Oh.” The breath whooshed out of her lungs as she pulled away. “How do I know any of that’s true?”

He dug into his pocket, brought out his wallet and flipped it open to a plastic card issued by something called Decorah Security. It had his picture and his name.

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