Snow Kisses with a Cowboy (A Cowboy for Christmas #8)
Chapter One
Everlee
My hands grip the steering wheel so tightly my fingers ache.
The snow pelts down on the road, which I hope is still in front of me because I can no longer see it.
I’ve been white-knuckling it for the past twenty miles or so.
What started as a few flurries two hours ago has become multiple feet of snow and whiteout conditions.
I don’t think I’ve gone more than ten miles in the last hour.
Snow was expected but a full on blizzard hadn’t been forecasted.
I thought I had left early enough to make it before the worst of the snowfall, but by the time it got thick enough for me to question being out in these conditions, I was beyond the point of turning around.
It was closer to keep going to my destination.
I’m not a fan of driving in the snow in the first place, so this is terrifying. Thankfully, my little SUV has snow tires, but they can only do so much. With the way the snow is piling up, I’m worried about making it to my friend Becca’s.
It had sounded like such a great idea to spend Christmas with my best friends from college in the mountains, but now I’m questioning everything. Not that I haven’t already been questioning things more times than I can count in the last few months, but now more than ever.
The urge to rub my belly, which has become almost a tic at this point, is strong.
Only the fear of not keeping a tight hold of the steering wheel stops me.
My fingers are so stiff it’ll probably take a crowbar to unwrap them.
The anxiety, which has been plaguing me since the two pink lines showed up almost as soon as I peed on the stick, is now at an all-time high given the conditions.
My mind, though, refuses to stay on the treacherous road.
Instead, images of what having a baby might be like scroll through my head like the old-school sideshow film carousel my grandparents used to show us of my mom when she was young.
As much as I’m afraid of what the future holds for me and this little one, there’s also a bit of excitement at the prospect of becoming a mother and having a family again.
I’ve been alone since my parents passed away when I was only eight.
I was their only child and a surprise in their forties, long after they had given up on ever having children.
The thought brings the inevitable sadness that they’ll never get to meet their grandchild.
It also reminds me I will have to be everything to this child as its only family.
I suppose that’s what I get for feeling sorry for myself and going out to drink my problems away, only to go home with a stranger.
A stranger who then slammed the door in my face when I showed up two months later to deliver the news he was going to be a father.
I refuse to waste any more time on the jackass and instead focus on the baby.
Everything happens for a reason, as they say. Being thirty-six and single, I was starting to think a family might not be in the cards for me, but now I’m creating one on my own. If I can only make it through this storm in one piece to do just that.
As if the thought alone conjured up trouble, I hit a patch of ice and the wheels begin to slide. Attempting to steer into the skid like I was taught does nothing. All I can do is brace myself because I’m only along for the ride now and no longer in control.
My heart races as the car spins. It seems to happen in slow motion and fast forward at the same time. Before I know it, the ride is over with a jolt as my car abruptly comes to a stop in the ditch. Thankfully, the deep snow cushioned the impact, so it wasn’t nearly as bad as it could have been.
From the tilted angle, there is no way I’m getting out of here without help. Reaching over for my purse on the passenger seat, I dig into the luggage-sized tan canvas tote for my phone. I deflate like a balloon popped with a pin when I see there’s no service.
I chew on my lip as I peer out the window, contemplating my options.
There’s no telling how long this storm is going to last. It’s late afternoon.
Staying here overnight would lead to me freezing to death, but leaving the shelter of my vehicle could lead to freezing even sooner.
Either way, I’m an icicle by tomorrow. One just happens sooner than the other.
That’s when I realize the car hit a fence, and not just a fence but one with a red mailbox attached to it peeking out of the snow, which means there has to be a house nearby.
From the way the fence runs, it looks like I’m at a corner, so if I follow the line running perpendicular to the road, there should be a driveway.
There’s only one way to find out. I bundle up in my coat and hat, grab my bag, and climb out into the snow, where I immediately sink down to my knees. Blowing out a breath, I trudge my way over to the fence. I stay next to it, using it as a guide, and cross my fingers I’m doing the right thing.