The Christmas Comeback (A Chance Rapids Christmas #3)

Chapter 1

BECK

The wipers couldn't keep up with the snow.

When the lights of Chance Rapids finally appeared through the storm, I flexed my fingers and tried to shake some feeling back into them.

They had gone numb somewhere around the second avalanche tunnel.

Cell service was shit between Windswan and Chance Rapids.

I cranked up the only radio station that came through, and a twangy country version of Silent Night filled the car.

I'd told myself this would be a quick trip.

In and out. But I spent the last three hours driving in silence, regretting not downloading a playlist and trying not to think about the last time I'd driven this road.

Two more avalanche tunnels and one long scary hill were all that separated me from the road and bed at the Inn, and I couldn't wait to get there in one piece.

After fifteen years away, I'd turned into a small-town rookie.

I didn't have a blanket, the gas gauge read an eighth of a tank, and the only thing I had to drink was a twelve-pack of Coors Light.

Descending the final hill, lights from the outdoor skating rink welcomed me home. They'd kept it. I'd spent many nights under those lights, slamming pucks into the snowbank. Caught in a memory of chasing the puck across the lake, a sideways jerk of the SUV slipping snapped me back to reality.

Black ice.

"Whew." I shook my head. "That was close," I said to the empty seat beside me.

My relief was short-lived. Seconds later, the rear wheels lost traction.

"Fuck," I growled as the snowbanks on each side of the road flashed in the headlights.

Counter-steering, my efforts to correct the spin were useless.

Left side, right side, left side, right side.

I grimaced as the SUV slammed into the snowbank, jolting me forward.

The thud of the metal hitting hard snow was followed by another sound, this one more like an explosion.

My hands were torn from their death grip on the wheel by the force of the airbag as it smashed into my face.

Had the SUV come to a stop on the lake? I fumbled for the window button, hoping that if I did land on the lake, it was frozen enough to handle the weight of a full-sized Tahoe. Since it was early December, it could go either way.

The Stars are Brightly Shiiiiining.

My fingertips found the window button, and thankfully it was cold air that whooshed into the cab, not frigid lake water. As the airbag deflated, I got my bearings and realized I was damn lucky. I was in O'Malley's field, next to the lake.

Fall on Your Knees, O hear the angels' voices.

I jabbed at the volume button and turned off O Holy Night by some O'Hillbilly singer and shifted the SUV into park.

Dropping my head to the headrest, I took stock of the damage to my body.

My face felt like I'd been in a bench brawl.

"Ouch.” I winced as I touched my nose, my fingertip meeting the warmth of blood.

I pulled down the visor to inspect my face.

Next, I surveyed the situation. The car was running, my headlights shone over the field, and the dirt road to the hot springs was in sight.

These SUVs were meant for shit like this.

Bob Seger's Like a Rock ran through my mind as I shifted into drive.

It was going to be easy. Leave a set of tire tracks across O'Malley's field and blast onto the logging road.

The engine revved, but my stunt driving dreams were shattered when nothing happened.

I was stuck. I knew it. The SUV probably knew it, but my ego wasn't ready to give up.

Throwing the car into reverse, I pressed the accelerator, and the car inched backward, then stopped.

I tried for another ten minutes, but the truck wouldn't budge.

I'd have to walk the last mile into town and hope that I didn't freeze on the way.

I pulled the handle and pushed on the door, gently at first. Grunting, I leaned all of my two hundred and fifteen pounds against the door.

After two attempts, I was able to get it open about a foot, almost wide enough for me to squeeze out.

The size that provided me with an advantage on the ice now trapped me inside the car.

I was going to have to go out the window.

A pair of eyes glinted at me. Then another, then what felt like hundreds of eyeballs stared me down from the field.

Mule deer. Of course, there was always a herd of them at the edge of town.

But how had I not noticed them before? That's when I realized a second set of headlights was shining into the field.

Relief washed over me. I hoped it was a tow truck.

Shivering, I reached into the back seat for my coat, but in the crash it must've fallen onto the floor.

My leather bag with my laptop and all of the real estate contracts had also disappeared from sight. If I was going to abandon the car, I had to find that confidential information and bring it with me.

Chance Rapids was the last stop on my business trip, and my goal of getting in and out of my hometown before running into anyone from my past was disappearing as fast as the hood of my car under the falling snow.

A flashlight glinted in my side mirror.

I shouted out the window, "I can't open the door."

"Are you alright?" It was a woman's voice.

"I'm fine, just a little busted up from the airbag."

The flashlight got closer. "Don't get out. You're stuck pretty good, but I think I can yank you out. I'll be right back. Stay where you are." Her clipped orders had an air of authority. Was she a cop?

I turned in my seat to look out the rear window. I'd ended up about ten feet from the road. A pickup truck sat idling behind me. Its redneck light-bar lit up the field like it was morning.

It wasn't a tow truck, and the woman wasn't a cop. Her silhouette was straight out of a horror movie. Antlers arced from the top of her head, and the steel hook on the tow rope glinted in the truck lights as it swung from her hand.

Was this a Misery situation? Was my rescuer, the woman with the authoritative voice and demonic-looking headpiece, going to take me back to her cabin in the woods and do… whatever with me?

I needed to get out of the car. "Let me climb out the window and help you."

"Don't be ridiculous," Antler Lady shouted.

As the woman walked in my tire tracks, she held her arms out from her lumberjack physique like she was on a tightrope. A clanking sound was followed by two knocks on the rear of the SUV. "Reverse when you feel the pull. But gently."

I followed Mrs. Paul Bunyon's orders, and the SUV shifted to the left. With the accelerator pressed lightly, snow crunched and scraped the undercarriage as the truck inched backwards.

The second the wheels settled on the pavement, I got out, my leather-soled shoes slipping on the shoulder. I shuffled along the icy road, noting the scratches on the side of the sleek back SUV. Other than the airbag, the damage didn't seem to be that bad.

The lady was on her knees by the bumper, unhooking the rope, which was attached to a winch system on the front of her truck. It wasn't a tow truck, but her setup was almost as good.

"Thank you." I rubbed my hands together and blew warm air onto them. "Let me get that."

She stood, the hook in her hand. "It's okay, I got it."

In the light of her truck's bush lights, the antlers weren't so scary at all. They were made of brown felt and had candy canes and gold bells stitched on them. Their tiny bells tinkled as she worked.

My Paul Bunyon assessment was dramatic. It was impossible to tell what she looked like beneath the knee-length down coat that looked more like a sleeping bag meant for minus forty.

Its hem brushed the top of big black winter boots, the kind my dad used to wear when he cleared the snow from the driveway.

When she finally looked at me, my stomach clenched. The terrifying part of her wasn't her outfit. It was her eyes. I knew them well.

Of all the people to stop and rescue me from the side of the road, why did it have to be her?

"Clara." I hadn’t said her name in years.

She froze, the tow rope in her hand, and for a second I thought she might hit me with it.

"Beckett."

As strange as it felt saying her name, hearing mine in her voice was almost foreign. She never called me Beckett. It was always Beck, or sometimes even Shepherd, like half the town and all the guys on the hockey team.

Would she have pulled over if she knew it was me in the ditch? Shivering, I knew the answer. No chance in hell. "Thanks for stopping to help me."

Clara's face remained poker straight. "Hold this." She thrust the hook into my hands. "Keep the line taut." The hinge on her truck door creaked as she leaned inside to operate the winch, its whirr drowned out by the rumble of her truck's diesel engine. Snow fell from the line as it retracted.

"That's good." I shouted as the hook hit the winch housing.

Clara came to inspect the rope. Satisfied that I hadn't messed up her instructions, she brushed her brown suede work gloves together. "You should be able to drive it to Bob Lumber's garage. He can check it over and get that airbag sorted out."

"Bob's still around?" Bob Lumber was old when I was a teenager.

The blank expression on her face from earlier was now easy to read. Contempt. She kept her gaze trained on the field behind me.

"So what? Are you back in town now?" There was a bite in her voice.

Her long brown hair had been cut short, its ends flicked beneath candy cane earrings. Short hair suited her, but my focus was drawn to her eyes, which were narrowed.

"I'm here on business for a few days." I rested my hand above the glowing taillights of the SUV. "Although, maybe longer now…"

"Business?" The bells jingled as she opened the door to her truck.

"Yeah, I—"

"Welcome back to Chance Rapids, Beckett. Don't touch your brakes on the hill."

"Clara, wait—"

She hopped in the cab. The truck fishtailed, throwing beads of icy snow from its tires as she drove away.

Covered in snow, I watched her taillights disappear. I felt like a clown, but instead of big red shoes, mine were Italian leather, and frozen solid. I brushed off the snow shrapnel from my sweater. So far my return home had been a disaster. Was it too late to turn around and go back to the city?

No. Chance Rapids was my boss's first choice, and I was going to get it for him.

Reminded of my mission, I shook off the crash and steered the Tahoe towards the quaint town.

At night, the mountain used to loom over town like a dark shadow.

Now lights from snowcats grooming the slopes dotted the landscape like stars, and the glow from the new village lit up its base.

Welcome to Chance Rapids, where some things had changed, and that was good for my boss and my briefcase full of real estate proposals. And where some things stayed the same. Like the fact that Clara Dalton still hated my guts.