Page 12 of Santa's Girl
And then, a single word:
“No.”
I blinked. “No? What do you mean, no?”
Finally, he flicked his gaze toward me, just for a second. Dark eyes, unreadable. Then back to the snow.
“You heard me.”
“So this is a kidnapping?” I asked, lifting my brows.
His eyes flicked over me—quick, assessing—taking in my thin frame bundled under layers of puffed-up coat, hat askew, scarf half-frozen.
“Definitely not,” he said flatly.
The words stung more than they should’ve. Not that I wanted to be kidnapped—but the fact that he wasn’t even remotely attracted? A little insulting. A little relieving. And altogether confusing.
I pressed my lips together. Mess. Total hot mess. That was me.
“Well, then, where are we going?” I demanded.
“My cabin,” he said, voice final, no room for debate.
I opened my mouth to argue—then froze as headlights flared in the opposite lane. A sedan, creeping down the mountain, suddenly fishtailed hard. Metal screamed as it slid off the road and into a shallow ditch.
I shivered, watching it.
He didn’t slow. Didn’t stop. Just kept driving, jaw locked, hands steady on the wheel.
“We should help them,” I blurted, twisting in my seat to look back at the car in the ditch. Headlights glared through the snow like panicked eyes.
His hands never loosened on the wheel. “Can’t.”
I whipped back around. “Can’t? What do you meancan’t?”
“Means we’ll end up in the same damn spot,” he said, voice low and gruff. “One truck on black ice is enough. I don’t make a habit of doubling down on stupid.”
My mouth fell open. “They could be hurt.”
“They’re not.” His gaze stayed on the road, unflinching. “Saw ’em climb out. They’ll call for help. Or hike it down the mountain if they’re desperate.”
My stomach twisted. The way he said it—like it was fact, carved in stone—made me want to scream.
Cold. Heartless. And yet… the wheel never wavered under his grip, even as the storm thickened around us.
I hugged my arms tighter around myself, watching the blur of snow swallow the road ahead. The glow I’d carried with me—Christmas music, cocoa, tinsel dreams—it all felt like it had popped, leaving me flat and hollow.
My fingers shook as I pulled out my phone, thumb flying across the screen.Text Aunt Margie. Tell her what happened.
No bars. Not even a flicker.
“Dammit,” I muttered, holding the phone up higher like that would magically pull signal out of thin air.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his head tilt. “No signal up this part of the mountain,” he grunted.
Of course not. My one lifeline, gone.
I slid the phone back into my pocket, trying to keep my breathing even. Then it hit me. “Wait—I never even asked…” I glanced at him, cheeks heating. “What’s your name?”
