Page 9 of Santa's Girl
On instinct, I slammed the brakes.
The tires skidded. The car spun once, twice—white swirling all around me—and then came the sickeningthudas I plowed into a bank of snow.
Everything went still except the sound of my own heartbeat.
4
BEAR
The sight of the little car jammed sideways into a bank of snow hit me like a gut punch.
Worse was the woman—petite, bundled up, and trying in vain to shove the damn thing free. Every push just buried the tires deeper.
“The fuck…” I muttered, yanking my F-250 to the shoulder.
Before I could kill the engine, I spotted the glow of headlights coming down the mountain. A semi. Fast.
I threw my door open and hit the ground running, boots pounding through the snow. The air was sharp enough to cut, and my pulse was already hammering.
She had earbuds in—head down, Mariah Carey’s voice practically visible in the cold air—and she didn’t hear the truck’s air brakes scream. Didn’t hear me, either.
“Move!” I roared.
Nothing.
The semi’s tires hit a slick patch, the whole rig yawing left before jerking hard back right.
I didn’t think—just closed the distance, grabbed her around the waist, and took us both to the ground in the snow.
We rolled once, twice, my arm cradling her head as the semi blasted past, horn blaring, barely missing her car by a hair before thundering down the rest of the curve.
For a long second, all I could hear was my own ragged breathing. Hers, too—fast and shocked under me.
I pushed up onto my knees, snow sliding off my jacket. My pulse was still trying to punch its way out of my chest.
For a split second, the image of that semi fishtailing on the mountain twisted into something else—headlights in the snow, the skid of tires, the sick crunch of metal. My mama’s voice in my head. My brother’s face as he waved before walking away the last time I saw him alive… then the teddy bear on his casket, white roses on Mama’s.
I sucked in a breath, hard, and shoved it all back where it belonged.
The woman sat up, brushing snow out of her hair. Big brown eyes blinked up at me, wide and startled.
“What the hell were you thinking?” I barked. “You tryin’ to get yourself killed out here?”
She opened her mouth, shut it, then yanked an earbud free. “Excuse me?”
“You didn’t hear me yelling? Or the truck?”
“I—no! I was—” She gestured at the car, cheeks flushed pink from the cold. “It’s stuck.”
“Yeah, sweetheart, I can see that.” My voice was still rough from the adrenaline, the old ghosts clawing at my ribs.
I stood, offered her a hand. “You’re lucky I came along when I did. Another half-second and you’d be under that rig.”
She hesitated, then took my hand.
Small, cold fingers slid into mine, and for a heartbeat I didn’t feel the snow, or the wind, or the past pressing in. Just her.
She let me haul her up off the snowbank, and half way toward the cab of my warm truck. She pulled back, arms wrapped tightaround herself. She was shaking—cold, scared, and, yeah, a little pissed at me for yelling like I’d dragged her out by the hair.
