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The truck rumbled off the gravel part of the drive, and the tires hit smooth pavement. His headlights bounced along the fence that divided the road from the acres of his property. With no streetlights, it was kind of a lonely feeling to be driving with only the headlights to show the way. Above, the moon was just a thin arc of ghostly silver.
Maybe, just maybe, Jerry would be an expert Christmas tree decorator, too. Roman sure needed the help.
Mia’s voice came from the back seat again. “Do you think Jerry can make apple pie like Mommy?”
The pain wasn’t as instant anymore, nor as sharp. But it was always there, like a dull ache, and when Mia talked about her mom, the pressure in his chest increased. “I guess we can ask him,” Roman said, “but I’ll bet Ms. Prosper can make pies.”
“Ms. Prosper? Is that Jerry’s girlfriend?”
Roman chuckled. “No, sweetie, she’s the chef who’s coming tonight. She’s a fabulous cook, and we can certainly ask her about apple pies.” His mouth was watering now. Which was a better physical symptom than an aching heart and a knotted stomach. Liz hadn’t enjoyed cooking that much, but making desserts was something she’d loved. Especially pies.
Since apple was his favorite, and Mia’s, that was pretty much what she made for every holiday and special occasion.
Would it be a good thing, or just another painful memory triggered, if Cara Prosper did make pies?
They reached town and the strip of shops and cafés. As it turned out, there were two boxes of blue tree lights in the entire store, so Roman snatched them up, hoping they’d be enough.
As they walked out of the store, sack in hand, Mia pointed to the sky. “Look, Daddy. Snow!”
Roman lifted his chin. The exterior lights of the store highlighted the slow, tumbling white flakes. “Wow, you’re right. Looks like we’re going to have a white Christmas after all.”
Mia punched a fist in the air and shouted, “Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!”
Roman laughed. “Come on, let’s get back to the ranch before this stuff collects on the road.” Driving in snow wasn’t his thing, even with a sturdy truck.
By the time they were halfway to the ranch, the snow had gone from soft flakes to a driving blizzard. Roman slowed way down and turned on the wipers to full power. The visibility was rough, though, since the headlights just seemed to light up the falling snow and nothing of the road.
“Sheesh,” he muttered under his breath. If only he had another pair of car lights to follow. Soon, he should arrive at the edge of his property, and at least the fence would stand out, right?
Then, just as if he’d conjured it up, a car appeared in front of them, red brake lights on. It wasn’t moving, though, and Roman slammed on his brakes.
Mia screeched, and Roman might have yelled, too. His heart felt like it had been wrenched out of his chest, and the one thought tumbling through his mind was, please stop in time.
They did, with inches to spare, although it was a bit hard to know since the snow was practically blinding now.
“Are you okay, Mia?” Roman asked, his throat tight with emotion and fear as he looked back at her.
She nodded solemnly. “Yes.” Her whisper told Roman that she’d been frightened, too.
“I’m going to get out and check if that car needs help, okay?” he continued, his heart rate finally slowing a bit. “Can you stay in the truck for a minute?”
She nodded again, her eyes still wide.
Roman didn’t really want to leave her, but what if the car in front of him was dealing with some sort of emergency? He turned up his collar and opened the driver’s side door. Then he hopped out. The ground was slippery, and he almost went down since he wasn’t prepared for that. Then he moved around the front of his truck and toward the car. There were already a couple inches of snow on its roof and trunk.
Two people were in it—at least that he could see—and the engine was turned off. Strange.
Roman’s pulse skittered as he reached the driver’s side and knocked on the window.
The door cracked open instead of the window rolling down. “Oh, thank you, Triple A. That was fast!”
Roman stared down at a man whose goatee was impeccable, and his round, rose-toned glasses somehow worked with his narrow face. “I’m not Triple A. I live just up the road.” He glanced toward the woman in the passenger seat. She wore a beanie pulled low and what looked like three layers of jackets. “Everything okay? Did your car break down?”
“Dang rental,” the man continued. “We’re literally in the middle of nowhere, and the car just died.”
It was at that moment that Roman realized he recognized the woman, as bundled up as she was. “Cara Prosper?” Then he realized the man with the goatee must be Jerry—even though Roman hadn’t seen him in person before.
“I’m Roman De Marco,” he said. “Let’s get this car off the road, and I’ll take you the rest of the way to my ranch.”
