spun on the road. A half second before she would have been hit, she gained enough traction to move her car past the vehicle, missing it by mere inches.
And sending her directly toward the ditch. This time Heather slammed her foot on the brake and madly turned the steering wheel.
But with a crash and a heavy thud, the side of her car slammed into the bank of old spring snow. The impact spun her around, so that the front of her vehicle plowed into the bank.
Dazed and confused, Heather sat without moving for a moment, the whine of her engine and the ringing in her ears the only sounds she heard.
A heavy ache radiated from her shoulder, across her chest and up her neck, surprising in its intensity. For a stunned moment Heather wondered if the airbag had even done its job, but it lay deflated across her lap, proof that it had, in fact, deployed.
Hands still clenched around the steering wheel, she sucked in another breath and coughed on an exhalation. Her arms shook and her legs felt suddenly rubbery.
She had come within inches of a serious accident.
Her heartbeat thundered in her ears as reaction set in. Her legs were trembling now, adrenaline being replaced by a chill coursing through her body as her mind called up images of twisted steel and horrible injuries.
She shook the thoughts off. She couldn’t allow herself to think of what-ifs. She hadn’t hit the truck head-on. She had avoided a collision that would have had far worse consequences.
As she laid her head back on the headrest, trying to pull herself together, tattered prayers fluttered through her mind.
Thank You, Lord. Forgive me, Lord.
The same feeble petitions she had sent heavenward for the past few years. That was all she’d been capable of in the aftermath of the mess that was her married life with her ex-husband, Mitch.
An insistent banging on her door made her jump, adding to the piercing pain in Heather’s head.
“You okay in there?”
The muffled voice outside the car and the continued thumping made her wince again as she painstakingly found the clip for the seat belt, then released it. But when she tried to open the door, it wouldn’t budge.
She didn’t need this, she thought, allowing herself a moment of self-pity. Stuck in the ditch only five miles from home, with a cell phone that was out of juice and some stranger banging on the window.
Then she pulled herself together. City life may have softened her, her ex-husband may have tried to beat her down, but this wasn’t her first rodeo. She was Montana born and bred, and had once been a championship barrel racer. She had been thrown off horses, chased by ornery cows and she’d raced across rodeo arenas on an out-of-control horse. As her father always said, you can take the girl out of the country but you can’t take the country out of the girl.
So she took a deep breath, turned in her seat, lifted her booted foot and gave the door a mighty kick.
Heather wished she had her sturdy riding boots on instead of these flimsy, high-heeled ones. But she created an opening and, grabbing her purse, slithered through it.
Her first step was onto the icy snow, and she would have stumbled forward had not the man outside her car caught her by the arm.
She found her balance, then looked up at her would-be rescuer.
And her heart plunged.
John Argall.
Son of the Bannisters’ foreman and the man she had broken up with to move to New York. One of the people she had most dreaded seeing on her return to Refuge Ranch.
His blue eyes, fringed by thick lashes, stared down at her. “Hello, stranger,” he said, but his voice, usually warm and friendly, was as cold as the snow under her feet.
Not that she blamed him. She was the one who had broken up with him. Who had ignored his warnings about Mitch and his big plans. Heather could have saved herself a world of hurt and regret had she listened to him. Had she not impulsively chased after what she’d thought would solve her problem.
Just like her biological mother always did.
“Hello, John,” was all Heather could say, pushing the traitorous thought back. She hadn’t returned to Refuge Ranch to indulge in might-have-beens. She was here only to help plan a bridal shower for her sister, Keira—an event Heather wouldn’t be able to attend. She was off to Seattle to interview for an important job. A step in a new direction. Her debts were finally paid, her obligations fulfilled and she was ready to start a future on her own, free from any ties or romantic entanglements. She had made enough bad decisions the past few years; she was ready to look ahead.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Better than my car.”
“Good to know, but you’re right about your vehicle.” He turned back to her car, buried up to the hood in the snowdrift. “Why don’t you get into my truck and warm up while I find a tow rope?”
“I can help,” she said, lifting her chin, her tone holding a defiant edge. Anger had been her defense the past few years; she deployed it now.
His eyes grazed over her knee-high boots, short skirt and thin wool jacket with its pleats and tiny buttons. She knew the designer clothes were more suited for the fashion runway than Montana spring weather, but they were the only type of clothes she had after years of living in New York. “You’ll just fall in those heels,” he said, with a deprecating tone that stung. “Besides, I wouldn’t mind if you would check on my daughter, Adana. She’s in the truck all by herself.”
Heather couldn’t stop the clench in her stomach as she looked back at John’s truck, parked to one side of the road. The engine was still running, exhaust wreathing around the cab. Through the fogged-up window she could see a little girl sitting in a car seat. From the occasional notes and texts from her family, she had heard about John’s marriage to her old friend Sandy, and the birth of his little girl, two years ago, two days before Sandy died of internal hemorrhaging.
The toddler’s head bounced back and forth, the bright pink pom-pom on her winter hat bobbing with each movement, as if she was dancing in her seat. She waved mittened hands as she caught John and Heather looking at her.
John’s daughter. Sandy’s little girl.
Heather swallowed down her apprehension, then gave him a cautious smile, buying herself a few more moments. “By the way, I never had a chance to tell you that I was sorry to hear about Sandy’s death. I know it was almost two years ago, but...well...I’m still sorry. It must have been hard for you.”
John just looked at her, his expression unchanging. If anything, the set of his jaw seemed more grim. “Yeah. It was, but like you said, it was a while ago. We’re coping.”
His harsh tone cut, but Heather knew she didn’t deserve anything more. She should have written or called. Sandy had been a dear friend to her, but she’d been dealing with her own problems at the time. Still, in spite of Heather’s history with John, she’d known she’d owed her childhood friend the courtesy of sending him a sympathy card.
“Sandy was a good person, and
