LINDA CONRAD

      Born in Brazil to a commercial pilot and his wife, Linda Conrad was raised in south Florida and has been a dreamer and storyteller for as long as she can remember. After her mother’s death a few years ago, she moved from her then-home in Texas to Southern California and gave up her previous life as a stockbroker to rededicate herself to her first love—writing.

      Linda and her husband, along with a Siamese-mix cat named Sam, recently moved back to south Florida. She’s been writing contemporary romances for about five years and loves sharing them with readers. She enjoys growing roses, reading cozy mysteries and sexy romances and driving her little convertible in the sunshine. But most important, Linda loves learning about—and living with—passion.

      It makes Linda’s day to hear from readers. Visit with her at www.LindaConrad.com.

      To Alice Zyne, who’s become the mother of my heart.

       Thanks for taking me into the family and for believing in me!

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Epilogue

      One

      Unbelievable. It looked as if driving the next twenty miles to the State Line Truckstop was going to take more than three hours.

      Or rather, it would take that long if he didn’t get stuck in a snowdrift, and if the state police hadn’t closed all the side roads the same way they’d done with the interstate.

      Lance White Eagle Steele jacked up the heater in his newly purchased four-wheel-drive SUV, wishing for a thermos of hot coffee. He’d been so sure this two-lane road would be a good shortcut, getting him around a major section of snow-closed interstate high way. It had never occurred to him that it might take six times longer to navigate the icy backcountry roads through what had turned into a blinding blizzard.

      Well, at least he was on his way home. Thinking of the ranch and the warmth of the people waiting there for his return, he realized that another few hours or an extra day wouldn’t matter much. He would still be able to make it back to Montana in time for the annual Christmas Eve party.

      For a few frustrating moments back there at O’Hare, Lance had worried that he would be forced to miss Christmas on the ranch altogether. His bad timing was perfect. He’d come in from New Orleans and planned to make a connecting flight to Great Falls. Only, just as he’d arrived, all flights had been canceled due to the midwinter snowstorm.

      The bad news hadn’t stopped there. The entire upper Midwest was socked in and, according to weather forecasts, flights might continue to be delayed for days. Three waves of low-pressure systems were chasing each other, barreling across the skies and burying the Great Plains in mountains of snow.

      The crowds at O’Hare had begun to bed down on the floors, expecting to be stuck there for some time. But Lance had been determined to get home for that party.

      Patting his leather winter jacket at a spot above his breast pocket, he was heartened by the solid feel of the ring box he carried. Everything would be okay. He just knew it. Soon his whole life would be headed down the right course, just as he was now headed down the right roads to get himself home.

      It had been a fairly simple matter to convince the rental car agent to sell him a slightly used SUV so he could get out of the overcrowded airport and be on his way home. Good references and a really high credit line on his card worked wonders toward convincing the man that his paperwork for the sale could be faxed the week after next when government offices reopened after the holidays.

      Lance squinted out the windshield as the snowfall worsened, blocking his view of the poorly lit road ahead. He turned on the wipers, rubbed at the foggy glass and did his best. This was turning out to be one of the worst snowstorms he’d ever seen. And in ten years of traveling the rodeo circuits throughout the American West, he’d seen quite a few.

      Using the edge of his hand, he swiped another path across the inside of the fogged glass in front of him. The defroster and heater were working overtime, and Lance gave a silent prayer of thanks for being inside and warm instead of out there in the bitter December wind.

      He cleared enough of a spot to see just in time…giving him a last second opportunity to swerve and avoid hitting a bulky dark shape at the side of the road.

      “Damn,” he grumbled while he guided his wheels toward the other lane.

      As his car skidded past, the dark form became a human being hunched against the wind and carrying an oversize load wrapped in a blanket. Checking his rearview mirror, Lance spotted