Chapter 13
~ Sammie ~
We burst back toward the ranch house, with me driving the snowmobile and Will riding. One of the sisters tows a huge fir tree—I forget which species, but they have a ton of trees up there, and it wasn’t easy picking just one.
I rev the engine and accelerate toward the snowdrift in front of the house. “Get ready. I’m going to do donuts.”
I love showing off, and after being locked up for three years, being outdoors, riding fast and breathing fresh air is like heaven for me.
We’re whooping and shouting, and spinning around so fast I’m feeling dizzy, when out of the corner of my eye, I spot a pair of horses chasing us.
“Watch out!” Will shouts, hugging me tight.
I must have hit a bump, because next thing, I’m flying through the air and then rolling down a snowbank, laughing all the way.
Will lands next to me, and he’s laughing too. Before I can get up, one of the huskies pounces over me, barking and jumping. The other one chases the horses, and I spot the snowmobile turned over on its side.
I should get back to the ranch, but I’m having so much fun lying in the snow. I’ve never made snow angels before, so I wave my arms and legs up and down, then lie still, letting the bright sunlight heat up my face.
This is my perfect Christmas holiday, and it’s starting off with a bang. I’ve never been surrounded by so much nature—trees, mountains, frozen rivers, blue sky, horses, dogs, and an entire ranch surrounded by wilderness.
I’m not sure I want to go home.
And then, there’s the handsome teenager who thinks I’m his Christmas angel. Ha, if he only knew.
“You having fun?” He rolls over against me.
“Hey, you’re messing up my snow angel. I want to get up and take a picture.”
“Pictures can wait.” He leans over, partially on top of me, and angles my head back so he can kiss me.
This is kind of romantic, for a teenager, but since I grew up in the big city and have never been kissed in the snow, I lie back and let him kiss me.
Ewww… I should have known he’d want some tongue, but I clamp my lips shut and squirm away. “My daddy won’t like you doing this.”
A shadow falls over us—a large shadow, and Braden says. “You’re dang right. What do you two think you’re doing?”
Will, to his credit, flops on his back and waves his arms and legs. “Making Santa and Mrs. Claus snow angels.”
Even Braden has to laugh at that. “Well, you’re too young to be Mr. and Mrs. Santa Claus. How was the Christmas tree hunting?”
“We lost the bow saw,” I gasp, sitting up. “So, Will shot the tree.”
“Shot the tree? With what?” Braden grabs my hand and helps me to my feet.
“Susanna has a 12-gauge Mossberg shotgun,” Will says. “She let me pull the trigger.”
“Should have been me,” I counter, bumping him with my shoulder.
“You didn’t have your father’s permission,” he jeers in a teasing voice. “I passed gun safety training.”
“Daddy?” I say in a whiny voice. “Can I take gun safety classes? I want a shotgun just like Susanna has.”
“It’s such a clear day,” Will says. “Maybe we can shoot clay pigeons.”
Braden frowns at me, looking stern, but not quite able to suppress a grin. “Young lady, no shooting until you’ve paid off the damages to that fender bender.”
What fender bender?
