Page 3
I have sworn off men for at least forty minutes. I deserve recognition for the effort, especially after hearing what my fiancé said to his best man on the day we’re supposed to commit our futures to each other.
Oh well. My vagina can remain loyal to the cause of appreciating good looking men.
Besides, this man looks like he could throw Brett into a snowbank with one hand. That's a good thing, right?
“Are you hurt?” the stranger asks, stopping at a respectable distance.
His voice is deep and calm, which seems wildly inappropriate coming from a man wearing a Christmas tree on his forehead.
“No.”
He looks at the buried rear wheel. Then at my missing shoe. Then at the arm still partially trapped inside my dress.
“Are you sure?”
"Yep." I nod emphatically. “Everything is under control.”
His gaze returns to mine and wow. The full force of those blue eyes hits me for the first time.
They’re vivid and sharp, framed beneath dark brows that make the color appear even brighter against his tanned skin. But it’s the way he holds my stare that steals the cold air from my lungs.
It's steady and… interested. But yes, I'm also aware of the breast I have just shoved back into my dress. That could well explain his interest.
“Is this what control normally looks like?” he says.
I narrow my eyes. “I’m experiencing a brief wardrobe disagreement.”
“Looks serious,” he grunts, eyes dragging over me again.
“I’m winning.”
The corner of his mouth curls upward as he glances toward the back seat, where gift boxes, bags and enough white satin to decorate a royal wedding are piled against the window.
“Clearly.”
I manage to yank my other arm free and drag my dress somewhat back into position.
“What’s with the tree?” I ask, looking to take the focus away from me as I point toward the enormous fir strapped across his roof. “Do people in the mountains always carry their own emergency Christmas tree?”
He looks back at it. “Only during avalanche season.”
I blink in shock, but this rugged man's expression remains perfectly serious.
“That’s not real. It isn't really avalanche season.”
“No.” He grins. "I'm only joking."
"Very funny," I say, rolling my eyes. “So seriously. Do you always drive around with forestry attached to your roof, or is tonight special?”
He glances over his shoulder at the roof of his truck. “I’m taking it to Mistletoe Resort.”
“Mistletoe Resort?”
"Yeah, you know it? Big Mike's new luxury resort over there on the ridge." He folds his arms over his chest and leans back against his truck. “Big fancy place that's hosting a hockey tournament. Opening week starts tomorrow, and apparently the lobby tree they ordered isn’t impressive enough.”
“So they called you?”
He grins and okay. It's devastating. “Well, my family owns the local Christmas tree farm outside Chilmore.”
