3. Cade

3

CADE

I keep my eyes on the windshield, refusing to look one last time at Maya Prescott. I'm not going to think about the way her expensive leather pants hug her voluptuous hips. I definitely won't think about those full lips of hers and what I want her to do with them. And I damn sure won't worry about her driving to Denver in a snowstorm.

Nope.

Not my problem.

I smack the turn signal and take a hard right into the City Market parking lot.

I don't judge people.

Liar.

I grab a grocery cart, fuming at her words. Didn't judge people? Right. I toss a bag of potatoes into the wagon. Of course, she judges people. When she turned me down for a date, she made it crystal clear: I don't date hockey players. I pick up a bag of carrots, followed by a bag of onions, and hurl them on top of the potatoes. I move on to pick up a bunch of salad ingredients before making my way to the meat aisle.

I'm in the process of manhandling a pot roast when a bright-eyed clerk walks over wearing a nervous smile.

"You look like you could use some help," she says, holding out one of those plastic arm baskets full of fresh produce. "You bruised all your vegetables. These are fresh."

I glance down at the mangled carrots and crushed tomatoes. "I did a number on them, didn't I?"

"You did." She fishes the mutilated vegetables from my cart. "Better the produce than the person you're thinking about."

"True." I chuckle. "Thank you. I appreciate your thoughtfulness."

"No worries." She smiles. "Hey, have you gotten your tree for Christmas yet?"

"Can't say that I have." There's no need to tell this sweet kid I don't celebrate Christmas.

"Well, Hank's General Store has them on sale for half-price. For every tree sold, Hank gives three-quarters of the proceeds to the Thunder Ridge senior class for their prom."

I gingerly place four dozen eggs in the cart. "Are you a senior?"

"I am."

"Then I'm going to Hank's as soon as I leave here and buy two."

"Two?" Her eyes go wide.

"Two." I shoot her a wink. "Thanks for your help. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas to you, too!" She dances off to the front of the store.

Feeling somewhat relaxed from the moment I walked into the store and infused with a tiny bit of the Christmas spirit, I finish up my shopping and head to Hank's General Store to keep my word.

With two trees tied to the roof of my car, a back seat full of Christmas decorations and a rear compartment loaded to the gills with groceries, firewood and liquor, I'm finally on the way to my cabin. While I was shopping, Mother Nature has seen fit to drop a full foot of snow. Thankfully, I'm almost home.

While trying to decide between ribeye for dinner and my favorite frozen macaroni and cheese, I turn the wipers on high. The snow is coming down faster and heavier, making it harder to see as dusk settles over the mountains. Up ahead, there's something big and dark on the side of the road. I slow down to a crawl, praying it isn't a wounded elk or a moose. I inch forward and have to blink a few times to unscramble my brain.

Impossible.

I'm staring at the tail end of a black car half-buried in a snowbank. But it isn't any black car. It's a black BMW, and crouched down beside it, trying to dig out the tires with her hands, is none other than the woman I never wanted to lay eyes on again…Maya Prescott.

I think about driving right past her.

But I don't.

I hit the brakes, grip the wheel, put on my flashers and reach over to open the passenger's door. frigid blast of icy air smacks me in the face.

"Get in," I holler into the wind.

As the snow swirls around her, she shoots me a murderous look. "No," she snaps, pulling her hood up over her curls. I've called for a tow truck. I have AA A."

"Explains why you're trying to dig your tires out." I roll my eyes. "Get. In."

"I am fine. Thank you very much. It's only a three-hour wait."

"Three hours? You think you're gonna sit on the side of the road in a full-on blizzard to wait for a tow? Ridiculous. My cabin's not far. You can wait there."

"I'd rather wait here. Thank you very much."

I squeeze my eyes shut and count to ten. This woman is on my last damn nerve. I've started off the day learning my hockey career is over. Spent over four hours driving in a snowstorm. My brand spanking new Land Rover was hit by the Ice Princess. And all I want to do is unpack, pour myself a nice stiff drink, eat a good meal, and go to sleep in a warm bed.

I don't have time, and I don't want to argue with a woman who is obviously more stubborn than a mule.

"Here's how this is going, Ms. Prescott," I say through clenched teeth. "I am not leaving you here. So, you have a choice to make. You either get into this car on your own, or I'm going to put you in it. Decide."

"You wouldn't dare," she huffs.

"Try me."

Cursing under her breath, Maya stomps through the snow and plunks herself down on my front seat. "You're rude," she says, slamming the door shut.

"You're welcome." I snarl.