Page 53
“Skylar?” The gritty-sounding voice in my ear makes me do a double take.
“Brad?”
“Skylar, is everything okay?” The voice on the other end of the line is most definitely not Brad. It doesn’t sound like Flinn, his boyfriend, either.
My eyes are blurry with tears when I pull the phone away, and my hand flies to my mouth when I see the name lit up on screen.
Brad’s dad.
Oh shit. Oh shit.
I just accidentally sobbing-dialed my cannot-ever-stop-swooning-over, hottest-man-in-existence, lifelong cowboy crush.
My best friend’s father.
“Skylar, what’s going on?” His voice echoes through the quiet of my car.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Rhodes. I didn’t mean to disturb you. I meant to call Brad.”
“You’re upset.” He ignores my feeble words.
“Uhhh, it’s nothing. Don’t worry. I’m hanging up now. Hope you have a lovely Christmas.” My heart is in my throat. I want to bury myself in a shallow grave alongside Rudolph.
“Don’t even think about it. Where are you?” His voice sounds a little rough, like he’d maybe been sleeping, and that makes me wince harder. My damp cheeks grow hot with the embarrassment of everything colliding together in the worst possible sequence of events.
“I’m over on Jones Avenue, but honestly, please erase this from your memory. Forget this call even happened. I’m so sorry, my thumb must have slipped and hit your contact.”
Fuck my life. My eyes squeeze shut, and I lean my head forward against the steering wheel. I can already taste the sweet burn of whiskey and salted caramel ice cream that I know Brad cannot survive without. That boy always has a gallon of the good stuff stashed in his freezer.
“Are you inside your car?”
“Yes. Honestly, I’ll be fine. I—”
The line scuffles a little and he cuts me off. “Turn your ignition on and keep the heating running; otherwise you’ll freeze. Give me ten minutes.”
That makes my eyes pop open. What?
“Oh, no … no, you really don’t have to—”
The man doesn’t allow me to finish speaking. “Skylar, I’m already in my truck and on my way. Stay put.”
With that, he hangs up on me.
CHAPTER 3
What the hell am I doing?
It’s nine at night on Christmas Eve, and I’m driving through empty streets to offer a helping hand to my son’s best friend—to assist with whatever emergency situation she’s gotten herself into.
A girl who I haven’t seen in a year.
Not since she was back in Crimson Ridge last holiday season, and certainly the last person on this planet who I expected would be calling me.
Adding to all that, she’s in tears.
I didn’t catch most of what she rattled off over the phone—I must have dropped off to sleep on the couch after I finished up with the horses for the night—and I was only half awake when I answered her call.
Doesn’t matter. I don’t need the hows or whys; the girl is clearly in some kind of distress and sitting on the side of the road when snow’s about to roll through at any moment and cut off the town … Well, she couldn’t have picked a worse time to have a flat.
