Deadly Christmas Pretense. Dana Mentink

      Maggie’s nerves were screaming as she tried to escape her pursuer, momentarily distracted by a galloping horseman who appeared to be trying to keep pace with her. “One problem at a time,” she ground out through gritted teeth. The cowboy would have to wait. The horseman peeled off abruptly and she breathed a smidgen easier.

      Glancing at the car behind her, she was thrilled when it dropped back several yards. She let out a shaky breath. Good, she thought, breathing slowing a notch. Go ahead and give up.

      Instead he accelerated and rammed her. The Vette shimmied and slid. She screamed, fingers clawing the wheel for control. He was dropping back again and this time she wasn’t about to let him regain the advantage.

      The Corvette was practically flying when, without warning, a man leaped onto the road twenty yards ahead. Strangely backlit by the moonlight, she could just make out the silhouette of the horseman who’d been tracking her. He must have taken a detour to cut her off. He was standing on the road, a big guy in a cowboy hat, broad-shouldered, arms held up in warning, like something out of a dream.

      “Get out of the way!” she shrieked.

      He waved one hand and fired a rifle she hadn’t noticed into the air. The shot cracked through the night. She had no choice but to jerk the Corvette around in a wide, bumping arc to avoid running him down. The tires jostled and jumped, taking her off the road. The wheels spun fruitlessly on the frosted grass and she struggled to control the bucking steering wheel. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the cowboy, still waving frantically.

      What was he doing? Finally the piercing noise and commotion ahead sank into her panicked brain. The clang of signals and flash of lights told her the sickening truth. She was about to drive directly into the path of an oncoming train. She slammed on the brakes but the speed was too much. The whistle pierced the night like a shriek as the Corvette skidded through the signal light, heading straight for the tracks.

      She wrenched the wheel and the car whirled in circles, dizzying her. For one heart-stopping moment, she thought her vehicle would hurtle onto the tracks, but it halted some ten feet back, illuminated by the red flashing train lights.

      The dark sedan that had been pursuing her came to a sudden stop in a shower of loose rocks, engine idling. She sat, panting, shaking convulsively. In the rearview she saw the cowboy sprint up to her pursuer’s car, shouting something. Paralysis stole her ability to move. What should she do? At least one of her car’s tires was shredded; she’d heard it explode. Get out and run away from her pursuer and the cowboy? Or stay until the showdown behind her was finished? Should she take her chances with the darkness or the cowboy?

       Tammy, what kind of a mess have you gotten us into this time?

      She shoved open the door and stepped into a deep rut that sent her to one knee. The cold pierced her body but it hardly registered past the fear. The Corvette had spun and come to a halt facing her pursuer, his headlights blinding her.

      “Step away from the car,” a voice shouted. It was low and husky. Angry. The cowboy. It had to be. Was he shouting at her? She squatted next to the open driver’s-side door. The Vette had skidded to a stop on a grassy clearing. The slight odor of rubber burned her nostrils and she looked down to see the remains of her ruined front tire. She wasn’t going to be driving out of there, even if the way wasn’t blocked by the sedan. The train barreled on, the noise waning in the distance. For a fleeting moment she wished she could run after it. Instead she was left to cobble together her own escape plan. There was no convenient cover nearby, no structures to hide behind or even trees to conceal her.

      The cowboy took a few steps toward the stranger’s idling car. “I said get out of the vehicle, mister, unless you want your tires flattened,” he shouted again.

      While both men were distracted, she should run. But her shaky legs would not cooperate. She clung to the car door, trying to steady her nerves.

      A half second later the sedan jerked into Reverse, squealed backward until the driver peeled around and floored it, receding into the distance.

      “Coward,” she heard the cowboy say.

      The sound of his boots plowing through the grass toward her car made her pulse ratchet even higher.

       What should she do? What would Tammy do?

      He stopped at the other side of her car, silent. More movement sounded in the still night and, all of a sudden, a sturdy white dog raced around the side of the car and barked.

      She screamed.

      At the sound, the animal lunged forward, swabbed a wet tongue over her forehead and sat, tail wagging.

      A hysterical squeal rose to her lips but she kept it in. The boots came closer, until the cowboy rounded the front fender of her car.

      “And you teased me about my driving,” he said. A strong Southern accent colored his words though she could not make out his features, only the hint of a wide chin and a cowboy hat.

       What is he talking about? Teased him?

      “Tam?” he said. “You’ve got some explaining to do.”

      Tam. The pieces fell into place. This had to be Liam Pike, Tammy’s ex-boyfriend.

      She leaned her dog-dampened forehead against the metal. What were the chances she’d hit town, nearly get driven off the road, narrowly avoid being hit by a train and finish up by running into her sister’s ex?

      The dog let loose with a howl.

      Maggie felt like doing the same.