Deputy Cale Matthews wasn’t sure he was in the mood for Christmas. As he drove his cruiser carefully through the light snow dusting an already icy road, he considered telling his family not to wait for him to hold their celebration this year. He’d just gotten home from the traditional Matthews Family Thanksgiving, so he’d be working Christmas anyway. Plus, now that he was back in Echo Creek, all the memories of warm, festive, family togetherness just made his cold, empty house feel that much colder and emptier.

He adored his family—every crazy, starry-eyed, hug-loving one of them—but their care and concern had begun to feel oppressive. They wanted him to be happy. They wanted him not to be alone. They wanted him to forget Marissa and move on.

And that was just it. He’d already moved on. It was their worried glances and too-cheerful questions that pushed him back into wondering what had gone wrong. Besides, spending Christmas on his own in Echo Creek might be just what he needed to break free of this detachment that had plagued him for the past few months.

Tucked into the foothills of Central Oregon, Echo Creek was frequently called adorable, quaint, friendly, picturesque, or some combination of the above, but to Cale it had simply become home. The town boasted just over three thousand year-round residents, plus the many thousands of tourists who descended every summer and winter without fail. From June through August, they came for the hiking, the camping, the rafting, and the deliciously mild summer sun amidst the mix of pine and fir trees that covered the eastern foothills of the Cascades. In the winter, they came for the snow. The nearby ski resorts were some of the finest in the state, attracting amateurs and professionals alike for numerous winter sports.

Echo Creek was out of the way enough that it had never achieved the popularity of Bend or Sisters, but its combination of friendly locals and lighter crowds drew enough repeat visitors to keep the town thriving.

When he reached the north end of town, Cale took a gentle right turn and made his way slowly down the mostly empty Main Street. Christmas decorations glittered brightly from the street lamps while twinkling lights adorned the storefronts of most of the town’s wide selection of tourist shops. The lone holdout, George Alverson, was a sixty-year-old sculptor who hated Christmas, or so he said. His wife, on the other hand, would probably have whacked Mrs. Claus with a frozen fruitcake and ruled the North Pole if such a feat were possible.

At some point during their marriage, the Alversons had apparently reached an agreement: during the Christmas season, she turned the house into an eyeball-searing celebration of all things festive, while he hunkered down in his shop and created gorgeous metal wall-hangings that had nothing to do with Christmas whatsoever.

And heaven forbid the Echo Creek Carolers showed up at his storefront on Christmas Eve. He would probably threaten them with a welding torch.

Just past Alverson’s, Cale pulled his patrol car to a stop and flipped on his lights, muttering under his breath about self-centered tourists. An older Toyota sedan was parked half in, half out of the street, in a fire lane, with no lights on and no one in the driver’s seat.

Most of the time, Cale would consider himself a forgiving person. He tried to help out whenever he could, and gave grace when possible, but his Christmas spirit had gone missing and he wasn’t in the mood to play nice with thoughtless tourists. He put in a quick phone call to Marty at Tow’n’Go before slapping a parking ticket on the windshield.

He peered inside as he did so, and noted a duffle bag on the back seat, along with a pillow and a blanket. An empty coffee cup rested in the cup holder, and a worn jean jacket was thrown across the passenger seat.

Tourist or vagrant? No way to be sure, but Cale wasn’t going to leave a car blocking traffic on an icy night. The roads in town were graveled, but it could get worse, and he didn’t want to wake up to any accidents.

Climbing back into his car to wait for the tow truck, Cale checked his phone and found two text messages. The first was from his uncle, Pete Parrish.

Contrary to popular belief, not all born matchmakers were women. A widower of about seventy, Pete was constantly trying to get Cale involved in the town pinochle tournaments down at the Community Center. Every month he would text Cale a report of how many single women had showed up, how old they were, and whether he thought any of them would make a good wife.

Cale knew Pete was only trying to help but he never, ever responded to any of those texts. Within twenty-four hours, Pete would have talked the single woman in question into showing up on Cale’s front steps with cookies and a proposal.

The second was from Marcia Dillon, proclaiming that the rat in her attic was back and would Cale please come over and do something about it. About seventy-five, white-haired and feisty, Marcia lived alone in a ninety-year-old house. Her husband had passed away when she was only forty, and her only daughter had been killed in a car wreck five years ago. She was lonely, even if she’d never admit it, and Cale didn’t mind spending a few hours a week chasing a non-existent rat if it meant helping her through the toughest time of the year. Marcia loved Christmas, but she had no one left to celebrate it with.

Marty pulled up a few minutes later and backed into position, his yellow lights flashing. Cale stepped out of the car to help him, shrugging on his heavy jacket to ward off the chill.

“You gonna look for the driver?” Marty called, as soon as he finished attaching the tow chain.

“I’ll check the cafe, maybe the drugstore, but no telling where they’d be this time of night.”

“Well, my lot is pretty empty, so I’m happy to keep her there until this guy pays up.”

Cale nodded. “Thanks, Marty. I’ll let you know.”

Marty waved, climbed into his cab and pulled slowly away from the curb, just as Cale heard someone jogging down the sidewalk.

“No, wait! Please wait! Don’t tow my car! I ran out of…”

Cale whipped around to see an unfamiliar woman running straight towards him, waving frantically. Before he could call out a warning, her feet hit a patch of ice and slipped out from under her, eliciting a yelp of surprise when she fell to the sidewalk and continued to slide. He yelled for her to stop, it was much too late. The concrete was too slick, and she’d been moving too fast. Before he could reach her, the hatless young woman slid shoulder-first into the cement block at the base of a street lamp.

Grateful for his department-issue winter boots, Cale jogged carefully across the parking lane and onto the sidewalk, where he slowed to a walk to avoid meeting the same fate as the careless tourist. She was already rolling to her knees and struggling to rise, but was clearly too unsteady to stand.

Again, Cale tried to call out a warning, but he was too late. Her feet, clad in flimsy athletic shoes, zig-zagged across the ice and dropped her to her knees again with an audible cry of pain.

“Just don’t move,” he ordered, in his best law-enforcement, don’t-mess-with-me voice. “I’ll help you get off the ice patch, but those shoes aren’t going to help much. Didn’t anybody tell you it’s winter in Oregon?” She wasn’t even wearing gloves, he saw, now that he was close enough. Just a thin sweatshirt and jeans.

Her head jerked up, and when her eyes met his Cale almost took a step back. Her emotions punched him, hard—anger and despair, along with something else.

Fear.

She lurched to her feet again. Her blonde hair fell back and that’s when he saw the bruises. Dark, swollen patches down the left side of her face.

“What kind of crappy town is this?” she demanded, putting her back to the lamp post and holding her ground as he approached. “I didn’t park there, I ran out of gas. I had to walk to find someplace, and the closest station didn’t have a gas can.”

“I apologize, ma’am, but this is a tourist town, and I’m afraid we have a lot of problems this time of year with out-of-town guests parking in all kinds of illegal places. When I didn’t see a driver, I assumed it was parked there for the night.”

She folded her arms across her chest and Cale could see her shaking with cold. “Why would I park there all night? There’s nothing here.”

He thought he could see her lips turning blue. “Look, I’ll be happy to take you to the gas station. We can run by my place and pick up a gas can and then I’ll take you to Marty’s to pick up your car. No harm done.”

Her arms tightened around her body and her eyes widened. “No. Thanks, but no. I’ll keep walking. Just tell me where to find my car.”

He couldn’t help a tiny snort of disbelief. “Ma’am, you’re about to freeze just standing here. And there are no stores open this time of night, so you won’t be able to find a gas can. I’m giving you a ride, not arresting you.”

When she started a little and stared up at him, Cale began to wonder if she was in some kind of trouble with law enforcement elsewhere.

“No, and before you start thinking it, there are no warrants for my arrest,” she told him sharply. As if she’d read his mind. “I just don’t trust strangers.”

“Well, a stranger is the only thing standing between you and hypothermia,” he said firmly. “There’s no way I’m letting you freeze to death in my town.”

“There’s no way I’m getting in your car,” she snapped. “What are you going to do, force me?”

Cale pulled out his phone and selected a number. It rang twice before someone picked up.

“Are you here?” an older woman’s voice enquired cheerfully. “I don’t see you at the curb.”

“That’s because I’m not there yet, Mrs. Dillon. I’ll be there later, maybe tomorrow, but in the meantime, can you do me a favor?”

“Of course! Do you need dating advice? Help picking out a Christmas tree? Anything!”

Cale cut her off before she could speculate about even more embarrassing possibilities.

“I need you to convince a strange woman to trust me. I mean, not that she’s strange, but she doesn’t know me and she’s about to freeze to death in the street.”

Her response was so forceful, he had to hold the phone away from his ear.

“Give that poor woman the phone, right now…”

He held out his phone. “Here. Mrs. Dillon wants to talk to you.” He grinned.

The strange woman in question looked at him as though he’d lost his mind, but accepted the phone and held it tentatively up to her ear, all the while watching him suspiciously.

“Hello?” She listened for a moment while her eyes got wider. “Look, I don’t know you either. I just don’t get into cars with strange men.” A pause. “No, not even police cars.” A longer pause. “Thank you, Mrs. Dillon, but…”

Cale almost chuckled. He’d just unleashed an irresistible force, even if her unsuspecting victim didn’t know it yet.

“I don’t see… That’s not… Thank you, ma’am. Yes. Okay. I will.” She handed back the phone, looking stunned. “She wants to talk to you.”

“Did she accept you as a character reference?” Cale asked Mrs. Dillon, still grinning.

“I told her nobody freezes to death in Echo Creek right before Christmas and that our Deputy Matthews is one of the kindest people I know, so she didn’t need to worry about a thing.” She made a tsking noise. “Cale, she sounds hungry. Do you think she’s hungry?”

“Probably.” Cale sobered as he assessed the young woman more closely. She did look as though she’d missed a few meals lately, and there hadn’t been much in her car. And then there were those bruises. Cale felt a surge of anger at whoever had been coward enough to hurt her. “I’ll take care of it. Thanks, Mrs. Dillon.”

“If you need anything, dear, please come by. And you can look for the rat tomorrow.”

“I will. See you then.”

He hung up. “Convinced I’m not an ogre?”

“Well, whoever Mrs. Dillon is, she’s convinced. What is she, your grandma?”

“She’s Echo Creek’s grandma,” he answered honestly. “Now, how about we go get a gas can and get your car back?”

She hesitated. Looked at the ground. Looked back up. “Okay,” she said.

* * *

Willow Renner was out of options and she knew it. Her knees and her ribs hurt from her crash onto the ice, and her face still ached from…

She blocked out the memories along with the pain. It was harder to block out the cold. She hadn’t been able to sneak her coat out of the hall closet without alerting someone that she was leaving, so she’d left without it. And without her purse, which had been on the table in the hall. It had seemed imperative that she just leave, and now that decision was catching up with her. She had her wallet, with her ID, but no credit cards. No phone. Nothing that could help her.

The deputy was probably a decent guy, just trying to help, but how did she tell him that she only had two dollars left and it wasn’t going to be enough to get anywhere else? She couldn’t. A small-town cop with his small-town ethics would probably consider her a vagrant and kick her out of his jurisdiction. She was going to have to put that gallon of gas in her car and see where it got her. She wasn’t even totally sure where Echo Creek was. Desperate to get as far away as she could, Willow had simply headed for the mountains, certain that Elliot wouldn’t think to follow her there. He hated leaving the city, and would never guess that she might go that far just to get away from him.

He was wrong about her. She would do anything. Though she hadn’t planned on freezing to death, which might still be the consequence of her poor decision making. Without her phone, she hadn’t had a map, and hadn’t realized how far from civilization she’d gotten. And now it was snowing and she was out of money.

At least the back of the squad car was warm. She buckled in and held her hands over a vent.

The cop—Deputy Matthews—opened the glass partition between the front and back seats. “You okay back there?” he called, shooting her a concerned look over his shoulder as he pulled slowly into the street.

“Fine,” she answered shortly, studying his profile as he glanced from side to side, looking for anything out of place in his town. Like illegally parked cars in fire lanes.

He was depressingly good-looking, she realized, able to conclude this calmly now that she was warm and he was no longer looking at her so closely. Dark hair, dark eyes, strong, clean-shaven jaw and a straight nose. He had a killer smile too, which meant he was probably married. And probably a jerk, under all that small-town charm. The good-looking ones always were, even if they could cajole old ladies into thinking they were Mr. Perfect.

Willow wasn’t that easy to convince.

“Are you in any trouble?”

She’d been expecting that. There were two types of people—those who saw the bruises and looked the other way or those who tried to convince her to get help. There were far more of the former, but she wasn’t fool enough to expect this cop to be one.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” she answered.

“Doesn’t look that way.” He glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “You know, there’s a lot of places you can go. You can even get a restraining order, if you need one. Even if he’s your husband, nobody is going to defend his right to hurt you.”

“Thanks, but no,” she interrupted firmly. “I’m not married to the guy that did this. It was the first time and the last, so I’ll be fine.”

He subsided, but she doubted he was finished. That firm jaw was looking particularly stubborn.

The car turned onto a neat, quiet street and pulled into a lightly snow-covered driveway. The deputy turned off the car and twisted in his seat. “I can’t leave it running—department regulations—but I’ll just be a sec. Gas can in the garage.”

She nodded, and watched as he let himself in and was enthusiastically greeted at the door by what looked like three huge dogs. Willow smiled involuntarily. It might be a good sign. A man with that many dogs who clearly adored him… but then, dogs liked anyone who would feed them.

He was back about two minutes later, gas can in hand.

“You have a lot of dogs,” she noted.

“And they’re never going to forgive me for showing up in the middle of my shift like this and then leaving them again,” he said, with a brief chuckle.

“How many?”

“Three. Gotten to where every time an oversized stray shows up, the shelter calls and asks if I want another.”

“Do you?” she asked curiously.

He grinned into the rearview mirror. “Probably depends on whether they whine and put a paw on my knee and look at me with big sad eyes. My yard isn’t really big enough for more, but I’m not great at resisting those kind of tactics.”

So he probably wasn’t married. If he was, he would most likely have mentioned a wife who either adored or despised the idea of three giant pets.

“You like dogs?” he asked casually.

“Yes.” Her shepherd mix, Marsh, had been the only friend she had left, until Elliot let him race out the door and get hit by a car. He claimed Marsh bit him first, but she knew better. Elliot had been drunk. He’d simply let the dog out the wrong door and didn’t want to take responsibility for the mistake.

They drove in silence for at least ten seconds before Deputy Matthews opened his mouth again.

“So where you headed?”

“I…” Normally, she was pretty good at coming up with answers, but it had been a long twenty-four hours. And she had no idea what was nearby, or what responses might seem plausible. “Guess I’m not really sure.”

“Ugly weather to be out for a drive,” he said casually. “You from around here?”

“Right,” she retorted sarcastically. “Like you wouldn’t know if I was from around here in a town this size.”

“I might know most of the folks in Echo Creek, but this isn’t the only town in the area.”

“No, okay?” She wrapped her arms around herself again, whether for warmth or comfort she wasn’t sure.

“You got a place to stay tonight?”

“Enough with the questions! Are you this nosy with all your visitors?”

“No,” he admitted, glancing in his rearview mirror again. “Only the ones who run out of gas after ten on a freezing-cold night and don’t know where they’re going.”

And who look like they’ve been used as a punching bag, she thought, but he didn’t say it.

They pulled into the gas station, and an attendant wearing a ski jacket and a thick scarf jogged out to meet them.

“Hey, Cale.” The teenager waved a gloved hand. “You need a fill-up?”

“Not for me this time, Drew,” the deputy said, holding out the gas can. “Just fill this up for my passenger. She ran dry a few blocks away.”

“Wait!” Willow jumped out and waved a hand frantically. “Don’t fill it. I…” She could feel herself flush, even as she began to shiver again when the cold air hit her. “I only need two dollars’ worth.”

Both men turned to stare at her.

“Please.” She pressed her lips together.

“Do it.” Deputy Matthews didn’t take his eyes off her while he gave the order, and they narrowed as he met her gaze.

Her eyes dropped first.

After the bewildered attendant carefully dribbled exactly two dollars’ worth of gas into the can and capped it, Willow handed over two crumpled bills.

“Thank you,” she said tightly.

She got back in the car while the deputy put the can in the trunk. He didn’t say anything while he opened his door, fastened his seatbelt and pulled out of the station, but his thumb tapped the steering wheel as he drove.

Silence reigned until they pulled up to a wrecker yard where her car was visible, still chained to the tow truck.

After the squad car pulled up to the curb, the deputy remained in his seat, sending several texts before he turned to look at Willow.

“Marty will be out in a few. We’ll have your car started as quick as we can. And sorry again for towing you.”

“It’s fine,” Willow said shortly, just wanting to get out of the situation so she could think about her next move. If she had one.

She waited in the warmth of the car as the two men returned the Corolla to all four wheels and poured the tiny amount of gas into the tank. Deputy Matthews jogged back and cracked open the door.

“If you give me your keys, I’ll warm it up for you.” At her suspicious look he held up both hands defensively and grinned. “I swear I’m not going to steal your car!”

Willow instantly felt bad. “I know,” she snapped, to cover her embarrassment, and dug the keys out of her sweatshirt pocket. “And… thank you.”

He took the keys, jogged back to the car, opened the door and slid into the driver’s seat.

Willow waited while he turned the key, but nothing seemed to happen. He leaned forward, jiggled the key again, then gestured at Marty, who shrugged and lifted the hood.

Oh no. No. This could not be happening. That car couldn’t quit on her now.

The deputy got out and both men leaned over the engine. Then Marty went back and turned the key again. Still nothing. Willow jumped out into the snow and ran to her car.

“What is it? What’s wrong? Why won’t it start?”

Marty shook his head and hunched his shoulders. “Starter could be bad. Maybe the fuel pump. I’d need to get in there and check some stuff out to know for sure.”

“But it can’t be.” Willow pulled her hands inside her sleeves to keep them warm. “It was just running. I drove it here. How can it just not start? Does it need more gas?”

“Gas should have been enough to start it,” Deputy Matthews said with a shrug. “But don’t worry. Marty has a garage here and he knows cars. He can check it out in the morning and let you know what the problem is.”

“But…” Willow stood in the snow and let the news sink in while the wet slush leaked through her shoes and the wind sliced through her clothes. Her car was dead. She had no money left. The closest city was hours away, and the only way to keep running was on foot.

Her legs gave way without warning and she sat down, hard, on the curb.

“You okay?” The deputy moved quickly around the car to crouch down in front of her and study her face.

She couldn’t even answer. Her lips were as frozen as her fingers and her toes.

The deputy swore softly and yanked off his coat to drape around her shoulders. She didn’t even have the energy to protest.

“Tell me your name?”

“Willow.” Why not tell him? She’d reached the end of the road in a quaint, sleepy little town called Echo Creek. There was no way of knowing what they would do with her, but she was more or less at the mercy of these two strange men.

Surely they wouldn’t ship her back to Seattle. Back to Elliot. Anything before that. Maybe they would put her in jail if she assaulted a deputy. Even the jail in Echo Creek had to be better than going home. But when she glanced up at Deputy Matthews’ face, all she saw was warmth and concern. She couldn’t bring herself to take a swing at him, and even if she tried, she suspected he would just laugh at her.

“Willow, I get the feeling you don’t have anywhere to go. Or anyone to call.”

Humiliation made her cheeks burn, but she shook her head.

“And if you had a credit card, you would have used it for gas.”

He stood up. “Marty, can you keep the car here and check it out tomorrow? Let me know what you find.”

“Sure thing, Cale.” The middle-aged man took the keys out of the ignition. “Mind if I keep these? Just till I get it fixed.”

“That’s fine,” Willow whispered. She looked back at the deputy. Cale. “Does Echo Creek have a…” She swallowed her tears and her pride. “A homeless shelter? Somewhere I can sleep tonight? Normally I would sleep in my car, but…”

“Like I said, nobody freezes to death in Echo Creek. Not if we have anything to say about it.” He held out a hand. “Can you trust me enough for one more ride?”

She let the razor edge of her despair creep into her voice. “I wouldn’t be here if I had choices, Deputy.”

“It’s Cale,” he said, as she put her frozen hand in his and he pulled her to her feet. His gloved hand was strong and warm and he didn’t let go until she was steady. “Let’s get your bag, and then I’m taking you to the best hotel in town.”

Her spine stiffened. “I won’t let anyone pay for me, and you can’t make me stay.” There was no way she was giving anyone a chance to hold a debt over her head.

But the deputy just smiled, and the warmth of it shot straight to Willow’s toes.

“Trust me,” he said.

If only it were so easy.