Santa Fe Fortune & How to Marry a Matador

keep your eyes on the road—and don’t stop!”
    Christine’s heart hammered against her chest as she gripped the wheel. How nutty could she be? She was here to rebuild things with Tyler, not to find some fly-by-night romance for herself. She didn’t even believe in romance anymore. She’d already had the romance of a lifetime with Tyler’s dad, and he’d left her with responsibilities. At the moment, her number one priority lay in getting her son to safety.
    “Get ready now!” the man shouted. “On three! One… Two…”
    “Mommy, I gotta pee,” Tyler interjected.
    “Not now, baby. Just hold it.”
    “Three!”
    At once, the front of their vehicle was airborne and Christine feared they’d careen off the road. Then the pickup moved ahead at a gradual pace until her fishtailing SUV centered itself on the road. Sweat beaded her brow as Christine muttered prayers under her breath. Finally, they were moving forward, going straight as an arrow down the narrow road. The pickup slowed, pulling onto the shoulder to let her pass. The heavy chain dropped to the snowy lane. Christine glanced in her rearview mirror as the man scurried out of his truck to scoop it off the road, his tail-wagging dog behind him.
    “Who was that?” Tyler asked, as the pickup faded from sight.
    Christine heaved a grateful sigh. “Our guardian angel.”

    John sat in his truck with Mason, watching the beautiful woman and her son disappear through the snowdrifts. The kid was cute enough, but it was the mom who’d held his attention. What with those big, dark eyes and that long brown hair that fell in waves to her shoulders, it would be impossible for a man not to notice. Still, it was nonsensical that he’d paid attention to her looks. It wasn’t like he’d consider dating someone that homicidal behind the wheel. Besides, where there was a boy, there was bound to be a father. John was nowhere near interested in getting tangled up in that. He had his fair share of picks in Burlington, and had always steered clear of single mothers. He wasn’t even sure he had room for a woman in his life. At this point in his career, a full-blown family was a nonstarter. If she was still married to the boy’s dad, that was even worse. John wouldn’t be touching that with a twenty-foot pole.
    John pushed back his parka hood and shook his head, attempting to clear it. Maybe the December air had gotten to him, because here he was, thinking all sorts of crazy thoughts about a woman he didn’t even know. From the way she’d been totally thrown by the landscape and the tags on the rental SUV, she wasn’t a local resident anyhow, just someone passing through. Chances of seeing her around were minimal. But what did that matter to him? The most important thing was that she and her son got to where they were going without running themselves—or anyone else—off the road again.
    “What did you think, old boy?” he asked, patting the retriever’s head.
    The dog barked loudly.
    “Yeah, they seemed like city slickers to me, too.”

    Christine pulled the SUV to the side of the road and double-checked the address. Just ahead of them sat a classic farmhouse nestled in a snowy field behind a split-rail fence. She stepped into the biting cold to wipe the snow off of the sign dangling from a post at the head of the drive. WINTERHAVEN appeared in stenciled lettering. Winds whipped up as Christine battled her way back to the SUV, shielding her face with her coat sleeve. She clambered into the driver’s seat with a shiver and cranked up the heat another notch.
    “Looks like we’re home,” she said softly to Tyler, who snoozed in his car seat. They’d paused for a potty break ten miles earlier then he’d promptly passed out from exhaustion. Not even the chill of the wind on his face woke him up as she carried him toward the house.
    Moments later, Christine carted her sleeping boy over the threshold of the old-style structure. The great room was cozy yet elegant, with exposed wood beams and a large stone hearth. A fire had been laid for them in advance, a neat stack of logs and extra kindling sticks piled in a box nearby.
    “Nice,” Christine said to herself.
    She decided to let Tyler rest on the sofa while she settled in. After laying him down and covering him with a handy throw blanket, she perused the rest of the place. The kitchen was expansive and well equipped, and the three bedrooms upstairs were every bit as comfortable, with four-poster beds