He pulled onto the shoulder of the road, a few yards behind the car. Leaving his headlights on, he climbed out. The car’s rear windshield was covered with snow; as he came closer, he caught a movement through the side window. The driver would be a woman, he surmised. An able-bodied man would have tried to push the car back onto the road, maybe tried to flag down help, or even walked back to town. If there was a woman in the car, she would likely be cold and scared—even scared of him, Conner reminded himself. He would need to let her know he was here to help.

The car was idling, a curl of exhaust rising from the tailpipe. Approaching with caution, he tapped on the window. He could see movement through the glass. Then the window came down, barely an inch.

“I’ve got pepper spray pointed right at your face.” The young, feminine voice shook slightly, but Conner sensed that the lady meant business.

“Whoa there.” He took a couple of steps backward, showing her his empty hands. “I live down the road back there. I saw your light and came to help you. Are you all right?”

The window opened another inch. He saw frightened eyes in a pale face, framed by tendrils of dark hair peeking from beneath a knitted cap. And, yes, she really did have pepper spray. “I’m fine, just cold,” she said. “But the car seems to be stuck, and my phone is dead. Maybe you could call somebody for me.”

“Anybody special?” Conner took out his phone.

“My family lives in Branding Iron. I was coming to visit them, but then the storm hit, and before I knew it, I’d driven right past the town. When I tried to turn around, I slid off the road into this blasted ditch.”

“I’ll tell you what.” Conner passed his phone through the window to her. “If you’ll put that pepper spray down, you can call your family on this. Tell them Conner Branch is here, offering to help you. They’re bound to know me. Most people around here do.”

Conner was taking a risk, saying that. A few rodeo fans remembered him from the PBR, and he’d driven the sleigh in the last two Christmas parades. But there was always a chance that the woman’s family had never heard of him.

If that was the case, what would he do? She had his phone now, and she still had that canister of pepper spray. Maybe she would call 911. At least the sheriff knew him.