A Snowstorm & A Stronghorn (Evershift Haven #4)

A Snowstorm & A Stronghorn (Evershift Haven #4)

By Aurelia Skye, Kit Tunstall

Chapter 1

THE MONTANA LANDSCAPE stretches before me, a vast expanse of snow-dusted hills and distant mountains. I grip the steering wheel as I navigate the winding road, the occasional snowflake drifting past my windshield. The evening sky is clear, a deep indigo canvas dotted with emerging stars.

I glance at the dashboard clock: 7:43 p.m. The next town is still miles away, but I’d decided to push on, hoping to cover more ground before stopping for the night. Now, as darkness settles over the land, I question that choice.

“You always were stubborn, Fiona,” I mutter, imagining my mother’s gentle admonishment. The thought of Elspeth sends a fresh wave of grief through me, and I blink back tears.

It’s been two months since I lost her. Two months of sorting through a lifetime of memories, of packing up our home, and of trying to figure out what comes next. The road stretches endlessly before me, much like the uncertain future I face.

I fiddle with the radio, searching for a station to break the silence. Static crackles through the speakers, punctuated by snippets of country music and talk shows. I settle on a classic rock station, letting the familiar chords of a Fleetwood Mac song fill the car.

“Remember how we used to sing along to this one, Mom?” I say aloud. “You’d always get the lyrics wrong, but you belted them out anyway.”

The memory brings a bittersweet smile to my face. For a moment, I can almost hear my mother’s off-key warbling and see her fiery red hair—so like my own—bobbing as she torso-danced in the passenger seat.

The song fades out, replaced by a weather update. I turn up the volume, and an announcer assures me it’s going to be a cold, clear night. I peer through the windshield and see only stars twinkling against the darkness.

“Good weather for traveling,” I say aloud. The promise of a warm bed and a hot shower in the next town beckons. I press on, expecting no problems with the weather..

For the next twenty minutes, the drive remains uneventful. The road winds through a forested area, tall pines looming on either side. I hum along to the radio, trying to ignore the gnawing emptiness in my chest.

Then, without warning, the world outside my windshield transforms.

One moment, I’m driving under a clear night sky. The next, I’m engulfed in a whiteout. Snow whips past my car in horizontal sheets, obscuring everything beyond the hood. The abruptness of the change is jarring, almost unnatural.

“What the hell?” I blink and gasp, instinctively easing my foot off the gas.

The wind howls, a high-pitched keening that drowns out the radio. Snow pelts the windshield faster than the wipers can clear it. Visibility drops to near zero in a matter of seconds.

My mouth gets dry as I strain to see the road ahead. The yellow center line, my only guide, appears and disappears in the swirling white. I slow to a crawl, maintaining a hard grip on the steering wheel.

The silence inside the car is eerie, broken only by the muffled roar of the wind and the rhythmic swish of the wipers. I lean forward, peering through the small clear patch on the windshield, searching desperately for any landmark or sign of the shoulder.

“Come on,” I mutter, willing some break in the endless white to appear.

My headlights illuminate only a wall of swirling snow. I can’t tell if I’m still on the road, or if I’ve drifted onto the shoulder. The thought of ending up in a ditch, alone in this storm, makes me tremble.

I ease my foot onto the brake, slowing even further. My gaze darts from the road to the rearview mirror, terrified of being rear-ended by another vehicle, but there’s no sign of headlights behind me. It’s as if I’m the only person left in the world, swallowed up by this freakish storm.

A dark shape looms suddenly in my peripheral vision. I jerk the wheel instinctively, narrowly avoiding what turns out to be a road sign. My heart pounds as I realize how close I came to a collision.

Taking deep breaths, my hands tremble on the steering wheel as I try to regain control. The blinding snow swirls around my car, making it impossible to see more than a few feet ahead. I inch forward, straining to make out any landmarks or signs of the road.

“Come on, Fiona,” I mutter to myself. “You can do this. Just find the shoulder and pull over.”

I squint through the windshield, searching for the faint outline of the road’s edge. My headlights illuminate nothing but a wall of white. The wind howls, rattling the car and drowning out the radio’s static.

Suddenly, the steering wheel jerks in my hands. The tires lose traction, and the world spins. My stomach lurches as the car slides sideways. I slam on the brakes, but it’s too late.

A sickening crunch of metal and the sharp crack of breaking glass fills the air. My body lurches forward then snaps back against the seat. Pain explodes in my head as it connects with something hard.

For a moment, everything goes dark.

When I come to, the world is tilted at an odd angle. Snow drifts in through the shattered driver’s side window, dusting my hair and eyelashes. The acrid smell of gasoline fills my nostrils, making me gag.

“Oh, no.” I groan, fumbling with my seatbelt. My fingers feel thick and clumsy, and it takes several attempts before I manage to release the clasp.

I blink, trying to clear my vision. The windshield is a spiderweb of cracks, but through it, I can make out the dark shape of a tree trunk. My car is wrapped around it, steam rising from the crumpled hood.

The smell of gasoline grows stronger, and panic surges through me. I need to get out of here. Now.

I reach for the door handle, but it’s jammed. The frame is warped, trapping me inside. My breath comes in short, sharp gasps as I look around frantically for another way out.

The passenger side. It’s my only option.

I twist in my seat, wincing at the pain that shoots through my ribs. The duffel bag that holds most of my important possessions, sits on the passenger seat, miraculously undisturbed by the crash. I grab it, clutching it to my chest like a lifeline.

I can’t reach the suitcases in the backseat, and I couldn’t pull them along behind me in this snow even if I could. I’ll just have to hope the car can’t catch fire with it snowing so hard, but there’s nothing irreplaceable in those bags.

With shaking hands, I manage to open the passenger door. Cold air and snow rush in, stinging my face. I stumble out of the car, my legs buckling as I hit the ground.

The snow is deep, coming up to my knees. I’m wearing stylish leather boots that go to my knees as well, but snow seeps in. I wade through it, putting as much distance between myself and the car as I can. The smell of gasoline lingers in the air, and I don’t want to stick around to see if it ignites.

Once I’m about fifty feet away, I turn back to look at the wreckage. My little blue sedan is a crumpled mess, steam rising from the hood in the frigid air. The tree it hit stands firm, barely a scratch on its thick trunk.

“Dammit,” I whisper, tears stinging my eyes. That car was the last big purchase I made from the job I had for two years after college, before my mom got sick. Now it’s gone—along with most of my belongings if the gasoline somehow sparks and blows it all up. At least it will offer an SOS beacon if that happens. Like a signal fire on a deserted island.

I shake my head at the thought, feeling dizzy when I do so. I dig into my coat pocket, fishing out my cell phone. My fingers are already going numb from the cold, making it difficult to operate the touch screen. When I finally manage to pull up the phone app, my heart sinks.

No service.

Of course. Because why would anything go right tonight?

I shove the phone back in my pocket and hug my duffel bag closer. At least I have my most important possessions—the photo albums, my mom’s jewelry, the quilt she made me when I left for college, identification, and financial documents, along with my credit and debit cards. Everything else can be replaced.

The wind whips around me, driving snow into my face and hair. I need to find shelter, and fast, but in this whiteout, I can barely see ten feet in front of me. For all I know, I could be miles from the nearest town or house.

“Think, Fiona,” I say aloud, my voice immediately swallowed by the howling wind. “What would Mom do?”

I close my eyes, picturing her face. Her bright blue eyes, crinkled at the corners from years of laughter. The dusting of freckles across her nose, so similar to my own. The way she’d tap her chin when she was thinking hard about something.

“ First things first, love, ” I hear her voice in my head, though it’s my imagination inspired by memories, not a ghostly remnant of my mother’s essence. “ You need to get out of this storm .”

I open my eyelids, scanning the area around me. Through the curtain of snow, I make out the dark shapes of trees. The forest. It’s not ideal, but it might offer some protection from the wind.

Taking a deep breath, I start trudging through the snow toward the treeline. Each step is a struggle with the deep snow threatening to trip me up. My ribs ache with every movement, a constant reminder of the crash, and I’m still dizzy.

As I reach the first trees, the wind dies down slightly. The thick evergreen branches provide some shelter from the relentless snow. I push deeper into the forest, searching for anything that might serve as a temporary refuge.

I trudge through the endless sea of white, each step a battle against the relentless snow. Minutes stretch into what feels like hours, but I can’t be sure. The unfamiliar landscape offers no landmarks, and no way to gauge my progress. Time loses all meaning as I stumble through the woods. My feet are numb, and my face stings from the cold. The duffel bag grows heavier with each step, but I refuse to let it go. It’s all I have left of my old life.

My legs burn with exertion, muscles screaming in protest as I force myself to keep moving. The cold seeps through my clothes, numbing my skin and clouding my thoughts. I clutch my duffel bag closer, thinking of all I’ve lost.

“Just keep going,” I mutter through chattering teeth. “One foot in front of the other.”

The wind howls, drowning out my words. Snow pelts my face, stinging my eyes and cheeks. I squint against the onslaught, searching desperately for any sign of shelter or civilization.

Without warning, my body begins to hum. A strange tingling sensation washes over me, starting at my toes and racing up to the top of my head. It’s as if I’ve stepped through an invisible curtain of static electricity. My skin prickles, and the hair on my arms stands on end.

The air around me seems to crackle with an unseen energy, making my teeth ache and my fingertips buzz. The feeling intensifies for a few steps, each footfall sending shockwaves of this bizarre sensation through my body. Then, as abruptly as it began, it fades, leaving me feeling oddly hollow in its wake.

I pause, disoriented by the strange occurrence. My head swims, and I blink rapidly, trying to clear my vision of imaginary sparks.

“What was that?” I wonder aloud to the howling wind. The storm swallows my words, turning them into wisps of frozen breath that disappear into the swirling snow.

For a moment, I consider turning back, retracing my steps to find that odd spot again. I pivot on my heel, squinting through the white-out conditions behind me. The urge to investigate tugs at my curiosity, a small voice in my head whispering that this might be important.

Then a particularly vicious gust of wind cuts through my coat, chilling me to the bone. The promise of shelter, of warmth, floods my mind, pushing aside all other concerns. I can almost feel phantom heat on my frozen cheeks and imagine a blanket around my shoulders.

“No,” I mutter, shaking my head. “Keep moving forward.”

I push on, each step a battle against the driving snow and my own fatigue. As I trudge ahead, I try to rationalize the experience, chalking up the strange sensation to a combination of fatigue and cold. Maybe it was just a moment of delirium brought on by my desperate situation.

Still, a small part of me wonders if I’ve stumbled upon something more, something beyond my understanding. For now, survival takes precedence over mysteries, and I force myself to focus on the path ahead, leaving the mystery behind me in the storm.

The forest around me grows denser, the trees pressing closer. Gnarled branches intertwine overhead, forming a lattice that offers fleeting refuge from the howling wind. Yet even this meager shelter can’t fully protect me. Icy flakes still find their way through gaps in the canopy, dusting my hair and eyelashes with delicate crystals.

“Come on, Fiona,” I say, my breath forming small clouds in the frigid air. “Just a little farther.”

My boots crunch through the snow, each step a monumental effort. My legs feel leaden, muscles protesting with every movement. Fatigue seeps into my very marrow, a bone-deep enervation that makes even lifting my feet a Herculean task.

I pause, leaning against a rough-barked trunk for support. I take a moment to catch my breath. In the eerie stillness of the snow-muffled forest, I can hear the rapid thudding of my heart, an indication of how hard I’m pushing myself.

“Mom would have a fit if she could see me now.” I chuckle weakly, the memory of Mom’s protective nature bringing a bittersweet smile to my chapped lips.

Shaking off the melancholy threatening to overwhelm me, I push away from the tree. My muscles scream in protest as I force myself to keep moving, each dragging step carrying me deeper into the heart of this winter-locked woodland.

“Come on, Fiona,” I whisper, channeling my mother’s encouragement. “You can do this. Just a little farther.”

How much farther? The question nags at me, growing louder with each labored breath. My vision blurs, the world narrowing to a tunnel of white and dark shadows. My legs tremble, threatening to give out entirely.

Just as I’m about to collapse, a new sound cuts through the howling wind. Footsteps. The distinct crunch of boots on snow.

I strain my ears, convinced I must be imagining things, but no—there it is again. Closer this time.

“Hello?” I call out, my voice weak and raspy. “Is someone there?”

A massive figure emerges from the swirling snow. Tall and broad-shouldered, wrapped in a heavy coat with a fur-lined hood. For a moment, my addled brain conjures images of the abominable snowman, and I almost laugh at the absurdity of it.

The figure approaches quickly, covering ground with long strides. Before I can react, strong arms scoop me up as if I weigh nothing at all. The world tilts alarmingly, and I find myself cradled against a broad chest.

“It’s all right,” says a deep voice. “I’ve got you.”

Relief floods through me, chasing away the last of my strength. As the stranger begins to move, carrying me effortlessly through the snow, my eyelids grow heavy. The gentle swaying motion lulls me, and I feel myself slipping away.

“Thank you,” I manage to whisper before darkness claims me.

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