Love Me Fierce (Love Me Dangerous #4)
Chapter 1
Chapter One
VIVIAN
Two years ago
The first snowflakes to dance in my headlights are so tiny and I’m so focused on reaching our destination that I don’t realize I’m driving in snow until a thin layer of white coats the highway.
How can it be snowing in April? When we left the motel this morning for the second leg of our journey, it was beneath a pale blue sky.
I use my rearview mirror to check on Mateo, thankfully still snoozing in his booster seat, his little legs limp and his freckled cheeks relaxed. Maybe I should have stopped sooner, found us a motel? But when Matty drifted off, it seemed like a sign to keep going.
That was before I entered the mountains and these dark clouds closed in.
If I can just make it across this valley, we’ll be home free. New job, new place to live, new life.
The snowflakes coming at me have gotten bigger, flying out of the darkness like shooting stars. The highway is now coated with an inch of white snow, the lane markers barely visible. I’ve never driven in snow before. How do I know when to stop and put on the chains I purchased for emergencies but never thought I’d use? At least I bought myself a warm jacket too. Why didn’t I also buy gloves? Snow boots?
Someone needs to write a how-to for reluctantly brave mothers who suddenly find themselves flying solo. Step 42 of 700: practice putting on snow chains.
The four-lane highway is deserted on this Tuesday night, with occasional cars coming from the opposite direction, their bright headlights muted by the falling snow. I passed a truck stop about an hour ago, and the next service station isn’t for another forty miles. But I’m now driving so slowly that covering that distance is going to take hours.
The snow is clumping on my windshield wipers, making a horrible scraping noise. I give the backseat a quick glance, but Matty hasn’t stirred. When he does wake up, he’ll have questions. And he’ll be hungry, and tired of being cooped up. I’ll want to hold him, reassure him.
I should have stopped. Because if he wakes up now, I won’t be able to do any of those things. Tightening my grip on the wheel, I turn my focus to the road ahead. If I drive slow enough, we’ll be okay. Uncomfortable, maybe, but it won’t last forever.
A green mileage sign, the top edge plastered with snow, appears out of the darkness.
FINN RIVER 56
MONTANA STATE LINE 71
We’re so close.
A car comes into view from behind me, headlights bright. I assess the distance between me and the guardrail along the right side of the highway, but I can’t risk getting any closer. When the truck races by, a curtain of snow and slush flies at my windshield with a loud splat , blinding me for a terrifying second. I let off the gas pedal, but the sudden deceleration sends the back end of the car drifting. It quickly snaps back—so fast it’s like it never happened—but the reaction in my body is immediate. Gripping the wheel, breaths heaving, my face suddenly hot.
Why didn’t I stop at that cute little town two hours ago? The one with a four-way stoplight and a general store and a little park where Matty and I could have stretched our legs before finding a place to sleep for the night. Now I’m out here in this freak storm, putting us in danger. What if we crash or careen off the road?
Living in California my entire life hasn’t exactly prepared me for life-or-death weather emergencies. Earthquake drills and high surf warnings, I can handle. Surviving a night out in freezing temperatures while snow buries us is unfamiliar territory.
It makes me want to call my sister McKenna, if nothing else to hear her voice, but I’m afraid I might cry, and the last thing I want to do is worry her.
Once I’m settled, I’ll tell her the story, and we’ll probably laugh about it.
I focus on the mile markers, each one bringing us closer to the end of our journey that started the morning I filed for divorce almost a year ago.
Surviving this blizzard is the final hurdle.
FINN RIVER 44 MILES flashes out of the darkness. In the backseat, Matty shifts in his booster seat. I brace myself, but he sighs and drifts back to sleep.
My empty stomach gives a low growl, but the grocery bag of Trader Joe’s snacks sitting on the passenger side floor is too risky to reach for. I need both hands on the wheel and my eyes glued to the road ahead. My bladder is also starting to ache a little, but I’ll just have to hold it.
I’ve now completely lost the lane marker lines beneath the blanket of snow.
Lights from another vehicle behind me fill my entire rearview, making me squint. It emerges from the storm, a hulking thing with a giant plow-shaped shovel attached to the front. The plow is curved to spit snow sideways which is spraying in a giant arc into my lane. I brace myself as the snowplow approaches, its giant wheels bound with huge snow chains clanking and grinding. Does the driver even see me? The forceful spray of chewed up snow slaps the side of my car and covers my windshield.
I try to decelerate slowly this time, but I’m blinded for so long I’m worried of crashing into the guardrail. But worse than that is the clumped up, chunky snow deposited in the snowplow’s wake. My car jostles, and I have to slow down even more.
The left lane is scraped bare, but it looks icy. Should I try to switch over? My wipers struggle to clear the glass. There’s so much snow clumped on them now, they look like giant white caterpillars. I trigger my washer fluid but nothing changes. Is it frozen? Or is there too much snow blocking it?
I navigate over the hard lip of blocky snow separating the lanes to the left one. The bare pavement humming beneath my tires sends a pulse of relief through me. I’m still catching my breath when another plow vehicle materializes behind me, this one in the right lane, with snow shooting into the void like a giant firehose. It makes sense they work in pairs, but watching him approach me is no less terrifying.
I make sure I’m as far to the left in the lane as I can safely be. The giant snowplow lumbers past, chains clanking, the spinning orange light at the back fading into the sea of falling snow. The highway is now a bare swath of charcoal gray streaked with white where the snow and ice has been wedged into the cracks. An eerie wind dances across the surface like smoke. A reminder that the road is still slick.
Within a few more miles, snow is accumulating on the highway again. It’s so dark out here that my headlights barely illuminate the road ahead. My windshield wipers can only sweep halfway up my windshield now, forcing me to scrunch lower to see through it. I should stop and clear the wipers, but there’s nowhere to pull over—the berm of snow deposited by the snowplow takes up the entire shoulder .
FINN RIVER 35
There’s at least an inch on the road now, and I can almost sense the change in traction beneath my tires. Okay. It’s officially time to stop and put on the chains. I’ll be able to clear my windshield wipers then too. With my eyes glued ahead for any place to pull over, I keep a steady pressure on the gas pedal. To distract myself, I think about our destination. Finding a rental property with my meager budget wasn’t easy, but the single wide trailer doesn’t look too bad. Though there’s no yard, we’re not far from a lovely park, and the bike path that leads to town. I try to imagine my new job at Finn River Pediatrics. What will my new boss, Dr. Boone, be like? On the phone he sounded a bit gruff, but I sensed kindness too. He didn’t question my switch in nursing fields or why I wanted to leave California.
My car’s tires lose traction so fast I’m too late in trying to compensate, and my car swings sideways. I let off the gas and we glide to a stop in the middle of the highway. Quickly, I try to back up, but my tires spin. No, no, no .
I force in a series of breaths so I can think but I’m stuck in the middle of a highway blocking both lanes. What do I do? I test the gas pedal, going as slow as I can. To my relief, my tires bite into the layer of snow, and I creep forward. Moving the wheel in steady increments, I manage to straighten out, but my hands are shaking, and my breaths are coming in ragged gasps. There’s no place to pull over, but it’s obvious I should have done so already.
I’ll just have to crawl along. There has to be a pullout somewhere soon.
Ahead, in the distance, muted by the thick snowflakes swirling all around me, a soft glow has been getting brighter. Like a spotlight. Is the road ahead closed? If they make me turn back, I’m going to cry.
The thought of having to confront a cop isn’t exactly welcome, either.
As I near the source of the light, it takes me only a second to realize something’s very wrong. A vehicle is in the median, facing back at me, like it spun as it lost control. It’s the truck that passed me earlier. I squint, but I don’t see movement.
Shit. The truck is upside down.
There’s not a lot of room to pull over, but I put on my hazards and steer to the side. What the hell do I do? I can’t just race to the aid of the driver and leave my car in the middle of the highway. If another snowplow comes by, and they didn’t see my car in time to swerve…
But what if the driver is hurt?
A gust of wind blasts my car, shaking the walls. I force a steadying breath and steer into the swath of torn up dirt and snow made through the median by the sliding truck. I don’t know how I’ll be able to turn around later to get back on the road, but I also can’t leave my car in the middle of the highway. Not with Matty inside.
My car bumps over the chunks of snow spewed by the snowplow and ruts made by the truck. I pull to a stop about ten feet away and park, but keep my engine on. There’s still no movement from inside the upside-down truck, but my headlights illuminate what looks like smoke in the cab. It could be airbag powder. Or it could be fire.
I grab my phone. There’s only one bar—but it should be enough to get 9-1-1 on the line. I hold the phone against my ear with one hand and unbuckle with the other, then reach into my console for the nitrile gloves I always keep there.
“Mama?” Mateo’s groggy tone startles me.
“Hey, bug.” I shut the console and turn to smile at him.
He yawns, his eyes scrunching shut for an instant. Then he looks out one window, then the other, blinking. “Where are we?”
“On the highway. A car ahead of us went off the road. I’m just going to see if they’re okay.” It hits me that Mateo’s never seen snow before.
The line clicks. “This is 9-1-1, please state your emergency.”
“This is Vivian Reece. I’m about forty miles west of Finn River on highway ten.” At least I think it’s still highway ten. “There’s a truck off the road. I need a medic unit and probably a rescue crew.”
“Are the occupants of the vehicle outside or inside of it?”
“Inside. I don’t see any movement.”
“Are you in a safe place?” I can barely hear her over the wind.
“Yes. I’ve pulled into the median.”
“Is there fire?”
“I don’t see any flames, but I think there might be smoke inside the cab.”
“Are there other vehicles involved?”
“No.”
“All right. I’ve dispatched units to your location. Can you stay until they arrive?”
“Yes. I’m a nurse. I’m going to go help.”
I set my phone down, then reach into the back seat, where I was at least smart enough to stash my coat. If only I was wearing something other than the baggy overalls I bought at Goodwill because Kent would hate them and the cropped tee I scored at half price because it made me feel cute. At least I’m wearing sneakers instead of flip-flops.
“I’ll be right back, okay?” I tell Matty. I don’t like leaving him here, but I’ll keep the car on so he stays warm, and EMS is on the way. “Do you need a snack?”
He nods.
I dive into the Trader Joe’s bag and whip out a package of dried mango. “How’s this?”
His eyes light up.
I tear open the package and pry open the zip closure. The sweet, tropical scent of the fruit is so foreign and enticing in the stuffy car. I tease out a small piece and pop it into my mouth. The flavor explodes on my dry tongue.
I slip on my coat and stuff the gloves into the pocket. “Stay in the car,” I tell Matty.
His eyebrows furrow. “Okay, Mommy.”
While his attention turns to prying apart two pieces of dried mango, I open my door. Snow blasts my face and bare hands and wind whips into every crack in my clothing, making me gasp. I step into deep snow that fills up around my bare ankles. The wet and cold on my skin come as a shock. Squinting into the wind, I shut the door and zip my jacket as high as it’ll go, then start walking toward the upside-down truck.