Sheep Calm and Merry On

Chapter 1

IT WASN’T unusual to have a white Christmas in Vanderbilt, Michigan.

Fortunately Devon’s trusty farm truck had four-wheel drive and a good set of chains or he would’ve been stuck in the grocery store parking lot until the plows came through, and who knew how long that would take.

He might have had to spend the night at his sister’s place, and it was going to be crowded enough.

He was pretty sure she’d invited the whole town for the holidays.

Either way, he was sticking to the bigger roads as much as possible and taking it slow. No point tempting fate, especially since cell reception up here was spotty enough when the weather was good.

And the weather was decidedly not good. Devon kept the truck in low gear and his eyes on the road, the windshield defroster cranked.

He should’ve had the heated steering fixed.

He updated his mental priority list to include “fix the heated steering.” Check the shelters, break the ice on the unheated water troughs, feed the critters, call the mechanic.

Then he could build a nice fire in the farmhouse woodstove and spend the rest of the night drinking cocoa and wrapping presents.

If his teenage self could see him now, he’d probably think he’d overdosed.

Snow battered the windshield and wind rocked the truck as he crawled along toward his exit.

The snow was thick enough that he could only see a narrow sliver of road through the tracks left by other vehicles.

The sides of the road were already more than a foot deep.

Nasty stuff, and it was only getting worse as the temperature dropped.

Not a good day to be out for a drive, for sure. Anyone who got in an accident out here was in for a nasty night.

Devon had to keep a close eye on the side of the road in order to keep track of it under all the snow or he never would’ve seen it—a tiny green sedan that had slid off the road and ended up half in a snow drift. A good two inches covered the roof, so it must have been there for a while.

Cursing, Devon eased on the brakes as he passed and dared a glance over. He couldn’t see anyone in the car.

He did see a track in the snow, though, heading north along the roadside. Devon thought whoever’d been driving the car had to be insane, until he spotted the mile marker just sticking up above the snow.

There was a rest area with bathrooms and telephones a quarter mile up the road. Maybe the driver didn’t have a death wish after all.

Even with four-wheel drive and chains on his tires, Devon didn’t make the turn into the rest area.

The lot hadn’t seen a plow in hours; if he went up that road, he’d never get out again.

So, cursing himself and whatever moron thought it was a good idea to drive a subcompact in northern Michigan in the middle of a blizzard, he stopped the truck, grabbed a set of flashers from the emergency kit and set them on the tailgate, and hoofed it through the snow.

The wind bit his cheeks and eyebrows, and he was quickly in snow up to his knees. A fire and hot cocoa, he reminded himself. And a good night’s sleep for his Good Samaritan act.

The sun was going down, and the temperature was plummeting with it. Devon wrapped his scarf tighter around his face, hunched his shoulders, and pushed into the wind. The sooner he got to the rest stop, the sooner he could go back to his truck and get warm.

Finally he pushed open the doors and stepped inside.

The power was out—no surprise—so it was emergency lighting only, and no heat, though it was still warmer than outside, and at least the wind and snow couldn’t get in. Devon squinted into the dim light. “Hello? Anybody here?”

No answer.

“Anybody else here crazy enough to get out of their car in this shit, or is it just me?”

But the snow tracks definitely led here, and now that his eyes had adjusted, he could make out a watery trail in the direction of the bathrooms. Well, that made sense, right? Might as well find a smaller area, try to keep that warm.

He followed the puddles to the men’s room, but found it empty. Then he spotted one more puddle in front of the women’s bathroom.

Now what? He didn’t want to be a creep, but also, leaving without checking on whoever was here was not an option.

He knocked. “Hello?” he called. “Ma’am?”

No answer.

Well, if whoever was in here was dead, they weren’t going to yell at him for coming in. He pushed the door open.

At first he thought this room was empty too. Maybe he’d actually driven the truck straight into a hydro pole and hit his head and this whole thing was just him hallucinating during his last moments.

But then he heard a rustle that sounded almost like those stupid helium balloons, the ones people filled up for Valentine’s and birthdays and wedding photoshoots, and he tried again. “Is anyone—”

“Jesus!”

Devon’s mouth dropped open in surprise, and he fumbled in his pocket for his phone, because duh, it had a flashlight on it. “Uh. Jesus who?”

He swept the beam around the bathroom. When the light hit a spot under the sink, the whole place spun like a disco ball.

“F-f-fuck!”

“Jesus Fuck,” Devon repeated. Sure. Why not? “Kind of a lame knock-knock joke.” He directed the light at the floor in an effort not to blind whatever tin-foil-covered delusion was lurking in this bathroom. “What are you doing in here?”

“F-freezing to d-d-death.”

Devon snorted. Apparently two could play the smartass game. “You want me to leave you to it? Or, like, I can give you a lift back to my place and we can come back for your car when the weather clears.”

Pause. Then the funny metallic rustle again, and suddenly Devon’s damsel in distress was standing in front of him, a reflective blanket wrapped around his hips like a skirt.

“Uh,” said Devon. “Where are your pants?”

Wordlessly, the guy pointed to a stall door. A pair of jeans hung from the top, visibly damp from the knee down, reminding Devon of what he had to look forward to once the snow he’d waded through melted. At least the guy had the presence of mind to bring the emergency blanket from his car.

“Right,” Devon said, shaking his head. “What do you say, man? I want to get back in my truck before the snow covers it. I promise I’m not an ax murderer.”

He got the impression of dark eyes blinking at him. “That leaves a lot of other kinds of murderer.”

Definitely a smartass. “If I wanted you dead, I could’ve left you here…?” he pointed out, leaving the end of the sentence hanging so the guy would introduce himself. Devon couldn’t actually go around calling him Jesus Fuck.

“Noah,” he said finally as he took the hand Devon offered. His hands were dry and chapped, but at least they weren’t cold.

“Noah,” Devon repeated. “I’m Devon. You try the phones in the lobby area? Let your people know you’re not dead?”

Noah shivered and pulled his coat around him a little tighter. “Phone’s out with the power.”

Right, obviously. “All right, well, you wanna leave a lipstick note on the mirror letting everyone know who to blame if you turn up dead?”

Noah snorted. “No, man, I’ll take my chances. Even if that does mean putting my pants back on.”

Devon left his phone face up on the counter and turned around to give him privacy. “What the hell were you thinking driving in this, anyway, in a tiny little car like that?”

“Mostly I was thinking ‘holy shit, I hope I don’t die.’”

Fair enough. He didn’t owe Devon his life story. “Well, there’s a generator at my place. You can call your people from there.”

“God, this is disgusting.” The slap of wet denim. Then, “You’re assuming I have people.”

“If you don’t have people here and you’re driving up I-75 in this weather, I’m the one who should be worried about ax murderers.”

Noah snorted. “My parents are in Indian River. Brother moved when he got married. I think he’s in Vanderbilt now.”

“You think?”

“Never been to his place. I’ve been in Colorado the past three years.”

Was Noah allergic to speaking more than two sentences at a time? Devon gazed up at the ceiling. There was a water spot over by the window. “I’m in Vanderbilt too. Sort of. My place isn’t really in anything except the middle of nowhere.”

“Wow. You’re really not good at this whole ‘reassure me you’re not a serial killer’ thing.” He paused. “You can turn around now. Your virgin eyes are in no further danger.”

Devon ignored the quip about his virgin eyes out of deference to Noah’s sense of safety. If he replied with a chirp about Noah’s virgin ass he’d probably change his mind and freeze to death in this place. “Great. Let’s get to my truck before the engine seizes up.”

NOAH HAD pretty much resigned himself to a long, cold, uncomfortable night followed by a day that would likely be more of the same, until the power came back on and he could call someone to come get him and tow his car out.

He’d had the presence of mind to bring a handful of stuff from the car’s emergency kit, but if he were really smart, he’d have grabbed a change of clothes along with the bottles of water and granola bars.

For the first hour he figured he’d be okay. Then the temperature dropped and the snow came down heavier. The little mylar blanket was not cutting it anymore.

He’d been panicking for a good forty minutes before Devon showed up, to the point where at first he’d thought he was hallucinating.

But nope. He was being rescued or possibly murdered. As long as he had the opportunity to get warm first, he wasn’t sure he cared.

Back outside, the sun had set and the wind was still blowing furiously. Noah pulled his blanket as tight over his coat as he could, but he couldn’t do anything about his jeans, which froze stiff after a handful of steps. He could feel them chapping against his skin.

But the red glow of emergency lights flashed up ahead, promising the eventuality of warmth and safety and maybe even food. Noah gritted his jaw against his chattering teeth and followed Devon’s footsteps.