Chapter 2
I can’t even see. Easing my foot off of the gas, I slow the car. Thankfully, I have all-weather tires. This drive would have been impossible without them.
“Getting closer,” I exhale, gripping the wheel too hard.
It’s a really dark night and snowing like mad. My eyes feel like sandpits. My legs ache from being in the same position for hours.
I lean forward, fatigue making me wired but tired.
Is that…?
Yes, that’s the road.
“Whew. I’ll be so glad when this drive is over.”
I’ve resorted to talking to myself.
It’s been a long day with no cell signal for the last couple of hours. Otherwise I would have bent someone’s ear just to have something to do. Rosalie would have chatted since they’re on the road too.
A smile spreads on my road-weary face. It will be awesome to see Justice and Rosalie. The rest of the team too…
But not Spencer McCallister. He’d rather spend Christmas by himself.
Ugh, that really bothers me.
It also bothers me in a whole different way every time I see him.
Complicated is an understatement for how the man makes me feel.
I scratch my head, the blush heating my face even more where the heater-vent is already blowing. Spencer is like a forbidden, unsolvable mystery.
Tall. Dark haired, hazel-eyed, and—
Is there even a vocabulary for what the former SEAL is?
My swallow is ragged as I’m hit with memories of the way his chest was cut with muscle. But it is the vision of his abs looking like a stacked-brick wall above his low-slung athletic pants that makes my mouth go dry.
“Oh my God,” I screech, correcting the wheel, getting myself back in the middle of the driving lane. “Do not run off the road thinking about him.”
If I crashed because I was goo-goo-eyed over my brother’s teammate, I’d have to take that secret to my grave.
My nipples don’t get the message. They ache and abrade the inside of my bra. And this sweater does NOTHING to hide the fact that I’m aroused.
Nope, I’ll be a headlight honey.
Everyone will wonder why I have my coat on. The whole freaking time. I can’t think about Spencer McCallister. That’s off-limits.
A dim light appears in the distance in front of me, an eerie blue beam between the barrage of flakes. As I draw closer, it becomes apparent that the light is a sign for a gas station.
When I glance at the GPS, it’s frozen. A halo of blue circles my icon, but nothing else shows on the map.
“That’s not helpful. Come on, don’t fail me now.”
On cue, the snow thickens, making it even harder to see.
Okay, this is not good. I have maybe 30 miles left to go, and most of it’s up a gigantic mountain. The last town behind me is at least an hour away with moderate conditions.
In this, it might be impossible to get back.
The gas station is my lighthouse as I ease off the road into a parking lot that’s covered with at least ten inches of fresh snow.
Gulp.
They’ve gotten a lot more than I expected.
Glancing in my rearview, I look at my small duffel bag with clothes for a weekend inside a posh resort. Beside it is my emergency bag.
Having a brother like Justice means you do not leave home without survival equipment.
But the idea of spending the night in my car in this weather… makes me shudder.
I park in what I think is a parking spot, and kill the engine. Seconds later, my windshield is blanketed so thickly I can’t see the gas station’s tiny store any longer.
Surely I’ll feel better once I go inside. They’ll have a suggestion of what to do.
Tugging on my gloves and hat, I take a few steadying breaths.
I’m safe. Nothing bad is going to happen.
I have my emergency gear. The store is open.
Worst case, maybe they would let me hang out inside until Justice and Rosalie drive by. Surely they’d see my Honda CRV and stop.
If it’s not buried.
Snow billows around my legs as I trudge to the front door. The lights are on, steam fogging the windows.
Yes! I grab the handle to pull, but the door doesn’t budge.
Oh, no! Are they closed?
I glance at the blinking neon open sign. Hm.
It looks like business as usual inside, lights everywhere, steam coming from a coffee pot that’s on a hot plate, but the parking lot is empty.
Shivering, I walk around the corner, back to the front, and the other corner, peering around the side of the building.
No tire tracks.
With the pit of my stomach getting heavier, I hurry back to my car.
“Ma’am!”
I whip around, holding up my hand to block the snow from my eyes. “Yes! Hello!”
In the doorway is a man who must be ninety-years-old.
“Oh thank goodness, I thought you were closed.”
“The door just sticks when it’s really cold.”
He holds it open for me, grinning at me with his cloudy eyes squinted. “You’re gonna freeze your tookus off out there.”
“Tell me about it,” I breeze into the store trying to leave as much snow as I can outside. “Crazy weather.”
“What in the world are you doing out on a night like this?”
“I’m on the way to meet my family and friends for Christmas at the resort on the mountain.”
He looks at me over his round glasses, all humor gone from his expression. “That road’s not passable tonight.”
For a second, I try to process what that means.
“It’s closed,” he states plainly. “Too slippery unless you've got chains. Even then, you’d be in trouble if you slide off the road.”
I do not have chains. I have all-weather tires. Not even those winter-rated ones.
Think, Liberty. Only I feel frozen. Trapped.
It’s a familiar discomfort that goes back to my teenage years.
I try to get my throat going on the swallow that’s hung halfway. “There wouldn’t happen to be a hotel around here, would there?”
“Nope. Hundred miles back.”
He says this with great finality.
I must look totally dejected because he pats my shoulder. “Let me make you some hot chocolate.”
“Thanks.” I try not to let the quiver in my voice show. “That would be really nice.”
He disappears into the back of a small kitchen at the rear of the store, his feet shuffling on the worn tiles. Christmas music is drifting out of some ancient speaker back there.
Some of the tension releases from my shoulders. I can just hang out here, I guess.
But my worry comes right back as I press my face to the door, searching the dark night for signs of life.
There are none.
Unless you count snowflakes as living creatures.
Would Justice and Rosalie turn back?
Surely he wouldn’t bring his new wife into these kinds of dangerous conditions. He’s far too protective of her.
I shouldn’t have brought myself into these conditions.
Sigh.
But the alternative was another Christmas alone.
“Here you go.”
I’m drawn from my thoughts as the man reappears with a well-loved mug full to the brim with hot cocoa. Shoving my gloves in my pocket, I welcome his kindness.
“Thank you. This makes things seem less bleak.”
His nose scrunches as he looks out toward the parking lot. “You might need to use the Wayward Traveler Cot.”
My brows go up. “I’m appreciative, but I’m hopeful I can catch a ride with my brother and his wife when they pass by.”
The man slowly shakes his head. “Road’s closed where you just came from. They announced it on the radio right before you came in.”
To say my heart drops is a poor description of what I feel. My hands start to feel clammy.
Take a breath.
I know what’s happening. This is my response when I feel out of control. It’s just a trauma response.
“Well,” I croak, “that cot sounds like a five-star resort compared to my car.”
We both go silent, watching the snow layer on like icing being spread on a cake.
“Are you staying here?” I ask.
He grins. “Live here. My apartment’s out back. My Ford truck’s tucked away in the garage, nice and safe from all that salt on the road.”
Ah, that explains the lack of cars and tire tracks.
“I’m turning in soon,” he reaches for the Open light, flipping the toggle, extinguishing the blue neon.
I force myself to drink the cocoa, but inside I’m trying not to unravel. “Guess they’ll clear up the road to the mountain tomorrow,” I say hopefully.
He’s doing something at the register now, but he sounds skeptical. “Maybe.”
One by one, he cuts off the lights on the display cases, plunging the sodas and the cases of beer into darkness.
“Hm. That’s weird,” he says, waving a gnarled hand toward the window.
My heart jumps as I press my face closer. “Headlights!”
“Might be the sheriff. Who knows, but whoever it is, they’re crazy to be out there tonight.”
“That vehicle is coming from the mountain.” I rub spot in the fogged glass as the headlights draw closer.
The blizzard blurs into irregular swathes of light; the blue-white beams form. “Looks like it might be a truck and it’s driving fast.”