Chapter 3
DARBY
Sitting in the passenger seat of my compact SUV, Skadi flashes a look of pure disdain over at me. Her yowls and yips tell me exactly what I’m already thinking.
Deciding to drive to Vegas is the dumbest idea I’ve ever had, second only to marrying Michael in the first place.
Thick fluffy snowflakes blur everything into blowing streams down the middle of the highway. The road itself glistens like a beautiful white crystal beneath the billows of fresh snow on top. I have serious doubts even chains will be enough to get me through the mountains.
I’ve never driven this route before. I checked the weather before leaving but the forecast only called for a couple of inches until after dark when the main storm would hit. Guess the snow came early.
It’s not even dark yet and I can barely see.
So stupid. I’m not a bad-weather driver!
I should have just stayed in my crappy, cold apartment another day instead of being so eager to get to sunny Las Vegas.
I already lost a full day waiting to get chains put on my car.
If I left tomorrow, I’d have to deal with hours of traffic as all the skiers head to the slopes.
Skadi chomps her jaws several times, giving me another cursing out. I’m just lucky she’s not howling at the top of her lungs. Yet.
“I know. We should have left earlier. If you came inside the first time I called, maybe we could make it over the pass before dark.”
She sighs in disgust and turns her head to stare out the window.
She’s not worried about my driving. She’s only mad that she can’t be out playing in all that glistening snow like it’s her own personal playground.
I glance at the map displayed on the dash, wincing at all the twists and curves ahead.
I really should find a place to spend the night.
If I give the plows a couple of hours to catch up, it won’t be so dangerous.
Especially at night. There’s a small dot coming up on the map, but I have no idea how large the town will be, let alone if they’ll have pet-friendly accommodations.
If nothing else, maybe I can find an all-night diner.
At least we won’t be on the road if the weather conditions continue to worsen.
The exit sign is so covered in snow and ice that I can’t read the information, but I turn my blinker on and slowly edge into the exit lane.
The snow is thicker, and without any recent tire marks, I don’t have any idea where the actual lane is.
Gripping the steering wheel so tightly my fingers cramp, I’m hunched forward, straining to see faint traces of the road beneath the blowing snow.
A few orange signs guide me around a curve, and even though we’re creeping, I feel the tires skid and slip. Sweat breaks out on my forehead.
As much as I hate Michael, I still hear his voice in my head, giving me driving instructions during my first winter in Colorado.
Slow. No sudden corrections. Don’t slam on your brakes. Don’t jerk the wheel. Give your tires time to catch. Turn the wheel slightly into the skid. A little more. Yeah.
The SUV’s backend fishtails, making my heart pound a frantic staccato beat. But then the chains find traction and I’m able to straighten out of the skid.
Where’s the town? Some streetlights? Something? I don’t dare take my eyes off the blowing snow to glance at the map again. Tall, dark pines crowd closer to the exit. Or am I on a real road now? Why aren’t there any tracks? Maybe I should have stayed on the freeway.
A few warning signs posted alongside the road help me stay out of the deeper snow, guiding me in another deep curve to the right.
Down a hill. Shit, it’s steep. We pick up a little speed, which I absolutely do not want.
I press and release the brakes rhythmically, trying to slow our descent without locking them up.
A white, rocky wall rises on either side like we’re going down into a canyon.
Skadi whines softly.
“It’s okay,” I breathe out. “We’re okay. We’re going to make it.”
Even though I don’t know where this road’s going.
Night falls in an instant like a black velvet drape tossed over my head.
My arms and shoulders ache with strain, my eyes hot and dry.
I blink rapidly, trying to focus through the falling snow.
At least the canyon walls are blocking the winds—but that means all the snow is falling directly onto the road.
Finally, a stop sign. The bottom of the exit, I assume.
In the dark, I can barely make out a narrow road cutting across diagonally.
There’s a large sign made out of logs across the road, but I can’t read it beneath the snow.
No city lights in either direction. No other cars.
It’s almost like we’ve entered an alternate dimension.
I glance over at Skadi. “Left or right?”
I swear she growls out, “Both.”
I’m tempted to put the car into park and jump out to check the sign.
Though sitting here in the dark at the bottom of a steep exit doesn’t seem very smart, even for a few minutes.
Especially with a dog eager to get out into the snow and explore.
If she got off leash here, it’d be hours before I managed to coax her back into the car.
She knows her commands and most days she’s smarter than me.
But there’s only so much bossing you can do with a Husky, especially with fresh, delightful snow on the ground.
I’ve got her harness buckled into the seat belt, but if I got out of the car and left her, even for a few minutes, I’m sure she’d Houdini her way out, open her door, and then lock my keys inside. That’s the kind of dog she is—and why she’s named after the goddess of destruction.
And exactly why I love her.
A rumble behind us jerks my gaze up to the rearview mirror. Headlights. Coming fast.
They might not see us sitting here, and even if they do, they might not be able to stop.
My foot twitches a little harder than I intend on the gas, spinning my tires. We scoot forward but the backend slips a little to the right. Down. Tipping our left side upward as if there’s a ditch waiting to swallow us up.
“Come on,” I whisper fiercely, willing the chains to catch.
I flicker another quick look up at the mirror. Blazing white lights grow bigger, bearing down on us. Too big for a car. A semi? Surely not down that little canyon road. But definitely big enough to crush my little SUV like a tin can.
My heart thunders, my brain firing ideas rapid fire.
I could unhook Skadi’s harness. Throw open her door.
She’ll be okay then. The airbag would save me.
Probably. Whiplash might be a bitch depending on how hard they hit me from behind.
But the airbag might kill her. Or I floor it and shoot across the road into another ditch.
At least maybe we’re out of the path of the big vehicle?
Unless I hit one of the many massive trees I can see highlighted by the headlights shining brighter by the second.
I press harder on the gas pedal, trying to get us up out of the ditch—but not out of control. We’re moving. Sliding. I try to turn the wheel to keep us on the road, but the tires have turned into ice skates. The snow-covered road glistens like puffy clouds of cotton candy.
Skadi screams, one of her shrill no-nonsense howls I assume is doggie for “Fuck!”
The chains catch in small jerks, slowing our spin. Shaking, I ease to a stop in front of the sign. My bumper knocks on the planks just hard enough to shake off a small avalanche to reveal dark letters burned into the wooden logs. Mooseville. Underneath in smaller letters is “POP 5”.
Population five?
Not five thousand or even five hundred. Just… five.
A hysterical laugh sounds harsh in my ears. I guess there’s not going to be any pet-friendly hotel or diner in such a small town. Can you even call it a town with only five people living here?
I drop my forehead to the steering wheel, trying to catch my breath. I’m shaking so badly I don’t know I can drive another mile without sliding off the road.
Skadi whines insistently, tugging at her harness.
“We’re okay,” I say out loud without looking up. “We didn’t die. We didn’t even crash.”
Someone taps on my window. What’s left of my nerves shoots straight out the top of my head, and I yelp.
“Sorry,” a man says outside, leaning down to peer into the window. “Do you need help?”
And I burst into tears.
REN
I never expected to find a damsel in distress this close to home. No one ever comes out this way, especially random tourists or travelers. Our exit’s basically a canyon dead end. Just the way we like it.
She rolls down the window enough for me to see her face. Shit, she’s crying.
“Hey, are you injured?”
“We’re okay.” She shakes her head and stammers. “Just shaken up a little.”
We? I don’t see anyone else in the car, just her and a Siberian Husky yipping for attention. “Where are you headed?”
“Vegas.”
I start to laugh—and change it to a strangled cough when her eyes narrow. Her chin inches up, her mouth taking on a delightfully stubborn pout despite her upset.
Oh shit. She’s serious. “In this storm? We’re getting a foot tonight.”
Her stubborn stance deflates as if her bones turn to rubber. She drops her head forward against the steering wheel and lets out a quiet yet shrill wail. Which sets off the Husky, who gets even louder and shriller, back and forth as if they’re bitching at each other.
I can’t help but laugh.
Her head pops up, her eyes narrowed but shimmering with tears. “I don’t suppose there’s a nice warm hotel in this huge booming town?”
“Town?” I laugh again, shaking my head. “There’s no town here. Just a couple of cabins. We don’t even have a gas station.”
Her chin trembles imperceptibly. “There was a dot on my map. I wouldn’t have risked turning off the freeway otherwise.”
I tip my head side to side. “Probably the private airfield. Leland refuses to drive if he can fly.” She doesn’t say anything, but I can see the panic growing in her eyes, shimmering with tears and worry.
I give her my trademark Hotshot smile, cocky, confident, and smooth.
“Now, now, sugar, don’t fall apart on me. We’ll figure something out.”
Her eyes spark and she jams a finger on the automatic button to roll up her window. “Thanks for nothing, asshole.”
“Hey, wait. I didn’t say I couldn’t help.” So charm isn’t the ticket to success with her. “I don’t think you can get through to Vail, but I plowed westbound from Idaho Springs. I can check to see if the eastbound’s clear and you could head back to the city.”
She stops rolling up her window but doesn’t soften her guarded expression. “I’d rather sleep in my car than drive back to Denver.” She turns her head to glance in the rearview mirror. “I thought it was a semi-truck bearing down on us.”
“Just my plow. I’ve got chains if you want me to pull you out of the ditch, and you can get back on the freeway.” I don’t say anything else but hope my tone conveys my doubt in that approach.
“Or?”
“You can sleep over with one of us, and I’ll help you get back to the freeway once the storm breaks. Though with the fresh snow, I-70 will be jam-packed all weekend with everyone headed to the ski resorts if you don’t get on the road by dawn.”
“I’m not an early riser.” She makes a face like she smelled something bad. “Damn it. I was trying to get out of the mountain range before the weekend to avoid all the skiers.”
I shrug and let my lips twitch in a slight smile. “Not a fan of the slopes, huh?”
“Hardly. I hate snow.”
I have so many questions. The more I learn about her, the more my curiosity burns.
Why would someone who hates snow live in Colorado in the first place?
Let alone have a Husky. I bite my tongue, fighting the urge to ask.
She has no reason at all to trust me. Especially a lone woman stranded in the middle of nowhere in a blizzard with a bunch of horny men.
Okay, not a bunch. But there are four of us.
If the blizzard blows on for a few days, who knows? One of us might be just her type for a winter snowbound fling in a snug mountain cabin.