Chapter Two #2
I was not a dog person. Cattle, horses, ranch animals that served a purpose—fine. But Mom's dogs were different. She loved them like children, showed them in competitions, cried every time a litter went to new homes. I respected the work but didn't understand the attachment.
This one, though. She settled against my chest with a soft sigh, and damned if I didn't feel something shift.
"You're going to be fine," I told her, gruffer than intended. "RoyAnn's a good person. She'll spoil you rotten."
I loaded her carrier in the passenger seat of my truck, along with the supplies Mom had packed. Formula, bottles, puppy pads, three different toys, two blankets. Enough gear for a week-long trip, not a delivery run.
Before starting the engine, I checked my phone. Weather radar showed the storm system moving in fast—faster than the earlier forecast predicted. Would hit by late afternoon, maybe sooner. If I left now and drove straight through, I'd have maybe three hours before it got bad.
Tight, but doable.
By the time I loaded up and headed out, it was already past two in the afternoon. Later than I'd wanted, but still manageable.
The first hour wasn't bad.
Highway 89 south was clear, traffic light. I kept the heat cranked for the puppy, who alternated between squeaking and trying to chew through the carrier mesh. Every few miles, I'd reach over and scratch her head through the opening.
"Almost there," I lied.
The sky darkened as I drove. By the time I passed Livingston, the first real flakes were falling. Not heavy yet, but steady. White curtain starting to form. I turned up the speed on the wipers and checked the GPS.
Fifty-three minutes to destination.
She'd gone quiet. I glanced over—she'd curled up on her blanket, shivering despite the heat pouring from the vents.
"Hey." I reached over and unlatched the carrier. She gazed up at me with those trusting eyes. "Come here."
I lifted her out and tucked her inside my Carhartt jacket, against my chest. She burrowed in immediately, her warm weight settling against my ribs. The shivering stopped.
"Better?"
She made a small sound—agreement, maybe, or comfort.
Great. Now I was having conversations with a puppy.
The snow picked up as I turned onto the highway toward Paradise Valley. What had been moderate flurries twenty minutes ago was now coming down hard. Visibility dropped fast. I slowed to forty, then thirty-five, watching the road narrow ahead of me.
This was going south fast.
The GPS chirped, then started acting up. The screen flickered. Buffered. Then froze completely, stuck on a loading screen that wasn't loading anything.
"Perfect." I tried hitting the power button to restart it. Nothing. The screen stayed frozen on that useless loading icon. "Well, that's just great," I muttered. The puppy whimpered in response. "I know, baby girl. We'll figure it out."
I pulled out my phone, tried to pull up maps. No signal. Not even one bar.
Real mess.
I tried backing up, but the road was too narrow and I couldn't see where the edges were under all the snow. One wrong move and I'd slide into a ditch, and then the pup and I would both be stuck waiting for a tow truck that probably couldn't get here in this weather anyway.
Forward was the only option. Keep moving, hope the road led somewhere, hope I'd find someone who could point me in the right direction. Maybe someone here knows where RoyAnn's place is.
The animal squirmed against my chest, reminding me I was running out of time.
I crept forward, hands tight on the wheel. The road curved left, then right, winding through forest that all looked the same. Every tree, every turn, identical under all that white.
Where the hell was I?
I came around another curve and nearly slid off the road. Straightened out, heart pounding, hands aching from gripping the wheel. The blizzard was a full whiteout now. I could barely see ten feet ahead.
That's when I saw them.
Lights. Warm and golden through the wall of white.
A cabin emerged from the storm like something from a magazine. Big, beautiful, clearly expensive. One of those luxury resort places. But right now, it looked like salvation.
I needed directions. And the dog needed real warmth, needed to get inside somewhere that wasn't my freezing truck.
I pulled up as close as I could and killed the engine. The dashboard clock read 5:47. Nearly four hours since I'd left home. Should've been ninety minutes, tops.
I grabbed the puppy from inside my jacket—she let out a distressed yip at the sudden cold—and tucked her back in tight before stepping out into the storm.
The wind slammed into me, bitter and sharp. Snow blew sideways, stinging my face, getting under my collar despite the jacket. Snow found every gap in my collar, melting cold down my neck. The temperature had dropped at least ten degrees. I could barely see the cabin steps through the blowing snow.
I climbed the porch, boots heavy with accumulated snow, the puppy making soft pitiful sounds against my chest.
I knocked on the door. Hard.
No answer.
The storm howled around me. She was shaking again, her small body trembling even tucked inside my jacket. I could feel her rapid heartbeat against my ribs.
I knocked again, louder. "Hello? I need help, please!"
Still nothing.
The cold was brutal now. My hands were going numb even in my gloves. The puppy's distress was getting worse.
I was about to knock a third time when I heard it—movement inside. Footsteps approaching the door.
Thank God. Someone was home.
"Hello?" I called louder, trying to be heard over the wind.
The footsteps stopped on the other side of the door. Through the frosted glass, I saw a shadow. Someone was there.
I held the puppy closer, turning my back to the wind to shield her. The storm screamed around us.
Come on. Open the damn door.