As the woman walked in my tire tracks, she held her arms out from her lumberjack physique like she was on a tightrope. A clanking sound was followed by two knocks on the rear of the SUV. "Reverse when you feel the pull. But gently."
I followed Mrs. Paul Bunyon's orders, and the SUV shifted to the left. With the accelerator pressed lightly, snow crunched and scraped the undercarriage as the truck inched backwards.
The second the wheels settled on the pavement, I got out, my leather-soled shoes slipping on the shoulder. I shuffled along the icy road, noting the scratches on the side of the sleek back SUV. Other than the airbag, the damage didn't seem to be that bad.
The lady was on her knees by the bumper, unhooking the rope, which was attached to a winch system on the front of her truck. It wasn't a tow truck, but her setup was almost as good.
"Thank you." I rubbed my hands together and blew warm air onto them. "Let me get that."
She stood, the hook in her hand. "It's okay, I got it."
In the light of her truck's bush lights, the antlers weren't so scary at all. They were made of brown felt and had candy canes and gold bells stitched on them. Their tiny bells tinkled as she worked.
My Paul Bunyon assessment was dramatic. It was impossible to tell what she looked like beneath the knee-length down coat that looked more like a sleeping bag meant for minus forty. Its hem brushed the top of big black winter boots, the kind my dad used to wear when he cleared the snow from the driveway.
When she finally looked at me, my stomach clenched. The terrifying part of her wasn't her outfit. It was her eyes. I knew them well.
Of all the people to stop and rescue me from the side of the road, why did it have to be her?
"Clara." I hadn’t said her name in years.
She froze, the tow rope in her hand, and for a second I thought she might hit me with it.
"Beckett."
As strange as it felt saying her name, hearing mine in her voice was almost foreign. She never called me Beckett. It was always Beck, or sometimes even Shepherd, like half the town and all the guys on the hockey team.
Would she have pulled over if she knew it was me in the ditch? Shivering, I knew the answer. No chance in hell. "Thanks for stopping to help me."
Clara's face remained poker straight. "Hold this." She thrust the hook into my hands. "Keep the line taut." The hinge on hertruck door creaked as she leaned inside to operate the winch, its whirr drowned out by the rumble of her truck's diesel engine. Snow fell from the line as it retracted.
"That's good." I shouted as the hook hit the winch housing.
Clara came to inspect the rope. Satisfied that I hadn't messed up her instructions, she brushed her brown suede work gloves together. "You should be able to drive it to Bob Lumber's garage. He can check it over and get that airbag sorted out."
"Bob's still around?" Bob Lumber was old when I was a teenager.
The blank expression on her face from earlier was now easy to read. Contempt. She kept her gaze trained on the field behind me.
"So what? Are you back in town now?" There was a bite in her voice.
Her long brown hair had been cut short, its ends flicked beneath candy cane earrings. Short hair suited her, but my focus was drawn to her eyes, which were narrowed.
"I'm here on business for a few days." I rested my hand above the glowing taillights of the SUV. "Although, maybe longer now…"
"Business?" The bells jingled as she opened the door to her truck.
"Yeah, I—"
"Welcome back to Chance Rapids, Beckett. Don't touch your brakes on the hill."
"Clara, wait—"
She hopped in the cab. The truck fishtailed, throwing beads of icy snow from its tires as she drove away.
Covered in snow, I watched her taillights disappear. I felt like a clown, but instead of big red shoes, mine were Italian leather, and frozen solid. I brushed off the snow shrapnel from mysweater. So far my return home had been a disaster. Was it too late to turn around and go back to the city?
No. Chance Rapids was my boss's first choice, and I was going to get it for him. Reminded of my mission, I shook off the crash and steered the Tahoe towards the quaint town. At night, the mountain used to loom over town like a dark shadow. Now lights from snowcats grooming the slopes dotted the landscape like stars, and the glow from the new village lit up its base.
