My nice leather flats don’t stand a chance.
I go sliding, a little yelp bursting out of my mouth, my phone spinning around and landing face down in the snow, the flashlight shining up into the night.
I also land face down, but I slide down the embankment, the branches scratching against my skin painfully as I go, my hair tangled and wet, matted with dripping water and little chunks of slopped ice.
When I come to a stop, I take one second to feel sorry for myself, then wiggle around, managing to flip over onto my back. Then I feel my coat snag on the tree and the breath is sucked out of me.
After ten minutes of struggling, breathing hard, the cold of the snow biting against my skin, I can’t deny it.
I’m stuck.
CHAPTER 5
EVAN
“Stop looking at me like that.”
Blue sits in front of me, her eyes wide and bright, and the tags hanging from her collar. I’m trying to enjoy my food, and she won’t stop staring at me.
But she’s not begging. She knows better than that.
Instead, I know she’s judging me. For the way I closed the door in that woman’s face, and for the fact that I’m sitting here now, even knowing she doesn’t stand a chance of getting back down the mountain.
“It’s not my problem,” I insist again to my dog. “She came up here. She can find her way back down.”
It’s not true. Well, she might find her way down in a different way.
I pause with a bite of chili halfway to my mouth, indecision pounding through me. On one hand, my food is almost finished, the cabin is cozy, and I’ve been working my ass off all day. If someone is out driving in this, it’s their fault.
Doubly so because of who she is and who she works for. The fact that she thought she could come up here and offer me some measly sum of money for the land—like McKay Capital Management has been doing for nearly a year now—and I’d happily take it.
Why? I said no to the countless guys they sent, so next comes a gorgeous woman? Yeah, maybe she has a pretty mix of green, brown, and gold in her eyes. And my eyes caught the snow in her hair, the red at the tip of her nose, and I wanted to warm her up, invite her inside. Give her the benefit of the doubt.
Maybe something pulled in the center of my chest at the sight of her there, on my front porch in her white coat, like an angel arriving in the middle of the storm.
But I’m not an idiot, or a sucker. And I’m not going to sell my land just because a beautiful stranger shows up in the middle of a snowstorm and asks me to. And if McKay Capital Management thought it was a good idea to send her up here, they can bail her out when she ends up stuck in a snowdrift.
It’s not my problem.
On the other hand, Gramps didn’t raise me to turn away from someone in need. And my gut tells me that anyone driving on the mountain in a storm like this is going to be in need very soon.
“Aw, hell,” I mutter, giving the corn bread—which is still steaming, resting against the ridge of my bowl—one last longing look before I heave myself up from the table, turning and stomping toward my bedroom to get my outside clothes on again.
Blue follows me to the door, her head cocked, and when I realize she wants to come along, I sit down, pulling on her booties andher vest, thinking she might actually be helpful if we need to track this person down.
“All right,” I grumble, sighing before I reach for the doorknob. Blue looks up at me, her head tilted, one of her floppy ears falling to the side as she waits for me to open the door. As I do, I say, “After this, we’re both getting a treat.”
I grab my keys from their little hook and open the front door, only to stop mid-stride when I realize her little vehicle is still parked behind mine, now buried in at least two inches of snow. It’s off, and when I walk around to the driver’s seat, she doesn’t seem to be inside.
“What the…” I mutter, but Blue yanks suddenly and fiercely on the leash, letting out a low whine that startles me. She never acts like this, but right now, she’s tugging against the leash, practically pulling me through the yard and away from the car, down the road in the opposite direction from town. The last time I saw her acting like this, there was a family broken down halfway down the pass, their car’s brakes having gone out.
“Blue—” I start, trying to admonish her, but then I see it—a little pinprick in the snow, shining through the flurries, like a fallen star.
And when I get closer, I realize it’s the flashlight from a phone, now partially buried by the snow, which clings to my boots and pants, making it even harder to clomp along the road.
When I get to the little fallen flashlight, I try to remember her name—what did she introduce herself as? Did she get a chance to introduce herself before I shut the door in her face?
A ripple of guilt pushes through me.
