“Hello?” I call, but the effort is pointless, because Blue takes off so quickly, darting away, that her leash slips right through my gloved hand. “Blue!”
A scream erupts from down at the bottom of the slope, and I follow the noise until I find something pinned under what looks like a fallen tree.
It doesn’t make any sense. I follow the line of the tree, brow furrowing when I realize it’s stretching up and onto the road. I was just out checking this road yesterday. And I would have noticed if one of these trees was rotting or ready to come down.
“Oh, my God!”
I’m shaken out of my thoughts by the sound of a garbled, high-pitched voice, along with the wet, slapping sound of Blue licking something, and I remember what we’re doing out here.
“Blue,” I say when I get to the bottom of the slope, my calves disappearing in the snow. “Come. Now.”
To her credit, Blue listens immediately, pulling back. My headlamp shines out and onto the tree, under which is trapped a woman-shaped object in a white coat and black slacks.
“Hello?” I call again. “Are you hurt?”
After a moment, she responds, “No. Only my pride.”
To my surprise, I let out a snort of laughter. “Hold on. I’ll get you out.”
What follows is two full minutes of me having to put my hands on her body, helping her maneuver out from under the tree. Her skin is cold to the touch, her nose freezing, her fancy coat doinglittle to help with the snow, which seeps through it and renders it wet and heavy.
“Th–thanks,” she says when she’s on her feet, which I notice are red—and surely icy, in only flats like that. “I was trying to be quiet. I th–thought she was a wolf.”
I glance at Blue, who sits happily in the snow, her dark eyes shining in the light from my headlamp. The woman beside me shifts almost imperceptibly, but I get the sense that she’s trying to get closer to me, seeking some sort of warmth as she shivers violently.
“Come on,” I say, reminding myself firmly that she is the enemy, that I’ll do the bare minimum and nothing more. “Let’s get you inside.”
Twenty minutes later, she’s sitting in front of the fire, wrapped in a towel and blanket, her wet hair loose around her shoulders, her eyes intent on me as I move through the kitchen, making her a mug of hot tea.
“Thank you,” she says quietly when I hand it to her.
Instead of saying anything, I grunt in response. The moment stretches awkwardly, and I say, “I’m going to change.”
Maybe her cheeks go pink. Maybe they were already that way from the snow and the cold.
When I come back from my bedroom, shirking my wet clothes and putting on a new pair of thick flannel pants and a sleep shirt, the woman is staring halfway into the distance, her mug of tea held up in front of her face, the steam curling up around her nose and chin.
“What’s your name?”
She looks up when I speak, not startled, but clearly having been deep in thought about something else. “I’m Amy Callaghan,” she says, clearing her throat and sitting up straighter, as though the question about her name reminded her who she is, and what she’s here for. “I’m here with?—”
I hold my hand up, shaking my head, “No. I brought you in here so you don’t freeze to death out there.” I jerk my thumb toward the front door. “But I don’t want to hear it.”
She stares up at me, then shrugs one shoulder, like it doesn’t matter to her anyway. “How did you know where to find me?”
“Blue found you,” I say, though I did see her phone in the snow. Hearing her name, the dog shifts a bit, rolling on her side so she’s touching Amy’s foot. Amy stares down at her with affection, and a little bolt of something warm moves right through the center of me.
“So she’s a good dog,” Amy says, and when she meets my eyes, I just nod in response.
I don’t want to talk to her, and I’m definitely not answering any questions. I’ve dealt with these people before, and the last thing I need is some sneaky woman getting me to say something I don’t mean.
For all I know, this entire thing could be a hoax, her pretending to be stuck in the hopes that I would come help her.
She might be beautiful and seem harmless, still shivering occasionally with one of my quilts wrapped around her shoulders, but I know better than to let my guard down.
CHAPTER 6
AMY
