“Damn it, Amber.”
“I’m stuck in a ditch.”
Silence greeted me.
“I can call a tow truck—”
He cut me off. “Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Where exactly are you?”
“Not far from the ranch.” I looked around through the snow-covered windows. “There’s a big red barn on the left side of the road.”
“I know where you are.” His voice shifted—still controlled but with an edge I couldn’t identify. “Listen to me. Stay in the car. Do you hear me? Stay in the damn car. Do not get out. Do not wander off. If you get out of that car, you won’t be able to sit down for a week.”
Heat flooded through me despite the cold. Despite everything. Despite the fact that I was furious with him and terrified and stuck in a ditch. “Dalton—”
“Do you understand me?”
“Yes.”
“Say it.”
“I’ll stay in the car.”
“Good.” I heard movement. A door slamming. An engine starting. “I’m coming. Just sit tight.”
“Dalton, the storm—”
“I don’t give a fuck about the storm.” The words came out harsh. Raw. “You’re sitting in a ditch and I’m coming to get you. End of discussion.”
My response to the command in his tone was totally inappropriate for the situation I found myself in. Or maybe it was the note of fear I heard. For me.
“Be careful,” I said quietly.
“You’re the one in a ditch and you’re telling me to be careful?”
“Just hurry.”
“I’m already in the truck.”
The line went dead.
I sat there in the tilted car, snow piling up on the windshield, and wrapped my arms around myself.
He was coming.
Despite what he’d said yesterday. Despite the fight.
He was coming.
The minutes seemed like hours as it grew colder inside the car. I was afraid to run the engine in case my tailpipe was blocked. I rubbed my hands together trying to stay warm. I really needed to get me a better winter coat, I thought a little hysterically.
Then, finally—finally—I saw headlights cutting through the snow.
My heart kicked hard against my ribs.
