Life was changing in Irma, in more ways than one, and Steph wasn’t sure what to make of it. Her uneasiness about running alone was valid, but she needed to shake the sensation.
Wilderness training runs with her utility sled became part of her plan in December, and they were nonnegotiable if she wanted to finish The Frozen Divide 100. Not just finish—Steph planned to beat her previous time and set a new personal best. That mattered to her.
They were passing Basin Federal, approaching a street crossing, when Jocelyn said something Steph didn’t catch.
“What?”
And then there was no time for anything.
A dark sedan came off the cross street faster than it had any business going, back end fishtailing wide on the slick pavement, and Steph’s feet stopped working the way feet are supposed to.
Something latched onto her, purposeful and sudden. An arm hooked across her shoulders, a hand fisting into her jacket, yanking her back and sideways in one motion.
She stumbled, caught herself, stumbled again, and landed hard on the sidewalk as the sedan passed. The car scraped against a snowbank twenty feet up the block with a harsh, grinding sound.
Steph stared as the car kept going. “Thanks for your concern,” she muttered.
“Are you okay?” Jocelyn knelt beside her. “Steph? Are you okay?”
“Yeah, yeah . . . I . . . I think I’m okay.”
Steph became aware of several things at once: her sunglasses were crooked, her left knee was singing, and there was a man still holding onto her arm.
She turned.
He seemed tall from her sitting position on the sidewalk, clean-shaven, with dark hair pushed back from his forehead. He sucked in air like he’d been running miles, suggesting she wasn’t the only one shaken. His eyes moved over her quickly, a fast inventory.
“Are you okay?” His voice was low, fast, rough at the edges. “That car...it just came out of nowhere. I mean, the road’s icy, I know, but still...wow. That was way too close.”
She took stock. Knee, pride, sunglasses. “Yes. I think so.” She straightened and tugged her jacket back into place. “Thank you. That was—”
“Don’t mention it.”
A small crowd had materialized the way people do after something goes wrong. That’s how it was in a small town.
“Hey,” a man she recognized from the hardware store called out. “Aren’t you Jack Swisher?”
Steph looked back at the stranger.
He gave a nod, a satisfied smirk on his face. “Yeah. That’s me.”
“Thought so. I recognized you from an interview during the Olympic trials. Heard you moved to the area.”
Of all the people who could’ve saved her from being run over by an out-of-control car, it had to be Jack Swisher.
Of course it did.
Jack was a former Olympic hopeful biathlete and new resident of Basin County, as well as the founder of the Elkridge Running Club and the organizer of the ElkridgeEndurance, an ultramarathon making waves among casual runners and elites alike.
And, as far as Steph was concerned, he was her sworn enemy.
He was looking at her, still with that smirk on his face that she wanted to use her self-defense skills to wipe off, and she realized he was waiting for her to say something.
“Um, thanks. I . . . thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, still holding her arm.
“I’m Steph,” she said, watching his face. “Steph Pierce.”
