Coming In From the Cold(2)

"Not once."

He leaned back, or tried to. "Sorry. Our options for getting out of here aren't very good."

"I'll just walk it," she said. "My house is about a mile away."                       
       
           



       

"Hmm," he said quietly. He didn't want to insult her again, but unless  she had a snowmobile with floodlights on it, she'd be lost before you  could say nor'easter. "I'm not sure that's such a good idea." He groped  for the high beams. "Look, the road is gone." The lights illuminated all  of about four feet in front of the truck, a deep flurry of falling  snow, punctuated by only blackness beyond.

"Wow," she whispered.

"Do you know any of your neighbors? I didn't see any lights … ."

She shook her head, silky hair sliding over her shoulders. "There aren't  many houses out here. This land is held in conservation."

"Okayyy … " he said. "I'm out of ideas. I guess we're going to have to call 9-1-1."

She tipped her head back and let out a musical laugh.

"What's so funny?"

"You're not from around here, are you?"

"Not for years," Dane admitted. He'd grown up two towns away, but that felt like a lifetime ago.

Reluctantly he turned off her headlights, saving her battery, yet  plunging the cab into darkness. He'd been enjoying the sight of a pretty  girl laughing, cheeks flushed, perfect pink lips smiling up at the  ceiling. Just because Dane planned never to get involved with a woman  didn't mean he didn't like looking at them. (Especially the occasional  naked woman between his legs.) And this one was really quite  extraordinary. Late twenties, slender, and with a long graceful neck.  Even with the bulk of her down jacket he'd noticed a full bust that  heaved as she laughed.

"There's no reception anywhere on this road," she said, "until you're almost into Hamilton."

"Right," he said. "I'd forgotten. The mobile phone companies have no love for the forty-ninth most populous state."

Dane had spent the past ten years traveling on the World Cup skiing  circuit. This was his first time back in Vermont in years. Elite skiers  didn't train in Vermont-the mountains weren't tall enough, and the  snowfall was unreliable. Instead, they trained at the big western  mountains, in Colorado or Utah.

But this year, Dane and his coach were making an exception. They'd  camped here for the season-between races-to be close to Dane's latest  family tragedy. In Vermont, he was able see his sick brother every week,  yet keep his troubles far away from the prying eyes of the ski  association.

"So … " the girl took a deep breath. "That leaves us waiting for the plow to come by. The driver can radio in for help."

Dane shifted on her uncomfortable bench seat. With the cab listing to  the right, he had to hang on with the heels of his boots to avoid  sliding into her. "Okay," he said. "Look, my name's Dane, and I just  wanted to say that I'm sorry I barked at you before."

Her head turned in the dark. "It's okay. Skidding is scary, and it made  me a little cuckoo too-I actually felt drunk for a minute there."

"Are you going to tell me your name?"

"Sorry, it's Willow Reade."

Willow. He cleared his throat. "Willow, your truck is ferociously  uncomfortable. Do you mind if we wait for the plow in my Jeep? I left it  running."

"Oh!" she said. "Um, sure. If that's okay. I'm kind of up against the door here."

He forced open the driver's side door. "I don't know how long we'll be  waiting. Do you happen to have any emergency supplies in your glove  box … whiskey? Chocolate?"

She laughed. "Sorry. I am a completely useless human."

The way she said it was bitter. As if she believed it.

Anyhow, Willow followed him toward his Jeep, which was lit by his  running lights. But in every other direction it was utterly dark.  "Ladies first," he said. "Do you mind climbing across? You could go  around to the passenger door, but I don't know what you'd be walking  into over there."

He held the door while she slid inside, climbing carefully over the automatic gearshift.

Dane closed the door behind her and walked around to the back, opening  the tailgate. He saw her spin around to watch him. Quickly, so as not to  let too much heat out of the car, he dragged a half dozen pairs of skis  out of the back and then slammed the door. He set the skis against the  back of the Jeep, in a lean-to formation.

When he opened the driver's side door again, her worried face looked up  at him. He closed the door, plunging them into darkness. "I cleaned all  the snow away from the tailpipe, and tented skis over it," he explained.  "We should be able to run the engine for a while before the exhaust  gets clogged."                       
       
           



       

"Oh!" He could hear her shiver beside him. "Thank-you, Boy Scout. It  crossed my mind that you were making room for my mutilated body. But I  forgot to worry about accidental asphyxiation."

"Christ," he laughed in what he hoped was a non-threatening way. "The  only thing I'd like to mutilate is a cheeseburger, medium rare. And a  side of onion rings."

"Good," she said. "Because it's been a pretty crappy day already."

"Has it?" He leaned back against the headrest. "Let's name all the shitty things about this day. You start."

"Well, okay," her voice was tentative. He wished he could see her face.  Her tone suggested a frown across that pink, kissable mouth he'd spied  earlier. "My truck may have breathed its last. And I can't afford a new  one."

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Your turn," Willow pressed.

"Sure. I was supposed to drive to Keene tonight. And I have a flight out  of Boston tomorrow. But the roads are trashed, and the Jeep is stuck.  Your turn."

"That is inconvenient. I shouldn't have been on the road at all. I drove  out because I needed chicken feed, which seemed important. But now I  realize that I didn't check their water, and the chickens are far more  likely to die of thirst than hunger. Go."

"We might die of thirst first. Go."

He felt her turn toward him in the dark. "I have to throw a flag on that  one, mister," she said. "We're not trapped in a barn like them, we're  surrounded by water. How about this: I left a pot of chili cooking in my  kitchen, and it might burn. Go."

"New rule," he announced. "Let's not talk about food. I've been working  out since five-thirty this morning, and lunch was five hours ago. Your  turn."

"All right … " Willow sounded as if she was running out of complaints, at  least the ones she was willing to tell a stranger. "There is going to be  some world-class shoveling to do tomorrow."

"Well, I have to flag that one," Dane said. "Because shoveling means  snow, and I live for snow. So here's the real bummer. We're getting two  feet of freshy, and I can't ski on it tomorrow. I have to travel."

"The snow will still be here when you get back," Willow pointed out.

"You aren't a skier, are you? There's nothing like first tracks. Flying  down a slope in un-tracked powder is the best thing there is. It's  better than sex."

Willow burst out laughing. "You did not just say that."

"What?"

"I feel sorry for your girlfriend," she giggled.

"I don't have one."

But that only made her laugh harder. "Sorry, I'm no expert on skiing, so  it's possible that you know something I don't. On the other hand, it's  also possible that you're meeting the wrong girls."

He grinned in the dark. "Fair enough. I think it's your turn."

"Ah." She took a deep breath. "Okay, my ex called today and asked me to  sell his motorcycle and wire him the money. As if that would take no  effort on my part. Even though he left me in debt." Her voice quavered a  bit at the end. Their little game had turned into a peculiar little  confessional. "Your turn."

"My brother is dying," Dane bit out. "And I'm supposed to be driving to see him right now."

Christ. He had no idea what made him tell her that. To say that he  wasn't a sharer was putting it mildly. But the dark and the warm sound  of her voice had loosened up his tongue.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

He shook his head in the darkness. "It's been a long illness. I've known it was coming."

"What's his name?" she asked.

Her choice of questions made him like her even more. It wasn't a nosy  what's wrong with him? Instead, she'd asked something much more  relevant, something which honored his brother the way Dane thought of  him-a happy, laughing man. The father that Dane never had.