engine sputtered, but quickly died.
Old Blue, her beloved truck, was dead. Well, technically, it was her father’s truck. She pulled her phone from her jacket pocket and touched the screen. No service. Of course. Not exactly a surprise. Service up here was shoddy at best, cutting in and out, and she was practically encased in a snow-tomb.
What the hell would she do?
No one came up here. Especially not in a blizzard. She was probably the only idiot within a fifty kilometer radius. With night falling, walking through deep snow in a winter storm surrounded by a forest with wolves might prove fatal. She could wait out the storm, but she might get snowed in even more, which might also prove fatal.
Damned if she did, damned if she didn’t.
Brenna turned to haul the emergency kit from the backseat. Pain lanced across her body. Her sore chest complained, and her knees ached. Her vision swam at the sudden movement, and the dull throb behind her eyes intensified.
Brenna reached to unclip her seatbelt. The button jammed.
“Crap!” She yanked on the buckle, but it remained cemented in. With gritted teeth, she turned and tried to grab the kit again. She stretched her arm out, fumbling with her fingers to grip the strap.
A little farther!
With a sucked in breath, she pushed against the strap as it dug into the bruised flesh between her breasts and thrust her hand out. Pain streaked down her limbs and exploded in her back. She grabbed the strap and hauled the bag out from the backseat. A deep sigh escaped her lungs, and she leaned back. She panted and waited for the pain to ebb.
With a blanket, her jacket, toque, and gloves, she’d survive the night and try her luck in the morning. With the Buchanan’s as the nearest cabin other than her parents’, she doubted a rescue would happen. Besides… She’d rather the snow’s company than the Buchanan’s son.
Brenna reached forward and pulled her keys from the ignition. She nestled into her jacket and hunkered down for a long, lonely night. Maybe a patrol would brave the elements, and she’d be saved by the man of her dreams.
Brenna snorted.
That would never happen. She had the worst luck with men.
****
Something tapped against the window to her left. Brenna’s eyes fluttered open. Her vision remained blurry for a couple of blinks before clearing. A dull throb continued to plague her head, and her whole body ached as if one giant bruise covered it.
“Anyone in there?” a man bellowed. With snow and glass in the way, distorted sound trickled through the cab. Ice had begun to form on the edges of the window, freezing the air she breathed out as it condensed on the pane. Only a few spots remained bare, but she could only make out a dark shadow on the other side of the glass.
The man brushed the snow and ice from the driver’s side window. Her limbs regained feeling as she watched. Her brain started processing, like Old Blue’s sputtering motor. Someone was actually here. Outside her truck. In a blizzard. When the man cleared a circle, he placed his head and hands against the glass, blocking out the fading light and the gusting wind.
“Are you okay?” he yelled. A helmet with a visor covered most of his face, but his square jaw with stubble and full lips hinted at good looks.
What the hell, Brenna? Getting saved in a snow storm and checking out the rescuer?
“I…I think so,” she called back. When she shifted in her seat, stiff muscles protested. Well, maybe not that okay. “Just sore.”
“I’m going to get you out of there,” he yelled. “Hold on.”
His voice held a familiar quality, something rough and rugged, but Brenna was beyond caring. The cold had soaked to her bones, and her body trembled.
The man yanked on the truck’s door. It groaned, and shook the whole vehicle, but remained shut. He tried the door for the backseat. Same thing. Brenna was encased in an ice cube.
“It’s stuck!” he yelled.
No shit.
His dark frame moved away from the
Old Blue, her beloved truck, was dead. Well, technically, it was her father’s truck. She pulled her phone from her jacket pocket and touched the screen. No service. Of course. Not exactly a surprise. Service up here was shoddy at best, cutting in and out, and she was practically encased in a snow-tomb.
What the hell would she do?
No one came up here. Especially not in a blizzard. She was probably the only idiot within a fifty kilometer radius. With night falling, walking through deep snow in a winter storm surrounded by a forest with wolves might prove fatal. She could wait out the storm, but she might get snowed in even more, which might also prove fatal.
Damned if she did, damned if she didn’t.
Brenna turned to haul the emergency kit from the backseat. Pain lanced across her body. Her sore chest complained, and her knees ached. Her vision swam at the sudden movement, and the dull throb behind her eyes intensified.
Brenna reached to unclip her seatbelt. The button jammed.
“Crap!” She yanked on the buckle, but it remained cemented in. With gritted teeth, she turned and tried to grab the kit again. She stretched her arm out, fumbling with her fingers to grip the strap.
A little farther!
With a sucked in breath, she pushed against the strap as it dug into the bruised flesh between her breasts and thrust her hand out. Pain streaked down her limbs and exploded in her back. She grabbed the strap and hauled the bag out from the backseat. A deep sigh escaped her lungs, and she leaned back. She panted and waited for the pain to ebb.
With a blanket, her jacket, toque, and gloves, she’d survive the night and try her luck in the morning. With the Buchanan’s as the nearest cabin other than her parents’, she doubted a rescue would happen. Besides… She’d rather the snow’s company than the Buchanan’s son.
Brenna reached forward and pulled her keys from the ignition. She nestled into her jacket and hunkered down for a long, lonely night. Maybe a patrol would brave the elements, and she’d be saved by the man of her dreams.
Brenna snorted.
That would never happen. She had the worst luck with men.
****
Something tapped against the window to her left. Brenna’s eyes fluttered open. Her vision remained blurry for a couple of blinks before clearing. A dull throb continued to plague her head, and her whole body ached as if one giant bruise covered it.
“Anyone in there?” a man bellowed. With snow and glass in the way, distorted sound trickled through the cab. Ice had begun to form on the edges of the window, freezing the air she breathed out as it condensed on the pane. Only a few spots remained bare, but she could only make out a dark shadow on the other side of the glass.
The man brushed the snow and ice from the driver’s side window. Her limbs regained feeling as she watched. Her brain started processing, like Old Blue’s sputtering motor. Someone was actually here. Outside her truck. In a blizzard. When the man cleared a circle, he placed his head and hands against the glass, blocking out the fading light and the gusting wind.
“Are you okay?” he yelled. A helmet with a visor covered most of his face, but his square jaw with stubble and full lips hinted at good looks.
What the hell, Brenna? Getting saved in a snow storm and checking out the rescuer?
“I…I think so,” she called back. When she shifted in her seat, stiff muscles protested. Well, maybe not that okay. “Just sore.”
“I’m going to get you out of there,” he yelled. “Hold on.”
His voice held a familiar quality, something rough and rugged, but Brenna was beyond caring. The cold had soaked to her bones, and her body trembled.
The man yanked on the truck’s door. It groaned, and shook the whole vehicle, but remained shut. He tried the door for the backseat. Same thing. Brenna was encased in an ice cube.
“It’s stuck!” he yelled.
No shit.
His dark frame moved away from the
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