the road and wait. The storm could get even worse, stranding her. She had to get to the house.
The truck crept forward through the swirling whiteness. Hailstorms tended to pass with the storm front, giving way to rain or sleet. Surely, this one would stop in the next few minutes. If anyone in the house had left a light on, sheâd be able to see it in the distance and find the gravel lane that turned off the main road. Maybe she should call. But her purse, with her phone in it, was out of easy reach. If she braked to find it, she could kill the engine or skid on the ice-slicked road.
She pushed on, minute after tension-fraught minute, inching forward with the defroster on full blast. By now, she knew sheâd missed the turnoff to the lane. But the roadâs steep edges gave her no room to turn around without the risk of sliding off and getting stuck. What she needed was a wide spot or, better yet, a side road to a ranch or farm where she could drive in, back out, and make the turn.
The hail had given way to a driving, icy sleet that froze on the surface of the road. As the whiteout cleared to a dark gray, Tori could make out the roadâs shoulder in the headlights. Just ahead, a rutted lane cut off to the right, probably leading to a farmâjust what sheâd been looking for. Tapping the brake, she eased the wheel into a careful right turn. So far, so good. But sheâd only gone a few feet down the cutoff when she realized her mistake. The farm road sloped at a sharp angle from the high shoulder of the road. Under these icy conditions, its steep surface could be too slippery for the truck to back out.
She stopped the vehicle, pulled the hand brake, and shifted into neutral, with the engine still idling. Surely, the old pickup would have four-wheel drive. Tori searched on and under the dashboard, but couldnât find any way to switch it over. All she could do was try to back out.
With a muttered prayer she shifted into reverse, released the hand brake, and floored the gas pedal. The engine roared. The worn tires spun on the slick ice. But the truck didnât move.
She slumped over the wheel, collecting her thoughts. The only option left was to keep going down the farm road and hope it led to someplace where she could find shelter.
Taking a deep breath, she drove slowly forward. Beyond the reach of the truckâs headlights, the road descended into a black fog. Between the storm and the clouded windshield, Tori was driving almost blind. She didnât see the electric wire fence and the bulky forms of cattle on the far side of it until she was about to crash into it.
Swallowing a scream, she slammed her foot on the brake. The truck fishtailed and skidded to a stop, inches from the fence.
The engine had died. Shaking, Tori turned off the ignition and pulled the hand brake. She couldnât go forward; she couldnât back up; sheâd be a fool to get out of the truck in the storm. She wasnât going anywhere. It was time to find her phone and call for help.
Sheâd tossed her purse into the backseat with Erinâs suitcase. Hooking the strap with her finger, she dragged the purse into the front and fished out her cell phone. The display screen showed a low-battery signal. Tori muttered an unladylike curse. She usually plugged in the phone when she went to bed, but it was too late for that now, and sheâd left her car charger in her station wagon.
If I could just reach one person . . .
Mentally crossing her fingers, she scrolled to Willâs number and pressed call. Her heart sank as she counted the rings. No answer. When his voice message came on, she spoke rapidly. âWill, Iâm stuck off the road in the storm, somewhere pastââ
She broke off in midsentence. Her phone had gone dark.
* * *
Will had gone to bed early in the hope of getting some needed rest. But between the storm outside and the worry demons in his head, sleep was impossible. Around
The truck crept forward through the swirling whiteness. Hailstorms tended to pass with the storm front, giving way to rain or sleet. Surely, this one would stop in the next few minutes. If anyone in the house had left a light on, sheâd be able to see it in the distance and find the gravel lane that turned off the main road. Maybe she should call. But her purse, with her phone in it, was out of easy reach. If she braked to find it, she could kill the engine or skid on the ice-slicked road.
She pushed on, minute after tension-fraught minute, inching forward with the defroster on full blast. By now, she knew sheâd missed the turnoff to the lane. But the roadâs steep edges gave her no room to turn around without the risk of sliding off and getting stuck. What she needed was a wide spot or, better yet, a side road to a ranch or farm where she could drive in, back out, and make the turn.
The hail had given way to a driving, icy sleet that froze on the surface of the road. As the whiteout cleared to a dark gray, Tori could make out the roadâs shoulder in the headlights. Just ahead, a rutted lane cut off to the right, probably leading to a farmâjust what sheâd been looking for. Tapping the brake, she eased the wheel into a careful right turn. So far, so good. But sheâd only gone a few feet down the cutoff when she realized her mistake. The farm road sloped at a sharp angle from the high shoulder of the road. Under these icy conditions, its steep surface could be too slippery for the truck to back out.
She stopped the vehicle, pulled the hand brake, and shifted into neutral, with the engine still idling. Surely, the old pickup would have four-wheel drive. Tori searched on and under the dashboard, but couldnât find any way to switch it over. All she could do was try to back out.
With a muttered prayer she shifted into reverse, released the hand brake, and floored the gas pedal. The engine roared. The worn tires spun on the slick ice. But the truck didnât move.
She slumped over the wheel, collecting her thoughts. The only option left was to keep going down the farm road and hope it led to someplace where she could find shelter.
Taking a deep breath, she drove slowly forward. Beyond the reach of the truckâs headlights, the road descended into a black fog. Between the storm and the clouded windshield, Tori was driving almost blind. She didnât see the electric wire fence and the bulky forms of cattle on the far side of it until she was about to crash into it.
Swallowing a scream, she slammed her foot on the brake. The truck fishtailed and skidded to a stop, inches from the fence.
The engine had died. Shaking, Tori turned off the ignition and pulled the hand brake. She couldnât go forward; she couldnât back up; sheâd be a fool to get out of the truck in the storm. She wasnât going anywhere. It was time to find her phone and call for help.
Sheâd tossed her purse into the backseat with Erinâs suitcase. Hooking the strap with her finger, she dragged the purse into the front and fished out her cell phone. The display screen showed a low-battery signal. Tori muttered an unladylike curse. She usually plugged in the phone when she went to bed, but it was too late for that now, and sheâd left her car charger in her station wagon.
If I could just reach one person . . .
Mentally crossing her fingers, she scrolled to Willâs number and pressed call. Her heart sank as she counted the rings. No answer. When his voice message came on, she spoke rapidly. âWill, Iâm stuck off the road in the storm, somewhere pastââ
She broke off in midsentence. Her phone had gone dark.
* * *
Will had gone to bed early in the hope of getting some needed rest. But between the storm outside and the worry demons in his head, sleep was impossible. Around
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