“Miss?” he says. “Are you okay?”
I pan the beam of the flashlight up and into his face. He squints and throws a hand up to shield his eyes, but there’s a golden glint to them before he does. It’s gone so fast I think I must have imagined it.
“Sorry,” I mutter instinctively and lower my flashlight.
He frowns at me. “That’s fine. I just wanted to ask if you needed help.”
I scoot back awkwardly and finally rise to my feet. That brings the height difference between us to light—I’d realized as soon as I saw him that he was large, but he must be a foot taller than my five-foot-five frame, and I have to crane my neck back to look him in the eyes.
Damn, he’s handsome.
He’s bundled up against the cold, like I am, but under the black knit hat and scarf, he’s got a face that could stop traffic. Dark-brown eyes, straight black eyebrows, and a strong jaw covered by a neat, short beard.
And he’s staring at me. Which makes me realize he’s asked me twice now if I was okay, and I still haven’t answered him.
“Uh, yeah,” I say. “I’m fine. Just putting on some chains to get home.”
“Where’s home?” he asks.
I squint at him. Does he think I’m dumb? I’m not about to tell a stranger I literally met by the side of the road where I live.
He must sense my reluctance because he takes a step back and holds his arms out in a disarming manner. “I’m not asking to hurt you. You don’t know me, and I get why you’re freaked out.”
“I’m not freaked out,” I snipe. “I just want to get this done and get back on the road.”
He scowls. “Yeah, that’s going to be an issue. They’re calling everyone in, saying to seek shelter immediately. The fog’s getting worse, and unless there’s an emergency, no one is getting on the road because the plows won’t get here for hours.”
My stomach drops. I scramble for the car door, duck inside, and slap my numb fingers over the radio button. The station I’d been listening to has cut off its old rock program to deliver the news that confirms what Mountain Man out there just said.
I stare at the small radio screen while the words roll over me.
Seek shelter. Eight to twelve inches overnight. Freezing temperatures. Emergency. Danger.
My throat closes up in worry, and I swallow to keep the panic down. There’s no way I’m reaching home tonight, is there?
I peer through the window at the dark outline of the man waiting out there. Why is he still here? Is he a Good Samaritan type who wants to make sure I don’t freeze to death in my car or a psycho waiting to bury my body in the woods?
Slowly, hoping that the snow accumulating on the windshield will mask my movements, I reach into the glove compartment and palm the pocketknife I keep in there for emergencies. I close my chilled fingers around it, the weight of the steel comforting, even though I’ve never stabbed anyone in my life.
Then I push the door open again and get out of the car. The man waits for me in silence.
“Could you help me get the chains on?” I ask. “I managed it on one side but can’t seem to get the clasps on here.”
I indicate the tire and take a step back.
The man stares at me a moment longer, then shakes his head. “It’s no use. You won’t get far in this car. You’ll just end up stranded in a ditch somewhere, and there’s no way you’d get a tow service to come get you in time.”
“In time?” I ask, afraid of the answer.
“Before you freeze to death,” the man says, uncompromising. “The temperatures will drop overnight. Even if you had a full tank of gas, there’s little chance it would last you long enough to keep the heating on.”
The picture he’s painting is bleak, but I know he’s right. I do. It’s just that the alternative—asking him to take me somewhere—is too dangerous.
A sob threatens to break free. My eyes well with tears.
“Hey, now.” The man takes a step toward me. “It’s fine. Everything will be all right.”
I edge away from him. “I’m too young to die. I didn’t even?—”
