Page 4 of Cold and Bitter Snow

The avalanche had taken them into the tree-line. Conor slammed sideways into a tree—hard. His left shoulder took the brunt of the impact. Groaning at the pain, he curled his left hand around a thick branch, glad now that the avalanche had ripped off the glove in that hand. Had he been wearing gloves, he never would have been able to hang on.

With his free arm, he tightened his hold around the woman and prayed.

The snow pounded his back. He felt like he was standing under a gigantic waterfall. He tried to protect the smaller woman in his arms with his body, but knew she must be getting pummeled as well.

He didn’t know how long he could hold on but knew every moment he held on, every piece of snow and ice that passed them by, meant less snow that could bury them. If he let go now, he’d be signing their death warrant.

He blocked away everything except the feeling of his fingers around the branch—which was why he felt it immediately when the branch snapped off.

No.

He tried to find something else to hold on to and failed. They bounded down the slope again, gaining speed as they went. It was like being in a centrifuge. And yet, as fast as they were moving, he felt them both start to sink. He wished he’d thought of unstrapping his snowshoes—small as they were, they were dragging him down, like anchors on his legs. But if he let go of the woman in his arms, he knew he would never find her again.

“Swim! Swim!” he shouted in her ear. He had no idea if she heard him, but then he felt her move. He kicked hard with his legs and his free arm, still keeping the other arm tight against her.

Eventually they began to slow down. And still they swam against the snow and ice, their limbs moving wildly. When their bodies finally came to a stop, he opened his eyes to find he was only buried to his waist.

Thank God.

He breathed hard, trying to displace enough snow from his eyes to see whether more snow was coming, but everything seemed calm now. It was as if the roaring icy inferno of a few seconds earlier had never taken place.

Buried deep to her chest, Siena shivered in his arms.

“Are you okay?” he shouted.

Chapter 2

Siena

Siena was colder than she’d ever been before in her life. There was snow everywhere: in her mouth, inside her clothes, up her nose and under her very eyelids.

She spit out the snow in her mouth and dragged what seemed like her first breath in hours. Her body felt like it’d just come out of a washing machine. And yet, her mind was lucid.

“Oh my God,” she breathed.

She stared straight into her rescuer’s chest. She looked up, following the lines of his sweater, and found herself staring into icy gray eyes. She squinted up at him, wondering where she knew him from—then suddenly remembered—Conor Hudson, the snow groomer.

What are the chances?

They’d only met once in person, but he’d populated her dreams every night since then, with his icy gray eyes, strong jaw and chiseled body. She looked back at his broad chest. In her dreams he’d been wearing a lot less clothing.

She wanted to laugh out loud but was scared she’d start wailing instead.

The insistent noise continued.

“Ms. Blake … Siena. Please look at me.”

She raised her eyes again to meet his intense stare. His short brown hair was spiky with ice. They were face to face, or rather face to chest, since he was a lot taller than her. Close enough that it might look to an innocent bystander—not that there seemed to be any of those around—as if they were hugging.

“You ran straight towards it,” she whispered.

“What?” he said.

“You ran straight towards the avalanche,” she said, louder this time.

He cracked a smile at that. She’d thought him handsome before, but was now sure he’d never seen a more striking man.

“I ran towards you, not towards it,” he corrected.