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She tiptoed around the furniture. All she had to do was grab any one of the coats hanging from the hooks at the entrance and be on her way. She just had to walk in one direction and she’d reach her car.
Flashlight. She needed a flashlight.
Relief sang through her as she found a massive one in the mud room, its strength so powerful she momentarily blinded herself when she shone it in her face.
Her brain refused to accept that her car might be buried under the snow. Or that she could get lost in the wilderness and die from hypothermia.Or get eaten by a couple of bears, wolves, mountain lions....
She had already been reduced to nothing anyway.
She snagged a coat off the hook and as quietly as possible dropped her car keys into one of the pocketsthen slipped her arms into it. By the time it was draped over her, she felt as if she were going to drown or topple over. The sheer size of the coat weighed her down, but also the scent of their cologne clinging to the fabric made her icy cold skin sizzle in response, causing her nipples to ache and created that unwanted, uncanny feeling between her legs.
Right.
She was sure to work up a sweat lugging around in that coat so surely that would keep her from freezing her sexy ass off.
Feeling victorious already, she tentatively turned the door handle. Holding her breath she pushed open the door a little, then just enough to allow her to escape.
The colossal blast of the icy cold chill hit her hard. But that wasn’t enough to deter her. She took a couple of steps more.
She couldn’t believe she had done it. Undetected too. Now all she had to do was walk in the direction that went downhill. She was certain it was that direction.
Cold didn’t quite describe what she felt. Within seconds of being outside in the harsh elements, her face had gone numb. Frantically she tried to rub some circulation into her cheeks as she huffed and puffed trudging through the snow.
For a moment she realized she could actually, really, and truly die out here.
Was she tempting fate?
Maybe.
But there was something wrong. She recollected her father’s demeanor yet again when he ordered her to come to the retreat. He looked scared, haggard. Not himself. She needed to know if he was okay. And there was no way of her knowing that, not with cell reception down. But if she had the map, she could see if she had messed up and gotten herself lost, or had her father given her the exact route he wanted her to follow.
Charles Swift was a brain surgeon. He would never make a mistake on a map. Not when he was sending his daughter to the destination he had marked.
She hadn’t been outside of the cabin for more than five minutes tops.
Walking had proved difficult on its own in the snow, but she was doing it in a coat that probably weighed as much as she did and boots she’d had to stuff tissue paper into so her feet wouldn’t slip out from the gigantic pair. The conditions were not perfect.
She shone the flashlight ahead and then stopped. Had she been going in a straight line? If she had made a slight turn that would not throw her off course. She couldn’t be sure anymore.
Panic mingled with apprehension. She couldn’t get lost here.
Oh god, help her. What had she done?
She turned around and shone the torch in that direction, but for the life of her, she couldn’t see the cabin in her sight.
A range of sobs racked her shoulders in varying degrees of intensity.
She was really lost this time.
