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I glance at the screen and read aloud, “The governor has declared a state of emergency. All roads are closed.”
Before the last word is out of my mouth, we hit a patch of black ice and I’m thrown sideways as the car spins uncontrollably. Cam struggles to keep us on the road while I clutch my chest in terror and begin to hyperventilate.
When the world stops turning, not only are we facing the opposite direction, we’re nose down in a ditch as well.
Cam shifts into reverse and presses the accelerator, but the tires merely spin in vain, failing to gain purchase.
“Well,” he says after several attempts, “the bad news is we’re stuck.”
“Bad news implies that there’s also good news.” I try to keep my voice steady and lighthearted so as not to betray my rising fear.
“There is. The good news is that I know where we are. My grandfather’s hunting cabin is up ahead about a hundred yards. We can walk there.”
He wants us to go outside? In a snowstorm? “Maybe we should wait here…”
“For what? With the roads closed, there’s no telling when a vehicle will pass. Could be hours, could be days. We’ll run out of gas and freeze to death before then. We need to head out now. It’s not far, but in this weather, it won’t be an easy walk, and I think the worst of the storm is yet to come. People have died wandering around mere feet from shelter when whiteout conditions made it impossible for them to see. We can’t wait. We have to go before visibility worsens.”
Well, great. That eases my anxiety—not.
“Right.” His delivery is lacking, but what he says makes sense, so at Cam’s directions, I leave the garment bag holding the gowns I purchased and dig my suitcase out of the back.
“You’re sure you know where the cabin is?” It’s either a stroke of luck or a huge coincidence that we hit ice and got stuck in a snowbank within walking distance to a shelter owned by Cameron’s family.
“Positive. My grandfather and I came here several times a year throughout my teens. I know the way like the back of my hand.”
The snow has to be a good eighteen inches deep already.
I trudge—one foot in front of the other—giving myself a mental pep talk the whole way. We’re both clutching suitcases, and Cam has a tight grip on my arm. The swirling wind batters us and whips what feels like shards of ice against my face. My toes are so cold I can’t feel them any longer. I should have taken time to fish my ski parka out of my luggage because the flimsy coat I’m wearing does little to keep out the frigid arctic blasts that are pummeling us.
A walk that would take under five minutes in fair weather takes us over twenty, but we finally make it to a rustic log cabin. As I stand shivering on the porch, Cam reaches above the window and feels around the casing for a spare key.
It’s not until he unlocks the door and it swings open to reveal a little one-room cabin that realization hits.
“W-w-we’re s-staying the n-n-night here?” I mumble as he ushers me inside and pushes the door closed behind us.Of course you are, idiot.“I-I’m sorry. It’s a sh-sh-shelter after all and there’s a b-b-blizzard out there.”
I’m grateful Cameron led us here to safety. I am.
I don’t know why I’m babbling like a complete fool.
Yes, I do.
Because the two of us, my boss and I, are going to weather the blizzard here in this cozy little cabin in the woods. There’s no telling how long we’ll be here, my boss and I.
And there’s only one bed.
Chapter6
Cameron
Izzy’s shivering, her lips are blue, and her teeth are chattering so hard I’m surprised she can speak at all.My priority is to warm her up, so the first thing I do after bolting the door is yank a thick quilt off the bed, wrap it around her shoulders, and lead her to a chair in front of the woodstove.
“Sit,” I command. It’s not until she flashes a bewildered look that it dawns on me—I’m rubbing my hands up and down her arms trying to warm her.
It’s instinct. Isn’t it? I’m not sure. I’ve never had the instinct to care for somebody else, but…she’s different.
“I need to start a fire before you become hypothermic.” Using the flashlight on my phone, I light an oil lamp before examining the firewood bin. Fortunately, there’s enough wood and kindling here for me to get the stove started, and it doesn’t take long for the old potbelly to begin heating the small cabin.
When I look up, Izzy’s face has a little more color. She’s removed her gloves and is rubbing her fingers together.
