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“Yes, you did! Not five seconds ago—”
A sudden flash of movement in the road ahead makes me gasp.
“Fraser, look out!” I cry, as a deer is suddenly illuminated in the headlights, right there in the road.
“Fuck!” Fraser wrenches the wheel, swerving. I scream, slamming against my seatbelt as the car skids, veering off the road and into a ditch with a CRASH.
12
JJ
“Jolene? JJ!”
Fraser’s panicked voice pierces my daze. I lift my head, winded, as he leans over the gear stick and cradles my face in his hands, “Are you OK?” he demands, searching my face. “Jolene, talk to me.”
I inhale slowly. The car has come to a stop in a muddy ditch off the side of the road, rain still hammering on the VW roof. “I’m fine,” I say slowly. “Except for…Owww,” I fumble with the seatbelt, and release it, rubbing my chest where the fabric dug into me. “That’s better.”
Fraser sits back with a sigh of relief, and rakes one hand through his hair. “Christ, you scared me.”
“Sorry.” I flush for a moment, thrown by his concern.
It’s almost like he cares…
Then I get my bearings, looking around. “Is it OK?” I ask, craning my neck behind us. “The deer? Did we hit it?”
“No, Bambi got away clean.” Fraser takes another deep breath. “Some thanks we got, though.”
He tries the engine but the wheels just spin.
“I think we’re stuck,” I venture, as the gears grind—and we go nowhere.
“Easy there, Sherlock,” Fraser gives me a wry look. “Your powers of deduction are too strong.”
“I could try and push?” I offer. Fraser arches an eyebrow. “OK,youcould try and push,” I correct myself, smiling.
“I’ll go take a look.”
He gets out of the car into the pouring rain, and circles around to check out the damage. A moment later, he’s back. “There’s no chance,” he says, leaning in. Rain streams down his face and drenches his jacket. “The wheels are buried in all the way up to the axel.”
“Shit.” I think fast. With no cellphone signal, our options are limited. “I think we passed a pub, not far back?” I suggest.
He nods. “We should go wait there, see if we can call for a tow.”
I take a reluctant look outside at the pouring rain, but there’s nothing for it. I’m not waiting around on the side of a dark country road while he goes for help. I’ve seen enough horror movies to know where that leads, thank you very much.
So, I pull on my thin summer jacket, brace myself, and clamber out of the car and into the dark, gloomy evening. The rain hits my skin, wet and cold.Awesome. My sneakers sink into the mud, and I practically have to wade my way to the road while Fraser grabs our bags from the trunk and meets me on solid land.
“Lower Dickingham?” I ask, pointing back the way we just came.
“Lower Dickingham,” he agrees with a wry smile, and we set off together, squelching our way through the rain.
My light clothing is no match for the torrential downpour, and soon I’m soaked through and shivering, and Fraser looks just as bedraggled. I’m expecting some more blame to be thrown in my direction—since, yes, he was technically right when he said this whole drenched mess was my fault—but he stays silent, walking slow enough that I can keep pace, and even offering warnings and his hand when we encounter a pond-sized puddle.
Finally, after hiking for about twenty minutes, we round a corner and see the glow of lights up ahead. “We’re saved!” I cheer. “From pneumonia, at least.”
“God, I could murder a pint,” Fraser agrees, his hair plastered to his head and his tailored suit looking limp and dripping.
“And a hot meal,” I say eagerly, picking up the pace. “And a fire. Dear Lord, let there be a crackling fire to get us warm again.”
