Satisfied she'd made her point, Murphy finished putting the car into first gear, and simultaneously worked the clutch and gas pedal. “We're going back to the house,” she said matter-of-factly, taking the decision out of his hands. “First thing I'll do when we get there is try the phone again. Maybe it's working by now.”
“And if it isn't?”
She gritted her teeth and counted to ten. Twice. With forced lightness, she replied, “Why don't we cross that bridge when we come to it, okay?”
“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” he grumbled, directing his attention back out the window. “I'm in no condition to argue.”
Snow crunched beneath the tires as the Rabbit lunged forward. The wind howled, and since her side window hadn't rolled all the way up since she'd bought the car, she could hear it whistling in through the crack of space that separated the glass from its paint-chipped metal casing.
An eighth of a mile ahead, the road curved to the right. It took the Rabbit a full three minutes to reach the bend.
By then, the tension inside the car was as thick and as icy as the storm kicking up outside. It was clear Garrett Thayer was not used to being helpless, and that's exactly what his wounded leg made him. He had to rely on her, and he didn't like it. Not one little bit. Would he be surprised to learn she wasn't overly fond of the idea herself?
Leaning forward, Murphy scraped a fresh coat of frost off the inside of the windshield. The lone wiper struggled to swish the heavy, wet snow off the outside of the glass.
She frowned. Was it her imagination, or—? “Garrett?”
“Hmmm?”
“Does the windshield wiper look like it's going slower?”
“Looks fine to me,” he murmured, distracted. His attention was on the side window. Mimicking Murphy, he'd used the sleeve of his bomber jacket to swipe away the frost in a sloppy circle. Outside the snowy landscape passed by very slowly.
Garrett's brooding silence was beginning to get on Murphy's nerves. She took her eyes off the road for only a second, just long enough to send him an irritated glare.
A second was all it took.
At the same time, he glanced out her side of the windshield. His eyes widened. She felt the hair at her nape prickle with alarm.
“Watch out!”
Her fingers locked in a death-grip around the steering wheel. Her gaze snapped back to the road. The dimness of headlights cut through the sheet of snow, barely illuminating the large, gawky-looking creature that had sauntered out of the line of trees gloving either side of the road…and into the middle of the road itself.
The animal turned it's head, looked at the car.
And froze.
The beam of the headlights reflected a bright shade of copper-orange in the animal's eyes.
Murphy's reaction was instantaneous. She slammed on the brakes. It was a testament to just how bad her day was going when she realized how familiar it felt to have the back wheels fish uncontrollably over slushy snow.
The Rabbit slipped sideways for a dozen yards. The hood of the car dipped as the front tires sank into a snow-covered ditch.
This time when the engine died, it didn't choke or sputter or cough, it just cut out entirely.
With the windshield wiper no longer working, the snow quickly accumulated on the glass. Squinting through it, Murphy saw the animal—to her jaded eye it looked like a very large, very ugly deer—sprint to the opposite side of the road and disappear amidst a thick patch of needled evergreens and leaf-bare birch and maple trees.
From the back seat, Moonshine yowled his displeasure.
“What on earth was that?” Her voice was high and shaky, one degree shy of full-fledged panic.
Garrett's, on the other hand, was strained from pain. “A moose,” he said, then groaned as he shifted his weight off his wounded leg. “It's a damn good thing you didn't hit it. They've been known to put bigger cars than this out of commission.”
She shivered. “I was more concerned with putting it out of commission.” The raspiness of his tone finally pierced her shock. She turned toward him, concerned. “Are you all right?”
“Oh, yeah. Peachy-keen.” His tone branded him a liar. The way his eyes squinted and the muscles in his jaw bunched said he was in a good deal of pain.
“Do you want more aspirin?”
He looked at her like she'd just offered him a lollipop.
“Never mind.” Murphy faced forward and reached for the key. It felt cold against her fingertips as she gave it a twist. The engine ground.
And ground.
And finally turned over.
One of them sighed with relief; Murphy was unsure if the sound came from her or Garrett. Maybe both?
With trembling fingers, she jerked the shift into reverse. The lone wiper struggled to clear the windshield of snow. Murphy tapped the gas pedal with her right foot. The loud, rattling cough of the engine magnified.
The car did not move.
Her heart skipped a beat as she released the clutch more, pressed down harder on the gas pedal.
Still nothing.
Now what?
The engine was going, and she could hear the back tires…spinning. The back tires were whirling over the snow, trying to find traction. And failing.
Murphy pillowed her hands on the top arc of the steering wheel again, bracing her forehead against the back of her wrists. The skin of both felt colder than ice. Oh, how she wished she were the sort of woman who gave in to tears! She could use a good, long cry right about now. Could anything else go wrong?!
“You don't have much luck, do you?”
She lifted her head, met his penetrating blue gaze. Her voice flat, she replied, “On the contrary. I've always had a good deal of luck. Unfortunately, all of it's bad. You've heard of Murphy's Law, haven't you?”
One corner of Garrett's mouth quirked up in a tight grin, and his eyes flashed with amusement. The connection obviously wasn't lost on him.
Murphy sighed and shook her head. “I guess there's nothing else to do. Time to get out and push.”
“When the woman's right she's right.”
He made to open his door. The hand Murphy placed on his arm stopped him.
“Stay put,” she ordered as she turned the engine off, then jerked the key from the ignition. Her gloves were on the floor near his feet—underneath the blanket he'd kicked off, next to a crumpled paper hamburger wrapper and an empty paper cup that had, many miles ago, contained the chocolate milkshake she'd bought at a popular fast food restaurant on the Maine Turnpike.
She'd left her hat at the house. Murphy cursed the oversight when she opened the car door…and was immediately slapped by a bracing gust of snowy, northeast wind. Her spirally curls lashed at her cheeks, forehead and neck like a whip as she tugged her gloves on. Muttering under her breath, she trudged through almost knee-high snow to the back of the car.
There were grooves in the snow from where the wheels had spun uselessly, mixing the snow and dirt into a slushy mud. Because the front tires had sunk into the ditch, the two rear ones were now poised more than a quarter of an inch above the cold, frozen ground.
Murphy McKenna wasn't violent. Therefore, it surprised her to feel an almost overwhelming urge to kick the offending tires as hard as the padding of her Reeboks would allow. She didn't, of course, however that didn't make the urge go away. In the end, the only thing that stopped her was the possibility of breaking her foot. The way her day was going…
While Providence wasn't the Snow Capitol of the World, its winters were harsh enough that she wasn't entirely ignorant when it came to driving through—and getting one's car unstuck from—snow. When she'd climbed out of the Rabbit, she'd figured that if she couldn't push the car into motion—and she had serious doubts she could—then she could always dig up and disperse enough dirt under the rear wheels to give them the traction they needed.
That idea burst like a bubble to a pin prick when she saw the state of the back tires. She couldn't give them traction
of any sort if they weren't touching the ground.
She had only one option: push the car out of the ditch. Her sore body protested the idea when it was a thought; her aching muscles shrieked their reluctance when she put the plan into motion.
For all her rigidly scheduled aerobic classes, she knew she wasn't that strong. In fact, she learned just how humiliatingly weak she really was when she opened the driver's side door, put the Rabbit in neutral and, bracing her feet in the snow as best she could, shoved with all her might.
The car barely rocked; it didn't budge.
She wasn't surprised. She hadn't expected to be able to move it and she'd been right. It was times like this when being right wasn't all it was cracked up to be. At least she'd tried.
Fifteen minutes after she'd gotten out of the car, Murphy wearily climbed back in. She was chilled to the bone, and if she'd been given to swearing she might have tossed a few imaginative cusses at, first the heater that hadn't worked in months, then at herself for not having the forethought to get the dratted thing fixed.
Moonshine bounded over the seat and plopped down in her lap. The cat felt wonderfully warm, and she wedged her hands beneath him, her frigid-to-the-point-of-numb fingers greedily absorbing his heat.
Garrett sneezed, sniffled, then sneezed again.
Murphy absently reached under her seat and retrieved a box of tissues. They were warped and damp—the Rabbit had a mysterious leak that even Tom had never been able to find—but they would have to do. She passed him the box, which he accepted after only a beat of hesitation and a stuffily muttered, “Dank yew.”
“Looks like we're stuck,” she said. The glance Garrett sent her said he already knew that…and probably had before she'd even gotten out of the car. The ache in Murphy's right shoulder, from trying to move the car said it would have been nice if he'd clued her in on the information then and saved her the time and trouble.
Garrett blew his nose, took another tissue, repeated the process. Moonshine regarded him curiously from his soft bed atop Murphy's lap.
Thinking aloud, she said, “I suppose I could walk back to the house and see if the phone's working yet. How far do you think it is?”
“A mile?” His tone was now nasally. He grabbed the duffel bag off the floor near his feet. Rummaging inside, he came up with the bottle of allergy tablets. He shook one out and popped it in his mouth, then opened the door and scooped up a handful of snow, washing the chunky pill down. “Maybe two. Not more than three, I don't think.”
Her shoulders slumped. “That far?”
He nodded and slammed the door shut.
She lowered her chin until it was cushioned on her collarbone. The snow clinging to her hair was starting to melt; drops of it trickled down her cheeks, and a few snuck beneath her collar to shimmy coldly down her neck and back. “What a mess.”
“Uh-huh.”
“What do we do now?”
“Wait.”
As far as Murphy was concerned, Garrett sounded entirely too apathetic. Didn't he realize they were stuck in the middle of a blizzard, in a car that had no heat? How long would it take them to freeze to death, she wondered, then just as swiftly decided she didn't want to know.
Murphy glanced at Garrett sharply. “Wait for what?”
“Help.”
"Are you kidding?"
“Do I look like I am?”
Her gaze raked him, and she realized that he was indeed serious. He was staring at the snow-covered windshield, his blue eyes narrow and intent. The muscle in his jaw ticked; it was the only outward sign that maybe he wasn't as calm as he was letting on.
She sighed, shivered. Her cheeks stung from the wind, and her feet squished coldly in her sneakers. The snow that had snuck into her Reeboks had already melted; she felt like she was wearing two blocks of wet ice on her feet. While the car shielded them from the wind gusting and howling outside, the cramped interior was far from warm. The temperature inside the car had to be a dozen degrees below freezing.
“Do you have a better idea?” he asked when she said nothing.
Murphy opened her mouth to inform him curtly that she sure did…until she realized she didn't. Really, what else could they do? Except wait and hope that the help she'd phoned for over three hours ago would finally arrive.
If it arrived at all.
That was an awfully big ‘if'.
Garrett must have assumed she was undecided, because he added grumpily, “If you think for one second I'm going to let you get out of this car to walk back to the house alone…”
Murphy bristled and prepared herself to deliver the tongue lashing this man so justly deserved. Then she saw his expression, the glint of emotion in his eyes. Equal parts stubbornness and concern swam in the striking blue gaze ensnaring hers.
“Murphy, please,” Garrett said, and his tone cracked, as though it was important to him that she understand what he was trying to say. “I feel bad enough about screwing up your day. I don't want to have you getting lost in these woods, and maybe dying of frostbite, on my conscience as well.”
There was more to it. While Murphy sensed it, she was reluctant to make him verbalize it.
Garrett was worried about her safety. That's why he didn't want her out in this storm. Murphy appreciated his concern. It made her feel warm, protected. That was an odd sensation—she was so used to being on her own, taking care of herself, answering to no one—yet, oddly enough, she found she liked it. It was, she realized, a sensation she could easily get used to, with the right persuasion. No, her mind corrected, with Garrett Thayer's persuasion. The difference was bigger than she cared to admit, even if only to herself.
She sighed and nodded. Any anger she'd felt drained away. Moonshine squirmed on her lap when she shuddered. Her teeth chattered. The only spot on her body that was the tiniest bit warm was where the cat had curled up on top of her thighs and hands.
“Cold?”
Murphy's chuckle was short and sarcastic. “Whatever gave you that idea?”
“Your shivers are shaking the car.”
She frowned when she realized he was right. Her trembling was so violent the Rabbit was literally shaking. Pity she couldn't have stopped if someone had put a pistol to her temple and demanded it. She'd never been this cold in her life.
“I'm fine,” she lied through clicking teeth, even as she curled into herself for warmth—well, as far as the seat, the steering wheel, and the cat would allow. It wasn't enough. The cold felt like it started from someplace deep inside her bones, emanating outward in frigid waves. Her temples throbbed from the way she gritted her teeth, trying to keep them from rattling together.
“Murphy, come here.”
She shook her head. “I said I'm fine.”
“And I say you're lying through your chattering little teeth. Now get over here.” When she stubbornly refused to move, Garrett swore under his breath. “Sweetheart, I'm not going to hurt you, I just want to share my heat with you.”
“I never thought you would,” she said…around said chattering little teeth. “Hurt me, that is.”
“Then what's the problem? What are you waiting for? Get over here.” Garrett draped his left arm over the back of her seat. His palm cupped her shoulder, tugging her in his direction.
She stiffened. Surely curling up to Garrett Thayer's hard, virile—warm!—body wasn't right. Was it? And was there any right or wrong when the alternative was freezing to death?
That decided the matter.
Cradling Moonshine close to her stomach, and careful not to jar his wounded leg, she scooted over the shift, snatching the blanket off the floor on the way. His leg felt hard and unnaturally hot beneath her. The heat of his body enfolded her, his intriguing, spicy male scent surrounded her.
Her mind spiraled, drifting back to the kiss and the way his tongue had plundered her mouth. Back to the way his body had felt—warm and solid and wonderful—molded to hers. Her breath caught when she remembered vividly how his hand felt cupping her breast,
his thumb flicking her nipple to rigid, aching life as she arched hungrily into his touch.
This time the shiver that skated down Murphy McKenna's spine had nothing to do with cold.
Chapter 7
Murphy's Law #7: Every plus has a minus…
MURPHY SNUGGLED more deeply beneath the blanket, and more closely against Garrett's chest. He felt hard and…hot. Very hot. The two aspirin tablets she'd made him take half an hour ago had had no effect in lowering his temperature. If anything, his fever had escalated.
Snow had accumulated quickly on the unmoving car. It was no longer possible to see out of any but the back window, although a faint tint of moonlight managed to sneak inside, bathing the Rabbit's interior a muted shade of silver. Wind pounded the car, rattling the windows in their rust-and-metal casing, letting in an unwanted breeze through the passenger window. While the thread-worn blanket trapped the majority of her and Garrett's body heat, Murphy still felt an icy draft whisk over shins.
“Do you think we're going to die?” she asked softly. Did the shiver that skated down her spine originate from the bitter cold air fogging the breath in front of her face, or fear that he would answer affirmatively?
The chest beneath her cheek stiffened. She felt his shoulders lift and fall in what was meant to be a casual shrug. But wasn't. His arms, wrapped about her waist, tighten until he was holding her protectively close. “Your guess is as good as mine, sweetheart.”
It wasn't the answer she wanted. On the other hand, there was no skirting the truth. She was realistic enough to admit that their predicament could go either way. Their luck could worsen—was that possible?—or improve. Help would reach them before they froze to death, or it wouldn't.
With the car's front wheels stuck in a ditch, and the house too far away to reach by foot in this blizzard—not that Garrett could walk so far in his condition, no matter what the weather—the situation was out of their hands. All that was left for them to do was to huddle together, share body heat, and pray that, for once, Murphy's Law proved erroneous, that help arrived in time.
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