Snow Baby

by Brenda Novak

  “No!” She sounded resolute. “You’re crazy to keep looking for me, Dillon. I never should have called you. I thought it would take you a few minutes to come and pull me out, nothing more. I never expected anything like this.”

  “I know, but you can’t be far away. If I could just spot you, we could both be on our way to our respective vacations—”

  “Or you could get stuck, too. The police called to say they can’t look for me anymore, not until morning. The storm’s too bad.”

  “What? Why not?” She could freeze to death before morning!

  “They don’t want to risk anyone’s life, and I don’t want you to risk yours.”

  What about her life? Dillon wondered.

  She took an audible breath. “You’re going to have to head back, before the roads get any worse.”

  Dillon maneuvered around a parked car that looked like a small snow hill. His tires spun, then finally propelled him a little farther down a road that was quickly becoming impassable. The slick ice and heavy snow were making him nervous, but he’d canvassed the area so completely, he could only believe he’d find her in the next few minutes.

  “You can’t be far,” he muttered.

  “It doesn’t matter. The police know what they’re doing. Anyway, they told me not to use my car phone. I’ll need the battery when they resume the search.”

  Conserving her battery made sense, but cutting off a frightened woman did little to help her. “I’d better let you go, then.”

  Two hours ago Dillon had cared only about making it to the cabin in time to enjoy the party. Now he could think of nothing but Chantel Miller, a beautiful young woman stranded alone in the middle of a snowstorm. He sighed. “It’s hard for me to give up after all this.”

  “Just think about what I did to your truck. That should make it easier.” She attempted to laugh, and Dillon had to admire her for the effort.

  “You’ll probably be on the news in the morning, talking about how some brave fireman saved you,” he said.

  “Yeah. I’ll be the tall one.”

  “The tall one with the knockout smile and the sexy voice,” he added, “but I probably shouldn’t say that to a married woman.”

  “Dillon?”

  “Uh-huh?”

  “There’s no husband. I just…you know, a woman can’t be too careful.”

  “Are you telling me I look like an ax murderer?”

  “Actually I think you look like Tom Selleck.”

  He laughed. “It’s the dimples. I hated them when I was a kid, thought they made me look like a sissy. When I was five or so, my mom dressed me up as a girl for Halloween, and I never lived it down—or at least I didn’t until I passed six feet and could grow a full beard.”

  “I’ll bet no one teases you anymore.”

  He could hear the smile in her voice, and it made him feel slightly better. “No, they don’t.” He paused, wondering what to do next. “Damn, Chantel. I’m sorry about this mess. You must be—”

  “Anxious for morning. That’s all.”

  “Sure.” He continued to steer his truck through the fresh powder and felt his tires give more than they grabbed. He knew that if he stayed out any longer, he’d get stuck, too. “Well, I won’t use up any more of your battery.”

  “Okay.”

  The edge that crept into her voice reminded him of the way his little girl sounded whenever she didn’t want him to leave her, and that made it hard as hell to hang up. He and Chantel Miller might have been complete strangers three hours ago, but now they seemed like the only two people in the world.”

  “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Right.”

  “Goodbye, Chantel.”

  “Hurry back to the freeway, Dillon…and thank you. I’m sorry about your truck. I’ve got your card. I’ll send you a thank-you note.”

  Yeah, you can say, “Thanks for nothing.”

  THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS, Chantel, when you try to do something without me, Wade sneered.

  Chantel covered her ears with her hands, even though she knew the sound came from inside her own head. “Shut up,” she whispered. “You’re gone and I’m glad.”

  His laugh echoed through her mind, and she almost turned on the radio to block it out. She hadn’t seen Wade in six months, but they’d spent ten years together before that—ten years that weren’t easy to erase.

  She blew on her hands, then hugged herself again. She’d taken off her wet shoes and pulled up her knees so she could warm her toes with her piled-on sweaters, not that it made any difference. She was freezing. If it got any colder….

  She pictured Stacy at the cabin and wished she could reach her sister. Her car phone lay in her lap, cradled against the cold and darkness, but the number for the cabin was at home, on the easy-wipe board next to the refrigerator. Why hadn’t she transferred it to the sheet of directions Stacy had given her? Why hadn’t she gone back when she realized she’d left it?

  She’d been in too much of a hurry, that was why—but it was useless to berate herself now. Except that it kept her from succumbing to the exhaustion that tugged at her body. The police had warned her not to go to sleep. If she did, she might never wake up.

  She thought about Wade and the choices he’d encouraged her to make and all she had suffered because of them—the low self-esteem, the anorexia, the past six months of constant effort to become healthy again. If she was going to die, why couldn’t she have done it in the hospital, before the long haul back?

  Because that would have been too easy. She needed those experiences. The past six months had made her a stronger person than she’d ever been before.

  That truth blew into her mind with all the force of the raging storm, then settled like a softly falling snowflake. Yes, she was stronger. When the nurses told her she’d probably die from her disease, she’d decided it wouldn’t beat her. She’d given up modeling. She’d left Wade. She smiled, knowing, in the end, that she’d surprised them all.

  But the past had left its scars. Her illness had cost her the one thing she wanted more than anything….

  She winced and shied away from the longing. She wasn’t ready to deal with it yet. A new career, a new life. That was enough for now. Then, perhaps someday—

  Suddenly Chantel sat bolt upright and tried to see through the snow on her windshield. Her headlight had gone out, hadn’t it? The police had told her to turn it off, to conserve the car battery, as well as the telephone battery, but she couldn’t bring herself to relinquish the one thing that might actually get someone’s attention. Without it, the Jaguar would look just like every other car, every empty car.

  Gripping the steering wheel with numb hands, she shifted to her knees to see above the mounded snow, then squinted down at her instrument panel. The lights were dimming. She could barely make out the fuel gauge. The white needle pointing to “E” wasn’t the most comforting sight, but without it, she’d be sitting in complete darkness, alone, as the storm continued to bury her alive.

  She should start the car and recharge the battery. She needed the heat, anyway. What good was saving gas now? Either she made it until morning when the police would come for her. Or she didn’t.

  Turning the key in the ignition, she heard the Jag’s starter give a weak whine, then fall silent. She was too late. The battery was already dead.

  Should she get out? Look for help on foot? She fingered the phone, wishing Dillon would call—he was the only one who might—but she knew he’d never risk using up the rest of her battery. By now he was probably sleeping beneath heavy quilts in a cabin that smelled of pine and wood smoke.

  She imagined him bare-chested, the blankets coming to just above his hips, a well-muscled arm flung out. Would there be a woman beside him? A woman who’d been waiting for “Dillon Broderick, Architect” in Tahoe?

  Chantel shook her head. It didn’t matter. Only sleep mattered. Her body begged her to close her eyes and simply drift away.

  Soon her lids grew so heavy she
could barely lift them. She couldn’t feel her nose anymore, could no longer see her breath fogging the air. She tried to sing the Titanic theme song, but even that was too much effort. Instead, she heard the melody in her head and told herself her heart would go on. And her father would be there to greet her. Her father…

  Why hadn’t she left Wade sooner?

  I’m free, Daddy. And I’m finally coming home…to you.

  With a strange sense of eagerness, she closed her eyes, but a persistent thump on the outside of the car pulled her out of sleep’s greedy clutches.

  “CHANTEL! IT’S ME, Dillon!”

  Dillon wiped all the snow off the window and flashed his light inside. It had to be her car. How many smashed Jags could there be with one dim headlight still reflecting off the white flakes falling from the sky?

  “Dillon?” He heard her voice through the glass and breathed a sigh of relief. He’d found her! He couldn’t believe it. He’d turned around and tried to drive back to the freeway, but he hadn’t been able to leave her behind. And now he was elated to think he’d beaten the odds.

  She fumbled with the lock and opened the door, and he pulled her out and into his arms.

  Pressing her cold face against the warmth of his neck, she held him tightly.

  “You all right?” he asked.

  She didn’t answer, just clung to him, and he realized she was crying.

  “Hey, what kind of a welcome is this?”

  “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, drawing back to swipe at her eyes. “I just, I just…” She began to shake from the cold, and he knew he had to get her warm and dry—as quickly as possible.

  “Let’s go. You got anything else in there we can use to keep you warm?”

  She shook her head. “I’m wearing everything I’ve g-got.”

  He chuckled at her mismatched and odd-fitting layers. “Good girl. We’re out of here, then.”

  He took off his ski hat and settled it on her blond head, carefully covering her ears. Then he shoved her hands in the leather gloves he’d been using.

  “My hands b-b-burn,” she complained.

  “That’s good. At least you can feel them.” Then he saw her feet. “Where the hell are your shoes?”

  She blinked down at her toes. “They were w-wet. I had to t-take them off.”

  “You have to put them back on, at least until we make it to my Landcruiser.” He reached inside the car for her tennis shoes.

  When he finished tying her shoelaces, she glanced around and frowned. “Where’s your truck?”

  He raised his brows, wondering how to tell her the truth of the situation. “You’re not still worried that I’m an ax murderer, are you?”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’ve got some good news and some bad news. The bad news is that my Landcruiser’s stuck. We’re not going to get out of here tonight.” He grabbed her cell phone from the car, took her hand, and started to pull her over to where he’d left his vehicle. “But the good news is, you’re no longer alone.”

  “That’s not such g-good news for you,” she said.

  He grinned and looked back at her, admiring the unique shape of her amber-colored eyes. “It’s not as bad as you might think.”

  CHANTEL LET DILLON lead her up the side of a sharp incline through waist-deep snow. Pine trees stood all around them, tops bending and limbs swaying as they fought the same wind that flung ice crystals into her face. Her clothes and shoes were soaked through, and even with gloves on her hands, she didn’t have enough body heat to warm her fingers. Never had she been so cold, not in ten years of New York winters.

  She slipped and fell, and Dillon hauled her back to her feet. “Come on, we’ve got to hurry. I don’t want you to get frostbite,” he said, pulling her more forcefully behind him.

  Chantel angled her face up to see through the trees in front of them. Other than the small circle from Dillon’s flashlight, everything was completely dark. The falling snow obliterated even the moon’s light, but the night wasn’t silent. The wind alternately whined and howled, and tree limbs scratched and clawed at each other.

  “Are you sure you know wh-where we’re going?” she called. It felt as though they were scaling a mountain, heading deeper into the forest, instead of toward civilization.

  “I’m taking a more direct route, but we’ll get there.”

  “I d-don’t think I can walk any farther.” The air smelled like cold steel, not the pine she’d been anticipating, and suddenly Chantel wondered why she’d ever wanted to go to Tahoe in the first place. She had enough to take care of in the valley. She wasn’t ready to deal with the issues between her and Stacy yet.

  “We gotta keep moving. It’s not much farther.” Dillon sheltered her with his large body and tugged persistently at her arm.

  “I’m freezing!”

  “So am I. Come on, Chantel, we need to keep walking. Talk to me. That’ll keep our minds off the cold.”

  She looked at the man who’d risked his life to save her. Hadn’t she wrecked his car earlier? Yet here he was, trudging through the snow, pulling her along, telling her to talk to him. Without him…

  Chantel didn’t want to think about what might have happened without him. “You’re c-crazy, Dillon. Why didn’t you leave me?”

  “Freud would probably say I’m trying to prove my masculinity.”

  She thought he was smiling but couldn’t see his face in the darkness. “There are easier ways to do that.”

  He laughed. “I’ve always had to do things the hard way. My poor mother used to shake her head in exasperation and tell me how wonderful my sisters were to raise.”

  “F-F-Freud would probably have something to say about that, t-t-too.”

  “No doubt. Only I don’t think being a troublemaker has anything to do with my sexuality.”

  “I think it’s the t-testosterone. My c-cousin once kicked a hole in the wall when I put him down for a nap.”

  Dillon paused. “How old was he?”

  “Three. It was my f-fault, really. I forgot to take off his cowboy boots.”

  Dillon put his arms around her waist and half carried her over a fallen log. “Your cousin’s my kind of kid. But girls can be hellions, too. My littlest is a spitfire.”

  “How many—” Chantel could barely form the words “—children do you have?”

  “Two girls, nine and seven.”

  She pictured him with a couple of dark-haired, blue-eyed daughters. If they looked anything like their father, they would be beautiful. “So you’re m-married?”

  “Divorced.”

  “I’m s-sorry.”

  “So am I.”

  Chantel fell silent again. She had no strength left.

  “Tell me about you,” Dillon suggested. “Is there a man in your life?”

  “No.” Wade was too long a story, and she was far too weary to expand on her answer. “I can’t g-go any f-farther,” she said, sinking to her knees in the snow. Somehow she wasn’t cold anymore. She just didn’t care. There wasn’t anything left inside her with which to fight. “You g-go on…”

  “I’m not leaving you.” A strong arm swept her to her feet, but she pulled away again, shaking her head. I can’t, rang through her thoughts, but she could no longer speak. Her mind seemed clouded, her senses dulled. Her body simply slowed and stopped moving, like a cheap windup toy.

  “Chantel!” The command cut through her hazy thoughts, but she refused it. Let this be over.

  The second time Chantel heard her name, she knew Dillon would not be denied. Weakly she tried to move toward to his voice, then felt the world tip and sway as he lifted her in his arms.

  “So you’re going to make me carry you, huh?” he breathed, his chest heaving as he bore her weight through the wind and snow.

  Silence fell for what seemed a long time. Then, from somewhere far above her, Chantel heard Dillon again. “Stay with me, baby,” he whispered urgently. “Don’t go to sleep! Fight the darkness, Chantel.”

 
Chantel wasn’t sure she wanted to stay, let alone fight, but something about his voice enticed her toward his strength. Don’t let me go…I won’t let go.

  “I see it now.”

  His words made no sense, caused no reaction in Chantel. She only knew that he’d left her. But he was close. She could hear him talking to himself, moving a few feet away. A car door slammed, twice, then she felt herself being jostled about as he pulled and tugged at her arms, her legs, her…

  What was it? What did he want from her?

  Then it all came clear. He was stripping off her clothes.

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHANTEL’S BODY burned as it warmed by degrees, slowly turning from what felt like dead wood to living flesh again. She didn’t know how much time had passed, only that she was in some sort of sleeping bag, crushed against something strong and hard—an expansive chest? Two sinewy arms circled her as large hands chafed her back. A rough stubbled chin grazed her cheek as thickly muscled legs became entwined with her own, moving constantly, trying to warm her lower extremities.

  She was being held by a naked man. And he was warming a great deal more than her extremities.

  She stiffened.

  “Chantel? Are you back with me?”

  The voice identified Dillon immediately, but still she raised her head to make out his face in the darkness. “Wh-What happened?”

  Closing his eyes, he shamelessly hugged her to him, belly to belly. It was then that Chantel realized how fast his heart was beating.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, still disoriented.

  “Are you kidding? I thought I was going to lose you. It was nip and tuck there for a while.”

  Slowly the memory of being stranded in her car came back to her. She remembered how Dillon had rescued her, remembered trudging behind him through the snow. Then there was nothing but blackness until the burning and tingling started and grew painful in its severity.

  “How do you feel?” he asked.

  “Like I’m on fire.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Where are my clothes?”

  “I don’t know. Outside somewhere. I wasn’t concerned with what happened to them. I just knew I had to get them off you—fast.”