Chapter 2
Nick fumbled for his cell phone and slapped on the headset. Then he pushed a speed dial button, hoping to reach Mae Dunkirk, Jack’s traveling secretary, who accompanied the real estate mogul everywhere. When she answered, Nick explained the unavoidable delays and apologized, buying himself some time. That done, he gave sigh of relief. Too soon, though. It appeared his troubles had just begun.
Perhaps he’d missed a sign while his attention was on the phone or maybe the wind had knocked it down. Next thing he knew, the SUV was bouncing over a rutted track that could not possibly be the detour for a major interstate highway, not even here in the Wild West! The snow flew past at a different angle now, one that reduced visibility even more. The windshield wipers barely cleared the glass, while a thickening border of compacted snow edged into the open area a bit farther after every swipe.
“This doesn’t look good, Cedric. We’ve got to turn around and try to find our way back to the highway.”
Cedric made a small growl in response, apparently irritated at the continued disruption of his routine. Dogs were very conservative, Nick now knew, and disliked having to adjust to new things, especially at feeding and bedtime. For Cedric, still functioning on Eastern Standard, it was now past the former and rapidly approaching the latter.
Exerting due caution, Nick gently braked to a stop. Even though he really could not see, he decided to back to the right and then make a forward turn to the left. He’d attempt a hundred and eighty degree reversal to head back in the direction from which he’d come. Surely he’d get back to the highway that way. In just a few feet, though, he felt a thump, indicating he’d come to something immovable behind the vehicle. Shifting back into forward, he inched ahead, turning some more.
He felt the wheels spin a little, fighting for traction on the snow that probably had slippery mud underneath. The SUV slithered and shuddered, jolting forward until the hood dropped away abruptly, nosing downward. Oh shit, there must be a ditch at the side of the road.
Again he shifted into reverse. He wanted to inch back, but that wasn’t working. Frustrated, he stamped down on the gas. Again wheels spun as the vehicle jolted, slithered, and slid. It skidded for what seemed a long time and finally stopped, listing hard to the right. This time it would not move no matter what he did. He could feel the wheels spin in a futile effort to move the vehicle, simply digging in deeper.
Well, of all the revolting developments. Late for an important meeting and here I am stuck in the wilds of Colorado in the midst of a blizzard. He had a hunch He guessed Triple-A was not going to be too keen on hunting for him at this point. Feeling a bit desperate, he called anyway. Never let it be said Nick LeGrande was not both resourceful and determined.
* * * *
Caleb Storm slammed the barn door before he headed for the house. It might be late March, but from the feel of that wind, they were due for an ugly night. Fine, gritty snow stung his face as he stooped, tilting his hat for its maximum protection. He leaned into the push of the wind and forged on. The hundred yards from the barn to the house seemed a lot longer than normal. He grabbed a scoop shovel beside the porch and took it inside with him. He’d need it in the morning to dig through the drifts that were sure to be left when the wind blew snow this way.
Cheyenne looked up from her bed behind the kitchen range. Her stubby tail thumped a time or two when she recognized him. Although the rest of his stock dogs bedded in the barn, he let the old girl stay inside. Matriarch of his pack, she had arthritis in a hip from an old injury, and the cold made her limp. The blue merle Heeler and Aussie-mix bitch had seen him through many a misadventure during her ten years of life.
She’d been born right here in this room, one of eight pups, the last litter his old bitch, Blue Blazes, had produced. One of the best stock dogs he’d ever had, Chey was also the best companion a rancher could ask for. A damn sight more faithful and trustworthy than any woman he’d ever known, for sure, and most men as well.
Caleb kicked off wet, muddy boots, then hung his dripping hat and snow-laden parka on big nails by the back door. Next he headed for the coffeepot on the corner of the old wood-and coal-burning range. It would take at least a couple of cups to thaw out this evening. Then he’d think about supper.