by Kim McMahill
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she ranted, slapping her palm against the steering wheel. “But what choice did I have? I’d bet the deputy is a city transplant who doesn’t know one end of a cow from the other.”
Grace put the pickup into gear and rolled away from the shoulder. The air from the vents felt warmer and seemed to be making progress in defrosting the windows, so she forced herself to relax as much as possible. She knew every muscle in her body was going to ache by the time she reached the ranch. Then she’d have four horses, a dozen chickens, three pigs, a hundred or so head of cattle, two dogs, and an undetermined number of cats to feed, assuming they were all still alive and none were missing in the panic.
The thought of all the work needing to be done after the long drive made her want to cry, so she bit her lip and concentrated on navigating the rest of the switchbacks. She had to focus on the dangerous task at hand and not worry about her uncle or about whether or not she had left anything behind in her office that could get her fired.
Her main concern at the moment and biggest priority remained reaching the ranch as quickly as possible, keeping all the animals alive, and salvaging whatever she could. Everything else would have to be dealt with in time. Sliding off the highway and getting stuck in the deep snow was a possible option, but not one she could allow.
“Well, at least I don’t have to watch for deer or elk on the roads for a change. They’re too smart to be out in this weather. Where in the heck is the snowplow?”
The snow was getting heavier and deeper. Grace hoped she could make it to the ranch turnoff before it got too dense for the truck to push through. As she crested the next hill, a mix of dread and relief swept through her. Not knowing what she would find once reaching the ranch filled her with angst, but the sight of the familiar lone, dented, rusty mailbox poking out of a high drift nearly made her shout out with joy.
The feeling of triumph was short-lived. She pulled the truck off the highway and realized the paved road had been plowed much more recently than the mile and a half long dirt track leading to the ranch. If anyone had driven through in the past few hours, all tracks had been erased by the brutal forces of Mother Nature.
“No wonder the barn burned to the ground. Even if there had been a fire engine nearby, there was no way a big truck could have made it through in these conditions.” She sighed with a resigned shake of her head.
Halfway up the small rise, a quarter mile from the main ranch house, the truck’s tires spun and the backend fishtailed. The incline wasn’t overly steep when dry, but the surface was so slick the truck didn’t have the power to keep moving while pushing nearly three feet of snow uphill with no traction.
“Not when I’m so close,” she moaned as she backed down the hill and stopped on a flat spot.
Grace sat in the cab for a moment with her eyes closed. She was exhausted, and the idea of having to stop and put chains on the tires for additional traction made her want to scream, but she clenched her jaw, straightened her shoulders, and refused to break down when her goal was in sight. She debated about walking the rest of the way, but she needed her stuff, and the thought of trudging through so much snow sounded even more daunting than putting the chains on the tires. With weary resolve, she pulled her hat low over her brow and forced the door open.
The shovel in the back of the truck was buried under a foot of powder, but it only took her seconds to find the tool and start digging out around the back tires. Once she dug down deep enough to see the entire tire, she laid the chains out on the ground in front of each and then drove forward, centering each wheel on the links. After securing both, she engaged the four wheel drive into low and inched forward.
She could tell instantly there was now enough traction, so if the engine had enough power to push through the snow, she’d reach the ranch and the hordes of hungry animals waiting to be fed.
The truck was moving so slowly by the time it crested the last rise the progress was nearly imperceptible. The sturdy log house was a welcome sight, but then her eyes focused on the burnt-out shell of what was once a beautiful historic barn. It had once looked like an image straight out of an Old West picture book.
Now it was gone.
Her eyes filled with tears as smoke rose through the crisp, still air in sinister wisps, punctuating the recentness of the tragedy. She knew hay and grain could burn and smolder for days or weeks, filling the valley with the scent of destruction, but she hadn’t been prepared for how it would make her feel.
The sight of the charred timbers and lingering smoke finally broke through her resolve, and tears poured down her cheeks in torrents the same way the unforgiving snow fell from the sky.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Kim McMahill grew up in Wyoming, which is where she developed her sense of adventure and love of the outdoors. Since leaving Wyoming she has enjoyed many opportunities to see the world, and has lived amid some of America’s most stunning landscapes. Kim started out writing non-fiction, but her passion for exotic world travel, outrageous adventures, stories of survival, and happily-ever-after endings soon drew her into a world of romantic suspense. Along with writing adventure novels Kim has also published over eighty travel and geographic articles, and contributed to a travel anthology and cookbook. When not writing, Kim enjoys gardening, traveling, and spending time with family.
To learn more about Kim and her writing, visit her website at http://KimMcMahill.com or follow her at http://KimMcMahill.blogspot.com or on twitter at https://twitter.com/kimmcmahill.
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