Heart to Heart

by Meline Nadeau

  Mile after silent mile passed, not nearly so comfortable now. Traffic thinned under angry clouds spitting flurries. Soon Kirk’s car seemed to be the only one on the road. Even road signs were few and far between. As night approached, Edie shifted in her seat. The scattered snow didn’t bother her; Kirk’s intentions did. Her nerves frayed more with each passing mile. After an hour, she was concerned enough to broach the uncomfortable silence. “Um, so what are your driving plans?”

  He glanced at her, his eyes silver mirrors hiding his thoughts, his intentions. “I-70 to Highway 15.”

  “No, I mean stops. Where are we eating dinner? Where are we — spending the night?”

  Silver flicked back to the road. “Don’t worry. It’s going on the company credit card.”

  “That wasn’t what was bothering me.”

  He cut her a startled look. “Edie, I’m a professional. You don’t have to worry that I’ll do anything untoward.”

  She relaxed, immensely relieved that he didn’t intent to paddle her or worse … or better … his reply registered. He’d thought she’d meant … “Oh, that wasn’t it either!” Mostly.

  “Glad to hear it,” he said dryly. “We have two room reservations in Cedar City. We should get there around ten thirty, if there are no delays.” He paused. “As a fall back, I have a summer place in the mountains.”

  “Good.” Not. Alone in a mountain hideaway, with Everett Kirk and his wicked knots? Even if he were totally professional, what if she overslept again? Would he break down her bedroom door? Scoop her up effortlessly and dump her in the shower? Kirk’s big hand, peeling back her robe as he blasted her with the shower, his eyes molten silver as when they coursed down her near-naked body —

  Not oversleeping. “Uh, I think I’ll take a little nap.”

  Everett nodded. “Glad you trust me. I’ll wake you when we get there.”

  “Great.” Edie closed her eyes. Finding surprisingly that she did trust him, she drifted off to sleep.

  • • •

  She dreamed. The flurries and her insane hours at HHE got mixed up with working late at her first job at Broad Vistas Computer Consultants, and getting stranded in the snow.

  January. Working hard, newbie Edie never registered the blizzard scale goes from flurries to oh crap. At 7 P.M. she packed up and exited the building.

  And stood, astonished at the blanched empty parking lot. Behind her, the security door clicked shut.

  She spun, knowing she’d pulled a Homer; she hadn’t gotten her keycard yet and couldn’t get back in. She patted mittened hands against the glass, tugged ineffectively at the locked door.

  Panic’s infinite loop broke when she remembered she had a car, borrowed from her roommate until she could afford her own. She trotted eagerly to where she’d left it.

  Snow and sleet whipped across the desolate asphalt, skittering noisily like a plague of tap dancing locusts. Only one other vehicle was in the lot, a pickup truck crusted with white. She had no idea if someone was still in the building or if the owner had simply bailed.

  Her borrowed car was an old rear-wheel-drive hatch that her roommate called “vintage” and Edie called “wreckage.” She fumbled the key into the lock, clumsy in mittens and shivers. When the door finally opened, she fell into the car, tripped by a gust. Shutting the door barely muffled the wind’s scream.

  A push of gas, a turn of key, a heartfelt prayer, and sweat-strewn moments later she was rewarded with a deep-throated vroom. Saved! The worst was over. She put the car in gear and fed gas.

  And promptly spun out. The lot was an ice rink. Her boots’ tread had kept her from skating, but bald tires had as much grip as skis. It took all her driving expertise to get the thing sliding in a straight line toward the exit.

  Which was uphill.

  The incline wasn’t steep, but ice made it slick. Like a cat running on a freshly waxed floor, the car slipped sideways. After several tries she stopped, temporarily beaten.

  By now she was panting, tiny white puffs of air. She took inventory. Cell phone, out of juice, no car charger. Some cash, but as a newbie she didn’t know what, if any, stores were within walking distance or if they were even open. Maybe something helpful was in the trunk. She started to turn off the engine.

  No, it had taken three miracles and a beatification to start it. Leaving it running, she popped the trunk and got out. Her roommate’s emergency supplies were a cracked shovel and a torn bag of cat litter draining into the spare tire well.

  Sure, the worst was over. The Great God of Gotcha was laughing his butt off. She dragged out the litter. By sprinkling some under the rear tires, inching forward, stopping and sprinkling more litter on the new patch, she was able to climb a good three feet up the slope in a half an hour.

  She was almost to the top when the car ran out of gas.

  “Da … gnation. Shi … zzle. Fu … zznuck.” She bonked her forehead on the steering wheel. She would have loved to vent with a good thick curse but her grandparents taught her swearing was verbal laziness and Rowans were never lazy.

  Something moved in her periphery. She jerked upright — Broad Vistas’s door had opened. She leaped out of the car with a shout. A gust of wind stole her cry. Snow blasted her eyes. By the time her vision cleared the door was shut.

  An eerie silence descended. Edie choked on a sob. Had she imagined the door opening?

  The roar of a powerful vehicle jumpstarted her heart. The veil of snow parted, revealing a riced-up 4x4.

  The truck ate its way to her side. The driver’s fogged window rolled down, revealing a silver-haired man with intelligent brown eyes magnified by gold-rimmed glasses. “Need some help?”

  That was how Edie met her mentor, Philip Sedgwick.

  Chapter Three

  To: ThePrez@serenityrangers.com

  From: ED@mythicmail.com

  Subject: Re: About me

  Dear Ev E.E. Hardass,

  You’re punny. A man (or woman) after my own heart. I like E.E. My college friends call me E.E. too. But I’ve gotten to think of you as Prez so I guess I’ll stick with that.

  You’re definitely not a Hardass. You brighten my day too, and I always look forward to your emails. Those jerks at your office do not appreciate the funny, wonderful person you are.

  Remember, if cars were computers, twice a day, for no reason at all, they’d crash.

  — ED

  Edie woke halfway when Kirk stopped at a rest area. She cast a bleary eye at the clock. Two hours had passed.

  He opened her door. Chilly air spilled in, waking her fast. They must be well into Utah by now. His hand lifted her out. She looked around. The grass was covered with snow but the air and the walkway were clear, so she didn’t think anything of it. After a five-minute break, they were on the road again.

  By now the sky was black, the kind that comes from laden clouds at night.

  Kirk drove with intense focus. Edie wasn’t sure why until she saw big white flakes smack into the window.

  “It’s snowing,” she said.

  He raised both brows. “I’m amazed at your powers of observation.”

  “I’m amazed at your powers of sarcasm, Kirk.”

  “Mr. Kirk.”

  “Then call me Ms. Rowan.”

  “That’s not company policy.”

  “It’s Saturday. We’re not on company time.”

  “This is a company function.”

  “You always have an answer, don’t you?” Worry made her sharp. She crossed her arms and glared at him. It bounced off his rock-hard profile. “Okay, if this is work, I get overtime.”

  Muscles in his jaw bunched. “Can we drop this for now? I have enough to deal with.”

  He had a point. The snow was coming fast and heavy, like driving into a kaleidoscope of long
white needles. “What happened?”

  “The impossible. The storm hooked south. It’s been doing this off and on for the last hour.”

  “The Great Gotcha laughs again.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. What do we do?”

  “Go to Plan B.” He exited north onto a two-lane crowned road, the kind humped high in the middle for drainage, with ditches on either side.

  “Your summer place?” The mountain hideaway, alone with him and his wicked knots? Edie’s anxiety notched up. “How far?”

  “About fifteen minutes, I think.”

  “You think? You’re not sure?”

  “It’s a recent purchase, and the signs are covered over with snow. But it’s two rights and a left. I’m sure.”

  “You’re sure.”

  “Try to hold down the sarcasm, please. It’s frosting the windows.”

  She waited but the window stayed frosted and the snow got worse. “Maybe we should ask for directions.”

  “Nobody around to ask. Anyway, it’s not necessary. I know where we are.”

  “You think.”

  “I know.” A pause. “I’m virtually certain.”

  “Is that like virtual reality? How about we turn around and find somewhere more populated to wait out the storm. Okay, Kirk?”

  “My summer house is no more than fifteen minutes away. And it’s Mr. Kirk.”

  “Yes sir, Mr. Kirk sir.”

  He glared at her — and suddenly they were slipping sideways.

  “Everett!” Edie grabbed the seat, hard.

  “I’ve got it.” His strong hands, gripping the wheel, eased the car out of its skid.

  She released the seat after a moment. “Nicely done.” She strained to see past the veil of white. “When was the last sign of civilization?”

  “Edie, we’ll be at my house in fifteen minutes. Don’t worry.”

  “I’m not worried.”

  “Of course not.” His voice was gentle. “Why don’t you harangue me about employee rights?”

  “Somehow, Kirk, I don’t feel like it right now.” She peered into the driving snow, bracing herself for the next horrible skid.

  “Edie, if you could see your way clear to using Mr. Kirk — ”

  “The whole point is I can’t see clearly, and it’s been at least fifteen minutes, Mr. Edward Everett Kirk.” She couldn’t help the edge to her voice, more anxiety than heat. “Shouldn’t we have been there by now?”

  “We’re traveling much slower than I anticipated. It threw off my sense of timing. But it can’t be much farther.”

  Her eyes hurt from squinting into the driving white. Nothing, no houses, no signs, nothing but trees. She couldn’t even see the mountain peaks. Until …

  For an instant the swirling snow parted. She glimpsed a log cabin.

  “Everett, stop!”

  He hit the brakes. The whole car shuddered as the anti-lock brake system kicked in. “What’s wrong?”

  “There’s a cabin back there, near the road.”

  “Not mine. Mine isn’t near the road.” He started the car forward.

  “Can’t we pull off, maybe wait out the storm?”

  “You see how the snow is piling up. Our best bet is to continue to my summer house.”

  “But Everett,” Edie began, just as the car began to slide.

  With remarkable calm, Everett steered into the skid. The road was narrow, no shoulder and no margin for error, but he was good. Correcting with competent hands and clenched jaw he managed to get them almost straightened out.

  A huge gust of wind hit them broadside. The light sports car, caught too near the edge, was pushed off the sloped road.

  The car slid, spinning slightly, for what seemed like an eternity, soundless but for the rasping of Edie’s breath. Then it ground to a halt nose first in a mountain of white.

  • • •

  Time snapped forward. The sudden stop was enough to jar Edie but not enough to trigger the airbags. They’d plowed into deeper snow, not really a mountain, but getting back on the road wasn’t an option.

  Still, she had to hand it to Kirk — he tried. He put the car in reverse and tried to power out. He put the car in gear and tried to power out. He tried rocking between reverse and first. But the snow was too deep. Even cat litter in the trunk wouldn’t have helped — though she rather doubted Kirk would dirty his expensive sports car with a bag of common clay.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “I have satellite navigation. We can locate my house and hike there when there’s a break in the storm.”

  Edie gaped at him. “You’ve had GPS this whole time and you haven’t bothered to turn it on?” Philip Sedgwick would never have waited until now to mention the GPS. Of course, Philip would never have gotten them into this mess in the first place. He had a truck, big and seriously kitted out — although not to the point that it screamed compensation. Much.

  “I didn’t need directions. The house is nearby. Now we’ll find out how close.” Calmly, Kirk keyed the GPS on.

  Nothing happened.

  “What’s wrong?” Besides being stranded in the snow with no idea of where they were, no silver-haired mentor hovered conveniently nearby.

  “The system appears to be broken. Maybe it never worked.” He shrugged. “I haven’t ever used it.”

  Of course he hadn’t. “You’re such a guy.”

  He raised a brow. “You say that like it’s an insult.”

  “No. If I called you an executive, that’d be an insult.”

  “Well, thank goodness for your restraint. We’re not out of options yet.” Kirk extracted a slim phone from his breast pocket and thumbed 911. Frowned. “Damn.”

  “Please don’t swear. What’s the matter?”

  “No signal.”

  Edie tried her own phone with the same results. “Okay then. If high-tech solutions don’t work, go low-tech.” She zipped her jacket and popped the door. Snow pelted her as she scrabbled out.

  “What are you doing?” Kirk grabbed her jacket and hauled her back in.

  She landed half-sprawled on the seat. “Hey.” She pushed his hand off, trying not to notice how big and capable it was. “I’m hiking to that cabin I saw. It won’t take long.”

  “Oh no you don’t. You’ll get lost.”

  “Says Mr. Two Rights and a Left.”

  “Point. All right, but I’ll come with you.”

  Point? He’d acknowledged she was right? She hid her surprise. “In those shoes?”

  He glanced down at his loafers. “You’re wearing running shoes.”

  “I have boots in the trunk.”

  “Right again. Good for you.” Exasperation and amusement laced his tone. “I’m still coming with you.”

  “Suit yourself.” She scrambled out of the car, then grabbed her purse from the seat well and slung it across her chest. Big wet flakes splattered all over her. “Hope your snappy outfit’s washable.”

  “Smug is not your style,” he called out after her.

  She smiled, though it was lost in the howling white. When he wasn’t doing his it’s-good-to-be-king thing he was pretty cute … oh, not thinking that.

  He popped the trunk. As she pulled out her boots he joined her, adjusting the computers over his shoulders.

  She exchanged footwear and zipped up. “I think it’s being on the other end of smug that’s not your style, Kirk.”

  “Company time, Edie. Mr. Kirk, please. Are you certain there’s a cabin back there?” He was standing so close she could feel the steam rise off his rapidly dampening body.

  “Yes.” She shivered, blamed it on the cold. “If I didn’t know better I’d think you were insisting on the ‘mister’ to distract me from being worried.” />
  “Would I do that?” He frowned at the car, embedded in white. “That’s not going anywhere. Let’s take our luggage. Anyway, if you insist on being familiar, I’d prefer Everett to Kirk.”

  “You believe that I saw a cabin?” she asked. He trusted her?

  He looked at her in surprise. “Of course. Why would you lie about it?”

  Of course. Why would she? It was her frozen butt on the line too.

  He pulled out his suitcases and her bag, slammed the trunk shut and slogged off. Cases and bag in hand, double-slung with computer bags, he looked like a luggage rack (albeit a strong, lithe one). She was amazed he could even move, festooned with cases like that. Yet he tramped through the snow briskly, surprisingly sure-footed. Maybe she’d underestimated him.

  Nah, probably just couldn’t conceive mere snow would dare trip a man of his importance. Like nature cared about pay grade. He’d slip and fall, breaking a dozen or so bones.

  Which would be a crying shame, marring that strong, lithe body … lock her in Warehouse 13. His falling would be bad because they were stranded and she’d be the one who’d have to care for him. She ran after him and grabbed her bag and laptop. With her boots and lighter weight, she quickly took the lead, Kirk lumbering behind her. “Say, are those designer suitcases?” she shouted back.

  “Could you enjoy this a bit less obviously?”

  She grinned, knowing he wouldn’t see it but betting he could feel it. “Feet frozen yet?”

  “I’m moving. Can’t get frostbite while moving. Damn!” A man-sized thud preempted the howling wind.

  Her stomach dropped. She spun. He’d fallen to his knees. She started to run back to him.

  He surged to his feet, easily, without even releasing his hold on the cases. “How far to that cabin?”

  She stopped, blinking. The man had hidden strength. “Not much farther. I could carry your computer.”

  His hot glare cut through the snow. “I can manage my own luggage, thank you.”

  “Right.” Striking out again, she nearly missed the dark blur of the cabin she’d seen from the road. “This way.”