by Mary Alford
Indignation trumped fear as she sprinted toward the vehicle, brandishing the dripping squeegee. “Do you know you almost hit me?” she yelled. Her answer came in a spray of pebbles and slush as the driver spun into Reverse and headed toward the exit.
Seconds later, the kids in her mission group tumbled through the service station door. All seven of them in a gaggle of oblivious teenage excitement, sliding along the snow-covered pavement, their voices loud and high-pitched as they raced through the lot and climbed into the van. Their boisterous enthusiasm distracted her from the feelings of unease swirling in her stomach. Why hadn’t the driver seen her? Had his brakes failed, or was it something more sinister? Surely the accident hadn’t been deliberate. But then, why the rush to flee the scene? She could have been pinned between the vehicles. Crushed. Broken. Dead.
But she couldn’t allow herself to think about that now, with the blizzard increasing in intensity and streams of white powder roiling across the road. There was nothing to do but forge ahead. They were less than fifty miles from the nearest town, and more than an hour from their destination. Slow and steady, that was the trick. She just needed to stay alert until they reached the reservation.
She climbed back into the van and signaled her turn onto the highway, her eyes darting in every direction, searching for signs of the tan SUV. So far so good. She tightened her grip on the wheel and directed her focus to the road ahead. An hour passed, and still there were no other cars behind her. According to the GPS, they were five miles from the town of Dagger Lake. Just in time, too. Visibility had decreased to near zero, and thick flakes were blanketing the windshield as quickly as the wipers worked to clear her view. In the rearview mirror, she could see the faces of the kids in the back seat. Two hours ago, they were laughing and singing Christmas carols, but now seven sets of worried eyes watched her every move.
“We’re almost there.” She tried to sound reassuring, but she was finding it hard to disguise the anxious tremor in her voice. Dread coiled up within her as a set of headlights flashed in the mirror, closing in fast. “Once we make the turn onto 81, we’ll—”
The rest of her sentence hung in the air. A bump shook the chassis, and the van heaved forward, spinning onto a sheet of black ice and careening sideways across the pavement. Frantically, she tried to remember what she had been taught when she learned to drive.
Foot off the accelerator.
Steer in the direction of the slide.
It sounded good in theory, but the tires felt like skis, locked in position and built to glide. Her hands cranked the wheel all the way to the left, but the van was out of control. A second later, the hood tipped off the road, and they were headed down a steep embankment on a slow-motion roller-coaster ride through a pillowy quilt of snow.
She pumped the brakes in a desperate attempt to avoid the tall pine that had appeared out of nowhere directly in their path. The tree loomed larger and larger as the teens in the back seat shrieked in fear. In three seconds flat, her brain went from white-knuckle terror to stunned relief as the brakes finally engaged and the van lurched to a stop just inches from the spiky trunk.
She took a steadying breath and turned to check on the kids.
“Everybody okay?” She craned her neck to peer into the back seat. It was suddenly very dark inside the van as a shower of soft flakes fell from the branches and covered the windows with a frosty mantle of snow.
“We’re all fine,” Josh, one of the younger boys, reported. “If we had been moving faster, it might have been fun.”
Fun?
Stuck in a snowdrift somewhere in North Dakota in the middle of a raging winter storm with no bars on her phone and no way to call for help. Fun wouldn’t be the word she’d have chosen to describe their predicament.
A sense of dread washed over her as she tried shifting into Reverse, but the vehicle’s back wheels only spun deeper into the rut.
“Do you want us to get in front and push?” Josh asked.
It was a tempting thought. But mixing seven excitable teens, a five-thousand-pound conversion van and a thirty-foot tree seemed like a recipe for disaster.
“Maybe we can try it as a last resort.” She gave the teenager an encouraging smile as she rechecked the reception on her phone.
There was a sudden movement outside the van as a patch of gray light opened up on the windshield, courtesy of a flat yellow mitten pushing away the snow. Her heartbeat revved as she conjured the faces of the men in the tan SUV. Had they followed the van down into the ditch? A scream caught in her throat as the circle grew wider to reveal the face of a huge hairy stranger with icicles dangling from his beard. White clouds from his breath lingered above his frozen eyebrows, and she stared at him with openmouthed alarm.
She peered through the windshield, her body frozen with indecision. She needed to think fast while dusk was still a memory in the darkening sky. Pulse racing, she slid sideways on the seat and turned to face the kids. “Sit tight while I check things out.” As she pushed the door open and stepped outside, a mini avalanche of snowflakes fell on her head.
“Are you okay?” the man asked in a voice that was low and husky. “Lou and I were coming through the trees when we saw you take a nosedive into the ditch.”
Lou? Who was Lou? She looked past him into the white wilderness but didn’t see anyone else. Still, the stranger’s concern was heartening. Relief bubbled up in her throat. “Did you notice another car on the road?”
He shook his head. “With the whiteout conditions, the highway was a blur. Why? Was there some sort of problem?”
“I felt a bump right before the accident, and I thought that maybe...” What exactly had she thought? That the tan SUV had pushed the van off the tarmac? Given the slippery road conditions, the idea seemed far-fetched.
“Miss Jones?” Lucy’s piping voice trilled from the back seat, pulling Dani’s attention to the van. “Are we still going to the reservation?”
“I hope so.” Dani turned to once again face the stranger. “Any chance you have a vehicle that can pull us out of here?”
He shook his head. “My truck is out of commission. Even so, it would probably take something with a lot more horsepower to haul a van of this size out of a ditch.”
She reached into her pocket and pulled out her cell. “I thought about calling for a tow, but I haven’t been able to get any reception. Do you have a landline we could use?”
“Sorry. I don’t. I heard on the radio that all of the cell towers are down.”
Helplessness washed over her. Something nudged her from the side, and she turned to find a massive German shepherd intent on checking her out. She flinched and took a step closer to the open door. So, this was Lou. The shepherd growled softly and watched her through glowing eyes. Her back stiffened. This probably wasn’t a good time to mention her fear of big dogs, especially ones who seemed determined to push their way uninvited into the van.
The man must have sensed her unease, because he looped a mittened hand around the edge of the dog’s collar and held him fast. “Lou and I seem to be forgetting our manners. The name’s Gideon Marshall, ma’am.” He raised his voice to be heard over the gusting wind.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Marshall. I’m Dani Jones. The kids and I are headed to the Dagger Lake reservation as part of a mission outreach from our local church.” She looked up at the dark sky through the thick flakes that seemed to be falling faster by the minute. “But it doesn’t look like we’re going to make it tonight.”
“My cabin is just across the ridge. You’re welcome to camp out on my floor until you can arrange for a tow.”
Then he smiled, and, despite his huge stature, there was something warm in his crinkling brown eyes that quelled her anxiety.
Lou strained against his master’s hold, nudging his large wet nose closer to the van’s open door. A stinging gust of wind flicked the end of her scarf acro
ss her face and issued a sharp reminder of the dwindling number of options available to her at the moment. She needed to make a decision, and fast.
She stuck her head into the van to address her charges.
“Hey, gang. Mr. Marshall has invited us to crash at his place until we can call for help. Bundle up, grab your gear and get ready to go.”
The winds were picking up speed as they climbed up the embankment and began the slow trek to the cabin. Packed-down footholds merged into three-foot-high drifts where the wind had pushed the snow willy-nilly along the path. Dani tried not to overthink her decision to trust the grizzled backwoodsman, but her imagination was running wild, picturing their destination as a run-down shack filled with animal skins and mounted antlers. Or worse.
Gideon strode ahead, undeterred by the blowing and drifting snow. Behind him came a line of stragglers slipping and sliding as they struggled to match his pace. Dani slowed so that she could walk with Lucy, at twelve and a half the youngest of the group. The girl’s face was crumpled, and she was on the verge of tears.
“What’s going to happen if we don’t show up for the opening ceremony at the reservation?” Her voice trembled. “Will someone call our parents and tell them we’re missing? What if we get stuck here and don’t make it home for Christmas?”
Dani squeezed the young girl’s hand through her glove. “No worries, Luce. By tomorrow night, this will all seem like a great adventure.”
Or a bad memory. She shivered as a trickle of snow melted into the liner of her thin leather boots. Clearly, she should have chosen more appropriate footwear when packing for this trip, but she hadn’t expected to be trekking through a foot of hard-packed snow.
She was panting from exertion by the time they reached the top of the ridge where Gideon stood waiting, his arm stretched out, pointing toward a thick stand of pines. From a distance, the neat little cabin nestled in the center of the grove of trees looked like a scene painted by Thomas Kincaid. To the left of the main building was a barn with a red roof, and set back in the trees, a small garage. Billows of smoke poured out of the cabin’s twin chimneys, offering the promise of a warm fire and protection from the storm.
Gideon caught her surprised look and smiled.
“I built the place two years ago when I retired. From here it looks small, but inside there’s a large open space where you and the kids can bunk for the night.”
“You’re retired?” Josh sidled up beside them and joined the conversation. “I thought you had to be at least sixty before you did that.”
“Most people are,” Gideon said. “Not me.”
Josh nodded, accepting the answer, but Dani sneaked a surreptitious glance at their host. He walked with the easy gait of someone accustomed to a lot of exercise. She’d guess his age to be late thirties, at the oldest, though it was difficult to tell through his insulating gear.
And then there was the beard. Bristly, untrimmed and peppered with flecks of gray, it looked like a throwback to a different age. But none of the kids seemed bothered by the fact that their host was twice as big as any of them, and three times hairier. They were smiling as they made their way down the ridge, joking about their rescue from the storm. But try as she might, Dani couldn’t help feeling just a little bit nervous about entrusting their lives to a stranger, especially one as large and imposing as Gideon Marshall.
* * *
Gideon stopped at the bottom of the steep slope and waited for the group to catch up. He hadn’t expected the journey to be so slow and arduous. It didn’t help that most of the kids were wearing thin canvas sneakers that offered little traction in the deep snow. What had they been thinking when they packed for their trip? It was, after all, mid-December, and a sudden change in the weather was not uncommon for this time of year.
It was hard to blame the kids when their chaperone appeared to be equally unprepared. In her fancy boots and white wool coat, Dani Jones looked like she was heading to a tea party, not a Sioux reservation. Still, he had to give her credit for one thing—he had yet to hear her complain. Lots of people in her position would be grousing about the treacherous conditions, but apparently, she was made of sterner stuff. The expression on her face was kind and sympathetic as she trudged along, offering encouragement to the kids.
Although he had moderated his pace to accommodate the group, Lou showed no such restraint. The high-spirited shepherd leaped from one snowbank to another like a nimble jackrabbit on the chase. At first, Gideon assumed that his dog was just excited to have company along for his walk. But then he began to notice that Lou kept circling back toward the road, his ears perked up on high alert.
The last time he had seen Lou this agitated was during a drug bust on the outskirts of Miami. That had been three years ago, but Gideon could still picture the reactions of the three criminals when the shepherd sniffed out the cache of contraband hidden under the tiles of their kitchen floor.
He hated to say it, but given the way Lou was acting, there was good reason to suspect that there were drugs hidden somewhere in the van. He shot an assessing glance at each of the kids. Three boys and four girls. He wasn’t great at estimating ages, but he’d say they all looked to be in their early teens. Sixth or seventh graders, he’d hazard a guess, wholesome and rambunctious with their colorful parkas and expedition backpacks.
Which left Dani Jones. The chaperone. At first glance, she appeared to be a nice enough woman. Pretty, too, with her dark curly hair and bright flashing eyes. But if there was one thing he had learned in his fifteen years on the job at the DEA, it was that appearances could be deceiving. And she sure had acted nervous when Lou tried to put his front paws inside the van. Of course, there was always the chance she was just afraid of dogs, but his gut told him it was more than that. He had seen panic in her eyes when she’d stepped down from the driver’s seat, a look of dread that seemed to mask something deeper and more profound. He hoped he wouldn’t come to regret inviting the group to his home. Then again, it wasn’t as if he had much choice in the matter. He wasn’t about to leave them at the bottom of the ravine in the middle of a raging snowstorm.
It was going to be strange to have company after two years of living alone. But being hospitable didn’t mean turning a blind eye to signs that something was amiss. Gideon watched as his dog ran in wide circles around the kids, his excitement evident in his every move. Even though Lou couldn’t use words to communicate, he knew how to make his thoughts known in other ways. There was a definite set to the shepherd’s eyes, a tension in his jaw. And when he started pawing at the ground, as he had been doing when they were back at the van, it was a signal that he was on aggressive alert.
Gideon made a split-second decision as he waited for Dani and the teens to make their way down the incline. As soon as they were settled in for the night, he’d double back to investigate. Even though he no longer worked for the DEA, he still had a responsibility as a citizen. If there were drugs in the cargo hold of the van, he would do his part to stop them from reaching the reservation.
Inside the cabin, he showed the kids where to stow their gear and offered a two-second tour. “Bathroom, bedroom and open space for all the rest.” The kids shuffled into the main room and made a beeline for the floor-to-ceiling windows, which offered a panoramic view of a full moon illuminating the frozen lake.
“Wow!” one of the older boys said as he peered through the glass. “How far is it to the other side?”
“About three miles straight across.” Gideon tossed a couple of logs onto the fire and then pointed to a cluster of lights on the other side of the shore. “That’s the town over there. Tomorrow morning, if it’s clear, you’ll be able to see the reservation on the left.”
As the kids gathered for a glimpse of Dagger Lake, he rummaged through his cabinets and located a couple of bags of chips. He set them on the counter next to a jug of orange juice and a stack of plastic cups. “Make yourselves at ho
me. I have a few things to do outside, but I’ll work on supper as soon as I get back.” Five minutes inside a one-bedroom cabin with seven noisy teenagers, and he was more than ready for another walk with Lou in the brisk night air.
The snow was still coming down hard, and a sharp north wind had buried the remnants of their footprints under heavy drifts. Not for the first time, Gideon was thankful for the insulating layers of clothing he was wearing underneath his parka. He had learned early the benefits of trapping his body warmth to keep his core at a comfortable temperature, even when it was below zero.
He’d been five when he experienced his first North Dakota winter, a city boy unaccustomed to the harsh winds and cold temperatures of the northern plains. His father’s unexpected passing had left his Sioux mother shattered and bereft, so it fell on her brother, a tribal elder, to take his nephew under his wing. And thirty years later, those early life lessons still remained a part of Gideon’s daily routine.
Slipping a high-beam flashlight from his pocket, he flicked it on, even though it didn’t look like he was going to need it to help him find his way. The sun had set an hour ago, but the moonshine reflected against a ceiling of light clouds cast a polished brightness on the snow.
In places, the drifts were several feet deep, but he made quick time as he covered the distance between the cabin and the ridge. It was familiar territory. He and Lou hiked this path almost every day. He couldn’t recall a time when his loyal shepherd wasn’t ready for a walk, and tonight was no exception. Lou might be over-the-hill when compared to his canine colleagues at the DEA, but in many ways, he still seemed like an energetic puppy, always ready to play. But at the moment, Lou stuck close beside him, almost as if he recognized that this particular trek was for work and not pleasure.
As Gideon reached the top of the ridge, he stopped for a moment to enjoy the sharp bite of bitter cold that always made him feel especially alive. This was his favorite time of the year, even though these short days of mid-December held the promise of even chillier weather in the weeks to come. Usually, when he got to this point in his walk, he would hear the gentle hum of traffic on the road ahead. But because of the travel advisory, most people had opted to stay inside for the night. Except... Now, that was odd. A tan SUV with tinted windows and a cracked bumper was parked on the shoulder, its engine idling.