Snow Furries (An Alpine Grove Romantic Comedy Book 4)

by Susan C. Daffron

  “Don’t you need a shovel for that, Mommy?”

  Cindy picked up her shovel again. “I’m shoveling.” She picked up some snow and hurled it away from the truck. “It’s just going to take a while, that’s all. Be patient.”

  While Cindy was distracted, Joel had moved around to the other side of the truck. Hoisting his shovel high, he heaved a gigantic pile of snow, which exploded all over Cindy’s head and shoulders. She whirled around and charged toward him. “I’m going to get you for that!”

  Joel laughed, dropped his shovel, and ran behind the truck next to Kat again, “Good luck! You know you’re too slow.”

  “Not anymore—I’m going to get you.” Cindy heaved herself onto her brother, throwing them both down into the snow, their long flailing arms and legs swirling everywhere. Linus galloped over to help, then stopped and stood cocking his head, trying to figure out what was going on.

  Kat giggled and yanked on the sleeve of Joel’s coat. “Would you guys cut it out? You’re making a huge snow crater.”

  Cindy sat up first, breathless from the exertion. She pointed at Joel. “He started it.”

  “Did not.” Joel sat up and pointed at Kat. “She did.”

  Kat backed away from them and picked up her shovel. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Johnny walked over and sat on his mother’s lap. “Are you done yet? I have to go to the bathroom.”

  Cindy smirked at Joel and Kat, “I have to help my son go find a tree now. Have fun shoveling, you two.” She threw a small clump of snow in Joel’s face to emphasize her point, stuck her tongue out at him, and got up. Taking Johnny’s mittened hand, she led him through the snow pathways toward the back of the house.

  Kat stood in front of Joel and held out her hand to help him up. “You are such a problem child.”

  “Me?” He pulled on her hand, dragging her down on top of him. “You started it.”

  “Did not.”

  “Did too.” Joel wrapped his arms around her and gave her a fiery kiss that ignited her senses, melting the Arctic cold out of her, right down to her toenails.

  “Okay maybe I did start it a little.” Kat brushed her lips across his again. Who knew snow could be so sexy? “You’re very persuasive.”

  “Good thing.” He reached behind him and handed her the shovel. “Have fun.”

  Chapter 5

  Bigfoot & Lodgepole

  A dog barked, startling Becca. She sat up in bed and looked around, momentarily disoriented. The dog was Frank and she was in the loft. Oh yeah. In the morning light, it was easier to see what the little cabin actually looked like. She gazed up at the ceiling, which was made of old tongue-and-groove boards that had aged to a golden yellow color. She got up, walked over to the railing, and looked down at the living area below. Jack was sitting on the sofa in the center of the room and Frank was parked in front of him, staring intently. They both looked up and Becca waved. “Good morning.”

  She descended the ladder and Frank rushed up to her expectantly. “Hi Frank, I’m not sure what you think is happening here, but I doubt it involves me.”

  Jack put his arm over the back of the sofa. “He’s thinking food thoughts.”

  Becca walked over and bent to look at Jack’s face. He had a huge purple bruise on his cheekbone. “Wow, I really nailed you.”

  “Thanks for noticing.”

  “I’m pretty sure everyone is going to notice that.” She reached out to touch his cheek. “Does it hurt?”

  Jack moved his face away from her hand. “It’s fine.”

  “Sorry.” She turned and walked toward the windows. Her jaw dropped at the view. Everything was white. “I’ve never seen that much snow in my life.”

  “It’s about two feet.”

  “Two feet?” She turned to face him. “We’re never going to get out of here. What are we going to do?”

  Jack stood up and walked over next to her. “Well, it could be a while.”

  “I need to get my knitting.” Becca gestured toward the window. “It’s still in my car.”

  “Knitting? As in sweaters?”

  “Yes. I’ll go stir crazy in this place. Knitting calms me down.” The counselor she’d talked to had recommended knitting after her panic attack and oddly, it did seem to help. The simple act seemed to quiet her mind, or “internal dialogue,” as the counselor had called it. Becca thought of it as the little chatterbox in her head, which almost never shut up. The reason she’d been such a great property manager was because she had a running to-do list in her mind all the time. It hadn’t seemed like she was anxious back then, and Becca had argued that she had just liked being busy. The counselor had been unimpressed by her career accomplishments and said she needed to work on controlling her “generalized anxiety.”

  Becca didn’t really buy into the diagnosis, but she would do almost anything to avoid having another panic attack. The whole hospital experience was not something she ever wanted to repeat. So at this point, everyone in her family was getting a scarf for Christmas, which might not be the most practical gift for those living in Los Angeles, but oh well.

  Jack touched the bruise on his face gingerly. “If knitting keeps you from smacking me again, I’m all for it.”

  “Very funny.” Becca stole a glace at his face. His expression was impassive and it was impossible to tell what he was thinking. Why had she told him all about her attack last night? The whole thing was just awkward and embarrassing in the light of day.

  “I have to go out and get the chain saw. I can get that too.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  He shook his head. “Not unless you find some better footwear. Those heels you were wearing aren’t going to work.”

  “I’ll find something.” Becca turned and went back up to the loft. The tall guy with poor eating habits might have left some shoes here somewhere, although they probably were enormous. It was still worth a try. Rummaging through drawers and looking under the bed yielded nothing. She called over the railing, “I don’t suppose you found coffee, did you?”

  “No.”

  “I was afraid of that.” Becca hung her head. No coffee. How utterly bleak.

  “Have a Twinkie.”

  “Absolutely not.” She descended the ladder again and faced Jack. “There are no shoes up there.”

  Jack was staring into the tall pantry cabinet. He looked over his shoulder and pointed at some old rubber boots sitting under the coat hooks next to the door. “How about those?”

  “Those are mud boots, not snow boots.”

  “They’re better than heels.”

  “Fine.” Becca grabbed the boots and dirt eddied from them, swirling like a dust devil in the desert. “Eww. I hate to think what Mr. Tall Guy was walking through the last time he wore these things.” She slipped one on and it dropped off her foot onto the floor. “I think I need more socks—a lot more socks.”

  Three pairs of socks later, Becca was suited up in boots, the ugly sweatpants, oversized flannel shirt, and her coat. “Okay, I’m ready. I look like some sort of demented refugee from the Ringling Brothers clown school, but I’m ready.”

  Jack looked at her appraisingly and grinned. “P.T. Barnum would be proud of you.”

  “Very funny.” She shuffled toward the door. “Let’s do this thing. I need to knit something before I go insane.”

  Jack opened the door and Frank bounded outside with glee. Becca scuffed along behind the dog in the path he created through the snow, trying not to trip over the huge boots and fall on her face. She looked up at the pale sky. “That does not look promising. Please don’t snow again. Please.”

  Jack disappeared behind the house and then followed behind her holding a shovel. “Finding my chain saw in this is not going to be fun.”

  They walked down the driveway in silence. Frank followed the trail they had created the previous day, which was now only a slight depression in the deep snow. “Why does anyone need such a long driveway?” Becca said.


  “No road noise or dust.”

  “Noise? From all the traffic on this road? Are you kidding me?”

  “People move out here to get away.”

  Becca was breathing heavily by the time they finally made it out to the road, which was filled with completely untouched snow. She looked toward the right. Two bumps in the whiteness off each side of the road represented Jack’s truck and her car. Beyond that, the fallen evergreen lay across the road, a few branches poking up through the whiteness.

  She unbuttoned a couple of buttons on her coat. “I think I need to get more exercise.”

  “Shoveling snow is good exercise.”

  “I didn’t mean that. Maybe I’ll take up jogging, if we don’t die from starvation first. I’m not too excited about the soup and snack-cake diet so far.” Her stomach growled in agreement.

  They walked to Jack’s truck first, which was off the right side of the road. He slid down the ditch and began digging at the rack mounted in the truck bed.

  Becca crossed her arms over her chest, tucking her hands under her arms, and leaned toward him from the road above. “I don’t suppose you have any other gloves in there, do you? Oh, and don’t forget the flashlight—please find the flashlight!”

  He paused in his digging to look up at her with an irritated scowl. “I’m working on it. Why don’t you go get whatever you want out of your car?”

  Becca straightened. “Fine. C’mon Frank, let’s go over there.” Frank began bounding toward her car. “Good boy!”

  She slid down the indentation Jack had dragged her out of the day before and yanked her sleeves down over her hands, so she could dig out the passenger door handle without freezing her fingers off. After a lot of swearing, pushing, and yanking, at last she opened the door. A clump of snow landed on the floor of the car. Nice. She crawled in and reached over into the back-seat to grab her bag of knitting. She’d been so annoyed with herself when she realized she’d forgotten to take it into the motel when she checked in. But now she was glad. She sat in the passenger seat and stroked the soft teal-colored wool. It was definitely time for some serious yarn therapy.

  Jack called down from the road, “What are you doing down there?”

  Becca jammed the yarn down into the bag and got out of the car. “Nothing.” She hung the bag over her shoulder and tried to climb up out of the ditch, but the gigantic boots were not cooperating. One boot started falling off her foot and she let herself slide back down to the bottom of the ditch. After yesterday, she did not want to deal with the whole frozen toes situation again.

  Jack leaned over. “Is there a problem?”

  “I’m working on it.” She jerked the boot back onto her foot and started scrabbling up the side of the ditch again. Near the top, she felt Jack grab her arm. He yanked her up onto the road and she stumbled to her feet. Becca was not going to let him know how relieved she was to be back on level ground. She started brushing snow off herself. “I was getting there.”

  He picked up the chain saw and proffered a pair of old gloves to her. “You’re welcome.”

  Becca snatched the gloves from his hand and put them on. “Thank you.”

  Jack turned and started walking down the trail they had created, back toward the cabin. “Let’s go, Frank. Time for breakfast.” The dog bounded out in front of them, clearly eager for food, no matter what it might be.

  Becca trudged along the snow path behind Jack and Frank. She looked up at the sky. It had begun to snow again. By the time they got back to the cabin, Becca’s coat and scarf were covered with a layer of snowflakes. She wanted to shake her fist at the clouds in frustration, even though it wouldn’t do any good.

  Stumbling through the door, she dropped her bag of knitting on the floor and shook off one of the huge boots, which landed with a thud. “This is déjà vu all over again.”

  Jack turned to look at her. “Except you haven’t almost frozen to death.”

  “I may be a fashion disaster, but I’m warm. Good thing there’s no one to see me, except you and Frank.”

  “Frank is very accepting.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’ll just avert my eyes.”

  “Ha, ha. You’re hilarious.” Becca shook off the other boot. “We can’t be the only ones out here in the middle of nowhere. Aren’t there neighbors?”

  “I suppose so. Maybe. After I feed Frank, I need to go back out and cut some wood before the snow gets any worse.”

  “More canned pasta?”

  “Yeah, either you get to eat it or he does.”

  Becca bent and shook snow out of her hair. “Given what it did to his digestion, I’m nominating the dog.” Running her fingers through the light brown strands, she tried not to think about what her hair looked like. Seeing her reflection in the tiny bathroom mirror this morning had been discouraging. At this point, her hair was greasy, filthy, and stringy. The hot rollers she used to add body seemed like a distant memory. After two days of snowed-in rural life, the gel and hair spray she’d used certainly were not doing much for her hairstyle, either.

  Straightening, Becca looked around the cabin. It was definitely getting that “lived in” look, with dirty dishes in the kitchen sink, soot and dirt surrounding the wood stove, and blankets strewn all over the couch. Jack was standing at the kitchen counter working the can opener as Frank sat and looked on with great interest. A rivulet of drool dropped from his mouth onto the linoleum.

  “I think your dog is hungry.” Her stomach growled loudly and she put her hand to her stomach. “I know I’m hungry. How much food is left here?”

  Jack shook his head. “Not much. We’ve got a couple cans of soup.”

  Becca sat down on the sofa. “I don’t want to starve. We need to find help. There have to be neighbors down the road.”

  “I’m not sure how far and it might just be more summer places like this one. I think it’s more important to keep the wood stove here going.”

  “I could go look. I’m going to go insane if I just sit around here doing nothing.”

  Jack put down the Swiss army knife and leaned back on the counter. “That’s not a good idea. Wandering around in the snow in an area you don’t know could be dangerous.”

  “Oh please, spare me your safety lecture. I’ve got better clothes now.”

  “No, you don’t.” He gestured toward the windows. “Look at it. The snow is really coming down again. You do not want to get out of view of this cabin. People get turned around in weather like this. And we already know your sense of direction is, well, perhaps not one of your greatest strengths.”

  “So I have to sit around here?”

  “I thought you were going to knit?”

  “Fine.” Becca got up and snatched her knitting bag from the floor. “What are you giving Frank? It smells horrible.”

  “Today’s delight is Beefaroni.” Jack picked the bowl up off the floor and dumped in the contents of the can, which landed with a slurp. Frank wagged his tail eagerly as Jack placed the bowl in front of him.

  Becca settled back onto the sofa, pulled the scarf out of the bag, and held it in her hands. The teal yarn was soft, warm, and soothing. It had been expensive, but so worth it.

  Jack walked over and pointed at the blue-green blob of wool in her lap. “What is it?”

  “A scarf.”

  “You almost froze to death and you had a scarf all this time?”

  “It’s not done.” She held up the needles and a long rectangle of knitting cascaded into her lap.

  “It’s huge. Who is it for? Bigfoot?”

  She looked up at him. “Probably my uncle Pat. And he wouldn’t appreciate you calling him Bigfoot.”

  “How do you know when it’s done?”

  “When I run out of yarn.” Becca began knitting, the metal needles clacking together rhythmically.

  Jack went toward the door and began suiting up for a return to the cold outdoors. Becca looked over at him as he yanked on his coat. “Where are you g
oing to be? You just told me I can’t get too far away, so you’d better not disappear into a snow drift.”

  “Out behind the house. There’s a tree that must have been felled a long time ago but never cut up. It was under a tarp.”

  “I guess Mr. Tall Guy was saving it. Kind of like a squirrel storing things away for winter.”

  Jack grinned. “Yeah, just like that.” He looked at Frank. “Sorry, you need to stay here too, buddy.” Frank sat down with a thud and glared at Jack for a few moments. Seeing that the human was clearly not going to change his mind, the dog opted to settle on a rug for his post-breakfast nap.

  “Good boy, Frank.” Jack pulled on his gloves and waved toward the dog. “Frank will keep you company.”

  “Be careful.” Becca looked down at her row of stitches, examining it carefully. Did she just drop one? “Maybe I’ve seen too many slasher movies, but chain saws are scary.”

  “I’ll stick to cutting up the tree and avoid body parts.” He opened the door and a gust of wind whooshed in, covering Frank with a light dusting of snowflakes. “Sorry Frank.”

  The dog put his head back down on his paws with a disconsolate look on his face. Becca smiled in sympathy at his expression. She could relate. It was so frustrating not being able to do all the things she should be doing. Uncle Pat probably thought she was busily working on the appraisal. He would be furious when he discovered it wasn’t done.

  Plus, she was on her last skein of yarn. If the snow didn’t let up soon, she’d face the ugly prospect of ripping out her knitting and starting over. It was either that or lose her marbles from all this quiet. How could people stand to live like this?

  Becca knit furiously, her knitting needles clattering together as she worked. She was diligently trying to shut out the nagging chatterbox voice in her head that was conscientiously listing all the things she needed to do for the appraisal she couldn’t work on. In addition to not even visiting—or finding—the house, she hadn’t seen comparable properties, talked to real estate agents, or even visited the county offices yet. Not even one item had been crossed off the to-do list yet. How was she going to get this done?