The line crackled and went dead. He looked at the phone. ‘No signal’. Probably best anyway. He placed it back in the holder, blowing a long breath through his tight lips. He wouldn’t worry over something he couldn’t change—mainly Max’s anger. It was hard to believe that once upon a time, Storm would have agreed with the man. Work always ranked top on the priority list and, because of that, he’d missed out on many holidays with his uncle, the man who raised him after his parents were killed in a car accident. Unfortunately, there was no going back. Hell, Storm barely wanted to go forward, back to a life in the public eye where he was scrutinized for everything and anything.
Everyone knew him, yet no one knew him at all.
The last time he visited the doc for strained vocal chords, he was given a warning that if he didn’t get more rest, he might cause permanent damage. The idea used to scare the shit out of him, but not so much now. At this point, it’d be an excuse to change his life.
The night was unusually dark. The headlights glinted off the huge snowflakes. The truck was moving at a crawl and still the tires were sliding. He tapped on the brake and the back shimmied, but he maintained control of the front, steady and straight.
He was in the middle of nowhere, snow covered roads, but somehow everything seemed at peace. There was a calmness about the darkness, the falling snow, alone. He hoped he would pass a road sign soon, otherwise he might end up driving far from where he was headed.
“How about a song to warm you up on this cold evening?” the female radio host announced in a sultry voice. “A hot number by the hottie himself, Storm Rich. Even with his bad-boy reputation, I’d still go out on a date with him.”
Storm smirked. He wasn’t sure if he should be entertained by the comment or floored. Sure, maybe he’d earned his bad-boy stripes back in his twenties, but for the majority of his thirties, he’d come across women, fans, and dating potentials that made him appear as sweet and innocent as a newborn. What was the use in arguing or defending himself? The media loved portraying him as the womanizer who sifted through women like sand.
Turning the wipers on high, the swish-swashing sound grew louder, rubber blades crunching and scraping against the ice forming on the glass. His latest hit song was interrupted by the beeps of another weather alert. He barely registered the computerized voice. Icy conditions…heavy snowfall…stay inside.
The road vanished completely before him. Nothing but a bed of snow. No tire tracks in sight. Was he even still on pavement? He had no choice but to find a gas station, a pull off, anything for respite from the worsening weather conditions. He wouldn’t be making his scheduled promotions tomorrow morning.
Hitting a bump, his phone popped out of the holder and dropped to the floorboard at his feet. “Shit!”
He managed to reach the cell, but as he lifted his gaze back on the road something flashed in the headlights. He caught a glimpse of shiny, reflective eyes and fluffy tail.
“What the hell?”
The dog stopped and Storm reacted, slamming on the brakes. The tires locked up and slid. This time he didn’t have control as the front veered right, hitting the edge of the road, and the nose of the truck descended down the steep ditch, knocking him about in the seat. The fender struck the embankment with a loud thud. His head shot forward against the steering wheel and a dull pain shot through his forehead.
He lifted his chin, squinting as a sharp pain undulated down his left shoulder into his arm. Smoke rolled from under the hood of the truck and the loud sizzling sound of the radiator mingled with the radio announcer’s voice. “It’s cold outside folks. Stay inside and cuddle up with egg nog and a loved one.”
“Now you tell me.” He wanted to laugh, but nothing about this situation was funny.
A spider web crack reached from one corner of the windshield to the other. The truck sat at an odd angle, dipped in the front and the back high in the air. The wheels still spinning.
Assessing the situation, he realized he was still alive and the truck wasn’t going anywhere—over a cliff or onto its top. All good things considered.
****
Charlie Lindon took the bowl of corn from the microwave and gave it a stir, she then spooned a good amount onto two plates. Taking them to the table, she placed one in front of her father and took her plate to the other side of the table. Sitting, she unfolded her napkin and spread it across her lap, seeing the curious expression on his face. “What? It’s corn and grilled chicken.”
He shrugged a thin shoulder, one wiry brow lifting. “Where’s the mushroom gravy? The extra butter? Rolls?”
“Pops, you know what the doctor said,” she reminded him. “You have to cut back on fat to keep that ticker going strong.” She wouldn’t admit it to him, but the meal looked unappealing.
“I’m not sure why you’re so determined to keep this old man alive. I’m old and getting close to my expiration date. I should at least get to enjoy myself until that day comes.” He scooped a forkful of corn and shoved it into his mouth.
“You’re sixty. That’s hardly old. Just seasoned perfectly.” She stabbed her fork into her chicken and cut into the juicy meat, but didn’t have much of an appetite.
“Maybe if I wasn’t hanging around here you’d finally settle down. Have a kid or two,” he grumbled. “What young, single woman wants her father living under the same roof?”
“Pops, don’t do this. Don’t start the lecture about a man and family. I can’t take it tonight,” she warned with a narrowed gaze. She was tired, emotionally and physically.
“Oh, I see. You can dish it out about my eating habits and lack of exercise, but you can’t take a little bit of helpful hints about your love life?”
Sighing, she pushed back the chair and took her plate to the sink. She dumped the untouched food into the garbage disposal.
“Just like that.” He pointed his fork at her. “You don’t eat enough. How do you plan on working the diner and taking care of me if you never eat?”
“I eat.” She stared out of the window at the falling snow. “Did you let Yogi inside?” She was met with silence. Turning, she saw her father’s puzzled expression. “You didn’t?”
“I didn’t know I was supposed to.”
Charlie went to the back door, pushing it open. A gust of cold air swept across her face and goosebumps scattered her skin. “Yogi? Yogi, get in here.” The breeze carried her voice. He didn’t come. She tried again. “Yogi? It’s cold. Come on.” Still nothing.
She slammed the door, marched out of the kitchen and down the hall to the front door. Her father was behind her. “Where are you going?”
“To find Yogi.” She grabbed her snow boots, pulling one on.
“You can’t go out into this, Charlie.”
Looking at her father with a defiant tilt to her chin, she slipped into the other boot. She prepared herself for an argument. “I can’t leave Yogi out there in this weather. The temperature has dropped and we’re supposed to get another four inches before it’s all said and done.”
“He’s a dog. He has fur for a reason.” Brent sighed. “You on the other hand won’t last a half hour out there if you get stuck. What if you fall? What if you lose your way?”
Grabbing her thick coat from the rack, she dragged it on. “Yogi won’t last out in the cold all night.” She jerkily pulled the small buttons through the holes. She’d had other plans outside of venturing into the snow and cold this evening. A bubble bath and a book would have been much nicer.
“He shouldn’t have run away.”
“And we shouldn’t have forgotten that he was outside,” she stated gently.
“Meaning I shouldn’t have forgotten him.”
“It’s okay. I’m sure he’s close. Just being stubborn.”
He blinked. “I can’t let you do this. I’ll go.” He reached for his coat, but she touched his wrist lightly.
“No, Pops, you can’t. Your heart can’t take walking out there in the deep snow. It’s too dangerous.” Her
coat was now buttoned, boots on, and she pulled her warm hat lower over her ears, pulling her long hair around on one shoulder. “I promise I won’t go far. I’ll look for his paw tracks and I’ll call for him. If I don’t see anything, I’ll come back. But I have to do this. You know I’ll never rest until I know he’s okay.”
As if he knew arguing with his daughter was a waste of precious time, he nodded and stepped away from the door. “Just be careful, you hear? You’re all I got in this life and I don’t want to lose you over that old dog who’s quickly reaching his expiration date too,” he huffed.
She smiled at his grumpiness and kissed him on his bearded cheek. “I love you. Now don’t sit here worrying. And don’t tap into that bottle you have stashed under the sink. Go sit and work on the puzzle you’ve been hanging your head over for the last month.” She winked, grabbed the flashlight from the table and headed out the door.
The icy wind splashed across her cheeks and the cold air dried up her lungs. She pulled her coat collar further up on her face and her hat lower over her ears. The temperature had dropped drastically in the last hour. Yogi’s paws were at risk for getting frost bite. She wasn’t sure why the dog took off in the first place. It was completely unlike him. Since he was a pup, the yellow lab had been faithful and loyal. His behavior had been unusual this evening, standing by the door, whimpering and whining, until Pops had finally reached his limit and put him outside.
She didn’t want to think that her father was right and Yogi was on the latter part of his life. The dog held a special place in her heart. And she certainly didn’t want to hear anymore nonsense about her father getting ‘old’ and ready to check out. Since his heart attack last year, he’d gone through an emotional whirlwind. The doctor said it was normal for heart patients to suffer depression after a traumatic experience. Her father had to change his diet, his routine, and not indulge in guilty pleasures like a dozen slices of bacon each morning and a shot of whiskey each night. Lately, she’d become his guardian, monitoring his every move and it wasn’t working out for either of them. In the long run, he would have to make the effort to be healthier.
There was also the little problem of him trying to convince her all of the time that she needed to settle down. He talked about her love life more and more these days. Why didn’t he understand that she wasn’t ready? She didn’t need his lecture on love, especially not today. She still couldn’t get through the holidays without having a meltdown. They used to celebrate Christmas, but this year they’d handed out presents to the locals then spent the rest of the holiday pretending they weren’t mourning.
She stepped off the porch, her boots crunched the icy snow as she made her way through the front yard. She couldn’t see very far. The snow came down in a thick blanket. Clicking on the flashlight, she shone the light around the yard, looking for paw tracks. The snow fell so fast she doubted she’d find any evidence of Yogi.
“Yogi? Come here, boy. Enough of this,” she yelled out into the night. Only her echo came back. “I’m taking your comfy blanket away if you don’t come here right away.”
She walked a little further and stopped. “You won’t be getting a treat for a week, dog,” she muttered. “I’ll give them to the neighborhood dogs. I’ll give the German Shepard an extra helping, you know, the one you don’t like.”
Eventually she made it to the trees edging the road. Following the row until she reached the driveway, she looked both ways, seeing no tracks or sign of the misbehaving dog. She wouldn’t think he’d gone to the road, but she thought she’d look to be sure.
Glancing back, the two-story white house seemed to disappear in the distance. The porch light was a beacon calling her back. Yet she couldn’t go yet. She couldn’t until she found Yogi.
Heading toward the road, she faced the wind. The air was so cold that her eyes hurt and her nose burned. Her lungs worked harder to draw air in and puffs of clouds formed upon exhale. She moved toward the main road, hoping Yogi didn’t get hit by a car. There hadn’t been any traffic since a level three alert was placed on their area. People in these parts would have sense to stay inside and not venture out in the weather.
She approached the road and heard a faint bell ringing. She stopped and listened. Was it the bell on Yogi’s collar? Movement drew her attention to a spot about twenty feet away. She caught a flash of a bushy tail. “Yogi, get back here.” The wind carried her voice the opposite direction.
Running, or rather hopping through the snow, she took off after him, hoping she didn’t fall on the slippery ice. Running out of breath and forcing her legs to move, she finally had to slow down from pure exhaustion. Sucking in her breaths, she scanned the area where he’d disappeared, seeing light flashing through the trees in the distance. A car was coming. Who would be crazy enough to be driving in this?
“Yogi! Come here!” she screamed, but her voice came back at her. Her throat ached.
She climbed down into the ditch, clawing at the snow, seeing Yogi in the approaching headlights. As if in a movie, everything slowed, yet her senses heightened. The sound of tires crunching on the snow grew louder. Yogi barked. Rubber scraped on ice. The truck swerved, then a loud thud echoed through the night as it came to rest in the embankment.
“Oh no,” she whispered.
Fear trickled down her spine. Her mind raced as she crawled from the ditch into the road. Her boots slipped and she fell to her knees, but she quickly pushed herself back to standing. Carefully, she moved toward the vehicle, the tail lights stark against the dark night. The wheels were still turning and the front was settled precariously in the ditch.
Dropping to her bottom, she slid on her butt until she came to the driver’s door. Her breathing was heavy in her ears and her heart beat thumped against her chest as she peered through the fogged driver’s side glass. Not seeing anything, she tried tugging the handle, but it was locked.
“Hello?” She pounded the window. Not doing much good through the thick gloves she wore.
She would never forgive herself if someone was seriously hurt. Or worse. She should have kept a better eye on Yogi. A feeling of heat spread over her thigh. She looked down, finding the dog standing beside her, his breaths warming her denim-covered leg.
“Yogi, what have you done?” He wagged his tail, whimpering, his brown eyes glinting in the light of her flashlight. “Oh? That’s all you have to say for yourself?”
CHAPTER TWO
Storm heard a knock on the window and then a muffled voice. Was he imagining things? Who would be out in this weather? He blinked and rubbed his eyes. Reaching down his side, he found the latch of the seatbelt and pushed the button. The belt unclicked and his body fell forward, hard against the steering wheel. “Damn!”
He shut off the engine and the sizzling of the radiator finally stopped.
Finding the handle, he gave the door a good shove. Nothing. Slight trepidation rolled through him. Was he stuck?
Pushing the power button to the window, thankfully it lowered. Blustery air swooshed in, taking his breath. He pulled back out of the wind, squinting. Someone stood outside of the door. He couldn’t tell if it was a man or woman because a hat was pulled low and he could see a slither of pale skin.
“Are you okay?” the soft female voice murmured as a bright light flashed in his eyes. So this was a woman who came to his rescue? Then came a dog’s bark and Storm remembered what had happened. The dog caused him to wreck.
“I can’t open the door so I’m going to have to climb through the window. First, I’m going to toss some of my things out.” He searched the backseat, feeling around until he found his guitar and overnight bag. “Do you mind taking these?”
“Okay.”
He handed his items over through the open window. Once they were safe, he grabbed his hat from the floor and passed it over as well. Managing to lift himself up, he used the steering wheel as a brace and shifted his legs through the window. He dropped, feet first, into the snow covered bank. His boots slid and he fell
onto his bottom. “Damn snow!” he grumbled. Standing, with the aid of the side of the truck, he swiped the snow off his clothes as he looked up and found the woman standing a few feet away, his hat and guitar in one hand and bag in the other. She had a dark coat and hat and the only thing visible were her narrowed eyes.
“Who are you?” He attempted to wrap his head around the idea that this woman appeared out of nowhere, in the middle of a blizzard, with her dog. He was certain he was still alive because he had a throbbing pain in his temples.
“I’m Charlie Lindon. I live a short distance that way.” She used his guitar to aim in the direction behind her.
“I’ll take those things.” He took his hat and mashed it on his head, then relieved her of his guitar and bag, hooking both of them over his shoulder. “I’m—”
“Bleeding. Your forehead.”
He pushed back the rim of his hat and wiped his head, looking down at the moist crimson smear on his fingers. “It’s nothing. Just a scratch.”
“Looks like more than a scratch,” she murmured, leaning in to investigate the wound closer. He got a whiff of her—strawberries and crème—and he instantly felt a tug low in his gut. He must be tired, or still reeling from the accident, or both to react this suddenly to a stranger. She held the flashlight, inspecting his head, and he got a good look at her eyes. Were they blue? Green? Her bottom lip was trapped between her teeth as she continued to examine at his head.
Movement at her feet made him look. The scraggly dog dang near killed him. “Is that yours?”
She didn’t take her eyes off his forehead. Now she was touching him, her finger tips probing the skin around the cut. The warmth of her touch felt amazingly good. “Yes. That’s Yogi.”
“Well, Yogi, that will cost me my career,” he muttered and pulled back from her touch, immediately irritated, not by her as much as the fact that he had a familiar ache growing in his body. How could he feel anything but regret after he’d wrecked his only means of transportation? Max was going to kill him.
A New Year's Cowboy Page 2