ONLY 99 cents!
PROLOGUE
“MORNING, MOMMA.”
Charlie felt a
feather-like stroke across her cheek. She fluttered her eyes open and a bright
light made her blink. It took her a moment to adjust from the darkness. Lifting
herself up on elbow, she focused on the vision before her. “Sunny?”
“It’s Christmas,
momma.” The little girl giggled and turned in a circle, her arms held out wide
like a bird ready to take flight.
Blinking, Charlie
attempted to wrap her brain around what she was seeing.
Slipping from bed,
she laughed while watching her daughter happily dance around the room, her feet
gracefully gliding over the floor. “Yes, it’s Christmas, my love.”
Sunny suddenly stopped,
her green eyes so pale they were almost transparent, and she tiptoed to
Charlie. “I brought you something,” she whispered.
“You’ve finally
come to take me home with you?”
The child’s
harmonious giggle matched that of a magical harp. “Silly, mommy. You know you
belong here.”
Charlie took a
step backward, her stomach twisting. The backs of her knees struck the edge of
the bed and she dropped. “I-I don’t want to stay. I want to be with you.” Tears
misted her eyes.
“One day we will
play lots.” Sunny cupped Charlie’s cheeks. Her small, delicate hands warmed
Charlie unlike anything she’d ever felt. She inhaled deeply, taking in her
child’s scent, filling her lungs with innocence. “I have a present for you.”
Reaching out to
touch her daughter’s angelic face, her fingers slipped through the vision. “Stay.
Don’t go. That’s the present I want.”
“Time to wake up
and you’ll see. The drawing, mommy. Remember the drawing…”
Charlie
jerked awake, covered in sweat, her hair clinging to her cheeks and her lungs
aching. She jumped out of bed, her bare feet hitting the floor with a loud
thump. “Sunny? Where are you?” She searched under the bed, in the closet,
racing down the hallway frantically to check every room, but found only emptiness
as every time before when she’d had a dream about her daughter. It had seemed
so real…
Going
back into her bedroom, she swiped at the tears falling to her cheeks and she
saw the picture laying in the middle of the planked floor—the drawing she kept
on her nightstand. She bent and picked it up, staring down at the colorful
drawing Sunny had given to her on Christmas five years ago…the last holiday
they would share together. The last time she’d see her daughter’s infectious
smile, her bright eyes, and watch her dance.
Charlie
traced the uneven lines of the crayon stick figures of her and Sunny. They were
holding hands with large, colorful flowers in their hair. Yogi, their
shaggy-haired dog, had his tongue sticking out and his ears perked. The tall
man standing in the background by the house always confused, and bewildered,
Charlie. She’d never seen him before and appeared he had black birds
surrounding his head. When she’d asked Sunny who he was, she’d answered, “Snowman.”
Placing
the picture in the top drawer of her nightstand, Charlie dressed, brushed her
hair and downstairs she found her father, Brent, in the kitchen making
pancakes. “Hey, what’s the pleasure?”
Brent
waved the spatula in the air as a greeting. “It’s Christmas morning.” He
flipped a pancake on the griddle.
She
poured herself a cup of coffee in her favorite mug, added creamer, and sat down
at the table. “Just like any other morning. I should head over to the diner.”
Yogi nuzzled up next to her feet and she scratched him behind the ear.
He
placed a plate of pancakes covered in syrup in front of her. “No, it’s not like
‘any other morning’. There’s a reason for the season. And don’t bother with
opening the diner. It’s Christmas and the weather is calling for snowfall. No
one will be around.”
“I
wasn’t thinking of opening, just going through the inventory and deep cleaning
while we’re closed for the day.” She cut into the fluffy pancake and popped it
into her mouth. She wasn’t hungry, but she couldn’t disappoint her dad.
Although she was an adult, he still felt it was his responsibility to watch
over her like she was a child again.
He
sat down across from her. “You’re always cleaning. Today, take a break. You
deserve it.”
She
shrugged. “I like keeping busy.”
“You
work too much. You haven’ been sleeping well. The dark circles are back.”
Laying
her fork down, she sipped her coffee, then got up. “I’m heading over. If you
need anything, call me.” She kissed him on the forehead and started for the
door, calling for Yogi to follow.
“I’m
sorry, Charlie. If I said something—”
“No,
you didn’t.” She turned and gave him a forced smile. “You know today isn’t easy
for me and I’m best alone. I’ll be back later. I promise.”
Being
alone had become normal to her.
STORM RICH DECIDED
this was a very bad idea.
The
window fogged up and he could barely see ten feet ahead of him. It didn’t look
like the snow was going to let up any time soon. At least traffic wasn’t
congested on the highway. He had that to be grateful for that. It was
Christmas. Most people were indoors, enjoying the holiday with family and
friends. Eating ham, turkey, and all of the fixins. Opening presents, laughing,
and making a mental list of what gifts they’d re-gift. Those were the things normal
people did on the holidays. Not him, nope. He was hauling ass across Tennessee,
slowly making his way to Ohio for a show.
Turning
the defroster on, a puff of cool air burst through the vents, clearing the
window some. Visibility still sucked through the blanket of snow. He turned the
heat on high and hoped his truck stayed firm to the road.
“Turn right at the next exit. Stay on Route
772 for fifty-three miles,” the GPS voice said.
Storm
grimaced. He’d entered the quickest route into the system, but he wasn’t sure
leaving the highway was the best choice. At least on the stretch of road he
didn’t have to worry about curves. Hell, he hadn’t even seen another vehicle
since fifty miles back. He scrubbed his jaw and tugged at his goatee. If the faster
route knocked off some driving time, he was all for taking a different way. He
was starting to feel the effects of lack of sleep and weak coffee from the last
gas station.
After
turning onto the exit, the big tires on the rental truck slushed through the
snow, steady on, the engine purring as he slowly stepped on the gas pedal. It
had been a long time since he’d been behind the wheel of anything, but the high-end
truck with its soft-as-a-baby’s-skin leather seats and modern interior features
made Storm want one of his own. When would he have a chance to drive it?
Probably never.
When will I have
the opportunity to be normal? Probably never.
The
customer service rep at the shop guaranteed the four-wheel drive would get
through anything and everything. Storm was relying on that promise since he had
commitments—ever-present responsibilities.
The
snow storm had shut down all flights up and down the Midwest for the evening,
which had thrown him for a loop. He would have been in a hotel in Columbus,
Ohio by now, enjoying a steak and taters, maybe a beer or two, resting up for
the country music gala if Mother Nature hadn’t decided a white Christmas was in
order. He guessed he was the only one complaining. When he’d left Stoutsville
late that afternoon, kids were out on sleds, families were building snowmen.
Everyone was acting as if they had no place to be but smack-dab in the middle
of winter fun. Maybe he was the only one who had somewhere to be. If he didn’t
make it on time his manager was likely to keel over in anger. Storm didn’t want
to deal with Max—especially didn’t want to let the other man know that the
flight had been canceled. He’d warned Storm that it was too risky to take off
during a busy time of year for a funeral. Pfft!
He
turned the radio on and switched through stations until he came to a hit country
song. The fresh out of high school star’s angelic voice flowed from the speakers.
She sung about college parties and first kisses, reminding Storm that he wasn’t
a spring chicken anymore. He could count at least ten new bright and upcoming stars
blazing their way onto the country music scene, all as hopeful and naïve as he
was when he sold his first album. They could handle long tours with no sleep and
saw everything in rainbows and sprinkles.
Hell,
he wasn’t old, not at thirty-eight, but he could hear the hands of time ticking
in the back of his skull. He’d lost something lately though—not in his music,
but in his heart. Never been married, no kids, and a track record of short and
meaningless relationships, he didn’t have many memories that didn’t include the
stage.
Pinching
the bridge of his nose, he gave his head a quick shake. Things were looking
murky—plain and simple. Maybe it was high time he started thinking of the
legacy he wanted to leave behind when the good Lord came calling. The death of
his Uncle Ned had Storm thinking…pondering.
Last
week, Ned was found in his favorite chair in front of the TV. He’d left this
world peacefully, just how he’d lived his life. He had attended church every
Sunday and believed death was a natural progression until the reward of heaven.
He often spoke of how he looked forward to seeing his wife, Judith, again. Fifty
years of marriage had only strengthened their love for each other. Storm smiled
at the thought. Here lately he’d been wondering if true love was out there for him.
He wanted to believe anything was possible—to think someone would want him for
something outside of the glitz and the glamour of his guitar.
Three
loud beeps interrupted the song. Another weather update.
“Six to seven
inches of snow expected in the following counties…”
Storm
searched his brain. What county was he in?
“A level three
snow alert is in place for these counties. All public roadways are closed to
the general public. Only police, medical, and emergency vehicles should be on
roadways. Motorists can be fined or arrested if found driving on public roads
in a non-emergency situation.”
“Ah,
shit!” He pounded his palm against the steering wheel. He could see the
headlines in the paper now, “Storm Rich
arrested for traveling on unsafe roads.” Better than the headlines three
years ago, “Storm Rich arrested for
disorderly conduct after finding girlfriend with fellow country star, Reef
Weathers.” He loved how the media distorted his life at their pleasure.
Sure, he’d been arrested, charges later dropped, but what was written in print
couldn’t be unseen. What the media didn’t entertain the public with was how
he’d walked into his apartment and found Cecilia, his on-again off-again
girlfriend, in his bed with Weathers.
Storm had simply helped the other man out of the door and into the hall.
Sure,
Storm guessed he’d gone over the line when he followed Weathers into the lobby and
punched him in the jaw. Sometimes a man
couldn’t back down.
Now
Storm understood why Cecilia always wanted him to call or text first if he was
coming home early.
He’d
always been a patient man, never one to resort to violence, but that particular
day, he’d forgotten his ethics and let loose. Fans had been torn between their
love for the two stars, Storm and Weathers. While he had talked to newspaper,
magazine, anything in black and white, Storm had taken a different approach.
He’d stayed silent. Max had predicted that it would leave fans cold, thinking
Storm was the bad guy, but he’d never found a use in trash-talk.
Good
riddance to the past.
How
did he get himself into these unfortunate predicaments?
As
if to prove how stupid it was for him to be out on the roads, the snow came
down harder. The road was completely covered and slick. He slowed the truck and
wiped the inside of the window, worrying his bottom lip in frustration. He
needed a place to pull off until the weather passed, but he couldn’t see
anything but white. Damn country road!
“Damn
you, GPS!” He punched the power button with his middle finger.
His
cell phone vibrated from the holder on the dashboard and the screen lit up. He sighed
and shook his head. Max. Now was not the time to talk to him. Hell, would there
ever be a good time? The vibration finally stopped, but three seconds later, it
started again. Storm realized the man would keep calling until he got an answer. Pushing talk, Storm prepared himself for an
unleashing of curse words.
“Shit!
Where the hell are you?” Max’s tone rattled the line.
“Nice
to hear your voice, buddy. You sound jubilant this evening.” Storm smiled. Max
left himself wide open for egging.
“Tracking
your ass. You didn’t think it was important to tell me that your flight was
canceled?”
Storm
thrummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “What could you do, Max? Your magical
reach doesn’t quite extend to Mother Nature. It wasn’t just my flight, but all flights.”
“I
told you not to go! I warned you this would happen, but did you listen? Of
course not. No one ever listens to a voice of reason.”
“Relax,
man. I’ve got this covered,” Storm said. A loud groan tickled his ear.
“Just
tell me you’re at the airport waiting for the airlines to open again.”
“We
have a slight problem.” Storm shifted in the leather seat and tugged on the
seatbelt that suddenly felt like it constructed his lungs.
There
was a long pause. “A problem?”
“I
rented a vehicle and I’m driving to Ohio. It’s snowing like a son-of-a-gun.”
“What?”
The word was a cross between a growl and a groan. “Where the hell are you?” he
said it with more conviction this time.
“No
clue. Hang on a sec.” He pushed the button on the GPS and the screen came
alive. “Not good. The GPS has no signal.”
“You
have media interviews first thing in the morning.”
“Who
cares about the media? I don’t feel like pretending that I give a shit what the
parasites write about me.”
“These
‘parasites’ help sell your albums. Even more importantly, the gala event is tomorrow,
Storm. Freaking tomorrow! You’re up
for an award. Imagine what people will think if you’re not there to accept it?
Another pounding of rumors is the last thing you need.”
“Relax
and have a cigar. I’ve got this covered.” Storm resisted the urge to laugh at
his manager’s uptight attitude. Over the years, Storm had gotten used to Max’s
bark. His goal was always on target, but his delivery needed work. “I’ve been
told this truck will get me through anything.” Why did those words suddenly
sound senseless? Nothing was safe on ice. But he had to keep it together for
his manager’s sake.
“You know what’s hilarious? You’re driving
yourself. If you’d called me, I could have had a car pick you up and bring you
here.”
“Maybe
I wanted to drive myself. Why is that so shocking?” Storm didn’t like the doubt
in the man’s words.
“You
haven’t driven yourself since you hit number one. The perks of being a star, my
friend. And with that in mind, you can’t miss the New Year’s Eve show, buddy.
Tickets are sold out and we have a star line-up. You cancel your act and your
career won’t bounce back.”
Storm
clenched his jaw. He wished he had a nickel for every time he heard that threat.
“That warning doesn’t work like it used to, Max. At least come up with
something better, more creative.”
Max’s
humorless chuckle spun through Storm as cold as the winter outside. “Looks like
we’re both lacking in creativity these days.”
“Creativity
or inspiration?” Storm didn’t need to deny the obvious. “We’re both getting
worn down.”
“I
warned you not to leave this close to an event.”
Storm
scrubbed his jaw. “I guess I should have told my uncle this wasn’t the right
time to kick the bucket because it conflicted with my schedule.” He squeezed
the steering wheel tighter until his knuckles ached. A sour taste filled his
throat.
“You
know what I mean, Storm. Once upon a time you understood how these things worked.”
“Ned
helped raise me and I wouldn’t have missed it. That’s how families work, Max. Have
you forgotten that concept? You have a brother and sister. When was the last
time you paid them a visit? Even called to say hello?”
“I’ve
called. Back when you did that concert in Texas. The one that sold out in
twenty minutes.”
Storm
sniffed loudly. “That was five years ago.”
“Has
it really been that long? Time flies. Just get here, Storm.”
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?”
No comments:
Post a Comment