Snow Baby

CHAPTER TWO

“FORTY-FIVE BOTTLES of beer on the wall, forty-five bottles of beer, take one down, pass it around, forty-four bottles of beer on the wall.”

Chantel gave up trying to distract herself with the repetitive chant and glanced impatiently at her watch—again.

She’d talked to Dillon Broderick more than a half hour ago. Where was he? Her hands and feet were frozen, but she dared not run the car’s engine any longer for fear she’d use all her gas. Fueling up was one of those things she hadn’t had time for when she’d dashed out of the house four hours earlier. Now she could only stare, disheartened, at the gas gauge, which read less than a quarter of a tank.

Closing her eyes, Chantel rubbed her temples and willed back the tears that threatened. She’d been so stressed with the move and her new job, and so focused on reaching Stacy at a decent hour, that she hadn’t done anything right. Now her new car was wrecked, and she was stranded on some nameless street in the middle of a snowstorm.

She let her head fall forward to rest on the steering wheel, hearing Wade’s voice, despite her best efforts to banish it from her mind. That’s what you get when you don’t use your head. You never think, Chantel. Never. What would you do without me?

Well, she was finding that out, wasn’t she? She’d left him six months ago, and despite all his calls and letters, she wouldn’t take him back. She was fighting for the person she used to be, before Wade and modeling had nearly destroyed her—the girl her father had raised.

But it all seemed so hopeless sometimes. Or at least it did right now.

She glared miserably at her car phone. She didn’t even have anyone to call. The only friends she’d had when she and Wade were living together in New York were his friends. The only hobbies, his hobbies. He’d made sure her whole world revolved around him, and she’d been as stupid as he always told her she was, because, to save their relationship, she’d let him. You’re just another pretty face, Chantel. Good thing God gave you that.

The phone chirped and Chantel grabbed it.

“Hello?”

“I can’t find you. Are you sure you turned right and not left at the second stop sign?’

It was Dillon Broderick. He was still coming.

She said a silent prayer of thanks and tried to retrace in her mind the route she’d taken. When she hadn’t been able to find the street her sister had written down, she’d taken several turns, always expecting the cabin to appear around the next corner. Now it was hard to remember exactly what she’d done.

“I turned right,” she insisted with a sigh of defeat. She was tired, so tired she could barely force herself to stay awake. After six months she still wasn’t completely recovered, she realized. “I don’t know why you can’t find me.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, and Chantel pictured his face, with its strong jaw, chiseled cheekbones and light eyes, which had been filled with anger about the accident. Would he get frustrated and decide not to continue searching? Her stomach clenched at the thought.

“Did you call the police?” he asked.

“Yes, they said they’d send a car.”

“And you gave them the same directions you gave me?”

Chantel felt another pang of despair. “You’re saying the police won’t be able to find me either, right?”

He cleared his throat. “Let’s not jump to any conclusions. They certainly know the area better than I do and might have some idea where to look. I’ll go back the way I came and try another route from the freeway.”

Chantel knew that courtesy demanded she tell him to return to his original route and not to trouble himself further. The police were coming—eventually. But the snow piling ever higher on the hood of her car would soon block out everything else. And she already felt so alone.

“Dillon?”

“Yeah?”

She wanted to ask him to keep talking to her, not to hang up, but her more practical side admonished her against running up his car-phone bill, to say nothing of her own. She wasn’t in any real trouble, not with the police on their way. She didn’t need anyone to hold her hand. “Nothing. Thanks for trying.”

“That sounds like you think I’m giving up. I can’t let anything happen to you. How do I know your insurance will take care of my truck?”

He was teasing her. Chantel heard it in his voice and smiled. Fleetingly, she wondered about his wife and kids—the ones he’d said weren’t worried about him.

“Where were you headed before you came back for me?” she asked.

“Tahoe. I’m going skiing for a week. What about you?”

“Same here. Just for the weekend, though.”

“So you know how to ski?”

She got the impression he was just being nice to her, trying to calm her down, but she didn’t care, not as long as his voice hummed in her ear. “Yeah. My dad used to take us when we were kids.”

“You ever been to Squaw Valley?”

“Not yet. I grew up in Utah and used to go to Snowbird or Alta.”

“That’s some great snow there. My buddies and I took a trip to Utah when we were in college.”

“I’ll bet college was fun.” Chantel fought the chattering of her teeth, not wanting to let him know how terribly cold she was.

“You didn’t go to university?”

“No.”

“Hey, you got your headlights on?”

“You mean headlight, don’t you?”

He laughed. “Yeah. Otherwise, with this snow piling up, I won’t be able to tell you from any other car sitting by the side of the road.”

“It’s on.”

“Good. What about the heater? It’s pretty cold outside.”

“No heater. Not enough gas.” This time, the chill that ran through her echoed in her voice. “And it is cold.”

“How much gas have you got?”

“Just enough to make it to Tahoe once you pull me out of here.”

“Listen, this is what I want you to do. Dig through your luggage and put on all the layers of clothing you can. I don’t want to find an ice cube when I get there, understand?”

“I’ve already done that.”

“What about gloves and boots?”

Chantel curled her toes and frowned when she could no longer feel them move in her wet tennis shoes. “No such luck. I was going to buy all that once I reached Tahoe.”

“Damn. This just keeps getting better, doesn’t it?”

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Chantel swallowed back a sigh. “I guess I wasn’t very prepared.”

“I can’t believe you had chains.”

“I did only because I bought them shortly after I got the car and stuffed them in the trunk.”

He chuckled. “Too bad. Otherwise you’d have been forced to turn back.”

“I couldn’t turn back,” she said, thinking of her promise to Stacy.

“Why not?”

“There’s something I have to do in Tahoe.”

“What’s that?”

Penance.

DILLON SQUINTED as he tried to see beyond the pale arc of his headlights. White. Everything was white—and stationary. He called Chantel again and told her to honk her horn, then rolled down his window, hoping he’d hear something, but the wind carried no sound other than its own vehemence.

What now? Dropping his head into his hands, he rubbed his eyes. He’d been searching for two hours. He would have given up long ago, except that the police hadn’t found Chantel, either, and he could tell from the sound of her voice that her initial uneasiness was turning to panic.

He called her cell phone again. “I’m going to return to the freeway and start over.”

“No!” She sounded resolute. “You’re crazy to keep looking for me, Dillon. I never should have called you. I thought it would take you a few minutes to come and pull me out, nothing more. I never expected anything like this.”

“I know, but you can’t be far away. If I could just spot you, we could both be on our way to our respective vacations—”

“Or you could get stuck, too. The police called to say they can’t look for me anymore, not until morning. The storm’s too bad.”

“What? Why not?” She could freeze to death before morning!

“They don’t want to risk anyone’s life, and I don’t want you to risk yours.”

What about her life? Dillon wondered.

She took an audible breath. “You’re going to have to head back, before the roads get any worse.”

Dillon maneuvered around a parked car that looked like a small snow hill. His tires spun, then finally propelled him a little farther down a road that was quickly becoming impassable. The slick ice and heavy snow were making him nervous, but he’d canvassed the area so completely, he could only believe he’d find her in the next few minutes.

“You can’t be far,” he muttered.

“It doesn’t matter. The police know what they’re doing. Anyway, they told me not to use my car phone. I’ll need the battery when they resume the search.”

Conserving her battery made sense, but cutting off a frightened woman did little to help her. “I’d better let you go, then.”

Two hours ago Dillon had cared only about making it to the cabin in time to enjoy the party. Now he could think of nothing but Chantel Miller, a beautiful young woman stranded alone in the middle of a snowstorm. He sighed. “It’s hard for me to give up after all this.”

“Just think about what I did to your truck. That should make it easier.” She attempted to laugh, and Dillon had to admire her for the effort.

“You’ll probably be on the news in the morning, talking about how some brave fireman saved you,” he said.

“Yeah. I’ll be the tall one.”

“The tall one with the knockout smile and the sexy voice,” he added, “but I probably shouldn’t say that to a married woman.”

“Dillon?”

“Uh-huh?”

“There’s no husband. I just…you know, a woman can’t be too careful.”

“Are you telling me I look like an ax murderer?”

“Actually I think you look like Tom Selleck.”

He laughed. “It’s the dimples. I hated them when I was a kid, thought they made me look like a sissy. When I was five or so, my mom dressed me up as a girl for Halloween, and I never lived it down—or at least I didn’t until I passed six feet and could grow a full beard.”

“I’ll bet no one teases you anymore.”

He could hear the smile in her voice, and it made him feel slightly better. “No, they don’t.” He paused, wondering what to do next. “Damn, Chantel. I’m sorry about this mess. You must be—”

“Anxious for morning. That’s all.”

“Sure.” He continued to steer his truck through the fresh powder and felt his tires give more than they grabbed. He knew that if he stayed out any longer, he’d get stuck, too. “Well, I won’t use up any more of your battery.”

“Okay.”

The edge that crept into her voice reminded him of the way his little girl sounded whenever she didn’t want him to leave her, and that made it hard as hell to hang up. He and Chantel Miller might have been complete strangers three hours ago, but now they seemed like the only two people in the world.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Right.”

“Goodbye, Chantel.”

“Hurry back to the freeway, Dillon…and thank you. I’m sorry about your truck. I’ve got your card. I’ll send you a thank-you note.”

Yeah, you can say, “Thanks for nothing.”

THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS, Chantel, when you try to do something without me, Wade sneered.

Chantel covered her ears with her hands, even though she knew the sound came from inside her own head. “Shut up,” she whispered. “You’re gone and I’m glad.”

His laugh echoed through her mind, and she almost turned on the radio to block it out. She hadn’t seen Wade in six months, but they’d spent ten years together before that—ten years that weren’t easy to erase.

She blew on her hands, then hugged herself again. She’d taken off her wet shoes and pulled up her knees so she could warm her toes with her piled-on sweaters, not that it made any difference. She was freezing. If it got any colder….

She pictured Stacy at the cabin and wished she could reach her sister. Her car phone lay in her lap, cradled against the cold and darkness, but the number for the cabin was at home, on the easy-wipe board next to the refrigerator. Why hadn’t she transferred it to the sheet of directions Stacy had given her? Why hadn’t she gone back when she realized she’d left it?

She’d been in too much of a hurry, that was why—but it was useless to berate herself now. Except that it kept her from succumbing to the exhaustion that tugged at her body. The police had warned her not to go to sleep. If she did, she might never wake up.

She thought about Wade and the choices he’d encouraged her to make and all she had suffered because of them—the low self-esteem, the anorexia, the past six months of constant effort to become healthy again. If she was going to die, why couldn’t she have done it in the hospital, before the long haul back?

Because that would have been too easy. She needed those experiences. The past six months had made her a stronger person than she’d ever been before.

That truth blew into her mind with all the force of the raging storm, then settled like a softly falling snowflake. Yes, she was stronger. When the nurses told her she’d probably die from her disease, she’d decided it wouldn’t beat her. She’d given up modeling. She’d left Wade. She smiled, knowing, in the end, that she’d surprised them all.

But the past had left its scars. Her illness had cost her the one thing she wanted more than anything….

She winced and shied away from the longing. She wasn’t ready to deal with it yet. A new career, a new life. That was enough for now. Then, perhaps someday—

Suddenly Chantel sat bolt upright and tried to see through the snow on her windshield. Her headlight had gone out, hadn’t it? The police had told her to turn it off, to conserve the car battery, as well as the telephone battery, but she couldn’t bring herself to relinquish the one thing that might actually get someone’s attention. Without it, the Jaguar would look just like every other car, every empty car.

Gripping the steering wheel with numb hands, she shifted to her knees to see above the mounded snow, then squinted down at her instrument panel. The lights were dimming. She could barely make out the fuel gauge. The white needle pointing to “E” wasn’t the most comforting sight, but without it, she’d be sitting in complete darkness, alone, as the storm continued to bury her alive.

She should start the car and recharge the battery. She needed the heat, anyway. What good was saving gas now? Either she made it until morning when the police would come for her. Or she didn’t.

Turning the key in the ignition, she heard the Jag’s starter give a weak whine, then fall silent. She was too late. The battery was already dead.

Should she get out? Look for help on foot? She fingered the phone, wishing Dillon would call—he was the only one who might—but she knew he’d never risk using up the rest of her battery. By now he was probably sleeping beneath heavy quilts in a cabin that smelled of pine and wood smoke.

She imagined him bare-chested, the blankets coming to just above his hips, a well-muscled arm flung out. Would there be a woman beside him? A woman who’d been waiting for “Dillon Broderick, Architect” in Tahoe?

Chantel shook her head. It didn’t matter. Only sleep mattered. Her body begged her to close her eyes and simply drift away.

Soon her lids grew so heavy she could barely lift them. She couldn’t feel her nose anymore, could no longer see her breath fogging the air. She tried to sing the Titanic theme song, but even that was too much effort. Instead, she heard the melody in her head and told herself her heart would go on. And her father would be there to greet her. Her father…

Why hadn’t she left Wade sooner?

I’m free, Daddy. And I’m finally coming home…to you.

With a strange sense of eagerness, she closed her eyes, but a persistent thump on the outside of the car pulled her out of sleep’s greedy clutches.

“CHANTEL! IT’S ME, Dillon!”

Dillon wiped all the snow off the window and flashed his light inside. It had to be her car. How many smashed Jags could there be with one dim headlight still reflecting off the white flakes falling from the sky?

“Dillon?” He heard her voice through the glass and breathed a sigh of relief. He’d found her! He couldn’t believe it. He’d turned around and tried to drive back to the freeway, but he hadn’t been able to leave her behind. And now he was elated to think he’d beaten the odds.

She fumbled with the lock and opened the door, and he pulled her out and into his arms.

Pressing her cold face against the warmth of his neck, she held him tightly.

“You all right?” he asked.

She didn’t answer, just clung to him, and he realized she was crying.

“Hey, what kind of a welcome is this?”

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, drawing back to swipe at her eyes. “I just, I just…” She began to shake from the cold, and he knew he had to get her warm and dry—as quickly as possible.

“Let’s go. You got anything else in there we can use to keep you warm?”

She shook her head. “I’m wearing everything I’ve g-got.”

He chuckled at her mismatched and odd-fitting layers. “Good girl. We’re out of here, then.”

He took off his ski hat and settled it on her blond head, carefully covering her ears. Then he shoved her hands in the leather gloves he’d been using.

“My hands b-b-burn,” she complained.

“That’s good. At least you can feel them.” Then he saw her feet. “Where the hell are your shoes?”

She blinked down at her toes. “They were w-wet. I had to t-take them off.”

“You have to put them back on, at least until we make it to my Landcruiser.” He reached inside the car for her tennis shoes.

When he finished tying her shoelaces, she glanced around and frowned. “Where’s your truck?”

He raised his brows, wondering how to tell her the truth of the situation. “You’re not still worried that I’m an ax murderer, are you?”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve got some good news and some bad news. The bad news is that my Landcruiser’s stuck. We’re not going to get out of here tonight.” He grabbed her cell phone from the car, took her hand, and started to pull her over to where he’d left his vehicle. “But the good news is, you’re no longer alone.”

“That’s not such g-good news for you,” she said.

He grinned and looked back at her, admiring the unique shape of her amber-colored eyes. “It’s not as bad as you might think.”

CHANTEL LET DILLON lead her up the side of a sharp incline through waist-deep snow. Pine trees stood all around them, tops bending and limbs swaying as they fought the same wind that flung ice crystals into her face. Her clothes and shoes were soaked through, and even with gloves on her hands, she didn’t have enough body heat to warm her fingers. Never had she been so cold, not in ten years of New York winters.

She slipped and fell, and Dillon hauled her back to her feet. “Come on, we’ve got to hurry. I don’t want you to get frostbite,” he said, pulling her more forcefully behind him.

Chantel angled her face up to see through the trees in front of them. Other than the small circle from Dillon’s flashlight, everything was completely dark. The falling snow obliterated even the moon’s light, but the night wasn’t silent. The wind alternately whined and howled, and tree limbs scratched and clawed at each other.