This morning, she’d found herself in Maine, and Carlise suddenly felt as if she could breathe for the first time in weeks. Fully charmed by all the small towns on her route, she decided to find one with a hotel, maybe a cute downtown area she could explore, and make that her home base for a couple of weeks before heading back to Ohio. Hopeful that, by then, the whole Tommy mess would have gone away.
She’d happily taken various back roads, enjoying the serene forests and quiet roads . . . until she’d realized she hadn’t passed a sign or even any other cars for quite some time. She’d briefly consulted her phone, but cell service was sporadic at best in the heavily wooded area. Her GPS app was useless.
If that wasn’t bad enough, the weather had gotten nasty—fast. At first it was cold rain, which quickly turned into sleet. Now it was snowing so hard, Carlise couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of her vehicle.
She couldn’t go back the way she’d come because she knew there was nothing behind her for miles. She hadn’t passed a town in a good while—no restaurants, no gas stations. She’d just been driving around, attempting to find some sort of civilization. In desperation, she’d turned onto an access road of sorts—little more than a wide track, really—thinking surely it existed for a reason. Had to lead to maybe a village or even just some random houses.
Looking at the seat next to her, she grimaced. She had half a bottle of water, a Snickers bar, some trail mix, and two mini doughnuts, all left over from the last time she’d stopped for gas hours ago. Her sweet tooth had gotten the better of her, and she’d happily munched as she drove, not concerned about dinner or where she might next find something to eat.
Now here she was, lost somewhere in Maine, driving blindly through a snowstorm . . . and scared out of her mind. She’d messed up. Bad. At least she was wearing hiking boots and had a suitcase full of warm clothing in the cargo area of her CR-V. The vehicle was pretty good in most bad weather, but this storm was proving too much for the small SUV to handle.
As soon as she had that thought, a tree suddenly appeared in front of her.
The road must have curved, but thanks to the near-zero visibility, she hadn’t noticed. Instead, she’d driven straight into the woods.
Carlise slammed her foot on the brake instinctively, the car continuing to slide forward in the wet snow. Her front bumper hit the tree, and her body slammed forward. Carlise hit her head on the steering wheel hard enough to see stars.
“Crappity, crap, crap!” she muttered, taking a deep breath and putting a hand to her forehead. She wasn’t bleeding, thank goodness, but she probably had a huge bump on her head now. The car’s engine shut off when she hit the tree, and even though she had a feeling it would be useless, Carlise reached for the key in the ignition.
The usually reliable SUV didn’t start.
Closing her eyes, Carlise did her best not to cry. She was in big trouble here, and she knew it. It was getting dark outside, and she was lost. Not only that, but the wind had picked up, and the snow was blowing so hard, she knew the second she stepped away from her vehicle, she’d be hopelessly lost in the blinding whiteness.
Taking a deep breath, Carlise opened her eyes. She couldn’t stay here. She had to find somewhere to take shelter. She’d seen the rare cabin tucked into the trees as she’d driven along, hoping to come across some sort of town. None had looked occupied, and a couple seemed dilapidated . . . but hunkering down in an abandoned cabin was better than being buried in her car.
Carlise generally wasn’t a pessimistic kind of woman. She did what needed to be done, even if it was unpleasant . . . like breaking up with Tommy. Not wanting to remember that day—and how pissed he’d been—she unfastened her seat belt and turned to crawl into the back seat. She needed to get into her suitcase, put on as many layers of clothes as possible, then start walking.
By the time she was as ready as she was going to be, Carlise felt nauseous. Partly from the knock on the head she’d taken, but also because there was a good chance she wouldn’t find a cabin in which to wait out the storm. She might’ve survived Tommy’s harassment, but that seemed like nothing compared to attempting to find shelter in a Maine blizzard.
She shrugged on her backpack, regretting her decision to take her computer and iPad because they only weighed her down. But she’d procrastinated long enough. If she was going to leave, it had to be now.
Taking a deep breath, Carlise pushed open the door and stepped into a blinding-white hell.
The cold wind immediately stole her breath and made her eyes water. Of course, that didn’t help her vision, as the tears froze as soon as they formed in her eyes. Blinking quickly, Carlise used her gloved hands to adjust the scarf over her face, pulling it tighter against her skin before forcing herself to take a step away from the car. Then another. And another.
She found the road, at least what she assumed was the road, and felt a spark of hope. She’d just follow it. Either someone would come along, or she’d pass another one of those sporadic cabins.
Refusing to think about the fact that she couldn’t see more than five feet in front of her—let alone a cabin tucked into the trees that were thick all around her—Carlise ducked her head into the wind and trudged forward.
Chapter Two
Chappy groaned. He felt like shit.
He felt fine when he’d arrived at the cabin. It wasn’t until he was carrying the last of the firewood he’d chopped during his previous visit onto the long covered porch, stacking it neatly at one end in preparation for the storm, that he’d felt the first indication something was wrong.
His throat hurt when he swallowed, and his muscles ached as if he’d been climbing along a precarious mountain ridge in Afghanistan for hours, like one of the many he’d traversed while on missions in the country.
He hated being sick. Hated it. And the last thing he wanted was to be sick now. He had plans. Books to read. Snowfall to watch. Relaxation to experience. He didn’t want to feel like crap while on vacation.
Sighing, he built a fire in the fireplace and snuggled under a mound of blankets.
He loved his blankets. The guys all made fun of him, but Chappy didn’t care. The softer and fluffier the material, the better. There was nothing as comforting as being warm and cozy under a blanket, with a fire crackling and a book in his hand.
Except his head hurt, his muscles throbbed, and his throat felt as if he’d been swallowing glass instead of water.
“Damn flu,” he muttered.
Seconds later, as he willed himself to fall asleep, hoping rest would help . . . something caught his attention. He sat up on the couch and tilted his head.
A sound from the yard in front of his cabin . . . ?
No. On the porch.
Figuring it was probably a wild animal trying to escape the wind and snow, Chappy ignored it. Until he heard it again. Scraping.
If it was a bear, he needed to scare it away so it wouldn’t attempt to get inside the cabin. He hadn’t seen too many bears up here, but they were around, even in the winter.
Throwing off the blanket, Chappy stood and swayed on his feet for a moment.
Cursing how weak he felt, he went to the window at the front of the cabin and peered out. He couldn’t see anything but whiteness. He went to the coatrack by the door and pulled on his parka, shoved his feet into the boots he’d taken off earlier, and grabbed the shotgun he kept nearby just in case. He wasn’t going to shoot the bear, or whatever animal was on his porch, but he could shoot into the air to scare it away.
He cautiously opened the door a crack, and the cold wind made him shiver violently. Holding the shotgun at the ready, Chappy peered outside.
At first, he didn’t spot anything. Then he glimpsed the most pitiful-looking dog he’d ever seen in his life. He couldn’t believe the thing was still alive. He could see it was a male and so skinny that Chappy could see the ribs along his sides. His hip bones were sticking out obscenely, and his head was huge. It had to make up at least half his body weight at the moment.