A Week in the Snow (3 page)

He was flying, his speedometer hovering at just under ninety miles an hour, when he saw a flash of red in his headlights. It was so quick that if he hadn’t been looking at the right side of the road he would have missed it. He kept on going but the flash of colour stuck with him, and a few miles later he slowed down. The machine whined in protest as he turned around and found his tracks, following them the way he had come, much slower now that he had something to look for. It might have been nothing, maybe just a kid’s bike left on the side of the road, or maybe a mailbox he hadn’t noticed before. But in weather like this, it might have been something else, and he had to go back and make sure.

He slowed to a crawl when he got closer to where he had seen the flash of red. The snowmobile idled, just sliding along on the ice, when he saw it again. It was definitely red, and it was definitely not a bike. It was far too big to be a bike. A few feet closer and Richard saw more red, this time peeking from the top of a snowdrift.

“A car,” he said to himself, and pulled up alongside it.

The drifts already covered the body and almost obscured the top. Richard geared down the snowmobile and climbed off, trying to peer into windows that had too much snow over them. He walked closer to the car, searching for a door. The car was completely encased in snow and probably no one was in it, but he had to check. With one gloved hand he brushed snow away from the window and tried his best to peer inside.

The interior light snapped on.

The sudden burst of light damn near scared Richard to death. He actually stumbled backwards, cursed himself for being a sissy, then started to dig around the door. Someone was obviously in the car, and they might be toasty warm in there, but they were probably close to running out of oxygen.

“Help me!” The voice belonged to a woman. Richard dug harder, finally clearing the window. There was no way he could reach the door to open it—that would take an hour of digging.

“Can you roll down the window?” he yelled.

“It’s electric!”

“Okay. Will the engine turn over?”

“No.”

That answer was not what he wanted to hear. He stared at the snow and tried to calculate the hours it would take to dig that car out. Whoever was in there would need their freedom long before then.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes,” she said, though he could hear the sobs in her voice, the crying barely held in check. “But I’m scared and cold and hungry, and I really want out of here!”

He brushed more snow away from the window, and now he could see her. She was small, with brunette hair and large, frightened eyes. She was wrapped up in clothes and a coat and she looked warm enough, but Richard knew very well how fear could make all that warmth disappear.

“I’m going to get you out,” he said. “You hang on for just a minute more.”

He went back to the snowmobile. The snow was still falling, but now it was a gentle rain of it, a break in the blizzard that had turned his corner of Iowa into a barren world. He opened up the pack on the back of the snowmobile and pulled out the wrench. It was good to have when the snowmobile needed adjustments, and it was especially good now, when it needed to break a sheet of glass.

“Get over on the other side of the car,” he said to the woman behind the window. “I’m going to have to break this glass to get you out.”

She nodded and climbed over the gearshift. He waited until she was huddled against the door, her face turned away in anticipation. With a deep breath and a mighty heave, he slammed the wrench down hard against the window. He was gratified by the sound of crashing glass.

“Good thing that wasn’t safety glass,” he said with a smile, peering into the car. “If it had been, it would have been a real bit of work to get you out.”

The woman inside suddenly burst into tears. “I was so scared…”

Richard grabbed the small shards of glass that were left around the doorframe. His gloves were thick, and the pieces didn’t penetrate. He threw the sharp bits away from the car and reached in a hand, offering her help in climbing out.

“Let’s get you warm.”

Rebecca took his hand and climbed out of the car. When she finally stood on top of the snow, she was surprised to see that her tennis shoes barely made a dent in the surface. She lifted her face to the sky and felt the cold flakes, still coming down. The deep breaths of cold air burned all the way down, but she found herself grateful for the sliver of pain in her lungs, quite happy to be out of the car and with someone who could help her.

She took one step and sank to her knees. She yelped in surprise, and the man grabbed her, hauled her up, and helped her walk to the hulking machine that sat idling in the middle of what used to be a two-lane road. She climbed on the back of the snowmobile, glad to be on something solid. She pulled her coat tight around her.

“I’m Richard,” the man said, and she looked up at him. His face was mostly obscured by a toboggan and scarf, and his body was covered in layers and layers of clothing. But she could see his smile, broad and happy, and she couldn’t help but smile back.

“I’m Rebecca,” she said. “I’m from Miami.”

Richard’s smile faltered a bit. “Miami? What are you doing here?”

“I was coming to visit someone. I had no idea the snow would be like this.”

“Apparently, neither did the forecasters on the local news.” Richard was peering back into the car. “You’re the only one?”

“Just me.”

“Anything you need from in here?”

Rebecca nodded. “My purse is in the front seat. And there is a small blue bag. It’s in the backseat. You can reach it through the window, I think.”

Richard found it and pulled it through. He then grabbed the purse and stepped back to watch as the snow settled on the console of the car. The interior would be ruined by morning if he didn’t do something. He reached in again and turned off the interior light, hoping to save the battery, at least.

Richard carefully tossed the bags to Rebecca and dug into his pack, searching for the emergency blanket he kept there. He unrolled the thin blanket and stuck it over the window as best he could, weighing the edges down with wet snow. Finally satisfied that he had done what he could for the car, he turned back to the woman on the snowmobile. She was shivering with the cold, her arms wrapped around herself.

“Scoot back a bit more and let me on. We’ll be at my place in a minute.”

Rebecca held on to his waist as the snowmobile roared to life. She watched as her little red car disappeared in the distance, then buried her face against the back of the man who had just saved her. The wind whipped over them, cutting like a thousand tiny knives. Rebecca could hardly breathe for the cold.

As they finally approached the cheery light of a farmhouse, Rebecca fought back tears of relief. The man stopped in front of the house and motioned towards the door.

“Get in and get warm,” he said, and she climbed off of the snowmobile. The snow here wasn’t as deep, but she still sank to her ankles. The golden glow of light from the windows fell over the yard and the snow was a dusting on the covered porch. It looked like the front of a picture-perfect postcard.

“Thank you,” she said, her teeth chattering.

“You’re welcome. Now get inside. Door’s unlocked.”

He watched until she was safely inside the door. Sighing, he looked back at the snow. The moon had come out, glossing the world with a brilliant shine.

“This is just what I need,” he muttered.

Rebecca stepped in the front door and looked around. “Hello?” she called, and got no answer. She closed the door behind her and took a deep breath, the warm air already soothing her cheeks and making her hands tingle. The roaring light of a fireplace beckoned her, and she rushed towards it like a moth to flame. She put her hands close, almost too close, and watched as the flames licked at the wood.

She really did start to cry then, long and racking sobs that frightened her. She had been out there in the car all evening, afraid to look at her watch, unable to dig out from the snow that had got too deep, too fast. The gas had run out with a final sputter of the engine, and that was when the panic had set in. She remembered fighting to open the door, pushing helplessly against the impossible weight of the snow, crying and sometimes screaming. Now she was crying again, and she was starting to wonder just how many tears the human body could have inside it. She was surely reaching her limit.

That was how Richard found her—standing in front of his fireplace, warming her hands over the flames, tears dripping from her cheeks. He watched her for a moment, giving her time to get herself under control. He didn’t blame her for crying, and he didn’t want to embarrass her. He gently laid her blue bag and purse on the couch, then stepped to the kitchen and started a pot of decaf, listening for any sound from the living room. He made quite a lot of noise himself, so as not to startle her with his presence.

When he finally did come back into the front room, she turned to face him, her back to the fire. She had slipped off her coat and now stood a few feet away from the fire, her shivering gone in the heat of the flames. She gave him one of the most brilliant smiles he had ever seen, even though there were still tears on her cheeks. She made no attempt to hide them.

“Thank you,” she said, and somehow that opened the floodgates again. She buried her face in her hands and this time Richard didn’t have the heart to leave her alone. He crossed the floor in three long strides and wrapped his arms around her.

Rebecca buried her face in his shoulder until her tears tapered off again. When she looked back up at him, her nose was red and her lips were swollen. She moved away slowly, carefully, as though he were her centre of equilibrium.

He found a box of tissues on an end table. She gave him a grateful smile when he handed them to her and tactfully turned away, giving her a bit of privacy.

“I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced,” he said, holding his hands out to the fire. “My name is Richard Paris. Welcome to Crispin, Iowa.”

She laughed—the sound was light and airy, the kind of laugh he hadn’t heard in a long time. “My name is Rebecca Connors,” she said, “and I’m not sure Crispin and I get along.”

He nodded. “You’re a long way from home.”

“I came up here to meet someone, but then the snow started, and somehow I managed to slide my car right off the side of the road,” she explained. She thought for a moment and shrugged. “The snow helped me a little bit with that one.”

“I can imagine it did.”

They looked at each other for a while, neither of them sure of what to say. Richard saw a pretty young woman, one who was trapped by circumstance far away from home, who held herself with dignity even though he could tell a part of her wanted to break down and sob some more. Rebecca saw a tall, handsome man with a weathered face, one who wasn’t quite sure what to do with this woman in his house, but whose smile was kind.

“Coffee’s hot,” he said, and at the mention of something to fill her stomach a deep rumble came from her belly. She slapped her hand over it and blushed as Richard laughed.

“I’m starving,” she admitted.

There wasn’t much beyond breakfast foods in the refrigerator—Richard usually took lunch at his office and dinner somewhere in town—but there was a loaf of garlic bread in the freezer and some spaghetti sauce in the cabinet. He put a pot of water on the stove to boil and turned on the oven.

Rebecca sat down at the kitchen table, a cup of steaming coffee in her hand, and watched him as she took the first sip. The heat of it warmed her from the inside out, and finally she could think of something other than the terror of being in her car and watching the drifts pile up around her. “I didn’t expect the storm,” she said. “The forecast for Iowa was clear when I left Florida.”

“It was clear,” he agreed. “On the morning news they thought we might get about six inches. Around here, that’s not much more than a sputter.” He glanced at the wide kitchen window and raised an eyebrow. “The weather guy has a lot of explaining to do.”

She watched as he stirred the spaghetti into the pot and put the garlic bread in the oven. The spaghetti sauce went into the microwave, and soon the smell of dinner was making her stomach rumble even louder than before.

“Not long now,” he said.

When the food was on the table, Richard offered her a glass of iced water. She ate quickly, devouring the first plate and reaching for seconds. She thanked him over and over as she ate, declaring it the best food she had ever tasted. Richard was full of questions but she seemed to be so overwhelmed, so tired, that he bit his tongue and let them go. He could offer her a place to sleep and tomorrow he could help her pull her car out of the ditch, but beyond that, he doubted he would ever see her again. Who was he to pry?

Rebecca finished her dinner and pushed her plate back with a satisfied sigh. Richard sat the dishes on the counter, poured them both a final cup of coffee, and declined her offer to do the dishes. They both wandered out to the fireplace, where they stood side by side and watched the crackling of the fire, sipping their coffee and not saying much.

Finally Richard chuckled uneasily and looked at her. “I don’t know what to say to you.”

She nodded. “I just want to keep saying thank you, over and over.”

“Please…you’re welcome.”

“Thank you.”

He grinned. “I know this is awkward, Rebecca, but I’m glad you’re safe.”

She smiled and relaxed, her shoulders sagging. “I’m glad you came along.”

“Listen…it’s late. You’ve had a very long night. What do you say we both just go to sleep, and worry about everything else tomorrow?”

That sounded like the best idea Rebecca had heard in ages. “Sleep, yes. That sounds heavenly.”

“The guest room is down here,” he said, and led her to a little room off of the living area. In it was a bed covered with quilts, a dresser, an old armchair that had seen better days and a small television on a low table. The bathroom was the next door down the hallway, furnished with a deep claw-foot tub and a corner shower with tall glass doors. “If you want to get a hot bath, go ahead,” he said. “And if some of your clothes need washing, put them in the hamper and I’ll get them in the morning. The bag you wanted from the backseat of your car is on the couch in there, and your purse is too. My bedroom is upstairs, and, if you need anything, you holler.”