car skidded delicately but the tires held as she made the turn.
She pulled up to the garage, fumbled in the glove compartment for the automatic door opener the realtor had given her. The door slid open. Holly smiled grimly. So much for the old man’s predictions about a power outage, and thank goodness for that. Night had fallen over the mountain and for the first time it occurred to her that it wouldn’t be terribly pleasant to be marooned here without electricity.
Carefully, she eased the car into the garage. Seconds later, with the door safely closed behind her, she groaned and let her head flop back against the seat rest.
She was safe and sound—but what on earth had she thought she was doing, coming to this cabin? You didn’t bury your ghosts by resurrecting them.
‘You’re an idiot,’ she said brusquely, as she pulled her suitcase from the car and made her way into the kitchen.
She switched on the light. There was the stove, where she’d prepared the very first meal she and Nick had shared as husband and wife. There was the silver ice bucket, where he’d chilled the bottle of cheap champagne that was all they’d been able to afford after they’d blown everything on renting this place for their honeymoon. There was the table, where they’d had their first dinner…where they’d almost had it, because just as she’d turned to tell Nick the meal was ready, he’d snatched her up into his arms and they’d ended up making love right there, with her sitting on the edge of the counter and him standing between her thighs, while their burgers burned to a crisp.
The lights flickered. Deep in the basement, the heating system hesitated, then started up again. Holly sighed in gratitude.
What on earth was she doing here? She was an idiot, to have come back to this place.
‘Worse than an idiot,’ she said, in a voice blurred with tears—not that she was weeping with regret. Why would she? Marrying Nick had been a mistake. Divorcing him had been the right thing to do, and she didn’t regret it, she never had. She was crying with anger at herself, at the storm that was going to make it impossible for her to turn around and drive down the mountain…
The lights blinked again. In a moment, the power would go out. She’d never be able to open the garage door without it; the door was old, and far too heavy. The power had gone out for a couple of hours when they’d stayed here years ago, and not even Nick—muscular, gorgeous, virile Nick—had been able to wrestle the door open.
Holly swallowed dryly. She couldn’t, she wouldn’t, be trapped here, with her memories. She had to get out before that happened, and never mind the raging storm and the treacherous road. She could manage the drive down. She’d be careful. Very careful. Nothing was impossible, when you put your mind to it. Hadn’t life taught her that?
‘I am out of here,’ she said, exactly at the moment the lights went out.
BY THE time he reached the turn-off for North Mountain, Nick was almost driving blind.
He had the windshield wipers turned up to high but the snow was falling so thick and fast that the wipers could barely keep up.
At least the Explorer was holding the road. That was something to be grateful for. And so was the gas station, just ahead. The last few miles, the needle on the gauge had been hovering dangerously close to empty.
Nick pulled beneath the canopy, stepped from the truck and unscrewed the cover to his gas tank.
‘Hey there, Mister, didn’t ya see the sign? Station’s closed.’
A man had come out of the clapboard house beyond the pumps and jerked his thumb at a hand-lettered sign tacked to the wall. He had the raw-boned look of an old-time New Englander and the accent to match.
‘No,’ Nick said, ‘sorry, I didn’t.’
‘Well, ya do now.’
‘Look, I need some gas. And you’re probably the only station open for miles.’
‘Ain’t open. Told ya, I’m closed.’
Nick flashed his most ingratiating smile.
‘My truck’s just about running on fumes,’ he said. ‘I’d really appreciate it if you’d let me fill up.’
‘Ain’t no need for gas,’ the old man said, ‘seein’ as there’s no place to go in a blizzard.’
Oh, hell. Nick took a deep breath and tried again. ‘Yeah, well, the weatherman says it’s not a blizzard. And by the time it is, I’ll be where I’m going, if you’ll let me have some gas.’
The old fellow looked him up, then looked him down. Nick found himself wishing he’d taken the time to exchange his black trench coat, charcoal suit and shiny black wingtips for the jeans, scuffed boots and old leather jacket he’d jammed into his suitcase. He’d almost given up hope when the guy shrugged and stomped down the steps to the pump.
‘It’s your funeral.’
Nick grinned. ‘I hope not.’
‘Where you headed?’
‘Just a few miles north.’ Nick peered towards the office. ‘You got a couple of five-gallon gasoline cans you could fill for me?’
‘Aye-yup.’
‘And maybe a couple of bags of sand?’
‘That, too.’
‘Great.’ Nick pulled out his wallet as the old guy screwed the cover back on the gas tank. ‘If you have some candles you’d be interested in selling, I’d be obliged.’
‘Well, at least you’re not a fool, young man, wantin’ to buy ice in Decembah.’
Nick laughed. ‘No, sir. No ice. Just the gas, the sand, the candles… Better safe than sorry, isn’t that what they say?’
‘The smart ones do, anyways. North, ya say. That’s where you’re goin’?’
‘Yes. To North Mountain.’
The old man turned around, a red gasoline can in each hand, and looked at Nick as if he were demented.
‘Ain’t been a soul come through here in months, headin’ for that mountain, and now there’s two of you, in one day.’
Nick frowned. ‘Somebody went up to the cabin?’
‘I suppose. Couldn’t tell ’em naught, either. Had the wrong car, wrong tires, wrong everythin’. Didn’t have no business on that mountain, I tell you that.’
That was for sure, Nick thought grimly. Vagrants, even damn-fool kids with nothing better to do than go joy-riding, could get into trouble in country this isolated.
On the other hand, vagrants didn’t drive cars, and kids around here had more sense than to be out in this kind of weather.
‘Hunters, maybe?’ he asked.
The
