sweet mewling sound came from Chantel, but her eyes remained closed. She was probably dreaming. He gazed through the darkness, finding the curve of her cheek, the silky spray of hair that fanned out over his arm, and caught sight of her lips. They were slightly parted…and wet.
He clenched his jaw. It was going to be a long night.
THE CELL PHONE broke the silence, waking Chantel with a start. Next to her, Dillon stirred and they both fumbled around until Chantel came up with the phone, which turned out to be her own, and answered it.
“Hello?”
“Miss Miller?” a man’s voice said.
“Yes?”
“This is the police dispatcher just checking to make sure you’re okay. The storm hasn’t lifted yet, but I want you to know we’ll get there as soon as we can.”
“Okay.”
“You sound tired, Miss Miller, but I can’t stress how important it is that you not fall asleep. With the windchill factor, it’s well below zero outside.”
“I understand, but I’m not alone anymore.”
“What?”
“I, um…A friend of mine came to find me. Only he’s stuck now, too.”
“The two of you are together?”
Dillon shoved himself up onto one elbow. “Give me the phone so I can tell them where we are.”
“We’re sheltering in a Toyota Landcruiser,” she said into the receiver. “Here, he wants to talk to you.”
Chantel listened as Dillon identified himself and gave the dispatcher directions. When he ended the call, she looked at him expectantly. “What did he say?”
“To sit tight. Someone’ll be here as soon as the storm lifts.” He flicked on a flashlight and looked at his watch.
“What time is it?”
“Three o’clock.”
Chantel groaned. “No wonder I’m still tired. Did you get any sleep?”
“I dropped off about five minutes before the phone rang.”
Now that she and Dillon were both awake, Chantel felt her earlier self-consciousness return but fought it back. They might as well get used to each other. According to the dispatcher, the police were going to be a while yet. “What kept you up?”
She thought he arched a brow at her, but couldn’t see clearly enough in the darkness.
“You don’t want to know,” he said.
“What—was I snoring?”
He laughed. “You didn’t have to.”
Catching his meaning, Chantel felt her face flush and tried to sidle away, but he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her down beside him. “Come on. It’s too cold for that.”
She put a hand on his chest, keeping a slight distance between them. “Tell me about yourself, Dillon.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Well…tell me about your daughters.”
He opened up easily to that question. His voice warmed as he talked about his girls and their accomplishments. His fourth-grader had just competed against a sixth-grader for student-body treasurer and won. She played the clarinet in band and sang in the school choir. His second-grader was in gymnastics and could already do a back flip.
Chantel felt something tug at her heart and knew she should have steered the conversation away from kids. It was always this way when…
Dillon fell silent right in the middle of describing a family trip they’d taken to Disneyland just before the divorce.
“And then what?” she prompted.
He didn’t answer, and Chantel berated herself for not listening more closely. What was it he’d said? Something about promising his girls they’d go back every year. Wasn’t that it? “Dillon?”
“What?”
“You didn’t finish.”
“I know. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
“What’s wrong?” She propped herself up to look in his face, but in the darkness, she couldn’t decide whether his expression was as stony as his voice suggested.
He shook his head. “I’m just angry. It has nothing to do with you.”
“It’s that damn Mickey Mouse, right? You hate him.”
He gave her a grudging smile. “No.”
“Then what?” Chantel studied him again and guessed that what she saw was pain. “Forget it. You don’t have to talk about it,” she said. “Divorce is a hard thing—for everyone.”
“I never thought I’d be divorced,” he admitted. “I never wanted to be.”
“I don’t think anyone ever plans on it.”
“It’s funny how someone you love can turn into someone you don’t even know, isn’t it?”
“Oh, I see. You’re not over your ex-wife yet.” For some reason she wanted to pull away, but there was no room to do so.
He laughed harshly. “Wrong. I’m completely over her. I got over her shortly after her second affair, which, ironically enough, was with the mailman.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No. Well, technically speaking, he wasn’t our mailman, but he worked for the post office.”
“How did she meet him?”
“At the gym.”
“Ouch.”
He laughed, but his voice was edged with bitterness. “I used to think that sort of thing could never happen to me.”
“Does it hurt to talk about it?”
“Not anymore. At first I thought I’d never recover. I blamed myself. We got married too young. I was gone too much, working, trying to put myself through school. I think she was lonely and bored and found the wrong kind of friend. She and the woman next door, who was already divorced, started going out together in the afternoons, visiting bars. I could see what was happening, but I thought I could stop it. I thought if I was meeting her emotional needs, she wouldn’t turn to other men. She admitted she didn’t love them.”
“Did you ever find out why she did it?”
“She said she liked the thrill of it. I think she was on boyfriend number three
