down darkly wooded mountainsides, covering them like a shroud. Every clap of thunder vibrated with a threatening warning.
Stupid. Just plain stupid, she silently lashed out at herself. She’d never intended to be on the road this late. The mileage from Denver to the mountain town of Timberlane had been deceiving, and night had fallen before she made it over a series of high mountain passes.
She’d rented a compact car at the airport upon her arrival from Los Angeles. As she drove into the high country the temperature had changed from simmering August heat to a biting chill. She was used to straight, crowded interstate highways, and her body was rigid from the tense driving. Around every serpentine curve, the wheels of her car were just inches from narrow dirt shoulders falling away to deep rocky chasms. Was hers the only car on the two-lane road? No signs of lights ahead or behind her. She’d passed the last cluster of buildings miles back.
What am I doing here, anyway? Stacy asked herself.
A month ago, her life had been secure. At only twenty-eight years of age, she had a blossoming career in the merchandising field. Sure, there’d been a rumble that her company was going to downsize, but she’d ignored it. She’d always been good at closing her eyes to any warnings that didn’t fit in with her plans. She wasn’t prepared when it had happened—a pink slip, a pat on the back and a firm shove toward the unemployment lines. Quickly, she’d registered at employment agencies, checked the Internet and sent numerous résumés to prospective companies.
Weeks had gone by without even a job interview, and when an L.A. lawyer unexpectedly called her, she’d thought he’d tell her that her credit rating had hit rock bottom and everything she owned was about to be repossessed. She nearly fainted when he’d told her his real business.
“You’ve got to be kidding. Is this some kind of joke?”
He assured her that it wasn’t. She was the beneficiary in a relative’s will. Stacy had only heard vague talk from her mother about Willard Dexter, her brother with wanderlust. They hadn’t been close, and he hadn’t even shown up for her mother’s funeral a few years back. Now, of all things, Uncle Willard had recently died, leaving his niece money and property located in the high mountains of Colorado. At first, the unexpected wind-fall had sounded great, but the terms of her uncle’s will were as eccentric as the man himself had been. In order to inherit the money, Stacy was required to use a stipulated portion of it to improve the mountain property and reside there while the renovations were being done.
At any other time in her life, Stacy would have rebelled against the loss of independence imposed by her uncle’s will, but her life was in the pits, financially and romantically. So here she was, driving a torturous mountain road at night, trying to keep from plunging off a thousand-foot cliff.
As the wind quickened, a flash of jagged lightning cut through the darkness, and then the storm hit. A whirling cauldron of slashing rain enveloped the car. Driving forward at a snail’s pace, she fought the mesmerizing effect of raindrops swirling into the feeble radius of her headlights. The only blessing was that the road had leveled off in some kind of a high mountain valley, but the ground bordering it was still steep and sloping.
As she peered ahead, a sliver of lightning struck the landscape, and for an instant she glimpsed a gravel road leading off of the narrow highway. Her heart leaped with relief. A safe place to park! Even if she had to spend the night in the car, it would be better than the suicide attempt of driving in this storm.
Cautiously she peered ahead as she turned off the pavement. A second too late, she realized. Blinded by the deluge, she’d turned too soon. She’d missed the road!
With a jolt, the car dipped downward, throwing her forward. Her brakes were useless as the vehicle began to slide. Frantically she reached for the door handle just as the car lurched to an abrupt stop.
She sat there stunned. It had all happened so fast she couldn’t get her bearings. Rivulets of water obscured the windows. The engine was still running, but the car’s headlights no longer stabbed the darkness. She had no idea what had stopped the car’s downward movement. A horrible wailing of wind mocked her rising panic.
What should she do? Stay in the car? If it was wedged in tightly against a tree or something, she could just wait out the storm, and then flag someone down when it was over.
But what if it began to slide again? The thought of deep mountain chasms, thousands of feet below the road, sent chills rippling up her spine. She forced herself to quit imagining the worst scenario. There was only one way to know if the car’s position was precarious or not.
Get out and look.
She realized that stepping out into the storm’s fury could invite all kinds of disaster. Rain poured down the windows like a solid sheet, and building wind gusts assaulted the car. Only a greater fear of being trapped in the car plunging down the mountainside forced her to make sure that remaining in the car was safe.
She took a deep breath and picked up her cell phone, as if even in these circumstances it was some assurance of contact with the outside world. Then she forced open the car door and stepped out into a rushing torrent of mud and water. Dressed only in yellow summer slacks, a white pullover and sandals, she was instantly drenched. Assaulted by wind, rain, and flying debris, she struggled to keep her footing in the slippery, rain-drenched, uneven ground.
Deafening thunder vibrated like clashing cymbals in her ears, and she had only taken a few steps when she slipped and went down on her knees. As she tried to catch herself, she dropped the cell phone. She lunged for it, but not in time to keep a swiftly moving current of mud and water from sweeping it away.
She wavered to her feet, desperately trying to clear her vision enough to see what was holding the car in place. She caught a glimpse of dark forms that defied recognition in the deluge. Rocks? Trees? Bushes? She thought she heard the roar of plunging water.
Everything around her was diabolically alive. Needled tree branches lashed the air like writhing dark specters. Glimpses of jagged rocks rose in threatening shadows around her. Vicious winds like crazed hands tore at her long dark hair.
She screamed when a night creature appeared at her side and loomed over her. Frantically she lashed out, trying to evade its clutches, but her struggle only tightened the ironlike grip that encircled her. As her biting nails connected with soft flesh, the terrifying illusion faded, and she realized that the flow of cuss words assaulting her ears was coming from a very angry, warm-blooded human.
“Damn little wildcat.” His grip tightened on her. “Your blasted car is just a few feet from slipping into the river. I’m here to help.”
She went limp with relief. His face was hidden in the shadows of a wide-brimmed hat and the high collar of his raincoat, but she gave in to the reassurance of his deep voice with a thankful prayer.
“Is anyone else in the car?” he demanded curtly, keeping an iron grip on her.
“No,” she choked.
“Then let’s get the hell out of here.” Lifting her in his arms and holding her tightly against his chest, Josh Spencer carried her away from the sinking car and rising river.
All evening, the radio had been reporting emergencies up and down the front range, but he never expected to have one on his doorstep. After supper, he’d saddled his horse and gone out into the storm because he was concerned about the wooden bridge leading onto his property. The old bridge had recently been reinforced, but was it holding with the battering of high waters and floating debris?
Hunched
