Trapped in the Tempest

Chapter three

The absolute balls on this guy. “My laptop’s in there,” I snap, “along with every file I need for the meeting. I can’t just abandon it in the snow like some discarded fast-food wrapper.”

He doesn’t even blink. “Newsflash: you’re not making that meeting this weekend. Not happening.”

“I still need my stuff! I’m not leaving my entire life sitting in a ditch in the middle of nowhere!”

He pulls out another cigarette, lights it with a flick, and stares into the swirling trees like they might give him patience. Classic move—I’m starting to recognize his little rituals. After a long drag he exhales hard. “Fine!” he barks. “Stay put. Don’t touch a damn thing in my truck, and try not to cause another catastrophe while I’m gone.”

I pull a childish face at his back as he stomps down the hill through the deepening drifts. The massive dog in the back seat lets out a heavy breath that brushes the back of my neck. I freeze. Being trapped alone with this wolf-reject and his mysterious owner feels like the universe is personally screwing with me. This morning I was supposed to be pulling up to a luxury hotel, slipping into a deep tub, and ordering overpriced room service. Instead I’m playing hostage in a blizzard with Sasquatch and his oversized furball.

I flip down the sun visor and use the mirror to keep tabs on the beast. He’s staring right back, tongue lolling, looking way too amused for a dog. Same cocky expression as his owner. Fantastic.

It feels like forever before I spot the big man trudging back up, my bags slung over his shoulder, snow whipping around him like he’s in his own personal snow globe. He yanks the door open, tosses my things in the back, and climbs behind the wheel.

“Thank you,” I mutter.

“Oh, sure. Want me to hike to Starbucks next? I could grab you a fancy latte. Extra whip, maybe some of those chocolate shavings on top?”

A hot white mocha suddenly sounds like heaven. I can almost taste the sweetness cutting through this frozen nightmare.

“I said I’m sorry,” I grumble. “Can we just go?”

He fires up the truck. The engine growls to life like an angry bear. Heat starts blasting from the vents as he pulls onto the narrow road. “Cabin’s only about two miles ahead. Once we’re there, we’ll call for a tow if the lines are up.”

“And if they’re not?”

He shrugs. “Then you’re camping out until the roads get cleared enough for me to drive you somewhere civilized.”

I let out a long, defeated groan. “This day officially sucks.”

“Tell me about it.”

The snow is falling so thick now it’s like driving through static. Visibility is garbage. In a weird way, I’m almost relieved my car gave out earlier—I can’t picture surviving five more minutes behind the wheel in this mess.

We crawl forward in tense silence. Then, out of nowhere, a deer bursts from the tree line and freezes right in our path, eyes glowing in the headlights. I scream. He swerves hard. The truck loses traction instantly and starts spinning, picking up speed on the slick surface.

One powerful arm shoots across my chest, pinning me back against the seat while he fights the wheel. It’s useless. We slide off the road, crashing through underbrush, snapping small trees like toothpicks as we barrel downhill. The truck finally slams to a stop, wedged tight between a cluster of thick evergreens halfway down the slope.

“f**k!” He pounds the steering wheel with both fists. “I don’t believe this s**t!” He whips his head toward me. “And where the hell was your seatbelt?”

I shrink against the door, heart trying to punch its way out of my ribs. “Sorry,” I whisper. My voice sounds pathetic even to me.

He drops his forehead onto the wheel, breathing hard for a few seconds. When he speaks again, his tone is lower, more controlled, though I can tell it’s costing him. “My bad for yelling. You okay?”

I nod quickly, not trusting myself to speak. In the reflection of his sunglasses, I look small and wide-eyed, like a startled animal.

He reaches back to check on the dog. “You good, Niko?” The big beast whimpers softly and licks his hand. “He’s fine,” he confirms, giving the dog’s head a rough rub.

He twists the key. Nothing. Just a sad click. The truck is dead.

“What now?” My voice cracks.

“Well, we’re fresh out of working vehicles. Unless you fancy walking in those heels or riding Niko like a pony, we’re not going anywhere.”

Pure terror floods through me. “We can’t stay here! You said we’d freeze or starve—”

“Shh!” He cuts me off sharply, making me jump. “Just breathe, alright? Both cars are toast. We’re still maybe a mile or more from the cabin—too far to hike in this, especially dressed like you’re heading to a boardroom. Chill about the shoes, by the way.”

“Can you drop the shoe commentary already?”

“Whatever.” He rubs his face. “Cassian should ease up tonight or tomorrow. We’ll flag down a plow when it comes. In the meantime, lucky for us I stocked up at the store earlier. Got enough food and drinks to last us a bit.”

Last of us? The words hang heavy.

“Plus there’s a thick blanket back there. Heavy wool. Should keep body heat in pretty well.”

I start trembling—half cold, half spiraling. Panic attacks and I go way back, ever since I was a kid. Being trapped in a wrecked truck in the woods with a stranger and his wolf-dog feels like the ultimate trigger. I hug myself tighter.

He reaches over and rests a hand on my knee. “Hey. We’ll be alright. Promise.”

I flinch away and wrap my arms even closer.

He sighs. “Look, there’s more room in the back seat. We should both get under that blanket. Better chance of staying warm.”

“What about the dog?” No way am I cuddling up next to that mountain of teeth and fur. I miss my cat Halo—soft, purring, zero threat.

“He’ll stay up front. All that fur makes him built for this weather. He’ll be fine.”

Great. So my options are freeze alone or share body heat with the tall, pierced, eyeliner-rocking cowboy in the back seat. What fresh circle of hell is this?

“Alright,” I mutter. “You first or…?”

“You climb back there. I’ll send Niko up front, then join you.”

I curse under my breath, unbuckle, and awkwardly scramble over the seats into the back. The blanket is folded there—thick, rough, and smelling faintly of pine and woodsmoke. I pull it over my lap like a shield and wait, nerves buzzing.

Whatever comes next, I just hope I don’t lose what’s left of my mind before the snow finally stops.