Snowed In

2. Darren

2

DARREN

“So where is this meeting place?” sweet little Cheyenne asks in her musical voice, turning a shy smile that warms me like the missing sun.

It’s amazing, going alone with her for once. Amazing, exhilarating... dangerous. Every time traffic brings us to a stop, I drink her in. She’s pixyish and delicate, with high cheekbones and enormous sea-blue eyes. Her shampoo smells like tangerines and leaves flame highlights in her autumn-colored hair. Sitting in my black Mercedes SUV, fighting the Boston traffic on our way out of town, she gives me a soft gaze whenever she thinks I’m not looking; she’s relaxing me just by being present.

“My hunting lodge has been in the family for six generations. It was just sitting there vacant on the side of the mountain for twelve years. It was a mess when I came three years ago.

“The renovations are almost done now. Should be all done by end of spring.” My voice is calm and cheerful, ignoring what those gentle, stolen looks are already doing to my libido.

I’ve wanted her for two and a half years—to carry her around a room with my c**k inside of her. I want to pin her hands and ride her until she orgasms and screams my name. I want to give us both what we crave—and not for just one night.

Unfortunately, circumstances in my life don’t give a s**t about what either of us want. That pisses me off sometimes. Especially when my ear is still ringing from Crystal’s interrogations.

“Where are you going? Who are you going with? When are you getting back?” s**t, we’re not even living together, and she’s already like this. Crystal’s neurotic about our engagement, and with good reason. We all know it’s happening because her vicious, greedy father is forcing me.

Her attempts to control every aspect of my life is driving me up the wall almost as fast as her verbal nastiness and dead-fish s*x drive. This marriage will be a nightmare.

And yet I can’t see a way out of it.

“The lodge sounds lovely,” Cheyenne remarks thoughtfully. “Do you work on it to get away from the city?”

Cheyenne often asks about my woodworking hobby; I restore and create objects from wood. It relaxes me. She’s aware that Crystal is on me to quit, calling my hobby “plebian.”

Yet another reason why I long to toss the b***h out of my life and take up with someone I really like. Someone like Cheyenne. “That’s pretty much it, yeah. I’m hoping that proving my rustic side will encourage him to sign, since he loves it so much up here.”

Abrams is kind of a crackpot. When you’re ready to die, he withdraws into the wilderness instead of going to Boston or any other city large enough to have a cancer center. It’s hard not to consider that irrational.

I go quiet, navigating us through a traffic clog. A guy in a red Lexus up is showing some signs of road rage, swerving from lane to lane and stepping on the gas pedal. The blaring horn echoes back at us.

“He’ll sign anyway if you tell him Crystal’s father’s plans.” The tiny edge in Cheyenne’s voice makes me glad that she’s on my side. She’s a smart and fierce little lady.

Makes me want her even more.

She’s also right. Dr. Brian Hiltman, my future father-in-law, also my greatest rival and the biographer of my dismal fate, wants to keep anything off the market that might constitute a definitive cancer cure. Because of my father’s murder and his partner’s abrupt retirement, Abrams’ patents are for medicines whose potential has never been fully explored.

Hiltman Pharmaceuticals makes fifty-eight percent of its profits on drugs used to treat various forms of cancer. All of them have a success rate of seventy out of a hundred, but their mediocre results mean more treatments, which means more drugs sold. A new chemotherapy regime with a high enough success rate would kill Hiltman’s market share.

That’s why I’m doing this. Or at least, the selfish part of why. I’d rather see more people free of cancer without going bankrupt in the process, but watching Hiltman’s corporate stock tank, so I can buy the company out from under the old prick sounds like fitting revenge for what he’s doing to me.

Too bad I can’t make it happen before the marriage is official.

“You’re right, as usual. He needs to meet me on what is still technically company property. And he insisted we stay out of the city.” I watch as the road maniac tangles with an old Ford LTD that suspiciously looks like a retired cop car.

“I wonder why,” she muses.

“Abrams will not talk about why he wishes to stay out of towns larger than a thousand people. But he won’t go near them, and he won’t enter a hospital. He’d rather let the cancer take him, and...I have no idea why.”

I can’t keep the grim tone out of my voice. We all went somewhat crazy after my father’s poisoning. But Abrams never recovered.

The red car bounces off the speeding truck, and swerves uncontrollably for a moment, trailing sparks and bits of shattered fender. I slow down and change lanes to put more distance between us.

“Holy crap,” Cheyenne utters as she watches the red car bounce off the median and speed away. “Do you think they were drunk?”

“No, this is Boston. Drivers get riled up over nothing.” I let the road-rager drive out of sight before speeding up and getting back into the fast lane. “Don’t worry. I’ll get us there safely.”

“I don’t have a doubt,” she says with a tender warmth, and it catches me off guard in the wake of the driving stress. My d**k stirs slightly in my pants as I’m reminded again that the woman I really want sits beside me.

Why didn’t I take you when we had the chance? Our interest in each other—perceptibly and deliciously mutual—has always been there. Somehow, something was always in the way that kept me from sealing the deal.

First it was the age difference. And she was my employee as well. I was also dating a succession of petite girls and secretly screwing them to avoid being perceived as a predatory boss. And now it’s too late.

“We might run into some rain and wind coming down the mountain, but things should go smoothly otherwise. We’ll grab a snack while we’re there. I stocked the place for my cousin last weekend.” The traffic thins as we get further away from Boston, but I still feel broody and tense.

I kept making excuses not to fall deeper for Cheyenne. Then Hiltman showed up six months ago with his predatory frown and some solid blackmail material. He was there to make certain if he couldn’t own my company, his grandson—my future son—would.

So, I’ve been taking steps. But I’m still trapped into this wedding. Right after Christmas no less. My favorite time of year will be ruined anticipating that.

"Darren...look." Cheyenne hesitates. I brace myself, knowing what it's about even before she finishes with, "Why are you going through with this wedding? You don’t seem happy about it."

"It's not a marriage for happiness," I sigh, keeping my eyes on the road. It comes out sounding like an apology, and it should be. I won’t ignore what lies unspoken between us.

"What is this marriage for then? You don’t need more riches. Crystal is a complete—"

"I know." I cut her off with slight irritation. "She's more a piece of angry baggage than a person, especially with her passive aggression and all the spoiling her father has done."

"Well, she's still a person." She’s not looking at me. When I glance over, she's staring out the window. "But she's a terrible person."

"Yes. It’s frustrating." I briefly rub my face with my shifting hand and then settle it back on the steering wheel. "She actually thought we were going to ditch her for the weekend."

"Hey, I'd be up for it," she laughs shyly. "Not sure about using the hunting lodge to hunt though."

"I usually hunt with my game cameras, you know that." I chuckle, but behind it, I'm getting more desperate.

She's right. If I had control over the situation, I’d never see Crystal or her parasite father again. Yet if I do that, he'll send what he's got to my board of directors. I'm still the majority shareholder, but they can still make things difficult if he stirs them up enough.

What Hiltman’s got will certainly stir them up. It’ll be like kicking a hornet's nest. And I'm at least half to blame for that blackmail material, because I was careless after my father’s death.

Cheyenne asks me about the trail cams. When I mention some of the better footage, she nods along. We're both distracted; there's a weight over us. At least she’s willing to let the subject of my wedding drift away.

The nuptials loom closer with each day. And with it, any chance that I can take Cheyenne for my own. At least, in any way that doesn't involve massive scandal and a messy divorce.

"Anyway, last fall, a windstorm came through and knocked a tree limb into one of my cameras. Wonder what is going on with the weather these days? It seems like the seasons keep overlapping."

It's actually pretty troubling. Snow seasons the last few years have been too early, too late, or too heavy. Or there's been no snow at all, like two years ago, up until some blizzards in early March.

"Well, I hope we don't have any snow until the end of the month," she grumbles.

I'm happy to be spending time alone with her now, with no one giving me trouble about it, except for Crystal—but she gives me trouble about everything.