Fifteen
After two nerve-wracking days on the road driving through a monster winter storm that had turned all seven hundred or so miles into a sloppy nightmare of sleet, ice, and snow and a night spent in an uncomfortable hotel bed, they were finally approaching Henry’s home. Lindsay shouldn’t have the energy left to be awed by the sight of the Northstar Valley and its guarding mountains under a thick blanket of snow and a thicker ceiling of dark clouds, but as Henry drove north on the scenic byway and that view unfolded before her, all traces of weariness fled, and she leaned forward in her seat to better see out the windshield. Plumes of snow wafted over the mountains and foothills, and all the color had been leeched from the world but the hint of gray-blue that was the pine and fir fore
