Page 31 of The Spice Is Nice

“Not much of a shoulder here with that drop-off to the river.” I gripped the wheel tighter. Visibility was maybe ten feet. “If we push through slowly, it might clear in a few miles.”

The sleet got worse, coating the road, the tires slipping. I dropped our speed to a crawl. The heater blasted, trying to keep the windows from fogging. Ivy wiped the passenger side with her sleeve, peering into the storm.

“Shit. Headlights are coming up behind us.” I checked the mirror. Bright, high beams drew up too fast for this road and weather. They closed the gap, and something about the height and spacing of the lights, the aggressive speed, made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

“Hold on.” I accelerated slightly, testing the road, feeling the tires search for grip. The headlights behind us didn’t back off. They swung into the oncoming lane and surged forward, pulling alongside us, and in the flash of lightning that split the sky, I made out the shape. Black SUV. Tinted windows. The same vehicle I’d seen at the rally and in the motel parking lot.

“Oh my God. Is that—” Ivy saw it too, but cut off and gasped when the SUV swerved, deliberately slamming into us. The shock sent us off the road, the tires losing the pavement and finding the muddy shoulder and then down the embankment, the world tilting sideways as we plowed into the river and came to a grinding stop on the embankment.

The impact threw me forward, but the airbags didn’t deploy. The engine sputtered and died.

“Ivy, you okay?” I turned to her. The air left my lungs. She was slumped against the passenger door, her forehead pressed to the window, a smear of blood on the glass. If I had to guess, I’d say her head had connected with the frame. Her eyes were closed, and her body was limp against the seatbelt.

“No. No. Ivy?” I called, frantic and louder. My hands surrounded her face, turning it gently. A cut above her right temple bled, but her pulse was still strong under my fingers.

I set her back down and tried the engine. Nothing. Tried again. Same result. I checked my phone. No signal.

“Not good.” I smeared the frost on my side window and peered out. The back half of the truck was in the river, the front on the muddy bank. The storm hammered with no relief, turning back into torrents of rain, when suddenly, upstream, I could make out a wall of water barreling down the river toward us, almost doubling it in size. I had maybe a minute before it slammed into the truck, carrying us away.

“Fuck.” This was bad. Lightning pulsed through the storm, and something caught my eye. The flash had highlighted a window in a little cabin ahead of us. I could barely make it out, maybe about fifty yards away. I sprang into action, and somehow managed to get out, drag Ivy across the seat and over my shoulder, then scrambled up the bank before the water hit and carried the truck with it.

I ran to the cabin, praying like hell it’d be a place of refuge for us for the night.

Chapter 12

Shelter in Place

Colt

The danger-fueledadrenaline pushed me beyond my limits. I kicked open the cabin door on the second try. The small log structure had a single stone fireplace, and I noticed plenty of firewood under a tarp on the covered front porch. This was probably a seasonal cabin, occupied by people during the summer when the weather was nicer. Maybe hunters during hunting season. No-one was around now, and that was all that mattered.

I laid Ivy on the couch and went back out for wood. I pulled a small dining table fashioned from thick logs in front of the door to keep it closed. Once we were rescued, I’d come back here with Knox to replace the doorknob and lock and leave a letter of apology.

With kindling, newspaper, and a few logs, I got a fire going. I fed it until the heat was pushing back the damp, cold air.

Then I went back to her. Soaking wet, hair plastered to her face, skin cold to the touch when I pressed my hand toher cheek. The cut on her temple had stopped bleeding, but should be cleaned and bandaged. Her body temperature was the immediate problem now, and it didn’t care about head injuries.

I stripped her wet clothes off efficiently. Boots, socks, jeans. Her flannel shirt peeled away from her skin. Her black bra, soaked through, cotton padding holding water like a sponge. At last her wet panties, and holy hell, I tore my eyes away. There was no time to worship her body the way I wanted to. I wrapped her in the blanket there, draped her clothes over the mantel to dry, and went in search of a first-aid kit and more blankets.

I found several supplies in the bathroom cabinet. Three more wool blankets, a down comforter, and a quilt and pillows in the bedroom. And sweats and flannel shirts in the drawers.

When I returned to the couch, her body was shaking. Working quickly, I laid everything out on top of her, and then tended to her forehead. I cleaned the wound and bandaged it, best I could.

The fire was going well now, and heat began to fill the small space. The bedroom was too far, though, on the opposite side of the kitchen. I shifted the couch out of the way, and tugged the mattress from the bed, setting it on the floor in front of the fire, and then Ivy on top of it. Even with all the blankets on her freezing body, it wasn’t enough.

She stirred, half-awake. “C-c-cold,” her teeth chattered, eyes closed.

There was only one thing left to do to help bring herbody temperature back up, and my wet clothes didn’t help the situation at all.

I stripped down, used a pillowcase to dry off, and climbed under the pile beside her. The shock of her cold skin against mine made me hiss through my teeth. I held her against me and rubbed warmth into her back and arms, gathered her wet hair off her shoulder, and settled my chin on it.

Outside, the storm raged. Inside, the fire crackled and popped, and I lay on a strange mattress with a woman semi-conscious in my arms. This wasn’t exactly how I’d fantasized about a night with Ivy before now.

“Stay with me. I’ll keep you warm all night,” I promised, like a mantra over and over.

It seemed forever, but finally her shivering slowed. Her skin warmed. Her breathing steadied, deeper, more natural. I drifted off, too. For a time, we both slept.

I felt the exact moment she returned—her body going rigid against mine, every muscle locking as she registered the dark and the warmth and the body pressed against hers. She turned to face me.