Chapter 2

T here were two routes from Montana to Steamboat Springs open to me. The first one took me through Billings, and down I-90 East, and on down through back country mountain terrain along the 120 to Craig, Colorado. From there, it’d be an easy hop to Steamboat Springs and the hotel.

Then I saw I’d save an hour heading down along the I-25, and then cutting over the 30 and then the 40 and through the mountains to Steamboat. Plus, when I checked the weather, it looked like it might snow, so it’d be smart to save as much time as possible.

I was a good driver on snow, and the Volvo would make me the safest thing around. All I had to do on the drive was to avoid any idiots, and I was very good at that. I packed the front seat with beef jerky and string cheese. Plus a few bags of Bugles, and a large four-pack of giant Reece’s peanut butter cups. I didn’t bring along any soda because Royce had told me over and over again that soda was bad for me and frankly, I was not up to hearing it again. So I packed a cooler with bottles of water and iced tea.

I was all set, and said goodbye at seven in the morning to the two lovebirds, who were headed to the airport to catch a small plane to DIA in Denver. From there, they’d be in first-class seats to Miami, where they’d catch their cruise.

I kissed Jonah and hugged Royce, and wished them both well. Waved goodbye to Grandad, who used his nine-iron to wave back at me, hopped in the Volvo, and blasted out of there. I hate long goodbyes, so it was good to be on the road at last.

The only problem with a six-hour drive, with the clouds coming down like a flat, gray slate, was that I had too much time to think. Sure, I hummed with the songs, and jumped in and out of audio books (Royce had turned me on to Bill Bryson’s In a Sunburned Country , and while I listened, sometimes I laughed so hard I almost peed myself).

Sometimes I just listened to the sound of my tires on the damp highway. Damp because it was starting to snow, light flakes that seemed to promise no harm.

In spite of the promise of no harm, the Rocky Mountains were a bunch of capricious bitches, and they did what they wanted, when they wanted. So as I drove up the highway, going toward Walden, it started to come down with a purpose, as if the clouds meant to bury everything hip-deep in snow.

I kept the wipers going double time, turned up the defogger on the back window and turned the blower on extra hot on the windshield. It barely made any difference, and for a good hour, I was looking through a sheet of snow that was only getting thicker as it came down.

Still, with part of my attention on the red-topped warning poles by the side of the road, I kept on the road. With the other part of my attention, my hands on the sturdy steering wheel, I kept my eye on the other cars. They were the real danger.

I was coming up to a slow driver in a dark Audi A8. The car was a high end rental, and I could tell that it was high end because some asshat coming from DIA in Denver didn’t have enough sense to drive into the mountains in a car with more ground clearance.

The road going over Rabbit Ears Pass was two lanes on the climb, so I eased around the Audi, intending to overtake in a gentle way so as not to piss him off. Guys in Audis tended to have big balls, dreams of having a big dick, and very little sense.

I pushed on the gas and sped up, slipping a little. Behind me, there was a line of cars just aching to stomp on the gas and go past the Audi.

Only just when I’d come alongside of him, the Audi veered to the right, sliding, doing a 180 before banging rear-first into the nearest pine tree. A ton of snow slipped from the trees and covered the hood, sliding like melted ice cream down his windshield.

To stay out of his way, I eased left, but then I had to ease right because that line of cars, so impatient to get to the slope, wasn’t going to wait for me any more than they’d been willing to wait for the Audi.

They all zipped past, using the left lane and whooshing like the devil. The Volvo, solid as it was, shuddered in the wake of all those cars.

I won’t say I lost control, because I never do, but I suddenly found that I was also doing a 180, just like the Audi had, slipping on a patch of almost invisible ice. I came to a stop without hitting anything, except I was facing backwards, half on the road, half on the shoulder, a slope of snow that led toward a frozen lake.

At least I was in one piece, and the Volvo was intact. The line of cars had all gone past, leaving everything still, except for the eerily silent and constant snowfall.

I looked at the snow piled on top of the Audi, waiting for somebody to get out. Nobody did.

I wondered if Highway Patrol might be along soon, because even though me and the law don’t get along too good, I’d be glad to see them. Maybe they could help the guy in the Audi.

But after a few minutes, the highway stayed still, except for the damn snow, and it looked like nobody was coming. My luck.

Nobody was coming so in spite of wanting to bet a move on so I could arrive at the Anchorage Hotel before midnight, I put the Volvo in neutral, left it running, double checked the parking brake, and got out.

The snow was soft, yet insistent as it came down. Inside of a minute, I had a layer of snow all over me. Shaking myself like a dog, I stalked in my big black Doc Martens over to the Audi.

I was about to go to the driver’s side, when I realized that the car was on an incline which turned into a drop-off. Below was Muddy Pass Lake, which I’d seen on the Google map I checked out before I left.

If the driver tried to get out on the driver’s side, he’d get roughly tumbled into the half-frozen water. Bending down, I could see the gap between car and sky, with one of the car’s tires hanging precariously in the air.

I yanked open the passenger door and said, “Get out this side buddy, or you and this car are gonna tumble into the lake.”

“What?” the man asked. He was drowning in an air bag, his hair messed. He had blood on his forehead, like had hit his head, though I couldn’t see where. And he was squinting at me, still coming down from the shock of the accident.

Old me would have left him there, I sure would. And I have to tell you I was running on empty, still mourning the fact that Jonah was marrying someone else—and I didn’t really have it in me.

But I was new me. Having been exposed to a whole shitton of Royce’s words of wisdom, having been a part of the Farthingdale Valley Fresh Start Program, which taught ex-cons (and me) the value of honesty, hard work, and perseverance, along with a whole bunch of other stuff that raised its ugly head, there wasn’t anything else I could do but the right thing.

“You got three wheels on the ice and one wheel in the air,” I said with just about all the patience that I had. “You move your weight that way?” I pointed past his shoulder, watched him watching me like I was a puzzle he didn’t want to solve but was realizing that he had to. “You will go into Muddy Pass Lake. It’s deep, so there will be no coming up for air before you freeze to death. Or.” I shrugged as if this was the least of his worries. “Or you get crushed by your car on the way down to the bottom. Your choice.”

“I’m—”

He paused, pushing the airbag away, the little that he could. Then he took a deep breath, sat up, and straightened his shoulders. Which looked very broad and impressive in that thin citified wool coat he was wearing. Totally not suitable for the weather or the terrain.

What was it with rich folks? Did they think the weather didn’t apply to them? Why did they always dress like they were only going as far as the taxi waiting in the street?

“I’m going to come out that way,” he said, like it’d been his idea all along. “Slowly.”

I nodded, and I didn’t know whether or not my hand on the door helped anything, like was it just enough of a counterweight to keep him from sliding into the lake, but I kept it there. Held on tightly while he crawled over the middle console and onto the leather passenger seat.

The interior of the Audi smelled like new leather, and from what I could see, the car was a beaut. But the back end was smashed and, the way it had crumpled, maybe the back axle was broken, as well. There was no repairing any of it. The car could only be sold for parts, if anyone cared to drag it out of the lake, that is.

For now, the car stayed stable while the man clambered out—he was pretty nimble for all he was so muscled and tall. I held onto the car while he grabbed a fancy black leather duffle bag and a matching overnight bag. You know, the kind on rollers that folks are sure is not too big to stuff into the overhead. But then, he would have travelled first class, and it wouldn’t have mattered how much luggage he had, as those overheads are enormous.

“Everything?” I asked. My hand was turning into one giant cramp and was turning blue on account of I didn’t have any gloves.

He looked at me. “Everything that matters.”

Obviously, the car didn’t matter at all. It was a rental and he could probably afford another one just like it and then some.

The second he was out of the car, I let go of the door, and yanked him back, grabbing onto his elbow, cause he was kind of standing there like a dumb fuck watching the Audi slide slowly, slowly along the icy shoulder, and over the edge. When it fell, there was a loud crack and the sound of metal crumpling, both sounds echoing across the frozen lake.

He looked at me, as white as the snow all around us.

He also looked like he wanted to barf, but he was way too manly for that. Then he got this I’m-in-charge expression that I wanted nothing to do with, cause he wasn’t the boss of me.

So I bent and grabbed a fresh clump of snow in my very cold hand, lifted my arm, and placed it on his temple, where it was bleeding.

“What the hell?” He clamped his hand over mine and there we were holding hands, kinda sorta, with my hand to his face like we were in a scene from some crazy gay holiday rom-com, and after a second he took his hand away.

“You’re bleeding a little bit,” I said. “Maybe you smacked your head. It doesn’t look bad, but you are bleeding, and I don’t want you to get any nasty stains on that fine collar of yours.”

With a nod, he bent and picked up some snow, pushed my hand away with the edge of his wrist, and put his own snow on his own head. I flicked bloodstained snow from my hand, leaving red circles on the white, and then he took his hand away and did the same.

“It’s fine,” he said, looking around as he pushed his shoulders back in a determined way. Red-tinged water slid down the side of his face. The collar of his coat was a darker wool than the rest of it. He kind of looked like he’d once been wearing a silk scarf, but that was probably at the bottom of the lake. “What do we do now?”

It wasn’t really a question. It sounded more like he was starting a to-do list that only he knew the contents of.

I looked up the road and squinted through the snow that batted at my eyelashes. For some reason, it’d taken me until now to realize there were no other cars on the road. That is, except for one snow-ladened state trooper car coming slowly in the single lane going down hill.

The trooper went right across the uphill lanes like he had the whole planet to himself and was unconcerned that he might get sideswiped by some asshat who didn’t see him. That was because there was nobody else on the road.

My suspicion that the road was getting shut down was confirmed when he walked over to us in his state trooper snow boots and his brown jacket with the Colorado state emblem on it.

There was the same emblem on his state trooper hat, complete with plastic snow guard, and also there was were a string of electric Christmas lights around the brim. I could see the single black cord going inside his jacket, like that’s where the little battery was. The lights blinked on and off, then blinked on and off again, red, green, blue, white, gold. Over and over. Ho-ho-ho.

The trooper shook his head, sending flakes of snow everywhere, and tugged on the edges of his super state trooper mittens.

“Looks like you had an accident,” said the state trooper, stating the obvious.

“I hit some ice, I think,” said the guy, not mentioning my thwarted attempt to pass him, which might or might not have added to the accident. Nor did he mention that all the other cars on the highway had been racing past him like they’d been shot out of a cannon.

“Let me get your info, sir, just in case.” The trooper pulled out his pad, and I had no idea what just-in-case was all about, or maybe he was just bored and wanted to fill out paperwork for a car that was most obviously at the bottom of a frozen lake and of no use to anybody.

The guy pulled out his wallet and handed his driver’s license to the state trooper. Then he snorted a laugh and said, “My registration and insurance are at the bottom of the lake, sir.”

This made me laugh too, though it wasn’t my joke.

The trooper wrote some stuff down, then paused to read the name on the driver’s license. “Alexander James Westmore. Where you headed, sir?”

“Up to Steamboat Springs,” said Alexander-James-Freaking-Westmore. “Call me Alex, please.”

“And you, sir?” the state trooper asked me. “What’s your name? Is that your Volvo?”

“Yeah,” I said. “That’s my rental.”

“Your name?”

“Beck,” I said, not sure how long I wanted to humor him for.

“Beck?” asked the trooper with a wince and a squint, like he’d suddenly thought he’d heard wrong.

“Malachi Beckett,” I said. “Do you need my license?”

“Were you part of the accident, sir?” he asked.

“No,” I said.

“Then where are you headed?”

“Same as him,” I said. Then I added, “Sir,” for good measure. “Got a little resort package reserved at the Anchorage.”

I noticed that Alex shot me a glance, but then he focused his attention on the state trooper, who was giving his driver’s license back to him, as well as a quickly filled out accident report. Alex’s wallet was thin and shiny, and made of good leather.

“Well, I hate to tell you,” said the trooper. “The snow and dangerous road conditions have closed down the top of Rabbit Ears pass,” he said. “You folks are going to have to head on down the mountain, as they are restricting access.”

“But I need to get to Steamboat Springs,” Alex said, because of course he would. Rich people had to get where they needed to go and to hell with Mother Nature. “My sister’s Lottie’s there with her new baby. My mom and dad. My brother. We were going to have Christmas together.”

I wasn’t expecting that to be the reason for his urgency. He didn’t mention some high power meeting. Or a date with a big bosomed lady. No, it was because of family.

I didn’t really have a family besides a crooked uncle, and Jonah and Royce, but I got it, I really did. I felt bad for him, but I wasn’t going to tell him that, because what was going to happen to my high-dollar room and expensive spa package? Not to mention the G&T I planned to have in that hot tub.

Looked like the trooper got it too, for he smiled in sympathy, but he was still shaking his head.

“How about this?” he asked. Then he pointed with his mittened hand across the three lands to a little sign next to what looked like an opening into the woods. “That’s the 307. Used to be the cutoff to the 14 before they decided it was easier to come around this hill. There’s a place called Whispering Pines Lodge. Maybe they have a room. If you can get one, you will be first in line when the road opens to Steamboat. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe the next day. Otherwise, you’re going to have to head down the 40 and pretty much go all the way down to Denver.”

“That sounds good,” said Alex, not at all pleased, but being super polite.

“How are you going to get there?” asked the state trooper. “Looks like your car is underwater. Anyone else in the vehicle?”

“No.” Alexander snapped the word, as though affronted at the insinuation that he’d be standing around while his passenger was drowning.

“I’ve got your information,” said the state trooper. “But you and your friend here are going to have to skedaddle off this mountain.”

I wasn’t his friend, and I didn’t feel like skedaddling. What I had wanted was to get to Steamboat so I could put up my feet, and have a drink of alcohol in a frosted glass while I watched the snow come down. But that didn’t happen, of course, as I realized that the only way Alex was getting anywhere was if I took him.

Sure, old me could have left him by the roadside to freeze to death or whatever. But I was new me, wasn’t I.

“I’ll take you,” I said to Alex’s very broad back as the trooper walked back to his SUV.

“What?” Alex asked, turning on me like I’d been impertinent and interrupted a far more important conversation.

“I want to get to Steamboat as fast as I can, mister,” I said. “Sounds like Whispering Pines is the closest thing to a good place to wait for the road to be open. They’ll have rooms.”

I didn’t know whether they would, but I spoke confidently, like I knew all about it. The snow wasn’t stopping, and my hands were freezing.

Alex’s head had stopped bleeding, but he looked like he’d been in a fight and very much wanted all the bad things to stop happening to him. Only there wasn’t enough money in all the world to make that happen. All he had was me and my Volvo for rescue.

“We need to get out of the snow,” I said, slowly and carefully, as though he was much younger and very foolish. “I’ll drive. We can figure it out when we get there.”

“Okay.”

He tightened his mouth after he said this one word, like he’d just signed a contract with the very devil. I looked down at myself, at my black Doc Marten’s, my black jeans with the hole in the knee, and the ratty hem of my black t-shirt. The t-shirt hem draggled below the hem of the only nice thing I was wearing, a blue fleece jacket that Royce had gotten for me against my protests.

“I know I’m not much to write home about,” I said with a bit of a snarl. “But I am your rescuer here.”

For a moment, he looked me up and down, his eyes dark as they appraised me. What color were those eyes, anyway? Deep blue? Some kind of hazel?

I’d find out soon, not that it would make any difference. He wasn’t my type, and guys like Alexander James Freaking Westmore did not go out with guys like me, guys from Five Points, with no college education, and no bank account to write home about.

“So?” I asked. “Alexander James Westmore, you want me to leave you here or are you coming with.”

“Coming with,” said Alex. “But call me Alex, if you would.”

Ooooh, he had manners, too. Royce would have liked this guy, and Jonah, by association, would have liked him, as well. Too bad I’d never be bringing cool-as-a-cucumber Alex home with me any time soon.

“Well, let’s go,” I said. With my hands in my pockets, I pointed with my elbow at the Volvo. “If any car can get us there, it’s this one.”

“Nice,” he said, and then he surprised me. “Thank you for the ride. And for stopping. I’d be in that lake if it wasn’t for you.”

He wiped at his forehead, seeming a little dazed as he looked at the snow coming down thick and fast. Maybe he was overcome with the fate he escaped, or maybe he could not believe he was going to let some dicy-looking stranger give him a lift to a country lodge in the middle of the forest that might or might not have rooms.

Frankly, I was a little surprised at myself, at new me, though I didn’t have any idea how all this might look in the morning. But I led the way to the Volvo and got in, reaching over to move stuff from the passenger seat into the back so he could slide in. As he did, his eyes lit up at the bag of Bugles that still sat on the console between us.

“Help yourself,” I said. “I always have eats and treats when I’m on a road trip.”

“Thank you,” he said and with a sigh, he stuffed a small handful of Bugles into his lovely mouth. Then he smiled at me as crunched away, then said, “I’m not dead.”

“No, Alex, you are not.”

I laughed and waited while he buckled in, then slowly trundled across three lanes of snowy highway, and turned onto the road into the woods. The road was white between the trees, with the only thing breaking up the snow was a single set of what looked like deer tracks.

“Here we go,” I said, and turned the wheel into what looked like no-man's-land, but which would hopefully end up taking us to a hotel that had rooms for the night.

Ho ho, fucking ho.