CHAPTER THREE

HOPE

" Being buried alive isn't on my bingo card this year…"

I start my car and wait for it to heat. The windows are foggy, but at least it's no longer icy out, though who knows how long that'll last.

It's been a few days since my little adventure, and honestly, sometimes I question if it was even real considering how fantastical it felt riding through a storm with a hot cowboy intent on keeping me safe.

That night I immediately searched for western romances to add to my Kindle, imagining a chestnut-haired man with brown eyes as the hero in all of them.

Which is ridiculous , I remind myself for the hundredth time. But once my mind latches onto something or someone, it refuses to let go.

Case in point, I harbored a flicker of hope for a crush I had in college—a guy I hadn't seen in years, yet when he responded to something I posted on social media, I imagined a whole story where we met again and fell in love. That is, until he met someone, fell in love, and married them .

That shut down those unwarranted fantasies real quick.

Now, my head is happy to insert a new man with fresh possibilities. Like I'm playing freaking Whack-a-Mole with any random guy who shows me attention.

Not entirely true.

I don't cling to every guy who has ever been nice to me, just the ones I find immensely attractive. Intriguing.

And Samuel is definitely those things.

Shoving an image of the gruff rancher out of mind, I turn my wipers on to clear the windshield of melted frost and decide it's good enough for the drive into town.

I don't have a lot of time to finish my shopping today, since the forecast is calling for snow, but those things are never exact, right?

Should've bought everything online.

Carrie's birthday is this weekend, and I want to go all out for her thirtieth. I don't have a family to celebrate, so showering friends with love and gifts is the next best thing.

However, maybe this time, I should've opted for the easy shipping option versus supporting local businesses as the car cruises down the drive to the main road, which is really an old two-lane highway that hardly anyone uses, instead choosing to take the major interstate that cuts through Guardian Valley.

A sign for Harper's Landing crops up to my right, and I'm reminded again of Samuel and the embarrassing realization that he does not, in fact, work for Braden.

After explaining to Carrie what had happened while Braden listened in, he'd corrected my assumption that Samuel was some kind of ranch hand or stables manager. Which meant I'd trespassed on the man's land and forced him to go out of his way to return me to where I belonged.

I wince again at my mistake and direct my attention back to the road. Nothing I can do to change what happened now.

Samuel has probably forgotten all about me anyway…

Guardian Valley is a cute small town that I'm sure Hallmark would try to emulate if they knew it existed. As it stands, it barely warrants a mention on the map, despite I-90 running through it.

It's unfortunate because once you drive the five minutes to reach its downtown area, Guardian Valley sucks you in, especially during the holiday season.

Which may be year-round judging by the current decor on Main Street.

The shops are lined with lit garlands, the real kind that saturates the air with the fresh scent of pine. Every square inch of space houses pumpkins, twinkling lights, and the friendliest witches and ghosts I've ever seen in honor of Halloween.

After crossing the last item off my list two hours later, I load the wrapped presents and decorations into my trunk and prepare to head home. Thick snowflakes melt on my skin and dot my glasses, and as I look around, I realize I must have been in the antique store longer than I thought because a layer of white covers the street and my car.

Apprehension settles in my stomach, but I remind myself that it's just a little snow, not a blizzard. As I get further away from town, though, conditions worsen, and I regret even thinking about a blizzard.

Shouldn't red and orange leaves be floating on a gentle breeze? Why is it freaking snowing this hard in October? This is not the autumn I signed up for.

Visibility drops to nearly zero as I turn off the radio like that will help me concentrate better. Hunching over the steering wheel, I push the wipers to go as fast as possible, but they struggle to keep up with the snowflakes that seem to have doubled in size in the last ten minutes.

Stay calm, you're okay. Drive slow, and you'll be fine.

My heart is beating out of my chest. My anxiety rising in exact correlation with the falling temperatures outside. Thoughts of colliding with an oncoming vehicle or hitting a deer crossing the road whisk through my brain.

Would a deer be out in the open during a snowstorm?

Oh my god.

I'm dumber than a deer who is smart enough to know to stay sheltered when snow is predicted.

Calm down, you're spiraling.

A random coping method pops into my head, but it's hard to remember all the steps when I'm literally driving in a snow globe. I shift my foot across the pedal, letting up on the gas to slow down more, but the wet rubber sole slips and hits the brake, causing the car to jerk and then swerve.

I lift my foot completely off the pedal, hoping the car will correct itself, but we keep sliding until there's a dip, and the car slams into a ditch. My body lurches forward before it's yanked back by my seatbelt, the edges cutting into my skin. The airbag deploys, bursting in my face like a freaking punch from a professional boxer, sending my glasses askew.

"Ow…" I groan.

I'm leaning towards the right at this angle, and my purse and phone lay on the floor of the passenger side.

Adrenaline courses through my veins and overloads my system, so all I can do is sit here even as I'm being buried by the storm outside.

Time passes slowly, and I think of the times I fell off my bike as a kid. Laying flat on the blacktop. Fighting to catch my breath and feeling like I was dying instead.

Eventually, my fight or flight kicks in, and I manage to turn the keys so the car turns off. Wouldn't do to die of carbon monoxide poisoning, right?

Much better to succumb to freezing temps , I laugh to myself, a sense of panic settling in.

I give myself another minute to feel scared then gather my courage and make a plan. What do those survival skills shows say to do in a situation like this? Stay in the car and wait to be found? Or venture into the unknown and increase your chances of running into someone?

A huff of frustration fills the car. How am I supposed to remember important life-saving tips in the middle of needing my life saved? My brain has gone to mush with all the firing synapses!

Snow completely covers the windows as I twist to look in the back. That's it, decision made. Being buried alive isn't on my bingo card this year, so I unbuckle my seatbelt, stretch to get my things, and attempt to open the door.

The heavy weight hardly budges, especially at this angle with gravity keeping it shut. I maneuver around until I can push out with my feet, which brings down an avalanche of freezing snow.

A short scream escapes before I spit out snow and wipe off my glasses. Stupid, terrible vision! It's bad enough I can't see in regular conditions, now it's near impossible with blurred lenses that I can't clean properly in the middle of a blizzard.

Get it together, Hope.

My legs bend again to shove at the door until it swings wide enough to balance straight up without tumbling back into my face. Maneuvering around the deflated airbag and steering wheel, I crawl out.

My unprotected hands sink into a mountain of snow. Glancing around, the dark blur of the road stands out but not much else. I slip and fall a few times before my feet feel steady beneath me, and I begin walking in the direction of Braden's home.

It can't be too far. As long as I stay straight, I'll see his driveway and be safe in no time. Piece of cake.

So, I trudge forward singing that old song from Santa Claus is Comin' to Town .

"Put one foot in front of the other," I sing, "And soon you'll be walking out the door!"

If anyone saw me at this point, I'm sure they'd have me committed, but you do what you have to to survive. The weatherman called for snow. Pretty, white, not-dangerous snow . Not a sudden killer blizzard!

Soon enough, a mailbox covered in snow appears in my hazy vision—a man-made contraption instead of a spindly tree! A shout of glee erupts as I raise my fists in victory.

"Yes!"

I made it.

I actually made it.

Racing ahead, I'm immediately brought back to Earth as my feet slide out from under me, and I slam onto my back.

"Right. Can't run. Slick ground," I mutter.

Rolling to my knees, I carefully stand and follow the slightly raised drive until a small white-washed home comes into view—one that doesn't belong to Braden.

It'll have to do.

Because, at this point, I need heat before losing a finger or toe, so I pray a serial killer doesn't live here and raise a fist to knock on the door.