Page 23 of Whiteout

With a lift of his brow, he grinned. “Well, I’d say you’re about to find out.”

The snow-covered road curved to the left, sharply inclined, and then went right, coming out of a forest of trees. And there in the clearing stood Dalton House. Grand, rustic elegance. The house—no, scratch that—the mansion appeared to be three levels. Stacked stone, timber, and glass. Blue sky and snow-capped peaks for a backdrop.

Holyyy…

Words escaped her. Breanna didn’t know what she’d been expecting, but it sure wasn’t this. She smirked. “Must have been for the lovely view.”

“Well, they do say it’s better from the top.” With a soft chuckle, he stopped and threw the truck into park. “I’m glad you’re all right, Miss Dalton.”

“It’s Breanna.” She smiled.

“Jordy.” He smiled back with a dip of his chin. Coming around with her duffel bag, Jordy opened her door and gave her a hand out of the truck. “Watch your step now. It can get slippery.”

The large stained wood door, inset with squares of beveled glass, opened as they approached. A woman stood just inside the threshold. Hair more salt than pepper, cut in a shoulder-length bob. Black horn-rimmed glasses accentuated her perfectly arched brows. Dark red lipstick. Her makeup was impeccable.

Grandmama?

Immediately, she dismissed the thought. This woman, while older, appeared to be far too young to have a son who would’ve been forty-three if he were still living. With fillers, Botox, and whatnot, it was hard to tell these days, but Breanna guessed the woman to be in her mid-fifties—sixty at most.

Clutching her sweater tight around her middle, she waved, hastening them inside. “Thank God, we’ve been so worried.”

“She’s all right, ‘cept for that goose egg on her noggin. Must’ve knocked it pretty hard.” Jordy closed the door behind them. “Found her down in one of the hunting cabins—the one by the stream.”

“Goodness, it’s a miracle you found the place. You surely have a guardian angel looking out for you,” the woman said, inspecting the bump on her forehead.

Sinjin.

Though she’d hardly describe her dark savior as an angel.

“We’ll have to get Randall up here to take a look at her.”

“I’ll call him.” Nodding, Jordy looked at Breanna. “He’s the chief paramedic down in the village. Darn good one, too. Closest doctor is in Sacramento, and that’s a couple of hours from here.”

“I’m fine.” She forced a smile. “Really.”

“Better safe than sorry.” Her arm circled Breanna’s shoulders, and she took her bag from Jordy with the other. “Mr. St. John asked me to extend his thanks. He’s on a Zoom call with a client, or he’d have told you so himself. Let me know when we can expect Randall.”

“Will do, Francie.”

“You’ll be here for Thanksgiving dinner, won’t you?”

“As long as the weather holds.” He winked. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

Breanna’s gaze flitted around the grand foyer, though it was much too large to call it that. The space was bigger than her and Kayleigh’s entire apartment. Stacked stone and textured walls. Exposed wood beams in the ceiling, a massive chandelier of black antlers suspended from three floors above.

“You take care now, Miss Breanna.” The sheriff tipped his hat. “You’re in excellent hands with Francie here. I’ll be seeing you.”

“Thank you, Jordy.”

He just smiled, and with that, he was gone.

“How about I take you up to your room?” The woman Jordy called Francie led her toward the right side of an imperial staircase. “We can get you settled while Mr. St. John concludes his business.”

“Derek St. John or the other one?”

“Yes, Derek.” She lowered her gaze. “There’s only one, dear.”

“Oh.” St. John, Maynard & St. John. “There were two on the letter.”

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