Page 2 of Whiteout

“But—” It’s not even snowing yet.

“Sorry, miss.” He pointed toward the little store. “Hank’s got ‘em if you’re needing some. Seventy-five bucks and he’ll put ‘em on for you too. Have you back on the road in a jiffy.”

“Okay, thanks,” Breanna assented, raising the window. “This is some bullshit. Hank must be raking it in.”

Figuring she might as well top off her tank before heading inside the store, Breanna pulled up to the gas pump. A cold gust slapped her in the face as she exited the car, making her clench the unzipped jacket tightly around her middle. Trees danced on either side of the road, their naked branches bending to the will of the wind in the thickening darkness. Gazing heavenward, the slate-gray altostratus ominously churned.

Triggered by a familiar tickle in her nose, she sniffed the air. The scent of an approaching storm mingled with sweet benzene. Breanna zipped her worn, black leather bomber, and winding a scarf around her neck, made her way across the small parking lot. Bells attached to the door clanked into the glass as she wrestled with it, a sudden squall pushing her inside.

It was as if the passage of time had forgotten this place. To her left was a small diner with a checkered floor, red vinyl seats, and an old-fashioned soda fountain. To her right, a counter with rows of penny candy—cost twenty times that now—and a cash register. In front of her were several aisles of grocery essentials and sundries.

A balding head popped up from behind the counter. “Need something, miss?”

“Yes. Yes, I do. Chains.” Behind her, the door burst open again. Breanna shivered, tingles creeping down her spine. “The officer at the checkpoint told me to see Hank.”

“That’s me.” Pointing a thumb backward at his chest, he cracked a crooked grin, revealing a crooked front tooth. “I’m Hank.”

“Can you put them on for me?”

“Be happy to.” His head bobbed. “Where’s your car?”

“Right outside,” she said, handing him the keys. “The white Miata.”

Breanna heard a snicker at her back. A voice, smooth and deep, muttered low, “Figures. Damn girly car.”

She whirled around to find six feet of rugged man standing behind her. Bearded. Suede coat lined with sheepskin. A black Stetson on his head. Dark hair brushed his shoulders. Eyes the color of whiskey. “Yeah, well, I am a girl.”

“I can see that.” Smirking, he dropped his head to the side and winked.

Probably drives one of those big-ass pickup trucks to compensate for having a tiny dick.

Flustered by the stranger’s boldness, Breanna turned back to Hank. “How long will it take?”

“Not too long,” he assured her. The crooked grin fixed on his face, he bobbed his head to the left. “Why don’t you get yourself a cup of coffee while you wait? Have a piece of banana cream pie. My wife makes it. Best damn pie in the world, trust me.”

“Can’t pass that up, now can I?” She smiled at Hank, side-eyeing the tall, dark, imposing stranger. Brushing past him, Breanna took a seat on a vinyl-covered stool at the end of the counter.

Sweet on her tongue, she licked thick, whipped cream from her lips. Hank did not exaggerate. The pie was chef’s kiss, and the coffee sublime, especially after the gas station sludge she’d been existing off of.

Rubbing his hands together, cheeks reddened, Hank came behind the counter as she washed down the last of her pie with a sip of coffee. “You’re all set, miss.”

“Great, thanks.” Breanna handed him her credit card.

He just held it in his hand, staring at it. “Dalton, huh? You any relation to Valerie?”

“Yeah, she’s my grandmother. Why? You know her?”

Tucking his tongue into the corner of his lip, Hank nodded. “Well, I’ll be goddamned. I had no idea. You’d have to be Shane’s girl then.”

“That’s right.”

Brows cinching together, his eyes flicked to the windows behind her. “It’s startin’. Best get you on your way.”

The bold one sat in a booth. Hat on the table, a mug of coffee poised at his mouth, he shook his head. “Suicide. Chains or no chains, she’s gonna slide right off the mountain in that thing.”

Standing up from the stool, Breanna sniggered. “It’s just a few snowflakes.”

Slowly, he swiped his tongue across his lip and grinned.

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