Page 330 of Steamy Ever After

Not that it matters. The battery is down to less than five percent and won’t last much longer.

The engine sputters, coughs, and dies. The heater quits. A chill creeps in through the windows. I place my palm against the glass and withdraw with a hiss. There are only a few hours left until midnight, which means it will only get colder outside.

Thanks to that damned moose, I’m half-buried in a ditch. Real fear sets in as the encroaching cold seeps through the metal of my car.

There’s no way to get my Jeep out of the ditch. I try to crank the engine over, but nothing happens.

Do I wait out the storm? If I get the engine running, is it safe to keep it going? I remember something about keeping the exhaust clear, but with less than a quarter tank of gas, the engine won’t last through morning.

Staying warm and dry is my top priority.

And finding help.

Twice, I turn the key, but the engine refuses to start. Do I stay with the vehicle? Or will I be safer walking along the road?

The wind dies down. A stillness hangs over the countryside. It’s oddly tranquil as the snow continues to fall.

If it wasn’t for my life and death situation, I might take a moment to admire the beauty of it all, but there’s no time for that.

First objective - stay warm.

Well, walking will generate body heat. Sitting in the car won’t.

A glance back at the jumble of my luggage and I make a decision.

I have a thin coat, a hat, plenty of shirts, and even a pair of sweats. Layers will be the key.

“Sorry, Boston, you’re on your own.” That poor fern doesn’t stand a chance.

I lost you too soon.

I feel bad about leaving the fern behind, but what am I going to do? Tuck it under my arm? Carry it in the crook of my elbow? It shouldn’t mean as much to me as it does—it’s a plant—but I need that poor fern to survive.

After many contortions inside the vehicle, I’m out of breath but warmer. I layered on seven shirts and shoved my legs into a pair of sweats, tugging them over my jeans. I don’t have anything but sneakers and sandals in my luggage.

Hello, California girl here!

A good pair of boots would be nice.

One last look outside makes me weigh the pros and cons of leaving my Jeep. Once I step outside, there’s no telling how deep the drifts might be. Cold feet will make walking difficult. But cold, wet feet will make my trek downright treacherous.

Not to mention the very real and present danger of frostbite.

Shit, I don’t have the experience for this.

Turning back to my luggage, I grab three sets of socks, just in case the pair I have on gets wet during my climb out of the ditch. I grab another pair to put over my hands in place of gloves.

Time to go.

I give a silent prayer, hoping someone happens to be cruising the highway.

I shove and then kick the door to get it open. Once I get the door open wide enough, I slip out and promptly sink to my knees.

Frigid air bites my nose. My cheeks prickle with the cold. Snow encases my feet, freezing my ankles.

I’m so screwed.

“Nice way to extend the welcome mat, Montana.” I spit at the wind, cursing my current predicament.

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