“You okay?” Ryder asks.
“I’m fine,” I say, the words clipped.
After what feels like an eternity of tense silence, the lights of Mudsbury appear through the snow-streaked windshield. The streets are empty except for parked cars covered in thick snow. Even the gas station’s neon sign glows dim through the storm. Ryder turns onto Main Street, keeping the truck steady as it slides on the fresh powder.
“Bus depot’s just up ahead,” he says, breaking our long silence.
I know something is wrong as soon as it comes into view. No lights shine from the building. No movement stirs behind the dark windows.
“No.” The word falls from my lips as Ryder pulls into the lot. Desperately, I search for any sign of life, but a largeCLOSEDsign fills the window.
“Storm must have shut them down,” Ryder says as he parks close to the building.
I push open my door and trudge through the snow to read the notice.ALL BUSES CANCELED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE DUE TO WEATHER CONDITIONS.My throat tightens. This was my only plan, my only way to put enough distance between me and my brother before morning.
“There’s an inn nearby that might have a room available,” Ryder says from behind me.
I wrap my arms around myself, unsure what to do. I can’t go back. But I can’t stay here in this empty lot while the storm worsens.
“I know it’s not ideal.” He stands by his truck, giving me space. “But you need somewhere warm for the night.”
The wind lashes at my coat. He’s right, but my brother’s warnings about hotels and strangers echo in my mind as I get back into Ryder’s truck.
The inn sits in a large Victorian house, warm light glowing out its windows. Ryder parks on the street and turns off the engine. An older woman opens the front door before we can knock, light flooding the wraparound porch.
“Ryder.” She steps out, wrapping a thick cardigan around herself. “I thought I heard your truck. What brings you out in this weather?” Her eyes land on me, sharp but kind. “Oh. You have company.”
“Evening, Mrs. Miller,” Ryder says. “The bus depot’s shut down. She needs a room for the night.”
Mrs. Miller ushers us inside to a warm foyer decorated with antique furniture. “Of course, of course. I only have one room left tonight, but it’s all yours.” She looks at Ryder. “As foryou, young man, I’m not letting you back out into that storm. I’ll get a cot set up in the hallway.”
“I’ll be fine getting up the mountain,” Ryder says.
“Absolutely not.” Mrs. Miller’s voice carries the authority of someone used to being obeyed. “That road turns treacherous in weather like this. You’ll need to stay in town tonight.”
“Take the room,” I say to Ryder, knowing without looking that the cot will be too small for his large frame. “I can sleep on the cot.”
His eyes focus on me. “No. You’ll take the room.”
Mrs. Miller watches this exchange with raised eyebrows. “Well, sort this out between yourselves while I get some tea. But neither of you is leaving this house tonight.”
She disappears down the hallway. Through the front window, the snow falls harder, obscuring the street entirely.
“This isn’t up for discussion,” Ryder says to me.
I shake my head. “The cot’s going to be too small for you.”
“I know. I’ll sleep in my truck.”
“That’s not safe.” I study his face in the foyer’s warm light. His jaw is set with stubborn determination.
“I’ve done it before,” he says.
Mrs. Miller returns with a tea tray. “I set the cot out in the hallway. Here’s the key to room four.” She hands it to me. “I’ll be in my apartment at the back of the house if you need anything.”
She leaves us in the foyer. The moment she’s gone, Ryder heads for the front door.
“Wait.” I touch his arm before I can stop myself. His coat feels cold, but warmth radiates beneath. I pull my hand back. “You can’t sleep in your truck.”