Page 6 of When It Snows

“Can you sit in the driver’s seat and steer while I push?”

I point to the rear of the car which is now buried under a foot of snow. “I think you need to shovel before you can get back there to push, though.”

He stares at where I’m pointing. “Fuck. Can I borrow your shovel?”

“Shucks. I forgot to bring my shovel with me from Florida.”

He chuckles. “There’s one in the coat closet in the rental.”

I don’t ask how he knows where the shovel is. This is Smuggler’s Hideaway. Everyone knows everything about everyone.

“I’ll get it.”

I trudge back to the cabin and, sure enough, there’s a shovel in the coat closet in the entryway of the cabin. When I return to the car, Weston’s already at the rear of the car moving snow with his hands.

I hold up the shovel. “This might work better.”

“Thanks, smartass.”

“Smartass is better than nerd.”

He frowns but doesn’t respond to my comment. He removes his jacket to start digging the rear of the car out of the snow pile. I watch as he works.

I’m mesmerized by the bunching of his muscles as he shovels. Weston Milton is even sexier now at thirty-five than he was when we were in high school. And he was pretty sexy back then.

Blond hair, blue eyes, and a height of over six feet. Any high schooler would have swooned over him. Too bad he was an asshole.

He may not have ever called me nasty names the way the rest of our class did, but he didn’t stop anyone either. Which is nearly as bad in my book.

“Okay,” Weston shouts and I shove those high school memories away. “Let’s try and get this car out of the ditch.”

I settle in the driver’s seat with the door open so I can hear Weston. I glance around at all of the equipment. I’ve neverbeen in a police car before. Goody Two Shoes was another one of my nicknames in high school.

I have to stretch my legs to reach the pedals since I’m several inches shorter than Weston.

“Don’t hit the gas!” he shouts. “Try to ease on the pedal.”

Ease on the pedal. Sure. Not a problem when I can barely reach it. I touch the pedal and the tires squeal but there’s no forward movement at all.

“Stop!”

I angle out of the car. “What’s wrong?”

“The tires are pretty stuck. I can’t push hard enough.”

“Shall I help? We can put the car in neutral and push together.”

I put the car in neutral before jumping out and rushing toward the rear of the car. My left foot slips on the ice. I try to steady myself with a hand on the car but it’s no good. I fly in the air before landing on my ass.

“Ouch.”

Weston bursts out laughing.

“So much for being a good police officer,” I mumble as I try to stand.

“Sorry,” he apologizes between bouts of laughter. “But I’ve never heard anyone call ice ‘meanie frozen water’ before.”

Oops. I must have yelled that while I was falling.

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