Page 1 of Out of the Cold

Chapter One

Lucy Pond clenchedthe steering wheel until her knuckles ached and guided her Honda Civic around yet another hairpin turn. If she turned her head, she’d be able to see straight down the cliff edge, but she kept her eyes dead ahead and held her breath as a truck barreled down the mountain from the opposite direction.

She groaned in relief at the sight of a scenic lookout and gratefully pulled her car off the road. She shoved the door open, then stepped out and stretched, breathing in the scent of pine. It was warmer than she’d expected, but then she hadn’t yet left the Sierra Nevada foothills. She still had a long way to go up the mountain.

Opening the back door, she snapped a leash on Hildegard and released the German Shepherd from her safety harness to sniff and do her business near the wooden railing.

The acrid smoke of northern wildfires drifted on a gust of wind. It had been a bad fire season. In July, a blanket of smoke had settled over San Francisco, and every day brought news of more evacuations from parts of California and even Oregon. They were contained now, fire season nearly over, but now she was undergoing her own personal evacuation. From the outside, she looked like a woman embarking on an adventure, but she was more like a mouse flushed from its hole.

Pressure bloomed in her chest, stealing the oxygen from her lungs, and her vision started to go gray. She dropped into a crouch and put her head between her legs, counting as she drew each breath in as slowly as possible, releasing the air out on several more counts.

Her dog’s wet nose on her cheek had her letting out a muffled laugh. Some days, Hilde was the only thing keeping her sane.

She stayed crouched for several more seconds, but the tunnel vision didn’t come. That was progress. Her head swam as she stood, but when she looked around again, the world was back in full color. The early November sun was still strong, and the buttery gold of aspens glowed against evergreens on the hillsides below.

Back in the car, she continued her slow ascent, her entire body rigid as she hugged the yellow line down the middle of the road, as far from the edge as she could get without invading the other lane. Back east, there were railings along the dangerous sections of the road, but there was no way to do that for an entire mountain. She could disappear over the side without anyone even knowing.

Sweat broke out beneath her arms and on the small of her back. She stared straight ahead and drove toward the trees marching up the mountain in wave upon wave, blue-green in the shadows.

All she had to do was make it to Len’s cabin. She could do this.

Fifteen minutes later, she breathed a sigh of relief as she passed a sign for Jeffrey, California, elevation 5,817 feet. It wasn’t exactly Mount Everest, but it was pretty high up for a girl from Florida.

Signs of civilization came next—a cabin here and there through the trees, a lone gas station and a smattering of motels, and soon she was passing a snowmobile shop and lumber yard.

She glanced at the printed email with Len’s directions for the last few miles her GPS wouldn’t cover and turned right before hitting the town proper. The paved roads turned to gravel before long, then dirt.

“We made it, Hilde,” she called to the back seat as a small sign reading “Sugar Pine Lodge” came into view. She turned down the pitted driveway, laughing at the sight of Hilde in the rearview mirror, her nose in the air to catch all the new scents.

A break in the woods opened up, and the cabin came into view.

She hadn’t asked any questions when Len had offered its use. He’d told her she could stay as long as she wanted, so long as she was out by the end of May when his family came to stay. She’d been grateful, relieved enough to cry when she got off the phone. She hadn’t asked how far it was from town or the nearest neighbor, or how big it was. All she’d cared about was that it was free and available.

But this was way beyond what she’d imagined. Where she’d been expecting a humble little cabin, this was new and modern. A wealthy person’s retreat, rustic wood built with modern lines and set in a clearing with a scattering of trees, some leafy, some evergreen.

It was chilly when she stepped out of the car, and her arms instantly pebbled with goosebumps. Not that much colder than San Francisco, but she’d stupidly packed her heavier coat somewhere in her bags. She’d have to dig it out.

This time when she let the dog out, she didn’t put a leash on her. Hilde flew off the seat and put her nose to the ground.

Grabbing her laptop case and a roller bag full of clothes, she made her way to the door. As Len had promised, the caretaker had left it unlocked for her.

Rather than the chill of an unoccupied house, she stepped into the cozy warmth of a home up and running, ready for her. It smelled of a lit fire and the clean, bright scent of the wood it was built from. A short hallway led to bedrooms off to the left. To the right, a big open kitchen flowed into a living room. In the middle of the outside wall a hulking woodstove gave off luxurious heat.

A cabin on steroids, rustic but with every comfort.

Every comfort except another human. But that was okay. She needed to finish her book, and there’d be distractions up here.

She stared down at the woodstove, wondering if she’d ever have the nerve to start a fire in it. Maybe the caretaker would keep it going for her?

Hilde’s barking broke into her thoughts. In seconds, she was out the door and rounding the corner of the house.

She stopped cold.

The man was enormous. Granted, she was only five foot two, but he was a foot taller than her and built like a lumberjack with dark eyes, thick dark hair, and a beard. He would have been disturbingly handsome if not for his ferocious expression.

Len had warned her the caretaker was intimidating, but he’d assured her Gabriel would take good care of her.

Hilde was standing in his path and emitting a low, ominous growl.

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