Page 9 of His One True Wish

The clouds overhead ignored my protests. A flurry of snowflakes followed. I turned on the wipers.

“No Snow. No Snow. No Snow,” I whispered in time with the sweeping blades. I was so close to Smoke River. No way was I turning back now. So it was snowing, I reasoned. Big deal. I’d be fine. I knew how to drive in the snow. The truck had four-wheel drive.

I distracted myself and fiddled with the radio. I toggled between a religious station and a Latin band that sounded tinny and distant, as if broadcasting from south of the border.

“Steel drums, it is,” I whispered, driving with my hands at ten and two on the wheel. It was officially snowing hard. I cursed the people who made the weather app that filled me with false confidence.

A layer of fresh white snow stuck to the cold road. I had good traction, as long as I didn’t need to stop. My nightmare was needingchains. I knew how to put them on, but they were buried under way too many boxes.

I just needed to get to the cabin.

Finally, I passed the wide-open, snow-covered fields of Four Clover Farm. This property sat on the outer boundary of the town of Smoke River right before the covered bridge that led into town. I blew through a stop sign and over that bridge without a thought. There was no one on the road.

I passed the dark windows of the Gold Digger Restaurant, OACA Bank, the post office, and Candle Books. There was no one on the road. There was a good chance the Buzz On In Bakery Cafe was still open, even at ten p.m., but I wasn’t putting one more minute between me and that cabin, not when the snow came down harder with every passing second. The owner Mason and his cinnamon rolls would wait until morning.

I drove up the sloping hill that led to our cabin. Snow crunched beneath the tires. Smoke River homes were not close together. Thick banks of forest ran between everyone’s property lines. I whooped and fist-pumped the air when I saw the mailbox to 8 Pine Joy Road marking the entrance to our drive.

Headlights flashing over the snow, I was surprised to see the drive was smooth. Piles of snow lined either side of the road. This wasn’t the first snow of the season. Someone had shoveled this drive and done it precisely. My first guess was Mason. Maybe Mom had asked him to keep an eye on the property and forgotten to tell me?

The log cabin sat on the edge of a sloping hillside that led to the woods and the river. I parked in front of the barn instead of driving around to the front door. I never used that entrance and was used to going in the back through the kitchen. The place looked more or less the same to me, but the fence posts stretching from the barn to the field looked sturdier and straighter than I remembered. Maybe it was just a trick of the light. I was very tired.

Slamming the driver’s door shut felt like an affront to the quiet night. I loved the silence that traveled hand-in-hand with a winter storm. A gust of wind cut across the yard, spraying my face with coldbits of snow. Shooting-star keychain in hand, I dashed through the snow to the back door of the cabin.

As I opened the kitchen door, I heard a rustling in the trees behind me. Before I could turn to look, a streak of black-and-white rushed past me, almost knocking me off my feet.

“What the hell?” I gasped, my heart racing.

CHAPTER 3

BILLIE

Ispun on my boots. A dog sat in the middle of the kitchen, shivering. Its dark eyes focused on me. Black-and-white with pricked ears, I recognized the breed. It was a border collie, one of those working dogs that herded sheep. I glanced back outside, wondering if the owner was nearby.

“Hello?” I called out into the drive. There was no answer, only the silence of softly falling snow.

I followed the dog, closing the door behind me.

“Who are you, buddy?” I asked, my voice soft. I didn’t want to spook him. “You got a collar?”

The dog cocked its head at me, as if trying to understand my every word.

“What are you doing out in the cold? Are you lost?”

As if answering me, the dog shook its fur, sending ice and snow falling to the floor. I heard a jingle, which meant he or she was wearing a collar. Maybe there was a name or a number on it. I took a step forward, my hand extended. The dog pattered away from me and jumped up onto the couch. It sighed as it curled up into a ball, eyes closing. I didn’t want to spook him or her, so I left it alone.

“Yeah, I’m tired, too,” I said. The dog looked well-fed and caredfor. It was just cold. I figured the dog belonged to someone who lived close by. Maybe he got lost and confused in the storm? Either way, the collie seemed harmless and exhausted.

I pulled my cellphone out of my pocket and turned it on. I needed to call Mom or maybe Mason. The screen lit up, and then just as fast, powered down, going completely dark.

“Shit.” I exhaled. My phone was as useful as a brick.

I set my keys on the butcher block island in the center of the kitchen. I had no way to call anyone, and there was a lost dog curled up and sleeping on the couch in the cabin. I supposed that wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

I flipped on the kitchen light, illuminating the mustard-yellow fridge and stove. Clean, dust-free, Formica countertops gleamed. I inhaled, recognizing the familiar scent of Pine-Sol. It was Mom’s go-to cleaner, as well. Mom would be happy to know the cabin was in good shape.

I couldn’t wait to get settled in the back bedroom and sleep. I decided I would let my little black-and-white interloper spend the night and then take him to Mason’s in the morning. The dog didn’t even get up as I dashed out into the snow to grab my duffle and coat from the front seat. I hadn’t brought anything super heavy, but I’d grabbed am old purple puffer I wore in high school. It wasn’t fashionable, but it would keep me warm.

Flakes of snow dotted the blue tarp on the truck bed like a polka dot tablecloth. It was wicked cold, and I felt sorry for my furry friend. I was glad I’d come along when I had. Snow pelted my face as I dashed back into the kitchen. I banged the door shut and stomped my feet on the mat, kicking off snow.

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