Page 59 of Last Summer

He laughs. “You’ll get used to it.”

“Well, your blood is thicker than mine.” She points at his snow pants. “Will I be okay wearing jeans?”

“I have shells for you in the back seat. You can wear them over your jeans.”

“My size?” she asks with reservation, wondering what other belongings he has of hers.

“No, they’re mine. We won’t be hiking today so you don’t have to worry about them falling around your ankles.” The skin around his eyes crinkles. He grasps the seat belt clip and yanks the strap forward. “Buckle up, Skye.” Nathan shuts her door and makes his way around the truck and settles into the driver’s seat.

“Where are we headed?” she asks. The truck’s engine grumbles under the hood, a sleeping giant waking.

“A fire road I know of about an hour from here.”

“That far?” She can mentally hear the clock ticking down the time.

“Not far. Slow going. We have to take back roads.”

He shifts the truck into gear and eases off the brake, his eyes on the rearview mirror, checking the trailer behind them. Satisfied it’s hitched and the snowmobile strapped on, he clips on his belt and drives.

“The road is closed to the public this time of year, but I know the ranger on duty,” he explains, reaching for the climate control. “Are you warm enough?”

“I am now.” Warm air blows in her face. She adjusts the vents and slips off her jacket, folding it on her lap.

“Seat warmer button’s here if you need it.” He points at the dial, then rubs his hands together and blows into his cupped palms. “Ready for some fun?”

“Ready to talk?”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Ease up, Skye. There will be plenty of time for that later.”

They drive for an hour over narrow, pothole-laden back roads until they reach the end of one, the road barricaded with a steel barrier gate. Yellow paint peels off the tubular post, and a NOTRESPASSINGsign hangs askew by one bolted corner. Beyond the gate is a decent snowpack. Nathan turns the truck around so that the trailer faces the barrier. He cuts the engine.

“Are you sure this is okay?” she asks, looking out the rear window. The road on the other side, hidden under the snow, disappears into a dense thicket of trees.

“Yep.” He reaches into the back and drops the shell pants on Ella’s lap. “Put these on. I’ll unload the sled.” He hops from the truck. Cold air wafts inside, swapping places with the cab’s heat. He pokes his head back inside. “Got gloves?”

She waves her black leather, cashmere-lined gloves. Had she known she’d be spending this much time outdoors, she would have brought her ski gloves.

“Those’ll do.” He grins, schoolboy giddy, and slams the door.

Ella watches him out the back window, moving about the trailer, releasing latches. Before she thinks to put on the shell, he has the snowmobile down the ramp.

Facing back around, she jams one leg into the shell. Nathan bangs on her window and she jumps with a squeak. “Holy—”

“Hurry up.”

“Slow your roll, dude,” she grumbles. Someone’s a tad too excited to play with his toys.

Sixty seconds later, jacket and gloves on, she hops from the truck and waddles to the snowmobile, holding the shell pants at her waist. She feels ridiculous. Bending over, she folds up the hems. Nathan hands her a helmet when she straightens back up.

“We’re really doing this?” She side-eyes the sleek black helmet with a reflective lens.

“Sure, why not?”

“I can’t talk to you with this on.” She inspects the helmet. Nathan fires up the snowmobile and revs the motor. “Or over that,” she yells.

“Yes, you can,” he shoots back. He points to the communication device inside the helmet. “But you’re not asking questions. I have to focus on driving.” He straps on his helmet.

She scowls and puts on her own.

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