Page 12 of Black Ice
On a deep breath, she swiped the moisture from her cheeks. She was proud of herself for clearly stating her reasons for avoiding any kind of a reunion. For not letting the bitterness spill out and ruin a friendly moment. But she didn’t want a gold star for maturity. She wanted the impossible, she wanted her friend back. That seemed to be her natural default, wanting things she didn’t have any control over.
Wyatt finished dusting the snow off her windows and returned the brush. “Drive safe.”
“I will. Take care,” she managed.
And then it was over. She put the car in gear and left the parking lot. Spending any more time with Wyatt would be theworst. She had a business to save. Investors to woo and team-building contracts to finalize. Wyatt was in the past and there were too many broken promises between them to recover. She would not look back, would not watch him trudge back to the casino.
Overhead the night sky was loaded with heavy clouds, an ever-present threat of the lousy weather to come. Lights from the streets, stores, and hotels along the main road created a sparkling kaleidoscope on the fresh snow. The road crews would be working around the clock plowing and salting the roads if the storm stayed on track.
Stopped at a traffic light, she forced herself to look back at her time with Wyatt objectively. They’d been teenagers, barely old enough to think through the haze of hormones and wild dreams. If he’d stayed here in town, there was no guarantee they could’ve made a relationship work. Between the struggles with his mother’s gambling addiction and her dad’s refusal of every new idea, maybe they would have crumbled.
Or stagnated.
An ending was an ending. Maybe it had been cleaner his way. The brief conversation had given her closure, which made her feel better. She’d looked him in the eyes and survived. And now she wouldn’t see him again during his stay. They could both move on happy and guilt-free to bigger and better things.
The light changed to green and her tires spun in the slush despite the salt on the roads. Although it was late, she should probably get the chains on her tires when she got home. She rounded the bend and had to jerk the car to the shoulder to avoid an oncoming vehicle speeding by. Her tires slogged through the deeper accumulation of snow and icy slush on the side of the road and she skidded sideways through the lane while she tried to get back on course.
Holding her breath, Evie fought hard to keep the car on the right side of the road. Losing control here, on a blind curve, was a death wish in the making. She regained control and slowed down as much as she dared. Turning on her hazard flashers, she struggled through a few deep breaths as her heart rate returned to normal.
Her hands were sweating inside her gloves when she saw the first sign for Cottonwood Adventures. As she made the turn off the main highway, the back end fishtailed, but she got it under control, grateful to find the access road freshly plowed. Definitely time to get the chains back on the car.
Despite her bluster to the contrary, she was concerned about this storm. The bank accounts were so tight she needed every possible shift, every possible tip, and every possible private tour she could arrange.
She’d been so disappointed after her shift when a check of her email showed Tate hadn’t rescheduled either an online meeting or an in-person tour. There wasn’t any point in dwelling on it, but she was now kind of hoping Deadwood got smothered with snow and businesses closed altogether for a few days. That way the bank couldn’t turn down her next loan application for the Cottonwood Adventures expansion.
Before she’d wrestled the finances and publicity plans from her father, he’d drained the reserve account in his effort to prove her expansion ideas were pointless. He’d run ads that weren’t profitable and refused to take her advice about building a social media presence seriously. She did what she could but, in season, she was busy from dawn to dusk as a guide. Not just because she was their best, but because it meant not paying someone else a salary and benefits.
The busyness of their spring, summer, and fall schedules also meant less time for networking with other tour companies in Deadwood. Some days, when she was overtired, it felt as if Dalewanted her to fail so he could close up shop and be done. If that happened, she’d be lost. More lost than when Wyatt had left town.
She had options. Another adventure company would put her to work and, Sarah, her manager at the casino would happily take her full time, but her heart and hopes and dreams were all invested in Cottonwood’s success.
Big snowflakes splatted against her windshield. Almost home. Could be worse, she reminded herself as her wiper blades cleared a path. She could be trying to drive on ice or through the wind and white-out conditions the forecasters predicted would create ten-foot drifts in places.
She hadn’t seen a storm quite so severe in her lifetime, but she’d heard the stories. In Deadwood, winter storms often grew as time passed, similar to the way a fisherman talked about a catch. Although in the modern era there was usually photographic evidence of the snow.
Her thoughts wandering, she missed the driveway and had to stop and put the car in reverse. When her headlights hit the low snowbank she swore. The plow had overlooked the driveway as well. Instead of pushing the gathered snow to one side or the other, the driver had ignored the driveway entirely. Not unusual, but a bad sign if Holly did in fact hit them head on.
She drove through the small berm, backed up, and drove through again, flattening as much snow as possible before heading up to the house. The house was dark when she pulled up, but the porch lights were on at the main house and at the cottage they’d originally built for her grandmother.
Evie had moved in after college. The cottage wasn’t fancy or chic, though she’d done plenty of updating. The biggest plus was the privacy and independence she gained. Breathing space. Without that, her relationship with her dad would’ve taken a disastrous dive over the nearest cliff.
The flipside of her father’s stubbornness was his predictability. Tonight wasn’t the night to resent his deeply ingrained routine of leaving the light on for her. In her own way her stubborn streak matched his. Neither of them would give an inch on anything. She’d have to prove to him the winter events were worth the investment in good gear and smart advertising.
And she had nothing to lose by implementing her plan on a small scale just as soon as the worst of this storm blew through. In a few hours, over breakfast, she could tell her dad that the hospitality manager had agreed to a sledding day as a team-building exercise.
It was a coup on both fronts and the few people who’d overheard the plan had been enthused. Evie would be paid her base salary, plus the going rate as a guide and for two straight shifts she wouldn’t have to work indoors. Assuming the sledding day went well, she could add testimonials to her final proposal for the casino to add it as a morale-building option for other departments.
That was the kind of creativity it would take to save and expand the business her father’s grandfather had started with fishing trips and hunting expeditions. Not that Dale would embrace it. She could already hear his arguments about hiring quality people, drafting the appropriate legal releases and all the rest of it. Tomorrow was soon enough for that fight, though she’d long since given up asking why he was determined to impede her success at the very point when she should be taking over the business.
There was tradition and there was flat-out nonsense.
Remembering she wanted to get the chains on her tires tonight, she drove around to the barn that served as the Cottonwood business office and primary storage area. Parking, she cut the engine, irritated with herself when the keys rattled in her hand. She was still on edge after that near miss on the curve.
Better to blame her shakes on that non-incident than her talk with Wyatt.
Her boots sank into the gathering snow as she trudged over and unlocked the overhead door, sliding it up. It felt like the snow was coming down harder and she wished she was wearing her silk-weight long underwear.
She flipped on the overhead light and crossed to the wall-rack where they stored the tire chains. Three out of four tires were done when she heard something moving through the snow behind her. Jerking around, blinking snowflakes from her eyelashes, she saw Dale lowering his shotgun.
