Page 113 of Bad For Me (Rock Canyon, Idaho 5)

Everett resisted the urge to call Callie and tell her what was going on. No matter what had happened between the two of them, he knew she wouldn’t give up on Fred, but he could handle his dad’s drunken scenes.

Lord knew he’d been dealing with them for years.

Everett headed out and climbed into his truck. The cold air made it hard to start, and it gurgled and clucke

d at him as he set his phone in the nearby cup holder. Blowing into his ice-cold hands, he finally turned the key in the ignition and pumped the gas. “Come on, asshole, start.”

The engine roared to life, and Everett said a silent prayer of thanks.

As he putted up the driveway slowly, he cursed his dad for being weak. The storm was bad—a complete whiteout—and he could barely see five feet in front of him. It would serve his dad right if he just called the Rock Canyon Police Department to pick up Fred and put him in the drunk tank for the night.

As he turned onto Old Mill Road and passed the turnoff that led to Callie’s, his throat clenched painfully. God, he missed her. Everett was sure that things were over, but it didn’t stop him from wishing that she’d just show up on his doorstep and pour her heart out.

Up ahead, out of the white, a dark shape suddenly raced in front of his truck. Everett clipped whatever it was with the right side of his bumper, sending his truck skidding on the wet snow. He saw the flash of headlights out of the corner of his eye and realized he was drifting into the other lane.

It was either hit the oncoming truck or swerve and roll off the road.

As he turned the wheel hard, his truck slid away from the headlights and felt almost airborne for a second. Suddenly, it jerked to a stop, and his head smacked against the steering wheel. The last thing he saw before he passed out was Callie’s smiling face.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“HAVE I TOLD you how much I love you?”

Callie shook her head and glared at the happy drunk in her front seat. “Don’t think you can sweet talk me, Fred. I’m disappointed in you.”

Fred frowned at her, the pout looking out of place on his craggy face. “But it was just a wee bit—”

“You be quiet until I get you home, but tomorrow, you’re going to get an earful from me.”

“I miss my wife,” Fred slurred sadly.

Callie’s heart constricted. She’d had no idea it was the anniversary of Fred’s wife’s death until he’d called an hour ago, telling her he needed a ride home.

Why he hadn’t called Everett or Justin, she could only imagine, but they would have probably told him to go to hell. Either way, this was exactly how she wanted to spend her night . . . driving in a snowstorm and very likely carrying a drunk, babbling man into his house.

Just outside of the Silverton farm, Callie saw sparks on the side of the road and slowed down. Ratchet whimpered in the back, and she shushed him as she turned the Jeep to shine her headlights on the scene.

“What is it?” Fred mumbled.

Callie squinted through the snow and could make out a truck—a truck had hit a power pole and was stuck nose first in the embankment, with sparks flying over the top of it. “I’m going to pull to the side of the road and make sure the driver’s okay.”

“I’ll go.” Fred tried to open his door, and Callie grabbed his shoulder, pushing him back into the seat.

“Just wait. I’m going to park and be right back.”

Callie flipped the Jeep around and pulled off to the side before grabbing her gloves and a flashlight from the middle console. Checking her mirror for oncoming headlights, she stepped out and flipped on the flashlight, shivering against the icy wind. As she neared the wreck, she noticed it was an extended cab and wondered if more than one person was hurt. Crawling down the embankment, she reached the driver’s-side door and grabbed the handle.

And suddenly, a sickening fear overtook her.

She knew this truck.

Everett.

“Everett!” She pulled on the handle again, but it didn’t budge.

She scrambled back up the hill, looking in the back of his truck for something hard, in case she needed to break a window. Grabbing a snow shovel, she tried the passenger-side door, but it was locked. Ducking her head, she swung the shovel as hard as she could and cracked the window, but it didn’t break. Screaming in panicked frustration, she swung again, and the window shattered.

Throwing the shovel to the ground, she peered inside.

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