Page 28 of Perfect Cowboy

Shit.

What do I need, fog lights?

The sun is long gone, and I might not be able to find my way to the shed, let alone back to the cabin. Being stuck outside in this weather is a death sentence.

Do I stay inside and try to get the fire going, or do I risk trying to go get the generator? It would be nice to have power to charge my phone, keep the fridge running, and be able to boil some of the water I brought so I can stay clean.

It’s not like anyone is going to see me anyway, but I’d rather not emerge from the cabin in a week looking like something that lives in the woods.

The weather is only going to get worse, so I make a quick decision to risk the trek to the shed now, which I hope memory can help me find.

The snow is past my knees and it’s like trudging through freezing cold quicksand. Montana winters are not something I’ve missed, and leave it to me to come home during the worst snowstorm in the history of the world.

I definitely should have bought higher winter boots. This realization strikes me as snow falls over the edges of my boots and fills them, dropping the temperature of my shins and feet to what feels like below zero.

The wind is battering me, and my face and neck have never been so cold.

Scarf.

A scarf would have been a smart addition to my suitcase.

But I wasn’t planning on spending a bunch of time outside in the storm. It was just supposed to be short distances between the SUV and the cabin.

I must be halfway to the shed, and it’s only now I realize that I didn’t grab my gloves or hat in my haste.

Hard pellets of ice and snow smack me in the face, and my hands are so cold that it’s hard to move my fingers. I stuff them into my pockets, looking at the ground to hopefully avoid the worst of the icy assault as I keep plowing ahead.

I find the shed by stumbling into it, and I trace my fingertips along the cold, rough wood, searching for the door. It’s latched, but it doesn’t take much to yank it open.

When I step inside, it’s still freezing, but it’s at least twenty degrees warmer than being out in the elements. My breath comes out in ragged puffs of smoke, and I rush toward the generator, grateful that it’s on wheels.

The thought of dragging it back to the cabin fills me with dread, but there’s no choice. I grip the frigid metal handle with my bare hands, the cold penetrating down to my bones.

Okay, Gavin wasdefinitelyright.

I am not meant to be in the woods alone.

Pushing the cart forward is a serious workout because the wheels are sticky and hard to maneuver. My pace is painfully slow as I make my way back toward what I hope is the direction of the cabin.

My tracks are already almost completely filled in, so I need to hustle to maintain any sense of my bearings. But my body is half-frozen, and it’s impossible to move quickly while pushing an awkward and heavy load.

Getting to the shed was an ordeal and getting back to the cabin is even worse. I’m sweating under my winter gear, so apparently, spin classes don’t translate into the ability to do hard, physical work in real life.

When the generator bumps into something, I realize it’s the SUV and I’ve gone in the wrong direction.

“Shit!”

The wind is blowing so loud that I can barely hear my own voice. The panic bubbling inside me is so overwhelming that I can hardly think, anxiety clenching my chest in a vice grip.

My fingers are numb.

The air is so bitterly cold that it hurts to breathe.

I’m sweating and I swear the sweat is freezing to my skin.

Shit, shit, shit.

I push the cart to the right, which at least I know is the direction of the cabin now. Getting the generator up the steps to the porch takes every last bit of strength I have, and I’m starting to worry about frostbite. The last I checked, temperatures were expected to reach negative thirty.

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