Be My Love (2 page)

“Come on!” she pleaded.

Nothing.

She tried again.

“Come on, baby.” The engine sputtered, but quickly died.

Old Blue, her beloved truck, was dead. Well, technically, it was her father’s truck. She pulled her phone from her jacket pocket and touched the screen. No service. Of course. Not exactly a surprise. Service up here was shoddy at best, cutting in and out, and she was practically encased in a snow-tomb.

What the hell would she do?

No one came up here. Especially not in a blizzard. She was probably the only idiot within a fifty kilometer radius. With night falling, walking through deep snow in a winter storm surrounded by a forest with wolves might prove fatal. She could wait out the storm, but she might get snowed in even more, which might also prove fatal.

Damned if she did, damned if she didn’t.

Brenna turned to haul the emergency kit from the backseat. Pain lanced across her body. Her sore chest complained, and her knees ached. Her vision swam at the sudden movement, and the dull throb behind her eyes intensified.

Brenna reached to unclip her seatbelt. The button jammed.

“Crap!” She yanked on the buckle, but it remained cemented in. With gritted teeth, she turned and tried to grab the kit again. She stretched her arm out, fumbling with her fingers to grip the strap.

A little farther!

With a sucked in breath, she pushed against the strap as it dug into the bruised flesh between her breasts and thrust her hand out. Pain streaked down her limbs and exploded in her back. She grabbed the strap and hauled the bag out from the backseat. A deep sigh escaped her lungs, and she leaned back. She panted and waited for the pain to ebb.

With a blanket, her jacket, toque, and gloves, she’d survive the night and try her luck in the morning. With the Buchanan’s as the nearest cabin other than her parents’, she doubted a rescue would happen. Besides… She’d rather the snow’s company than the Buchanan’s son.

Brenna reached forward and pulled her keys from the ignition. She nestled into her jacket and hunkered down for a long, lonely night. Maybe a patrol would brave the elements, and she’d be saved by the man of her dreams.

Brenna snorted.

That would never happen. She had the worst luck with men.

****

Something tapped against the window to her left. Brenna’s eyes fluttered open. Her vision remained blurry for a couple of blinks before clearing. A dull throb continued to plague her head, and her whole body ached as if one giant bruise covered it.

“Anyone in there?” a man bellowed. With snow and glass in the way, distorted sound trickled through the cab. Ice had begun to form on the edges of the window, freezing the air she breathed out as it condensed on the pane. Only a few spots remained bare, but she could only make out a dark shadow on the other side of the glass.

The man brushed the snow and ice from the driver’s side window. Her limbs regained feeling as she watched. Her brain started processing, like Old Blue’s sputtering motor. Someone was actually here. Outside her truck. In a blizzard. When the man cleared a circle, he placed his head and hands against the glass, blocking out the fading light and the gusting wind.

“Are you okay?” he yelled. A helmet with a visor covered most of his face, but his square jaw with stubble and full lips hinted at good looks.

What the hell, Brenna? Getting saved in a snow storm and checking out the rescuer?

“I…I think so,” she called back. When she shifted in her seat, stiff muscles protested. Well, maybe not
that
okay. “Just sore.”

“I’m going to get you out of there,” he yelled. “Hold on.”

His voice held a familiar quality, something rough and rugged, but Brenna was beyond caring. The cold had soaked to her bones, and her body trembled.

The man yanked on the truck’s door. It groaned, and shook the whole vehicle, but remained shut. He tried the door for the backseat. Same thing. Brenna was encased in an ice cube.

“It’s stuck!” he yelled.

No shit.

His dark frame moved away from the glass, letting the diminishing light back in. Suddenly, his bulk appeared at the passenger side. He yanked on both doors, one at a time, shaking the truck again, but neither budged. The man’s presence faded away in a white cloud of snow.

The howling wind continued to hammer the truck. The glow of white snow faded as the sun continued its descent.

The man didn’t reappear.

Crap!
Had he left?

Even if he went for help, Brenna didn’t want to be alone. Her stiff muscles whined as she shifted in her seat to peer out the window. He might be a stranger, but he was also her only hope for getting out of here. Her heart beat fast in her chest, and her skin prickled with unease. A shadow loomed across the driver’s side of the truck again, and she let out an audible sigh. Normally, a shadow like that would scare the crap out of her, but this one meant safety.

Or did it?

She stiffened. Her blood froze to match the temperature outside. She didn’t know this man. What if he was crazy? He had a snowmobile out in a blizzard. No sane man would do that.

She needed to get out of the truck first, then figure out what to do. Reaching into the center console, she fished out the flashlight. She stashed it in her jacket pocket just in case the mystery man got any ideas.

A knife would be better.

Before she could yell to ask what the man planned, a loud scraping sound surrounded the driver’s side door—a grating, metal on metal. Ice cracked and snapped off as he ran something sharp along the seams of the door. Did he have a knife? Her heart beat faster as the sound of splintering ice echoed through the truck cab, dark and ominous, as if her saviour planned to carve his way into the truck, instead of cutting through the ice sealing the door shut.

Without warning, the door wrenched open. Cold air smacked Brenna’s face. The wind blew snow into the vehicle. The icy air sliced her cheeks like shards of glass. She threw her arm up to shield her eyes.

Why on earth had she decided to come to a place where the air hurt her face?

The man moved in, blocking the wind, knife in hand. “Are you okay?”

Her tension eased from the sincerity of his tone. She dropped her arm and smiled at the masked man. “Yeah. But I’m glad you’re here.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he said. “Brenna Jones.”

****

Eric watched as Brenna recoiled.

“Do I…know you?” She clutched something in her jacket pocket. What the hell was that? He peered in and spotted the butt of what looked like a Maglite. Really? Did she plan to beat a grown man with a flashlight?

He glanced at the knife he held. She’d literally brought a light to a knife fight. Well, better than nothing, but lucky for her, he had no intentions of hurting her. He sheathed the knife.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

He sighed and tugged off his helmet. Guess the jig was up. No way would she offer such a smile again once she knew his identity. “Yeah, Brenna. You know me.”

Her whole body stiffened, and her gaze turned hard. “Eric Buchanan.”

Not exactly a warm welcome, not that he expected one. After a decade, though, he’d hoped the next time they met, he’d make a better impression. Or at least say something more profound.

He peered inside the truck. The front seats were a mess, covered with coffee, sweet-smelling candies, and what looked like the contents of an exploded purse. An emergency kit sat on the passenger seat, and he spotted ski goggles stuffed in the bag.

“Here.” He held out his helmet. “Put this on. I need your goggles to drive the snowmobile.”

She hesitated, drawing back into the mangled truck, looking as though she planned to stay there. What the hell? Brenna might hate him, but she wasn’t stupid.

The wind howled, and the sun dipped below the treeline, casting them in dark shadows. The headlights from the snowmobile provided minimal light.

“We need to go,” he insisted. The intensity of the wind’s howling increased. “It’s getting ugly.”

Brenna pursed her lips. Darkness shrouded her fine features, but a trail of dried blood from her forehead and mouth indicated she’d hit her head. His heart beat heavy in his chest. He couldn’t leave her here. He wouldn’t. But knocking her out and hauling her over his shoulder to get her to the cabin seemed a bit barbaric, even if it was for her own safety.

“My seat belt’s jammed.”

“What?”

She rolled her eyes and spoke slower. “My. Seat. Belt. Is. Jammed. I can’t get it to release the clip.”

“Oh.” He ducked into the truck and leaned across her body. The aroma of coffee and candy flooded his senses, along with something else, something more subtle. Roses. As if soft flower petals lifted off the warmth of Brenna’s skin. The floral scent caressed his face. He drifted closer, wanting to nuzzle into the heat of her body.

Brenna stiffened. “Do you plan to sniff the seatbelt into working order?”

Busted!

He silently cursed and pulled on the seatbelt. “Sorry, you smell nice, is all.”

She huffed.

He pushed the button, and yanked on the belt, but the clip had locked. “Yup, jammed.”

“No shit.”

He glanced up. Her gaze matched the coldness blowing around them, but her pouty lips, partially open, spoke of wanting something else. Those lips. So close…

He cleared his throat. “We don’t have time to fiddle with this. I’ll cut you out.”

She nodded, and he used his knife to cut through the belt. He ducked out of the truck and picked up his helmet. He held his hand out to help Brenna down.

She eyed his open palm as if it contained a grenade.

“Brenna…I know you hate—”

She snatched the helmet from his hands and stuffed it on her head. She pulled her gloves on and handed him her purple toque and ski goggles. “Here,” she said. “I have supplies in the back.”

Not one to refuse a toque in the middle of a snowstorm, Eric threw on the rose-scented hat before fitting the goggles.

After zipping it up, Brenna grabbed the large emergency kit from the passenger seat and hopped out of the truck. Sort of. More like she fell out. She winced and sucked back air. He reached out to support her, but she snatched her arm out of his reach.

“I’m fine,” she hissed.

“Obviously.”

She shuffled to the back door of the extended cab, and yanked on the handle. It didn’t budge, and Brenna went flying back, ass-first in the snow. She yelped.

“Uh…” He leaned down to help her up, extending his hand.

She snarled at him.

Geez! If looks could kill. He snatched his hand back and turned to the door. He ran his knife along the seams as he had with the driver’s side door, and tried to ignore Brenna scrambling to her feet. She stood beside him, her breath coming out in little puffs of white air, as if daring him to laugh or comment. Not happening. Not when she packed a deadly flashlight and looked for an excuse to use it on him. He bit his tongue and tried the handle. The door popped open.

Brenna huffed and leaned into the truck to haul out a large backpack. When he glanced at the backseat, he spotted another suitcase.

“Do you need the other one?” he asked.

“No, that one just has clothes.” She slipped the backpack on and placed the shoulder strap of the emergency kit around her neck so it hung in front of her. “I’m taking the one with food.”

Brenna had always been practical. Not like any of the women he dated.

She cast a forlorn look at the second bag before slamming the door shut on whatever it contained. “Let’s go.”

The gash on her forehead had stopped bleeding, and although she moved a bit stiffly, it appeared her injuries were superficial, not life threatening or seriously debilitating. He glanced back at the truck, and its smashed hood. He sucked in a breath. She’d been lucky. Very lucky. Good thing she’d been driving this old monster of a truck.

Her worn jeans clung to her legs. They wouldn’t provide much insulation in this weather or protection against the wind, but it was a short ride to her parents’ cabin and at least she had a thick winter jacket. He nodded at the bags. “You going to be okay with that?”

Her response came out as a snort. Eric gritted his teeth and bit down on a response. They climbed on the snowmobile in silence as the wind and snow continued to rush over their faces with blistering speed. Brenna placed the emergency kit between them before loosely holding on to his sides. He half turned to her.

“Hold on tighter,” he yelled. The wind carried his words away.

“What?” she yelled back.

“Hold on!”

She didn’t reply, but her arms wrapped around him and gripped tighter. He revved the engine and turned the snowmobile toward the Jones’ cabin.

The sun set, casting them in darkness, and the storm intensified instead of letting up. His vision reduced to the two narrow beams from the snowmobile’s headlights. His heart lodged in his throat, and his hands clutched the handles in a death grip. Brenna’s warm presence against his back spurred him on. He had to get her to safety.

In the bleary dark, snow banks and snow-laden trees looked the same. All the same.
Fuck!

Was he lost? Maybe they should’ve stayed with the truck.

Eric kept his head tucked and continued navigating through the trenches and valleys. No wolves howled to welcome the night. Not in this storm. Nothing would be out hunting. Only the sounds of groaning trees and the screaming wind filled Eric’s ears. The trip should’ve taken five minutes. Maybe he was lost.