Snow Baby. Brenda Novak

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      DILLON SQUINTED as he tried to see beyond the pale arc of his headlights. White. Everything was white—and stationary. He called Chantel again and told her to honk her horn, then rolled down his window, hoping he’d hear something, but the wind carried no sound other than its own vehemence.

      What now? Dropping his head into his hands, he rubbed his eyes. He’d been searching for two hours. He would have given up long ago, except that the police hadn’t found Chantel, either, and he could tell from the sound of her voice that her initial uneasiness was turning to panic.

      He called her cell phone again. “I’m going to return to the freeway and start over.”

      “No!” She sounded resolute. “You’re crazy to keep looking for me, Dillon. I never should have called you. I thought it would take you a few minutes to come and pull me out, nothing more. I never expected anything like this.”

      “I know, but you can’t be far away. If I could just spot you, we could both be on our way to our respective vacations—”

      “Or you could get stuck, too. The police called to say they can’t look for me anymore, not until morning. The storm’s too bad.”

      “What? Why not?” She could freeze to death before morning!

      “They don’t want to risk anyone’s life, and I don’t want you to risk yours.”

      What about her life? Dillon wondered.

      She took an audible breath. “You’re going to have to head back, before the roads get any worse.”

      Dillon maneuvered around a parked car that looked like a small snow hill. His tires spun, then finally propelled him a little farther down a road that was quickly becoming impassable. The slick ice and heavy snow were making him nervous, but he’d canvassed the area so completely, he could only believe he’d find her in the next few minutes.

      “You can’t be far,” he muttered.

      “It doesn’t matter. The police know what they’re doing. Anyway, they told me not to use my car phone. I’ll need the battery when they resume the search.”

      Conserving her battery made sense, but cutting off a frightened woman did little to help her. “I’d better let you go, then.”

      Two hours ago Dillon had cared only about making it to the cabin in time to enjoy the party. Now he could think of nothing but Chantel Miller, a beautiful young woman stranded alone in the middle of a snowstorm. He sighed. “It’s hard for me to give up after all this.”

      “Just think about what I did to your truck. That should make it easier.” She attempted to laugh, and Dillon had to admire her for the effort.

      “You’ll probably be on the news in the morning, talking about how some brave fireman saved you,” he said.

      “Yeah. I’ll be the tall one.”

      “The tall one with the knockout smile and the sexy voice,” he added, “but I probably shouldn’t say that to a married woman.”

      “Dillon?”

      “Uh-huh?”

      “There’s no husband. I just…you know, a woman can’t be too careful.”

      “Are you telling me I look like an ax murderer?”

      “Actually I think you look like Tom Selleck.”

      He laughed. “It’s the dimples. I hated them when I was a kid, thought they made me look like a sissy. When I was five or so, my mom dressed me up as a girl for Halloween, and I never lived it down—or at least I didn’t until I passed six feet and could grow a full beard.”

      “I’ll bet no one teases you anymore.”

      He could hear the smile in her voice, and it made him feel slightly better. “No, they don’t.” He paused, wondering what to do next. “Damn, Chantel. I’m sorry about this mess. You must be—”

      “Anxious for morning. That’s all.”

      “Sure.” He continued to steer his truck through the fresh powder and felt his tires give more than they grabbed. He knew that if he stayed out any longer, he’d get stuck, too. “Well, I won’t use up any more of your battery.”

      “Okay.”

      The edge that crept into her voice reminded him of the way his little girl sounded whenever she didn’t want him to leave her, and that made it hard as hell to hang up. He and Chantel Miller might have been complete strangers three hours ago, but now they seemed like the only two people in the world.”

      “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

      “Right.”

      “Goodbye, Chantel.”

      “Hurry back to the freeway, Dillon…and thank you. I’m sorry about your truck. I’ve got your card. I’ll send you a thank-you note.”

      Yeah, you can say, “Thanks for nothing.”