The Millionaire's Snowbound Seduction. Sandra Marton

      Holly swallowed dryly. She couldn’t, she wouldn’t, be trapped here, with her memories. She had to get out before that happened, and never mind the raging storm and the treacherous road. She could manage the drive down. She’d be careful. Very careful. Nothing was impossible, when you put your mind to it. Hadn’t life taught her that?

      ‘I am out of here,’ she said, exactly at the moment the lights went out.

CHAPTER TWO

      BY THE time he reached the turn-off for North Mountain, Nick was almost driving blind.

      He had the windshield wipers turned up to high but the snow was falling so thick and fast that the wipers could barely keep up.

      At least the Explorer was holding the road. That was something to be grateful for. And so was the gas station, just ahead. The last few miles, the needle on the gauge had been hovering dangerously close to empty.

      Nick pulled beneath the canopy, stepped from the truck and unscrewed the cover to his gas tank.

      ‘Hey there, Mister, didn’t ya see the sign? Station’s closed.’

      A man had come out of the clapboard house beyond the pumps and jerked his thumb at a hand-lettered sign tacked to the wall. He had the raw-boned look of an old-time New Englander and the accent to match.

      ‘No,’ Nick said, ‘sorry, I didn’t.’

      ‘Well, ya do now.’

      ‘Look, I need some gas. And you’re probably the only station open for miles.’

      ‘Ain’t open. Told ya, I’m closed.’

      Nick flashed his most ingratiating smile.

      ‘My truck’s just about running on fumes,’ he said. ‘I’d really appreciate it if you’d let me fill up.’

      ‘Ain’t no need for gas,’ the old man said, ‘seein’ as there’s no place to go in a blizzard.’

      Oh, hell. Nick took a deep breath and tried again. ‘Yeah, well, the weatherman says it’s not a blizzard. And by the time it is, I’ll be where I’m going, if you’ll let me have some gas.’

      The old fellow looked him up, then looked him down. Nick found himself wishing he’d taken the time to exchange his black trench coat, charcoal suit and shiny black wingtips for the jeans, scuffed boots and old leather jacket he’d jammed into his suitcase. He’d almost given up hope when the guy shrugged and stomped down the steps to the pump.

      ‘It’s your funeral.’

      Nick grinned. ‘I hope not.’

      ‘Where you headed?’

      ‘Just a few miles north.’ Nick peered towards the office. ‘You got a couple of five-gallon gasoline cans you could fill for me?’

      ‘Aye-yup.’

      ‘And maybe a couple of bags of sand?’

      ‘That, too.’

      ‘Great.’ Nick pulled out his wallet as the old guy screwed the cover back on the gas tank. ‘If you have some candles you’d be interested in selling, I’d be obliged.’

      ‘Well, at least you’re not a fool, young man, wantin’ to buy ice in Decembah.’

      Nick laughed. ‘No, sir. No ice. Just the gas, the sand, the candles… Better safe than sorry, isn’t that what they say?’

      ‘The smart ones do, anyways. North, ya say. That’s where you’re goin’?’

      ‘Yes. To North Mountain.’

      The old man turned around, a red gasoline can in each hand, and looked at Nick as if he were demented.

      ‘Ain’t been a soul come through here in months, headin’ for that mountain, and now there’s two of you, in one day.’

      Nick frowned. ‘Somebody went up to the cabin?’

      ‘I suppose. Couldn’t tell ’em naught, either. Had the wrong car, wrong tires, wrong everythin’. Didn’t have no business on that mountain, I tell you that.’

      That was for sure, Nick thought grimly. Vagrants, even damn-fool kids with nothing better to do than go joy-riding, could get into trouble in country this isolated.

      On the other hand, vagrants didn’t drive cars, and kids around here had more sense than to be out in this kind of weather.

      ‘Hunters, maybe?’ he asked.

      The old man guffawed. ‘Hunters? Naw. I don’t think so.’

      Nick slid behind the steering wheel of the Explorer. ‘How many guys were there?’

      ‘Jest one, but—’

      ‘Thanks,’ Nick said. He waved, checked for the non-existent traffic, and pulled out onto the road.

      ‘But it weren’t guys a-tall, Mister. It were just this one pretty little woman…’

      Too late. The truck had disappeared into the whirling snow.

      The old man sighed. Crazy people, these city folk, he thought, and clomped back inside his house.

      * * *

      It took twice as long as it normally would have to make it up the mountain.

      The drifting snow had buried the road in many places and at times the visibility was just about nonexistent. Nick kept an eye out for another car but there were no signs any had come this way. Of course, with the snow falling so heavily, there wouldn’t have been much chance of seeing tire tracks.

      Still, when he finally reached the turn-off that led to the cabin, he scanned it carefully for signs of a trespasser, but there was nothing to see.

      He pulled up outside the garage and got out to open the door. The snow, and the wind, hit him with enough force to take his breath away but he bent his head against it and grasped the handle of the garage door.

      ‘Damn!’

      How could he have forgotten? The door was electric. It wouldn’t move an inch no matter how much muscle you applied and, of course, he’d forgotten to have somebody send him the automatic opener.

      Well, that was life. He’d have his work cut out for him, digging the truck out from under umpteen inches of snow tomorrow morning. He trudged back to the Explorer, opened the door and stuffed his cellphone and his wireless fax into his pockets, hung his carryon and his computer case from his shoulders, and hefted a box of supplies into his arms. Steak, potatoes, a couple of onions and a bottle of single-malt Scotch. The basic food groups, enough to hold him through the weekend. He slammed the door shut with his hip, dug the key to the cabin from his pocket, and made his way to the front porch.

      Damn, Nick thought as he climbed the wooden steps. He’d forgotten to bring coffee. Well, he’d have to make do with a shot of the Scotch to warm his bones, and then he’d fall straight into bed. It sounded like a mighty fine plan.

      He wedged the box against the door, fumbled for the lock and turned the key. The door wouldn’t open. He scowled. Was there an unwritten law that said doors had to stick when a man was freezing his ass off on the wrong side of them? Nick grunted, shoved hard, and almost fell into the cabin as the door groaned noisily and swung open on a yawning blackness.

      ‘Idiot,’ he muttered.

      He had a flashlight, but it was inside the box. And to put the box down without walking into something, he needed to be able to see.

      There had to be a light switch on the wall. He seemed to remember one, to the left…

      ‘Come on,’ he said impatiently, as he felt for the switch. ‘Where are you hiding? I know you’re there.’

      Something