Page 60 of Major Love

I haven’t heard any vehicles on this road in the past two hours, and seeing as it’s unlikely that anyone will be venturing up here now given this morning’s forecast, it could be at least a day before any mountain rangers ride the ridge. Without any cell service, I can’t even call for help – unless I finally ditch the truck and attempt to venture on foot down the mountain road.

“Okay,” I whisper to myself. “I can do this. I can do this.”

I close my eyes, pray for strength, and kill the engine again, trying not to cry as the heater’s warmth immediately dissipates.

I tuck a curl behind my ear and then drop down from the truck, bundling my scarf as tight as possible as I begin slowly trudging through the silent pines.

When I reach the side of the road I take a deep breath and start walking.

My phone is safe and protected in my jacket pocket so when I’m a little farther down the blacktop I’m going to check if I have any service. If not, I’m going to suck it up and get back to the truck ASAP. At least I have some blankets and warm jumpers in there, even though I’d only brought them with a snowy truck-picnic in mind.

My teeth chatter quietly as my boots click against the shimmering expanse of empty road, and a sparkling flurry of snow begins to descend from the white clouds above.

It’s cold and wet and, even though it’s beautiful, it’s pretty terrifying, the road an endless line until the bend, completely shielded by the frost-covered evergreens.

I give it about five minutes until I check my phone. And then, when I see that I still have no connection, I start to cry.

Haven was right – this wasn’t a good idea. I shouldn’t have ventured to the trail on my own, even if it had seemed safe enough at the time.

I spin around and start running, as carefully as I can through the road’s snow-packed side. It’s too slick to walk with my cowgirl boots on the road so it’s ironically better for me to stay on the snow, even though that’s the main reason why I’m stuck out here in the first place.

I jog until my lungs start burning, my cheeks bright pink with the cold, and they feel even icier as my tear-tracks freeze against my snow-burnt skin.

I duck my head as the snow falls faster, keeping my eyes on the pointed toes of my boots so that I don’t have to see the giant tree in the road up ahead.

Desperation grips me and I check my cell one more time, standing on the precipice to the forest as I tap out another text to Haven, hoping that maybe somehow this time it’ll get through.

Snow and hail pummels down just as I’m about to leg it back through the pines, when in the next second I hear a loud skidding sound and my eyes flash to the curve in the road.

The broad bumper of a large black truck pierces through the white sheets of snow, and I move tentatively toward the edge of the forest, my hand shielding my eyes so that I can see without the weather’s obstruction.

The truck swerves to a quick stop and a second later the driver jumps out.

My heart pounds in my chest, disbelief and gratitude coursing through me.

Jason.

He closes the door to his truck and stands stock-still for one long moment, his chest heaving as he watches me with a slight frown on his sun-kissed brow.

And then he’s moving.

His long, steady strides eat up the distance stretched out between us and, after a few shaky breaths, I can’t wait any longer. I jog straight for him, as fast as the slick heels of my cowgirl boots allow, and then he’s banding those strong forearms around me, pulling me as close as possible before lifting me up.

I wrap my arms around his neck, burying my face in his throat as he holds me tighter.

And he exhales roughly when my frozen cheek meets the warm skin exposed at the top of his jacket, but instead of pulling away from me he places one large palm over my hair, urging me closer.

“You’re freezing,” he murmurs, the arm around my lower back holding firm, keeping the length of his warm body compressed tightly against mine.

I feel two hot teardrops slip silently down my pink cheeks and I quickly turn away from his neck, swiping them with my mittens so that he won’t notice.

He holds me firm in his strong grip, letting me soak up his warmth for as much time as he can, and then he gently eases me down, my arms still wrapped around his shoulders as my boots hit the blacktop.

His eyes search mine, the frown on his brow concerned and protective.

“Are you hurt?” he asks, keeping me flush against him with his heavy forearm.

“I’m fine,” I rasp, the break in my voice making me wince with embarrassment.

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