Page 12 of Beautiful Distraction

“At least I’m not sitting on my ass doing nothing.”

Mandy can never shut up. If we continue like this, we’ll beat it all day and night. Someone has to take the high road—and as usual,that someone is me.

I bite my lip hard to keep back a snarky remark and decideto change the subject.

“Did you pack an umbrella?” I ask.

“Yes.” Mandy peers at me warily as she draws out the word.“Why?”

“There’s no point in us both sitting around and waiting fora car to drive past because that might never happen, so I’m going to findsomeone who can help us.” I draw a sharp breath and exhale it slowly as Iponder over my decision. It’s a risky one, but what other choice do we have? “I’llgo back to the road and take the first shift waiting. Let’s hope someone elsedecides to ‘take a shortcut.’” I don’t mean to infuse a hint of bitchiness inmy voice, but I can’t help it. “We’re in deep shit. The sooner you realizethis, the greater our chance to make it out before we freeze to death or ahurricane hits us.”

“Are you crazy?” Mandy asks. “You’ll get lost out there.We’ll wait out the storm.”

I raise my hand to stop her protest. “Where’s the umbrella?”

For a few seconds, she just stares at me in a silent battleof the wills. When her shoulders slump slightly and she looks away, I know I’vewon. She squeezes between the seats and rummages through the stuff scatteredhaphazardly on the back seat, then hands me a tiny umbrella—the kind thatyou usually carry around in your oversized handbag; the kind that couldn’t keepyou dry from a drizzle, let alone the downpour outside. But the end is pointedand sharp. It’ll definitely do.

“You can’t use that thing out there,” she says. “The wind’stoo strong.”

“I know. I’m taking it with me in case a wild animal attacksme and I need protection.”

“A wild animal in Montana? What are you scared of? A cow?”Mandy lets out a snort. I give her an evil glance that’s supposed to shut herup—but doesn’t. “Yeah, you’ll poke it to death with that thing.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

Now she’s silent.

A flashlight would be extremely helpful, but that’ssomething Mandy would never think of packing, so I’ll have to make do withoutone of those.

“I’ll be back in an hour. Wish me luck that I find someone,”I say and jump out of the car before she can protest.

“Be careful!” Mandy shouts after me.

I nod my head, even though she probably can’t see it, andwrap my jacket tighter around me.

The rain soaks my clothes almost instantly, and a coldsensation creeps up on me before I’ve even taken a few steps. I suppress theurge to open the umbrella, knowing it wouldn’t help much against the freezingwind that makes walking difficult.

Big drops of water are cascading down my face and into myeyes. I blink against what seems like a bottomless well pouring down on me andspin in a slow circle as I try to regain any sense of orientation. The road isbarely wider than a path, with what looks like fields to either side, butthat’s about all I can see. The headlights are illuminating the ditch we hit,but did we spin to the left or to the right? I can’t remember, and any tiretracks have already been washed away by the water. Basically, I have no ideawhich direction we came from, and the pitch black isn’t helping. The main roadcould be anywhere.

Dammit.

Suddenly, my emergency plan doesn’t seem so appealing afterall.

We can’t be too far from the main road, so I decide to makeit a brisk ten-minute walk and then turn around and head the other way.

“I can do this,” I mutter to myself in a weak attempt at apep talk and start walking down the path. After only a few paces, I realize theground conditions make it harder than I anticipated. The slippery mud around myshoes and jeans weighs me down, and my pulse begins to race from the effort oflifting my knees up high. It seems as though I’ve walked for miles, which can’tbe because I still see the headlights of our car shining in the distance.

My groan is swallowed by the relentless rain.

That’s when I see the light in the distance. It looks likethe beam of a flashlight. I should be getting back to Mandy to tell her aboutit, but I fear if I return to the car, whoever’s holding it might disappear andI’ll never find out whether rescue awaits us at the other end of it.

“Help,” I scream, but the light ahead doesn’t shift.

As I head closer, I realize it’s not a flashlight but a bulbhanging from a string, which stirs in the wind, and there’s a whole housebehind it. The pain from plodding around in knee-deep mud forgotten, I quickenmy pace and reach the porch in a heartbeat, then slam my palms against the doorframeso hard the sound could wake the dead.

Thump.

My fist hammers harder against the wood.

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