Coal Bank Pass
Noah jabbed the rewindarrow on the audio display and cranked up the volume on thePirate History Podcastas he fought his way through a spring snowstorm raging outside his truck. The blizzard matched his bleak mood. Maybe immersing himself in tales of marauding, scurvy dogs being gibbeted would lift his spirits. The narrator’s smooth voice had the power to blunt the sharp tones in his head; too bad he couldn’t concentrate enough to let the hypnotic baritone work its magic.
Soon enough he’d reach the summit of Coal Bank Pass with just enough gas left in the tank to get him to his front door without having to make a stop. Another hour, maybe more in this weather.
He’d been in Denver for days, staying with Wyatt and Serena the first night until he’d realized how much commotion whirled around a household with new twins—a boy and a girl—and how his presence had been like a speed bump slowing everyone down. He’d wanted to hang with his cousin, but that hadn’t been an option either. When Wyatt hadn’tbeen preoccupied with his family, he’d been hyper-focused on the upcoming playoffs, leaving little social bandwidth.
Besides an excuse to visit Wyatt and his family, Noah had traveled to the big city to find new vendors. His regular suppliers had become less reliable, and the record-breaking weather that had dumped on the Rockies this winter had made the situation even more challenging. Spring was only a week away, but March was historically the state’s snowiest month, with April coming in solid second place.
Nothing about the trip had gone well. All but one of the companies he’d courted had turned him down. They were struggling to get their local customers what they needed and couldn’t add a new one on the other side of the Divide, they’d claimed. The only one that hadn’t rejected him outright had given him a tepid “maybe.” Not encouraging.
His thoughts turned to the bomb dropped on him this morning before he’d fled Denver: he was being investigated for serving minors aftersomeonefiled a complaint. Noah had no doubt Bruno Keating had struck on a new way to harass him, and while he hadn’t done anything wrong, he would still have to spend precious time and energy defending himself against the bogus claim.
Damn that asshole!
A text popped up on the truck’s screen. No message was displayed, but the familiar number pulled a groan from him nonetheless, reminding him of the rest of his disastrous trip. He poked the ignore button. If only he could as easily ignore the mess he’d created.
Fuck me.What an idiot he’d been.
He’d run into one of his exes waitressing at a bar—just like the first time he’d met her. Could Sandy be an ex, though, if they’d only dated a few weeks? Definitions aside, he’d screwed up royally when he’d accepted her offer to stay at her place. It would be easier on Wyatt and Serena, he’d reasoned. He’d further kidded himself that his relationship with Sandy had mellowed from sexual into platonic mode and staying with her wouldn’t lead to anything. Then the biggest lie he’d sold himself: they were adults, and friends with benefits for a few days wouldn’t rekindle the old flame. And he’d been right—about himself. Beyond the physical, sleeping with her once, then twice—and that brief third time—hadn’t stirred anything remotely fire-like inside him because it had never been there in the first place.
But apparently it had been different for Sandy, and if he’d been thinking with his brain and not his dick, he would have picked up on the signsbeforeletting her believe they were a couple—beforeshe started laying plans for their future.
“We’ll trade off months. You’ll come and stay with me, and we’ll have fun doing Denver stuff together. Then I’ll come visit you in Fall River, and you can show me that part of the state. This is going to be so great, Noah,” she’d sighed as they’d lain naked in her bed. Sated after a morning quickie, he’d been floating in a state of drowsiness, and her words had hit him like a bucket of ice.
He’d bolted soon after, spewing all kinds of excuses about forgotten obligations and needing to get back. Had he set her straight before his great escape? Nope. He’d run like the dumbass and chickenshit he was.
“At least I’m an overachiever at something,” he groused.
The storm had picked up its velocity, but he was closing in on the final leg of the five-hour drive. Soon he’d be back in Fall River with its quirky buildings, quirkier characters, and familiar headaches. Sanctuary. Home.
Noah had just redirected his mind to the podcast when a dark shape darted in front of his front bumper. Reflexes kicked in, and he swerved on the snow-packed road to avoid hitting the moving target. The vehicle slid, and as he brought it under control, another form—upright this time—dashed across his path. He hadn’t completely decelerated, and the truck’s speed hampered his ability to correct its course. His tires hit the shoulder. Heart slamming inside his chest, he fought the steering wheel in a vain attempt to keep the truck on the highway. The front right tire went over the lip at the edge of the road, and he cranked the wheel in the opposite direction, causing the back end to spin as he overcompensated. The right rear tire slid off the edge. The truck tilted crazily, its hood pointing up as it went down the embankment backward. It bounced down the slope, shaking him as if he were on a scrambler in an amusement park, but there was nothing fun about this thrill ride. His seat belt locked him in place, cinching him hard against his seat, and he couldn’t maneuver or see what was behind him.
Don’t flip! Don’t flip!
The pickup gave a final jolt as its rear end collided with an immovable object, bringing it to a sudden stop. He cut the engine and heaved in a breath to refill his now-empty lungs.
“Shit!” he croaked, heart slamming against his rib cage. Releasing his seat belt, he looked out his rear window. The vehicle’s back end rested against the trunk of a giant ponderosa at the bottom of a wide ditch. Swinging his gaze to the front confirmed the truck’s nose pointed up toward the road.
His chest heaved with rapid-fire breaths, and sweat beaded his hairline. Gingerly, he opened his door; it groaned in protest. He slid out, pulling on a knit cap and grabbing his parka. His boots connected with solid ground, and relief washed over him … until he got a closer look at his crumpled tailgate and blown-out rear tires.
“Fuck!Fuck!”
“Are you all right?” a panicky voice called down from the road.
He whipped his head up. Two shapes stood silhouetted against a backdrop of swirling snowflakes where he’d left the road. One, a human outline, was bent to the side and held on to the other form. He shrugged on his coat and marched up the slope. When he reached the human—a mid-twenty-ish woman—he towered over her. Most of her face was covered by a fur-trimmed gray hood, but her pallor telegraphed she was scared or in shock. Either her eyes had drained of color too or they were the palest blue he’d ever seen. Leaning toward a shivering dog, her hand clutched what appeared to be a belt around the animal’s neck.
Noah could barely contain his seething temper. “Was that your dog that ran in front of my truck?”
“No, it’s not my dog,” her soft voice came out in a quaver. “It was lying on the side of the road, so I pulled over to help, and it ran from me.” Her eyes were glued to the pathetic animal.
Noah’s anger backstepped, though his volume went up a few decibels. “So thenyouran in front of me? You couldn’t wait for me to pass by?”
“The snow was so thick I didn’t see you until it was too late.”
“I could have hit you!”
“I know, and I’m sorry.” Her voice grew more conciliatory even as his got louder. “Are you all right?” she repeated, blinking tiny crystal flakes from long golden-brown lashes.
