We remain silent for a long time. At some point, I consider asking her to drive back to the gas station, but then decide against it. For one, she’s taken so many turns that I doubt she’d find her way back before the rain begins cascading down on us. And second, the gas station is at least a two-hour drive away. If the weather’s playing along, we have three or four hours to find a motel before dusk falls.

“I could turn around,” Mandy suggests, jolting me out of my thoughts.

“No. Just keep going. The road’s bound to take us somewhere.” I open my eyes and scan the sky, worried. The gathering clouds dim the light, bathing the deserted road in semi-darkness. It’s only four p.m., but it feels as though nighttime is about to fall. As the car rolls on, the first drops of rain begin to splatter against the windshield.

Within minutes, the drizzle turns into a raging downpour and the road begins to resemble a huge puddle of water. The engine is roaring and the tires keep slipping on the muddy ground. The visibility’s so bad Mandy slows down the car and leans forward in her seat, fighting to see through the foggy glass.

“Should we stop and wait this one out?” Mandy asks.

“No. Don’t stop,” I yell to make myself audible through the noise of the splattering rain. “I fear if we stop, the tires will get stuck in the mud and no one will ever find us out here. No one can possibly survive on Twinkies and soda forever.”

“You’re right.” Mandy hits the accelerator, and the engine thunders in protest. “We’re almost there,” she says for the umpteenth time, casting another nervous glance at me.

I squint my eyes to make out the road, but it’s too late to make out the dark silhouette to our right.

“Tree!” I shout.

Instead of swinging left, to the other site of the road, Mandy turns the wheel sharply to the right, the unexpected impact of hitting unpaved, muddy earth pushing me against my seatbelt as we barely escape a collision with a tree.

Thunder echoes in the distance, once, twice, when I realize it’s not thunder but the spluttering sound of a dying engine.

The car cogs several times…and then stops abruptly.

“That was close.” Mandy leans over the steering wheel, panting.

“Yeah. You could say that.”

She turns the key in the ignition, but nothing happens. She tries again. Still nothing.

Double shit.

This isn’t good at all.

“Ava?” The panic in her voice is palpable.

“We’ll be fine,” I lie, even though I know better than to make false promises. More than likely, we’ll have to spend the night in the car, huddled together for warmth in the hope that the rain will stop at some point.

I make a mental note to be mad at her for the rest of our lives.

I peer out the passenger window into the dark. The sky has turned black, and the torrential rain makes it impossible to see more than a few feet ahead.

Except for a road sign consisting of a wood panel that appears to have cattle carved on it, I have no idea where we are.

“Great. Just great,” I whisper.

We’ll freeze to death.

The thought is so scary I shiver against the coarse fabric of my jacket and barely dare to look out the window into the pitch black.

Mandy shoots me another nervous look and tries to start the engine a few more times, without any success.

This is it.

Now we’re really stuck.

“It was worth a shot,” Mandy says, raising her chin defiantly.

I stare at her in disbelief. “Who the fuck tries to turn around on an unpaved road with apocalyptic rain pounding on us?”

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

Mandy can never shut up. If we continue like this, we’ll be at 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 decide to 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 for a car to drive past because that might never happen, so I’m going to find someone who can help us.” I draw a sharp breath and exhale it slowly as I ponder over my decision. It’s a risky one, but what other choice do we have? “I’ll go back to the road and take the first shift waiting. Let’s hope someone else decides to ‘take a shortcut.’” I don’t mean to infuse a hint of bitchiness in my voice, but I can’t help it. “We’re in deep shit. The sooner you realize this, the greater our chance to make it out before we freeze to death or a hurricane 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 battle of the wills. When her shoulders slump slightly and she looks away, I know I’ve won. She squeezes between the seats and rummages through the stuff scattered haphazardly on the back seat, then hands me a tiny umbrella—the kind that you usually carry around in your oversized handbag; the kind that couldn’t keep you dry from a drizzle, let alone the downpour outside. But the end is pointed and sharp. It’ll definitely do.

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

“I know. I’m taking it with me in case a wild animal attacks me 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 her up—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’s something Mandy would never think of packing, so I’ll have to make do without one 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, and wrap my jacket tighter around me.

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

Big drops of water are cascading down my face and into my eyes. I blink against what seems like a bottomless well pouring down on me and spin in a slow circle as I try to regain any sense of orientation. The road is barely wider than a path, with what looks like fields to either side, but that’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 tire tracks have already been washed away by the water. Basically, I have no idea which direction we came from, and the pitch black isn’t helping. The main road could be anywhere.

Dammit.

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

We can’t be too far from the main road, so I decide to make it 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 a pep talk and start walking down the path. After only a few paces, I realize the ground conditions make it harder than I anticipated. The slippery mud around my shoes and jeans weighs me down, and my pulse begins to race from the effort of lifting my knees up high. It seems as though I’ve walked for miles, which can’t be 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 like the beam of a flashlight. I should be getting back to Mandy to tell her about it, but I fear if I return to the car, whoever’s holding it might disappear and I’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 bulb hanging from a string, which stirs in the wind, and there’s a whole house behind it. The pain from plodding around in knee-deep mud forgotten, I quicken my pace and reach the porch in a heartbeat, then slam my palms against the doorframe so hard the sound could wake the dead.

Thump.

My fist hammers harder against the wood.

“Hey! We’re stuck out here and need help,” I yell, just in case my thudding is mistaken for an oncoming hurricane.

The few seconds that pass seem like an eternity. Eventually, a bolt slides. The door is pried open, and I find myself staring at the six-foot-two figure of a guy.

My jaw drops open.

He seems oddly familiar.

His hair’s dark and curled at the tips; his strong jaw is shadowed, as though he forgot to shave this morning, the dark stubble accentuating his full lips. He’s wearing nothing but tight jeans with the upper button undone, but that’s not what makes it impossible to pry my eyes off of his half-clad body to meet his questioning gaze. It’s his familiar face, the green eyes that are now narrowed in surprise.

“You!” he states. His voice, deep and sexy, sends a shudder down my spine. Something about his tone rings a bell. Where do I know that accent from?

It takes me a few seconds before the penny drops.

My heart skids to a halt as I swear all heat is draining from my body.

Holy. Pearls.

It can’t be. And yet, I know it’s him. Or someone who looks just like him: the rich guy with the expensive car who offered me a handout in exchange for some implied fun between the sheets. The one I brushed off.

What are the odds?

Even though he’s dressed more casually and his hair is a bit longer—past the need for a cut, and styled in a casual mess that demands you run your fingers through it—I see the resemblance straight away. My gaze brushes over his chest.

The same muscular build.

The same features and hard body, all shrouded in a layer of mystery, that have been haunting my dreams ever since he bumped his Lamborghini into my Ford and then offered me a shitload of money because he felt sorry for me.

Club 69.

That’s where we met three months ago.

And that certainly explains his palpable disdain for me.

He can’t take rejection.

For the first two weeks, I couldn’t get him out of my mind. I even started skipping through the gossip pages of various magazines in case he might be someone rich and famous.

Needless to say, I didn’t find his picture, so I forced myself to push him out of my system—Mandy made that part almost impossible.

Of all the places in the world, I had to meet him here—in the middle of nowhere, with no escape route.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I stare at him, my body frozen in shock. I’m so stunned, for a moment I’m rendered speechless as we continue to eye each other.

Meeting him here, in the middle of nowhere, feels surreal.

His chest—all hard muscles—is clearly defined and emphasized by the light bulb dangling over my head. A black snake tattoo adorns his left arm, which is stretched against the doorframe, as though to block my way, while the other is clutching at the door, as though ready to slam it in my face. I look up into eyes the color of storms and realize that’s exactly what he’s considering doing.

“This is private property. You’re trespassing.” His voice is raw and gritty, with a strong accent. No ‘How can I help you?’; no ‘Please come in.’; not even ‘Hi, how are you? Hey, I remember you. You look great, by the way.’

I stare at him, dumbfounded, until I remember that Mr. Expensive Shirt has no manners.

He demonstrated it before, and he’s doing it again. My hands ball into fists, and for a split second, I consider turning around and heading elsewhere. If only he weren’t the only person around. I can’t afford to offend him. Not when he’s the only person who can help us.

I grit my teeth and force myself to take slow, measured breaths.

“I need help,” I whisper, my voice slightly hoarse.

“Say again?”

“Our car’s stuck down the road,” I say and point behind me in a broad circle because suddenly I can’t remember which direction I came from.

His shrug is almost unnoticeable as he regards me in silence. I open my mouth to explain my situation, when he leans against the doorframe, his posture hostile.

“What do you want?”

“Isn’t that obvious? A hurricane’s coming,” I say slowly in case he missed the countless weather and safety alerts. Or the pitch-black sky on an otherwise fine afternoon.

“There are no hurricanes in Montana. Only storms.” He eyes me with a frown, as though he suspects me of making up some bullshit excuse to get inside his home and then burgle him. Yeah, I watch the movies.

“This storm’s the reason we’re in trouble,” I mutter. His gaze travels to my umbrella. I hide it behind my back before he utters a snarky remark and I won’t be able to hold my tongue, after which he’ll most definitely kick me to the curb.

“In trouble?” He sounds unconvinced.

Seriously?

“We got lost and need help.” Maybe even a hot cup of coffee, which I don’t mention because, judging from the deep frown lodged on his stunning face, he doesn’t strike me as the welcoming type.

“The next town’s just a few miles down the road. Just take two right turns. You can’t miss it.”

I look at him incredulously. He can’t possibly have said what I just heard, and yet his stony expression speaks volumes. The muscles in his biceps flex, which is probably a sign that he’s about to slam the door in my face.

For real.

He can’t do that; he’s our only chance at surviving the night.

“Wait,” I say before he closes the door.

“What now?” he asks.

I inch forward and plant my foot right next to the doorframe so the door won’t close if he shuts it, and moisten my lips, suddenly aware of the wet strings of hair covering half of my face. I can’t blame him for not wanting to help when I probably look suspicious as hell.

“Look.” I grant him a tentative smile. “I had no idea you lived here.”

His brows furrow and his expression darkens, but he says nothing.

“Honestly, I had no idea,” I add. “If I had known, I wouldn’t have knocked, but we need help. We really do. My friend, Mandy and I—” I make sure to emphasize Mandy’s name in the hope he’ll be more inclined to help once he realizes my traveling companion is female “—we’ve been driving for hours. We don’t know our way around this place, and our phone’s not working. Worst of all, the car’s stuck in the mud, and we have no idea where we are. Is there any way we could use your phone to call for help?”

“Lines are down.”

Socially inept and not a man of many words. What a fine combination.

I cringe inside, but force myself to smile again. I really don’t want to ask for what he should have offered five minutes ago, and yet I have no choice.

A strong wind tears at my hair, whipping wet strands of it against my face. The gust is so strong I tumble forward and almost stumble into him.

“Would you mind if we stayed for a few hours, just until the storm’s over?” I ask.

His stare turns a few degrees colder, if that’s even possible. Holding my breath, I almost expect him to say no and turn on his heels, but to my surprise, he just nods and opens the door a little bit wider, though not enough for me to squeeze through.

“How long are we talking about exactly?”

“Three hours max,” I say.

“All right,” he says after a pause. “But only under one condition: you don’t bring any suitcases. And you take off your shoes. I just had this place cleaned. Three hours. Not more. Are we clear?”

I want to point out that those are more than one condition, but now isn’t the time for petty mindedness. So I nod quickly before he changes his mind.

“Get your friend. I’ll switch on the lights,” he says. “And you better hurry. You’re letting in the cold.”

“What about—” the car, I want to ask, but he’s already disappeared inside, closing the door in my face and leaving me to figure out the rest.