Snowbound Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One - Stella

  Chapter Two - Wyatt

  Chapter Three - Stella

  Chapter Four - Wyatt

  Chapter Five - Stella

  Chapter Six - Wyatt

  Chapter Seven - Stella

  Connect

  More books in the Series

  Other books

  About the Author

  SNOWBOUND

  Suzanne Cass

  Snowbound

  Storm Cloud Press, Perth Australia

  Copyright © 2020 by Suzanne Cass

  Cover by Vikncharlie

  All rights reserved.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organisations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Stella

  SNOWFLAKES THE SIZE of silver dollars hit the windshield as the world outside the truck began to look like a fluffy, white cotton ball. Stella Pereira had never seen snow as thick as this before. And it was getting heavier by the minute.

  She turned the wipers to full and leaned forward to peer through the glass at the fast-disappearing road. This was crazy.

  It rarely snowed where she came from. Her hometown of Lyon in Provence was renowned for its hot summers, wine and lavender. On the odd occasion, when it did snow in the deepest of winter, the highways became a complete mess. Drivers would be caught unaware and couldn’t cope with the slippery roads. All the schools closed, and most people just stayed at home, rather than venture out. The stupid ones who went out often ended up in the ditches along the side of the freeways.

  And yet, here she was, driving in the deepest snow she’d ever encountered. Stella had only been skiing once, on a school trip to the Chamrousse Ski Resort when she was fourteen, but that was about the extent of her experience. At least her boss and head chef, Joseph, had organized for her to drive Dean’s pickup truck. Dean was the billionaire owner of Stargazer Ranch, and his silver Ford was robust and built like a tank. She felt safe driving it, if perhaps a little nervous as she wasn’t used to a vehicle this big.

  She’d lied to Joseph when he asked if she could handle the trip. He’d been preoccupied with the preparations for their upcoming Christmas lunch and so hadn’t been looking her straight in the eye when she answered. If he had, he might have seen her hesitation. Her only experience driving in the snow had been this winter since she started working at Stargazer Ranch. As the assistant chef, there wasn’t a lot of call for her to leave the property. She’d only driven into the small township of Stevensville a few times, and once had gone on a hike with some other ranch hands, Dale, Tom and Emily when they’d taken a group up to the top of Canyon Peak.

  This was supposed to be a simple trip. Drive out to the turkey farm, pick up the two turkeys Joseph had ordered, and head back to the ranch. It should only take her an hour, that’s what Joseph had said. He’d told her to hurry, because Dean had mentioned there might be a blizzard on the way.

  That might’ve been true two hours ago. Except now, she was lost. Had been driving around looking for a sign to point her back toward town for a while, but everything looked the same, the world morphing into one giant marshmallow.

  The turkeys sat safely on the rear seat. She’d found the poultry farm—after following Joseph’s hand-written note—without too much trouble. The snow had only been light when she arrived at the farm, perfect tiny snowflakes drifting softly to the ground around her as she hopped out of Dean’s truck. Yet, when she emerged from the shed with the farmer as he helped her carry the box full of turkeys only ten minutes later, things had changed considerably.

  “Will you be all right, girlie? Driving in this?” he’d asked, as he nestled the box in the rear seat for her, clipping the seat belt around it.

  “Yes, the snow’s not too heavy.” She’d tipped her head back and let the snowflakes fall on her face, catching them in her lashes, ignoring the man’s reference to her as girlie. “It’s so pretty.”

  People often judged her on her looks, but she was much stronger inside than her petite frame and pale features led them to believe. Most of them never got past her French accent and long brunette hair; considering her as an easy target. Beautiful but soft. It was one of the reasons she’d moved to Montana. To prove to herself she was more than that.

  “It may be pretty, but it can also be deadly,” the farmer had growled. “You better get going, girlie, before it gets any heavier.”

  So, she’d driven slowly down the gravel road, gawking in wonder at the surrounding vista. It was warm inside the cab, with the heater blasting, and at first, Stella hadn’t been worried. The world seemed to hold its breath, everything so pristine and washed clean of all its rough edges. She’d marveled at the snow. But it’d gotten thicker and thicker, the wind picking up in strength, swirling the fresh drifts around in eddies, making it hard to see the road. She must’ve taken a wrong turn back at the junction. She wasn’t sure what she’d done wrong, but she couldn’t see any sign pointing toward the highway that ran through the middle of the Bitterroot Valley. Joseph would be so mad. If she didn’t get these turkeys to him soon, he was going to go ape shit on her.

  Despite her predicament, she giggled. Ape-shit was a word she’d learned since moving to the ranch. It made her laugh every time she heard it. American’s had a funny way of putting things. There were many new words and phrases she was picking up during her stay at Stargazers. Her English had been good, even before she came to America. Working in her mother’s shop, serving tourists, her mother had insisted on it. But it still amazed her how much she was learning.

  A large gust of wind hit the truck and the steering wheel was nearly wrenched out of her hands. She gave a small gasp of terror. Merde, she should slow down. Her foot seemed to ignore her brain, however, and pressed harder on the gas pedal. She just wanted to get back to the safety and warmth of the ranch. Get this trip over and done with. You’ll be okay. She knew if she kept repeating that mantra, things would turn out fine. They almost always did. She believed in positive thinking; it was the best way to get through the hurdles life threw at her.

  Another gust of wind barreled around the pickup, making the windows rattle. She urged the truck to go faster. The road was starting to blend in with the rest of the scenery. The blacktop was now a complete white ribbon. There were no signs that other cars had been along here recently, and she felt utterly alone.

  The wipers were almost useless; the snow falling so heavily they couldn’t clear the windshield fast enough. Stella could hardly see thirty feet in front. She needed to slow down. The road had been climbing steadily for the past few minutes, dark fir trees rearing up on her left-hand side, big drifts of snow building on the right. Suddenly, a sharp bend appeared; she was going too fast. Stella slammed on the brakes, but the truck began to slide.

  She screamed and yanked on the steering wheel. But it was as if the truck had a mind of its own, and she had no control.

  A large drift reared up in front of the vehicle, and the Ford plowed into it. There was a bone-cracking crunch and Stella was thrown forward. The truck came to an abrupt halt, and the airbag deployed, shoving her backward in a whiplash motion. The explosion as the bag inflated took her breath away, and for a second she felt like she was going to suffocate. She beat at the white cloud surrounding her, and finally the bag deflated enough so
she could see again. Thank God she’d been wearing a seatbelt.

  The whole front of the truck was buried in the snowdrift. As she peered through the windshield, she could make out a small tree embedded in the front grille. Branches trailed over the roof and across the windows. She had no idea if she was still on the road, all she could see was snow piled up around the doors. Merde, how was she going to get out of here? Dean would be so cross at her for smashing his lovely, big truck.

  Stella drew in a couple of deep breaths, putting her hand over her chest to ease her racing heart. At least she was okay. Nothing hurt. She didn’t think she was injured anywhere.

  She lay her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes. It was the day before Christmas Eve. Joseph was counting on her, she had the turkeys for Christmas lunch in the rear of the truck. The lunch was catering for all the ranch staff and a few VIP guests—around twenty people—he needed those birds. Stargazer was about to reopen to the public after having been shut down for nearly six months for repairs when an arsonist tried to burn the lodge down. At least they’d caught the man—Preston had been an ex-employee at the ranch—and he was going to spend the next twenty years in prison. Penny, her best friend at the ranch, had mentioned to her just the other day that Clayton, the man who’d been falsely accused of lighting the fires—Stella had never met him because he’d left the ranch by the time she became the assistant cook—had finally been released from jail after serving nearly six months for trying to abduct Cat. Stella wasn’t really sure why Penny brought up the subject, the guy must be some sort of loser in her eyes. Maybe Penny felt sorry for him; she wasn’t sure and hadn’t pursued the subject.

  Stella had been a victim of one of those fires lit by Preston. She’d been trapped in the ranch’s home-built observatory when the arsonist had locked them all in and set fire to the building. Luckily, the Stargazer staff had rescued them, and no one had been hurt, except the poor observatory which had burnt to the ground. Dean was still working on the plans to build a new one.

  When the ranch had closed down, the staff had made the most of the enforced break and gone home to visit their respective families. Stella had used her time to travel around this vast country of America, and she was still dreaming of all the exciting things she’d seen and done in her months traveling. But she’d been more than happy to come back nearly a month before the rest of the staff returned, to help Joseph re-stock the new kitchen and make sure it was running smoothly before the guests came back.

  Now she was stuck in this big snowdrift. What else could go wrong? She pulled out her phone. Zut. No reception. These mountains were renowned for the lack of cell signal. For the first time since she’d arrived in Montana, she wished she could be back in the familiar streets of Lyon. Perhaps her mother had been right. Perhaps she should’ve stayed at home, got a safe job and settled down. But that wasn’t what Stella wanted. Not yet, anyway. After all, her mother had done exactly the same thing. Taken a working holiday in America before she came back to France to settle down. Although, that hadn’t turned out so well for her mother, Juliette. But Stella was determined her trip would be different.

  She glared at her phone, shaking it, as if that would somehow magically give her reception.

  There was a loud crack.

  Stella lifted her head to stare through the windshield.

  The small tree was bent over at a crazy angle, the weight of the vehicle too much.

  It was breaking.

  The truck moved a few inches, then stopped, and Stella sucked in a panicked breath. The vehicle moved again, this time lurching violently forward. The truck was now pointing directly downward, and Stella could finally see everything in front of her. She was teetering on the edge of a large ravine so deep she couldn’t see all the way to the bottom. The small tree was the only thing holding the truck in place, and it was slowly bending, giving way to the massive weight of the vehicle.

  There was another, louder crack, and the truck plunged down the embankment.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Wyatt

  WYATT WILSON’S OLD truck wheezed as he put it into park by the edge of the road. He’d paid exactly one-thousand dollars for it six months ago, the sum total of all his savings, but he was getting used to the truck’s odd noises. He peered through his windshield, not sure he’d actually seen what he thought he’d seen. A few seconds ago, there had been a silver pickup parked on the side. Now, that truck had completely disappeared. The snow was so thick; it took visibility down to nearly zero and made driving almost impossible. If he didn’t keep going, he might not make it home. The roads would be impassible in less than half-an-hour if this kept up. The radio had been talking about a possible blizzard, but this looked worse than any of their predictions.

  Wyatt gritted his teeth. He should at least get out and take a look. It’d only take him a minute; less if he were quick. Once he’d reassured himself his eyes had being playing tricks, then he could be off. His brother, Levi, was going to be mad if he was late. Cat was cooking them dinner tonight. He should’ve left this fool’s errand till tomorrow. If he had, he wouldn’t be about to get snowbound in a blizzard. Then again, he’d needed to get rid of that package. It was too dangerous to keep around. The only place he could think to hide it until Tony came back to claim it, was that old abandoned farmhouse up Black Pine Road. Fucking Tony, why in hell had he chosen Wyatt to hold the package? The last thing he wanted right now was any form of trouble. Wyatt smacked his fist into the leather of the faded bench seat.

  He needed to forget about Tony and get on with checking for a phantom truck.

  Wyatt was used to this type of weather, having grown up on Flathead Reservation, less than fifty miles away. Even so, as he stepped out of the truck and into the freezing air and sleet, he wondered why he hadn’t chosen somewhere warmer to live other than the Bitterroot Valley. He dragged his knit cap and gloves out of his pocket and put them on, then did the up buttons on his sheepskin coat as he made his way to the front of his vehicle. The wind was blowing snow directly into his face and he had to use his hands as a shield to even see where he was going. The world was being swallowed by a blanket of white.

  Stomping his feet in his heavy boots, he came around the hood and studied the road. The snow was falling so fast and thick; it was quickly obliterating everything. Wyatt could just make out the faint impression of two tire tracks heading up the lane. Another few minutes, and the tracks would be completely gone. He had been right, there had been a vehicle in front of him. He thought he’d seen the red flash of a taillight as he drove his way up the curving road in the growing storm. Who the hell would be stupid enough to be out in this weather? Besides him, of course.

  He followed the tracks for twenty feet up the road, until they swerved, heading for the edge. Wyatt’s heart stilled. He’d only driven this route a few times in the past six months since he’d moved to Bitterroot Valley, but he knew there was a steep drop-off over that edge. Had the car gone over? There were signs something had ploughed through a large drift of snow on the corner.

  He shuffled cautiously toward the big hole in the drift and peered over the edge. It was hard to see anything. A small fir tree lay flat, cracked in two. As he leaned farther over, he could see signs of carnage, exposed dirt and smashed branches.

  Mother fucker. There was a vehicle down there; a faint glimmer of a red reflected through the snow and trees.

  Wyatt turned back to face his truck. What to do? He didn’t need this. He didn’t need to put his life on the line to rescue some stupid driver who’d been going too fast and had no fucking clue how dangerous it was to be out in a blizzard. If he walked away now, no one would ever know.

  Except him.

  Fuck it.

  Wyatt peered over the edge for the safest way to get down. The forest marched up the side of the ravine, thick with tall trees and underbrush. The vehicle looked to be around fifty feet down the slope. Resting up against a large tree trunk, which had stopped its headlong fligh
t. Lucky, because the bottom was a long way down. There was no sign of movement. How many people were in the truck? And how badly injured were they? Wyatt had no way of knowing until he got down there.

  His best way down seemed to be to follow the path of destruction, where the truck had mowed its way through the bushes and smaller trees on its deadly descent.

  He jogged back to his truck and leaned into the rear bed, pulled back the cover and dug around until he found a length of rope. He also grabbed the small first aid kit and tucked it inside his coat. One good thing his dad had taught him; always be prepared. He slung the coil of rope over his shoulder and hesitated. Before he could second-guess himself, he also reached into the glove box in the cab and removed the small hunting knife in a handmade leather sheath he always kept in there, tucking it into the back of his waistband and covering it with his bulky coat. His time in prison had prepared him to never underestimate a situation. You never knew when someone might turn nasty.

  Wyatt made his way back to the gap in the snowdrift and tied one end of the rope to the base of the broken tree and then gingerly let himself down, hanging on and digging his heels into the churned-up ground. The snow had turned to mush, and he was soon covered in mud as he inched his way down the hill, walking where he could; at other times going down backward, using his hands to steady himself on the steep incline.

  It took him less than five minutes to reach the truck, but as he glanced back the way he’d come, he wondered how in hell he was going to get whoever was inside up there if they were injured or couldn’t climb on their own.

  Steadying himself on the rear bumper of the pickup, he surveyed the surrounds. The truck was a fairly new silver Ford pickup, and the back end was intact. A waft of steam drifted up from the front end where he could see the large tree had stopped the truck’s downward projectile. The Ford was a write-off. Snow was still swirling down in eddies, but the wind was a little less devilish down here, amongst the trees. He dropped the rope and the first aid kit on the ground as he decided on his best course of action.