Stranded
Authors: Noelle Stevens
Table of Contents
Stranded
Noelle Stevens
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance it bears to reality is entirely coincidental.
Stranded
Copyright 2014 Noelle Stevens
All Rights Reserved
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author.
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2014 by Noelle Stevens
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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Book Description
New college graduate Ashley Spencer has big plans. Now that she has her degree, she’s ready to conquer the world, but while driving to a new city she gets caught in a blizzard. Not used to that kind of weather, and on an unfamiliar road, she slides off into a snowbank and gets stuck. Lucky for her, Colton Drake comes along and rescues her. The only trouble is, he’s used to getting what he wants, and what he wants is Ashley, but she’s not so sure she wants him.
Stuck in his cabin until the blizzard ends, will they drive each other crazy—or will their forced confinement drive them into each other’s arms?
This ebook is part 1 of a serial romance. It is approximately 30,000 words, which is the equivalent of 100 printed pages. The story continues with additional parts every 2 to 3 weeks. Due to mature content, this story is not appropriate for readers under the age of 18.
Chapter One
I drive forward cautiously, the swirling snow making me nervous. The GPS assures me I’m going the right way, but with the whiteout conditions I can’t tell for sure. I try to convince myself this is all just part of the adventure—leave all that I know and move to a new city to start a new life.
I look in my rearview mirror, but see no headlights behind me, and feel very alone.
What if I get stuck in a snowbank? How will I get out? Who will help me?
I’m a girl from Las Vegas.
Why on earth did I think I would like moving north, where it snows?
If I’m honest with myself, I admit that I had a romanticized picture of this type of weather—curled up in front of a blazing fire, reading a novel, and when I get chilly, a handsome man will tuck a soft blanket around my legs. And then he’ll fix me a cup of hot chocolate with whipped cream on top.
Thinking about chilly legs makes me realize that my feet are cold. Despite turning up the heat, only cold air blows out. I make sure the temperature is set to hot, but the cold air continues to blow, like my car is protesting being out of the sunshine.
“Crap.” I hit the dashboard, like that will change my car’s mind and make it shape up.
Shape up or ship out
. The words I learned from my dad, and that I repeated to my ex the week before, after he’d started treating me like crap. Well, he’d shipped out, dumping me without a second thought. I frown as I think about him, but his face quickly leaves my mind as my toes start to go numb.
I turn the fan off—no point in speeding up the freezing process—and focus on the road.
Maybe there’s a hotel around here where I can spend the night and wait out the storm
. Peering into the whiteness that surrounds me, I see nothing but fields stretching out on both sides of the road. Not even a house in sight.
Sighing, I continue onward, but I slow as I begin to fear that I will slide off the road. It doesn’t look like a snowplow has come through recently. In fact, it’s getting hard to tell where the road is. My car isn’t really meant for this kind of weather. Occasionally I hit a patch of ice and I can feel the wheels slip, just a bit. My heart races as the realization dawns on me that I’m in trouble. I don’t know where I am, and the weather is just getting worse. I glance at the GPS mounted to my windshield, but it is no help. It insists I continue on for another eighty miles, and it doesn’t show any approaching side streets.
I reach into my purse without looking—I hardly dare take my eyes from the road—and feel around until my fingers wrap around my cell phone. I pull it out and set it on my leg, trying to decide how to do this. Though I’m pretty good at dialing while driving, I really want to keep both hands and both eyes on the road.
I know I could stop, but that presents problems of its own. One, I can’t pull over since all I see next to the road are deep snowbanks. And two, I don’t think stopping in the middle of the road is a great option either. With my luck, even though I can’t see anyone behind me right now, if I stop, a semi is sure to come barreling down the road, crushing my car like a gnat against the windshield.
No, I will have to do my best to keep driving while I dial. I pick up the phone and punch in 911, but don’t press the dial key. What am I supposed to say?
Hi, my name’s Ashley Spencer. I’m not from around here, but the heater in my car just went out and I’m getting really cold. Can you help me?
I’m not so desperate that I’m willing to make myself look like an idiot. At least not yet.
Instead I press 411, ready to ask for the nearest hotel, but when I press the dial key, nothing happens. And that’s when I notice that I have no service. I stare at the phone for a second, willing it to connect with a cell tower, but not only does that
not
happen, but when I look back up, a fence is racing towards me. Or maybe I’m racing towards the fence. It’s hard to tell in the state of panic that overtakes me.
I don’t have time to react, and even though the airbag deploys as I hit the fence, my head hits the driver side window, knocking my head painfully against the solid glass. I squeeze my eyes closed for a moment, trying to regain my equilibrium. The snow continues to fall and soon it is piled on the windshield. I know I’m stuck. At least my car is stuck. The engine is off, and when I turn the key, the engine refuses to start. It doesn’t even make a clicking sound. It is completely dead.
Which is what I will be if I don’t find a way to get some help.
I pick up my phone again and give it another try, but where it should show four tall bars, it shows a circle with a line through it.
No service
.
“Great,” I say out loud, noticing a plume of frosty breath leaving my mouth.
I take off my seatbelt, then reach into the back seat and grab the coat I threw back there earlier.
Thank goodness I did or I’d be even more screwed
. Awkwardly, I pull it on while sitting in my seat, then open the glove box and find my brand-new gloves. I never had a need for them in Las Vegas, but boy am I glad I splurged on a good pair for this move.
I wiggle my toes, but they feel funny—almost like they have no feeling at all. I move my seat all the way back, then put my left foot across my knee and pull off my shoe. I wrap my hands around my icicle-like toes and try to get the circulation going, then put my socks and shoes back on. I do the same for my right foot and feel marginally better. Trying to peer through the windows, I frown. Now they are not only covered by snow on the outside, but are completely fogged up on the inside.
Sighing, I know I have no choice but to get out and walk, and hope—oh, how I hope!—to find a house or a car or
something
to help me.
I put my cell phone in my purse and put my purse over my shoulders, hanging it crosswise across my chest, put on my gloves, then pull the door handle. My door hits the snowbank and doesn’t want to open more than a few inches, but after some wrestling I’m able to open it enough to climb out.
The moment I step out of the relative warmth of my car, the wind-driven snow—that phrase sounded so idyllic up until now—makes me squeeze my eyes closed in protest. I throw my arm up to protect my face, but that does little to stop the tiny crystals of ice from pelting me.
After a moment I’m able to look around without cringing, and see nothing but white. The road is a perfect blanket of pristine snow, although the snow has bunched up in places where the drifts have formed. My toes tingle and I look down to see my feet buried to my ankles. The boots I wear keep the snow from falling inside to my feet. Yes, they are boots—but the stylish kind, not the warm-in-the-snow kind. I briefly consider getting a pair of tennis shoes out of my trunk, but know if I wear them, the snow will quickly fall into the edges and soak my socks.
I step out of the snowbank and onto the road, then look at my car, which is now perpendicular to the road, but completely off of the road. The front end is wedged against the fence, but even if I’m able to start the engine, I won’t be able to get my car back onto the road.
I look down the road, back the way I came, but see nothing. Then I look into the distance to where I’d been headed. Again, nothing. I feel like I’m in some post-apocalyptic nightmare and no one else exists. It is eerie and unsettling.
Jamming my hands into my coat pockets, I start walking in the direction I came from. Even though it’s been at least forty-five minutes since I’ve seen civilization, at least I know civilization exists in that direction.
Trudging forward, I duck my head, trying to avoid the majority of the snow. Even so, my nose feels painfully cold as the freezing wind bites it. After going nearly a mile I think I hear the sound of an engine coming up behind me. I spin around, nearly falling in my haste to look, but can’t see anything through the thick snowfall. Then a pair of headlights break through the white haze. I frantically wave my arms and scream.
Chapter Two
The headlights grow brighter as the truck approaches and I jump up and down, hoping the driver sees me. The truck is suddenly too close, and I throw myself backwards into the snowbank as the truck nearly hits me. The truck passes me and I see its break lights come on, then the truck begins to fishtail and slide out of control, and when it finally comes to a stop, it is facing the wrong direction.
The wet snow begins seeping into my jeans, soaking me, and then I begin to shiver. I hear a door slam, then see a tall man walking over to me.
He stares down at me, his eyes roving over my body, then he begins yelling at me. “Holy shit, woman, what in the hell were you doing? Trying to get yourself killed?”
I glare at him.
He
is the one who almost hit
me
. Feeling miserable, I begin pushing myself up, but after only a second I grimace in pain and sit back in the snowbank.
“Are you hurt?” the man asks, his anger seeming to abate.
I wipe snow from my cheek, which seems to emphasize the numbness of my face. “I think it’s my ankle,” I manage to say through numb lips and chattering teeth.
The man steps into the snowbank and helps me stand. I hold on to his arm but keep my right leg bent to keep from standing on that foot. I’m shivering, but even so, I notice that my head barely reaches his shoulder. Even with holding onto his arm, I struggle to get up the snow bank. We are making very slow progress, and I guess he gets impatient, because he scoops me right up into his arms like I weigh nothing.
A little sound of surprise escapes my mouth, but he just carries me out of the snowbank and over to his truck. He never even sets me down, he just reaches over and opens the passenger door, then deposits me inside and shuts the door. Then he goes around to his side of the truck and slides behind the wheel.
