Page 48 of Snowed In with her Mountain Men

RYDER

“Are you sure about this?” I asked, squinting into the blinding whiteness. “It’s not exactly a small town, Jax.”

“It ain’t all that big either,” Jaxon grumbled. “And I never said I was sure of anything.”

I turned the wheel, guiding the Marauder around another mound of fallen snow. The roads weren’t bad, they were downright treacherous. But they were finally open, even if only for vehicles like ours.

The day had been an eventful one. Mrs. Veraldi had run out of food three days ago, and her pipes had frozen so solid she’d been defrosting snow for drinking water.

She was a tough old widow though, and never once complained.

She refused our offer of a ride into town, but promised to bake for us once she got her kitchen up and running again.

From there, we’d run a half dozen more checks on neighbors in need.

The Ansens were fresh out of firewood — a cardinal sin that was almost inexcusable.

We helped the Harrisons clear a path, and dropped off fuel for the Morgan’s generator.

By the time we wrapped up, the sun was no longer anywhere in the sky. It was almost dusk.

“So who’s your contact?” I asked Jaxon again. It was a question he’d glossed over the first time.

“Someone I trust.”

“And you don’t trust me?” I laughed. “After all those times I saved your ass from—”

“Fine,” he interjected with a frustrated sigh. “It’s Terri.”

“From the convenience store?” I blinked. “Pink hair? Silver-winged glasses?

“Her hair’s half blue right now,” Jaxon corrected me. “But yes.”

The mountain road — if you could call it that — finally spilled into town. Here the roads were actually plowed. Not well, mind you, but just enough for the stir-crazy townspeople to believe they could navigate them.

Maybe that’s why we passed six or seven newly-stuck cars in just the first quarter mile.

“Terri’s trustworthy,” Jaxon continued, unbidden. “And she knows Crescent Springs inside and out. Probably better than anyone.”

I nodded again, and gave up a shrug. Whatever info she’d given him didn’t really matter. If it was good enough for Jaxon, it was good enough for me.

“Besides,” Jaxon added casually. “I promised her we’d dig out her car.”

I rolled my eyes, but followed it up with a chuckle. “Is that why you threw two shovels back there, before we left?”

I jerked a thumb over my shoulder. Jaxon nodded.

“It is.”

“Fine.”

“Not until after we check out this lead, though.”

The Sayonara motel was a cheap stay, and therefore wasn’t in one of the better parts of town.

In general, there were two types of people who patronized the old strip motel: those who were just passing through, and those taking advantage of their hourly rates and private parking for a quick, dirty tryst. The latter, it was joked, were looking to say Sayonara to their marriage.

Five minutes later we rolled up on the place. On one side, the parking lot flanked by its eight-foot privacy fence was wholly inaccessible. On the street side however, the stretch of identical, rust-colored doors stood sentinel over the poorly-shoveled sidewalk that fed it.

“Number twelve,” Jaxon huffed, extending a finger. “That one on the end, right there.”

I parked on the opposite side of the street; and killed the engine. For a good minute we sat there in silence, taking in our surroundings. It was what we’d been trained to do. Old habits died hard.

Eventually, the howl of the wind whipping down the frozen street was the only noise left to us.

“Okay,” said Jaxon, apparently satisfied. “Let’s go.”

My friend retrieved something from beneath his seat as we got out, slipping it beneath his jacket. As usual I asked no questions. Together we padded over to the sleek, run-down building, as I struggled to discern during which era, if any, this type of architecture was last in style.

“Roadside Americana decay,” I muttered under my breath.

Jaxon’s eyebrows came together. “What?”

“Nothing.”

We reached the last door without encountering anyone.

“Go on,” said Jaxon. “Knock.”

I did exactly that, waited twenty seconds, then knocked again. When no one answered I tried the knob, and found it securely locked.

“I assume you have the key?” I smirked at him.

Jaxon said nothing. With the slightest shift of his weight, he produced a full-sized crowbar, like some magic trick.

“Ah, splendid.”

He held it poised, directly over the base of the cheap aluminum doorknob. Before he could act however, I grabbed it.

“You really think this is our guy?”

Jaxon looked down at me and shrugged. “Maybe he is, maybe he isn’t.”

I frowned, and glanced around. “If Oakley knew what we were doing…”

“Look, best case scenario this guy gets a busted door,” Jaxon grunted. “It’s not like he’ll have to pay for it.”

“And worst case scenario?”

“He’s getting the other end of this crowbar,” Jaxon growled, pushing my hand away. “And he’ll be spitting teeth until we know exactly why he’s sniffing around our place.”

With that, he put his weight behind the bar and struck. The doorknob didn’t stand a chance. It flew off into the nearest snowbank with a soft thump.

“Be ready,” he warned.

I pushed through first, prepared for whatever awaited us inside the shitty little motel room. Instantly we knew it wouldn’t be much. The place was empty.

“Check the bathr—”

“Is this my first time clearing a room ?” I snapped at him.

The thin line of his mouth curled into a rare grin. “Fair enough.”

I stepped through. The bathroom, which was the size of a postage stamp, was empty. A few toiletries lay open on the rim of the sink: a single toothbrush, a razor, and a notoriously shitty bar of motel soap. Beside all that, lay a bottle of Advil, open and empty.

“Ryder…”

Something in Jaxon’s tone made me move swiftly. He wasn’t an alarmist. I knew when he meant business.

“Here, look.”

I found him hunched over the night table beside the bed, staring down into an open wallet. The leather was worn, the inner chambers devoid of anything, even money. All of them empty, save one.

“Holy shit…”

Through the scratched plastic window, I could make out the general shape of the man’s beat-up ID. Jaxon slid it out, so I could see the face too.

“No,” I shook my head. “No fucking way. It can’t be.”

“Look at it.”

I was in disbelief. Shock. Total denial.

“No.”

“Ryder, it is.”

My mouth went dry. Nothing about this made any sense. But then I thought for a moment…

And realized everything made sense.

“Fuck!”

We were back at the truck so quickly, I barely felt the blast of cold air as we sprinted across the snow-choked street. The engine roared to life, and the Marauder’s tires spun.

I only hoped we weren’t too late.