Jean Barrett - Paternity Unknown

Though alert for trouble, he wasn’t prepared for the cow that loomed directly in front of him. Or maybe it was a moose. It didn’t matter. Whatever the animal was, it was a large threat frozen in the glare of his headlights that sliced through the screen of snow.

He cursed as he hit the brake to avoid a collision. Mistake. There was ice under the snow. The vehicle went into a skid, its nose spinning to the right. Before he could correct it, the car leaped the shoulder and plunged down a long, steep embankment.

Pine boughs slashed the sides of the rental sedan, failing to slow its descent. In the end, the car slammed against the trunk of a tree. Bouncing off, it lurched over onto its side.

He felt a sharp jolt as his head struck the doorframe. A second later, his pain was obliterated by the blackness that swallowed him.

Somebody had gone and changed the rules, Lauren thought. Either the power could be out or the phone could be out, but never both at the same time. That the two of them were just that on this occasion was an indication of how major the storm was.

Has to be the ice, she decided, replacing the receiver in its cradle after testing her phone and finding it dead. There had been a lot of it in the area in the form of frozen rain before it turned to snow. It must have brought down lines everywhere, which meant it was anyone’s guess when her services would be restored.

Lauren wasn’t worried. This wouldn’t be the first time she had been without either a phone or electricity. Hey, you had to expect such inconveniences when you lived in a place this remote.

Anyway, she knew the drill and had already fired up the gas-powered generator out back. Although it was small, it would keep the water pump and the refrigerator going. Nothing else that depended on electricity was essential.

She had also lit the oil lamps and placed them in strategic positions around the combination living room–kitchen that overlooked the frozen lake. The doors to the two bedrooms were closed to conserve heat. Without the electric furnace, she would have to rely on the fireplace at this end of the living room and the old cookstove on the kitchen side. Both were cheerfully blazing.

Needing to make sure there was plenty of firewood inside, Lauren eyed the split logs heaped beside the hearth. They seemed to be a generous supply. They weren’t. She knew how fast the pile could sink when you had to feed both the fireplace and the stove.

Snagging her coat from a peg beside the door, she bundled into it, seized the log carrier, and left the cabin.

The wind was howling off the lake, the snow was flying and it was brutally cold. Definitely a night to stay indoors. But since the covered porch that stretched across the front of the cabin was as far as she had to go, she didn’t complain. Firewood was stacked along its entire length against the log wall.

Lauren was filling the carrier when she noticed it. A strange glow off the far end of the porch.

What in the world—

Leaving the carrier, she moved toward the light. When she reached the corner of the building, she leaned out over the rail for a better look. Whatever its source, the glow was some distance off. It came from the direction of the road up along the ridge above her cabin.

Puzzled, Lauren went on gazing into the night, trying to figure it out. The obstruction of the trees and the falling snow made it impossible to identify. It wasn’t until there was a brief lull in the snowfall that she realized what she was seeing.

Not one light. Two lights. She was seeing the twin beams of a car’s headlights. Only there was something wrong with them. They weren’t horizontal. They were turned upward, like a pair of fixed lamps searching the night sky through the tall spires of the trees.

And that’s when Lauren realized what must have happened. A car had run off the road and landed at such an angle that—

Dear God, an accident! Maybe a serious one, with people injured. There would be no help from a passing vehicle, either. With the new highway to Elkton, this was no longer the main route. The road up there was rarely traveled now, and in weather like this it could be forever before someone came along. Probably not until after the plow came through, and who knew when that would be.

That leaves you as the only available help.

As much as she disliked the thought of going out into the storm, Lauren didn’t hesitate. She was already forming her plan as she left the railing and sped back into the cabin.

Blankets. She would need blankets. She pulled three of them off the shelf of the closet next to the bathroom. Throwing them down on the floor beside the front door, she traded her coat for her snowmobile suit, boots and helmet.

She would have to take the snowmobile. Her car would be useless in this stuff, her driveway already blocked. And she would need the toboggan. She used it when the snow was deep to haul supplies from her car to the cabin or to replenish the wood on the porch from the shed out back.

The toboggan was leaning against the porch. When she came away from the cabin, she lowered it and piled the blankets on it. Then she drew the load around the corner of the building to where her snowmobile was parked. Removing the protective cover from the machine, she roped the toboggan to its rear bumper.

The engine kicked in with a roar on her first try with the pull start. Straddling the saddle, she wove a trail up through the snow-laden firs and pines. The headlights of the helpless car guided her like a beacon.

Their glow seemed to grow weaker the closer she got, which had to mean the car’s engine wasn’t running and that the headlights were operating on a battery whose power was dwindling.

Topping the last rise, she arrived at the scene of the accident. A silver sedan lay half on its side, with its back end buried down in a drift and its hood pointed upward.

Braking her snowmobile and leaving the engine idling, Lauren trudged through the snow, fearing what she would find as she approached the vehicle.

She had a flashlight with her, and when she reached the car, she directed its beam through one of the windows. The driver was still inside, sprawled behind the wheel. He was either unconscious or—

But Lauren refused to consider the worst.

She played the flashlight around the interior. No other occupants. That meant she had only the one victim to rescue. And, providing it wasn’t already too late, she could lose him if she didn’t hurry.

With the car’s motor stalled, he couldn’t have had the heater to keep him warm. There was no telling how long he had been out here in the cold. Certainly he would never have survived the night if, by pure chance, she hadn’t spotted his headlights.

Lauren didn’t stop to question the risk. Stranger or not, she had to transport him to the warmth of her cabin. There was no other option.

It was a decision easier made than executed. Just getting at him was a challenge in itself. The driver’s side was jammed down into the snow, which left that door inaccessible. The passenger door was her only entry, and a difficult one when it was at an angle and several feet off the ground. Lauren somehow fought it open and lifted herself inside, noticing the air bag hadn’t deployed. Well, technology wasn’t infallible.

The driver never stirred. Removing her glove, she groped inside the collar of his expensive-looking leather coat. Her fingers pressed against his strongly corded throat, feeling for a pulse. She got one, slow though it was. He was still alive.

But her relief was dampened when she encountered a trickle of blood. The flashlight revealed its source as a wound on the side of his head. Just how serious it was she would need to try to determine when she moved him into the cabin.