Mary Forbes - The Man From Montana

The Sunburst’s front tires thumped against a thick drift that spewed snow up and over hood and roof.

“Nooo!”

The rear wheels spun on the icy pavement. She jerked against her seat belt as the car shifted sideways and slid. Slid with the ease of a skater, nose-first down into the ditch.

She heard the scream of metal before she realized the trailer had ripped from the hitch.

“Charlie!”

The U-Haul slammed into the rear of the Sunburst.

Ash left town at 6:55 p.m., earlier than planned. A couple days ago, he’d seen the sun dogs—rainbowlike spots on each side of the sun—and knew a storm brewed before the radio confirmed the weather system hailing from the north this afternoon.

When he’d phoned home, Inez told him Rachel had arrived.

That he inhaled long and loud hearing the news meant he didn’t favor the idea of anyone out in this weather. It had nothing to do with her. Nothing.

Hell, he’d practically forgotten her when he’d left the grocery store and taken the steaks over to Meggie’s house. And when he and his teenage nephew, Beau, stood, bundled up in parkas and wool hats, grilling the meat on her outdoor barbecue, he hadn’t thought of Rachel at all.

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